The ladies’ coffee had confirmed what Elisabeth had heard before: that Sophie was the real power behind the throne, that Franz would do as he was told. Her heart bumped against those thoughts, bruising slightly. They were the same thoughts she’d felt so viscerally across her own skin the first time she saw Sophie in the hallway—her boys moving around her like they were blades of grass and she a strong wind. The archduchess was the chess master, everyone else a piece.

But, she told herself, that’s fine. Right, even. Franz was a perfect gentleman, and he was for Helene. Here, in the cool, quiet garden, it seemed so much more possible to let her feelings go. Open her hands and let that something between her and Franz dart away like the little bird regaining its senses. She hoped the feelings would land on Helene’s heart instead.

Elisabeth turned along the path, circling out of view of the villa and into view of the little stream they’d crossed earlier. She stooped beside the bank, trailing her fingers through the cold, clear water, and—

“Good evening.”

She froze. It couldn’t be. She’d just released him from her mind, told her feelings to fly away. But here Franz was, as if those feelings had turned directly around and flown back to perch on her shoulder.

“It’s you,” she answered foolishly, standing to face him.

“It’s me,” he agreed, holding an inviting hand toward the path. “Would you like to walk with me?”

She knew the right answer, and she betrayed it. “Certainly, Your Majesty.”

“So, what brings you back to the garden?” He looked at her intently as they walked, her bare feet pressing into soft moss and rough stone, his shoes clipping lightly against the path.

“I’m not used to being surrounded by people all day. Sometimes I prefer the company of trees. And you?”

“I needed to think. There are too many people back at the villa—some of them taking up enough space for two, or ten.”

Elisabeth smiled. She imagined her mother was one of them. Maxi probably counted too. And perhaps the expectations of the court were taking up whatever air remained.

“You prefer the quiet then?” he asked after a long beat.

“Sometimes.”

“Am I talking too much even now?”

He sounded nervous and Elisabeth put out a hand, resting it gently on his arm before she knew what she was doing. “Not at all. I like when people speak their minds.”

The heat of him through his sleeve warmed her own skin. She could feel a flush creeping across her cheeks. She removed her hand.

“And if I spoke my mind now?”

Her heart flipped, then flipped again. “Please do.”