Do you still think of the night in the shining hall?

It’s been a long time …

Since two souls

Met as one.

… I gave the soul its light, friend,

Who was more than a friend,

Yes, more than a friend.

A soft knock sounded on the door—a surprise this late. She paused, quill poised above journal, so wrapped up in the words, the images, the emotions, that it took a second gentle knock for her to realize that the door required her attention. Elisabeth slipped from the windowsill and padded across the room, opening the door just enough to see who was behind it.

The servant at the door bowed. “Your Royal Highness, if you would please follow me.”

“Me?” Surprise fluttered in Elisabeth’s stomach like a little sparrow. “Why?”

Intrigue and danger sparked across her skin. Was she allowed to follow the servant? Wouldn’t she get in trouble for leaving her room in the middle of the night? But, then again, was she allowed to say no? Could it be Mother or Sophie calling for her, some emergency she couldn’t picture? And if not that, where exactly was he taking her? What adventure awaited?

She glanced back at Helene, still fast asleep, and made her choice. Allowed or not, no one would even know she was gone. She would follow the young man and see where fate led her.

Elisabeth slowly opened the door, careful to not let it creak, and followed the servant into the dark hall. Her bare feet pressed against the smooth wood floors, the halls so quiet that she could hear her skirt swishing against itself. She never asked where they were going, relishing the mystery of it all. But when the servant led her into a wing of the villa exclusively reserved for the imperial family, her pulse beat faster, curiosity sparking into hope.

Another turn, another archway, and then the servant ushered her through a set of white doors etched with golden vines and green leaves. An elegant room opened up before her, with deep-red-and-yellow wallpaper, tall, white-trimmed doors leading to a balcony overlooking the fountain she liked so much, and—

Franz.

He was looking out the window, face tilted toward the stars, his back to her. She’d studied the width of those shoulders, the slight curl of that blond hair, enough to recognize him instantly, even from this angle. He was dressed casually, like the first time she’d seen him: white shirt with the collar raised, suspenders pressing into his strong back, and black trousers accentuating his height.

“Her Royal Highness, the Duchess.” The servant bowed to Franz as he turned. “And the Champagne, Your Majesty.”