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Back The Empress Save as PDF
Chapters (68)
  1. Cover
  2. Dedication
  3. 1853
  4. PART I
  5. ONE
  6. TWO
  7. THREE
  8. FOUR
  9. FIVE
  10. SIX
  11. SEVEN
  12. EIGHT
  13. NINE
  14. TEN
  15. ELEVEN
  16. TWELVE
  17. THIRTEEN
  18. FOURTEEN
  19. FIFTEEN
  20. SIXTEEN
  21. SEVENTEEN
  22. EIGHTEEN
  23. NINETEEN
  24. TWENTY
  25. TWENTY-ONE
  26. TWENTY-TWO
  27. TWENTY-THREE
  28. TWENTY-FOUR
  29. TWENTY-FIVE
  30. TWENTY-SIX
  31. TWENTY-SEVEN
  32. TWENTY-EIGHT
  33. TWENTY-NINE
  34. THIRTY
  35. THIRTY-ONE
  36. THIRTY-TWO
  37. THIRTY-THREE
  38. THIRTY-FOUR
  39. THIRTY-FIVE
  40. THIRTY-SIX
  41. 1854
  42. PART II
  43. THIRTY-SEVEN
  44. THIRTY-EIGHT
  45. THIRTY-NINE
  46. FORTY
  47. FORTY-ONE
  48. FORTY-TWO
  49. FORTY-THREE
  50. FORTY-FOUR
  51. FORTY-FIVE
  52. FORTY-SIX
  53. FORTY-SEVEN
  54. FORTY-EIGHT
  55. FORTY-NINE
  56. FIFTY
  57. FIFTY-ONE
  58. FIFTY-TWO
  59. FIFTY-THREE
  60. FIFTY-FOUR
  61. FIFTY-FIVE
  62. FIFTY-SIX
  63. FIFTY-SEVEN
  64. FIFTY-EIGHT
  65. FIFTY-NINE
  66. SIXTY
  67. ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
  68. ABOUT THE AUTHOR

The thing that existed between him and Elisabeth would be crushed by it. She would be crushed by it. She had been the one who was right last night. Right to remind him he was marrying Helene, right to run away, right to stop him from going further than a kiss.

The nightmare was the world he lived in. The kiss was the dream.

Franz was suddenly certain he couldn’t have both.

THIRTY

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IF ONLY ELISABETH HAD MET FRANZ BEFORE. BEFORE THE dukes and the counts. Before the letter had come with Helene’s name on it instead of Elisabeth’s. Before arrangements and expectations and threats of asylums bound together to build an impenetrable wall.

Back in her bed that night, with Helene still fast asleep beside her, Elisabeth had traced a finger along a page in her diary wet with tears:

Too late we met

On life’s sharp path

It had already carried us too far—

The unstoppable wheel of time.

Too late,

Your fathoms-deep eyes

Drew me in like magnets.

She’d fallen asleep on her stomach, her diary still turned to that page, her face pressed against it. A poem that was more than a poem, for a friend who was more than a friend.

Now it was a new day. The new day. The day Franz was supposed to announce his engagement to Helene. It was the end of something that had only just begun, possibility cut off at the legs. Elisabeth wished the dresses hadn’t arrived yesterday; mourning clothes would have been more fitting.

She hoped none of her feelings were visible on her face as she stood in the velvet-trimmed dressing room and watched them fit Helene’s gown. It was stunning: bright pink slipping off ivory shoulders, billowing out at the sleeves and the waist. Helene was a flower, a garden, the brightest thing in the room. Franz would propose to her, and she would grow brighter still.

Elisabeth wished it could be different, and then hated herself for the wish. Wanted to shove it in her mouth like Néné’s unfinished will-o’-the-wisp. She was supposed to be here supporting her sister. Instead, she was wishing her pain. Still secretly wishing that Franz would say no. No to his mother. No to the arrangements. Yes to an impossible thing: a life with Elisabeth. The very thing Elisabeth had said no to just hours before.

The seamstress stepped back from where she’d been tidying Helene’s hem, and Helene twirled, skirt sweeping outward, swirling in the half dozen mirrors arranged around them.

“Beautiful.” Mother’s face was alight with a rare, unbridled smile. “Helene, you’ve grown so slender. It’s very becoming.”

Helene smiled and cast her eyes downward, then looked up at Elisabeth. “What do you think?”