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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

It was another cut in Helene’s heart, another way in which Sisi was always beloved without trying, another arrow Helene tucked away in her own arsenal.

Helene slipped from Sisi’s room before anyone caught her. Not that they would. No one—not even Mother—seemed to bother with her these days. She was the ghost child, the failure, the bomb ready to explode. Sisi tried to defuse her, but everyone else just stayed out of the blast radius.

The thought came with a wave of shame. Of course they all avoided her; Helene would have avoided herself if she could.

Helene had never disliked herself before, but now she did. All the time. Before, she’d been afraid that maybe she was too boring. Too nervous. But she had never hated herself. Not like now. Now she was a roiling boil of fury and shame, and if she looked too hard at her own heart, she’d be sick at what it had become.

Something was broken inside her, and she didn’t know how to fix it.

THIRTY-EIGHT

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ELISABETH WASN’T RIDING ANYWHERE SPECIFIC, BUT SHE found herself in the Bavarian hills again, cresting ridges, easing down hills to mirror-bright lakes. She wondered, not for the first time, at the lush greenness of her home. The audacity of it to have so many shades: deep evergreen, rich forest green, the frosty green of silver firs.

She slowed her horse and slipped from its back, pressing bare feet to dusty ridge, breathing in the wet-earth smell of the place. It was so rare that she could be alone these days, and she reveled in the feeling, the freedom, the space. No French conjugation. No table settings to memorize. Only her and the birds and—

Thoughts of him.

She was full of them, overflowing.

Elisabeth led her horse to a little grove, tied her at the edge, and slipped between the trunks, picturing Franz weaving his way toward her.

She closed her eyes and imagined his lips. What would it be like to kiss them again, this time without guilt tugging at the back of her mind, promises pushing her away? To feel his arms around her waist, his hands tangled in her hair? And then, perhaps, for his hand to find the laces of her dress, pulling them gently out and away, the cloth loosening, sliding free?

Pressing her back to rough tree bark and tilting her throat up toward the sun mottling through the leaves, she let her mind wander, unfettered, unguarded. Every day, she doled out memories of him to herself like chocolates: rare, sweet, savored slowly. The kiss behind the curtains. The way he’d held her when their mothers had left, pressed to his chest like she was a part of him. The thrill of lying on the floor next to him, staring into his eyes, almost touching. The vulnerable tremor in his voice as he shared his secrets.