Elisabeth rejoined him in the carriage, folded herself into the seat opposite, and held out a hand for a cigar. The carriage lurched to life, on their way again. She shook her shoulders to dislodge some of the excitement.

She opened and closed her hand, palm up, in front of Father and he chortled, then placed a cigar in her palm.

“Don’t tell your mother.”

She gave him a look. “Since when do you have to tell me that?”

“Since you’re Your Majesty now. I don’t know how an empress behaves around her mother.”

Elisabeth snorted. “I’m still me.”

“Ah, but for how long?”

She furrowed her brow. The doubts and disappointments slipped back in.

“Forever,” she said, holding eye contact, willing him to believe and take comfort in her resolve.

He handed her the matches. “Do me a favor.”

She raised an eyebrow, inviting him to go on.

“At court, don’t throw yourself at immovable problems like you usually do. Take care of yourself. Bend when you need to bend.”

Elisabeth let out a long breath. She couldn’t promise that. In fact, she’d made the exact opposite promise to herself every day for the last two months: she would love Franz, embrace duty, and stay herself. She would not forsake any one of those things.

“Don’t worry, Papa. Franz knows who I am.” She smiled reassuringly.

“And this”—he motioned out the window at the palace, slowly coming into sight as they emerged from the tree line—“Is this who you are?”

“Part of who I am, yes. Part of what I’ve chosen.” She inhaled the sweet smoke, exhaled it slowly.

“Enjoy it while you can.” He motioned to her cigar. “I imagine your future mother-in-law won’t approve of your smoking.”

“Disapproval has never stopped me before.”

“Ah, but I hear she’s a more formidable foe than your mother.”

Formidable indeed. Elisabeth could still hear those needle-sharp words, uttered through a nearly closed door: Anything that doesn’t bend will break. Had Sophie meant her to hear them? In any case, she was sure it meant something more than giving up smoking.

But she kept that to herself, smiling at her father. “Let me worry about that, Papa. You just worry about not getting yourself into trouble with the archduchess.”

“No promises.” He wiggled his eyebrows, mood lighter. Contrary to what her mother thought, travel tended to make him happier, less sharp.

Elisabeth shook her head fondly. It was like that first carriage ride with Helene, only with roles reversed: she the scolding one, Papa the one about to make mischief at court.

FORTY-ONE