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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

Sometimes Helene wanted to talk to Sisi about it, to let her joke the fury, the pain, into something smaller and more manageable. She knew Sisi could do that; it was her magic power, always had been. But every time the thought occurred, her heart threw up a wall. No, it screamed. The source of the hurt couldn’t be the balm for it. And Helene would punish Sisi for what she’d done, even if she was punishing herself at the same time.

The women rode the rest of the way to the palace in silence, Helene locking up her feelings, closing them off. Her face was stone, her heart too.

FORTY-TWO

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FRANZ WAS WIDE-AWAKE AT THE BREAK OF DAWN, HIS body humming with anticipation. Today was the day, the day, the day. She’d arrive any minute. He tugged at his collar, nerves tangling up with the excitement in his stomach.

The need to move—to release some of the skittering anxiety under his skin—drove him out to his usual fencing spot, away from the palace, next to the wood. Now he stood in his fencing gear, facing off with Maxi—this time knowingly.

“You’re awake about ten hours early.” Franz settled into his fencing stance.

“You’re mistaken, Brother. I haven’t gone to bed yet.” Maxi flourished his rapier.

Franz had invited his brother to join him—an attempt to make peace—but hadn’t imagined Maxi would actually show up at this time of day. It was especially unfortunate because Franz had just received a long-delayed letter of Elisabeth’s. It should have made him happy—her letters always did—but this one had been a gut punch. She’d mentioned that Maxi had been writing to her. Information Franz had not known before.

And Elisabeth might have thought that was innocent, but Franz knew his rapscallion of a brother better than that. If Maxi was writing to Elisabeth, Maxi was flirting with Elisabeth. Or trying to undermine Franz in some way. Or—even more likely—both.

Franz wished he could see the letters, parse out their exact meanings, the exact ways Maxi was planning to hurt him.

The thought made his blood boil, and he lunged toward his brother, starting the match. They fenced. Forward, back, back, forward: even through Franz’s irritation, the familiar rhythm was a balm. His breathing found a pattern with his feet.

Maxi caught him with the first touch. “You’re off your game today.”

Franz ignored him.

“Ah, yes, I forgot. Your bride arrives today. How long do you think it’ll be before you ruin her?”

Franz’s stomach tightened. “In what way would I ruin her?”

A laugh filtered through Maxi’s mask. “In every way. She’s a butterfly and you’re putting her in a jar, Franz. She’ll suffocate.”

“What would you know about it?”