“Countess, it’s over.” He hoped she felt the finality of it. And though he had never meant to make her cry, he could see the tears would come again as soon as she was out of sight. He hated how much it made him feel like Maxi—using people, discarding them once finished.

As she left, he turned back to the window, willing Elisabeth’s carriage to appear. His soul reached for her. All he wanted was to be with her and to forget the world and its pains. The war looming over them like a toxic cloud. It was taking all of his strength to stand against it, to see something grander, less destructive for Habsburg.

He stared over the expansive grounds, touched his scar lightly. Wished he could banish the worries about war just for one day and dedicate himself to joy instead. To the ease of being with Elisabeth. And the delight of planning good things for Habsburg: roads and rails, commerce, business.

Franz turned back to his desk and lifted the wedding announcement from atop a pile of letters. He held it up in the light.

The photo was her—and yet not how he knew her. The rich brown hair, dark features, gently sloping hips: they were all there. But instead of the usual joke at the corner of her mouth, there was a serious slant. Instead of curls falling loose, her hair was immaculate: a perfect weave of braids, not a hair out of place. And the skirts. They were twice the normal size, a cream puff in fabric form. No longer the carefree Duchess of Bavaria, but Empress Elisabeth of Habsburg.

A knock on the door announced his mother’s arrival, her sleek orange-and-black dress advertising the latest fashion at court.

Franz waved the announcement vaguely in her direction. Sophie had handled all the wedding arrangements, and he hadn’t seen the wedding notice until that morning. “She doesn’t look like this, Mother.”

“Not yet.” Sophie’s tone was noncommittal, her version of waving the flag of surrender. She wouldn’t go as far as to actively support his choice, but she would no longer fight him. Still, he wished for more—not just her surrender but her excitement. Her love. Elisabeth was smart, observant, empathic. She was life itself, a seed bursting into flower, a new star appearing in the sky. He wanted his mother to see it too.

He reached for his mother’s hand and squeezed it. “She will make a wonderful empress, you’ll see. She brought me to life; she’ll do the same for Habsburg.”

“I have no doubt.” She released his hand, patted it, still neutral.

He would have to settle for her surrender. For now. But Elisabeth would charm his mother in time. He was sure.

FORTY-THREE