The Accidental Empress (18 page)

“Water?” Franz arched his eyebrows, gesturing toward the brook.

“Oh, yes.”

Franz leaned down once more to sip from the spring. As he did so, Sisi noticed a thick gash across the back of his neck. The skin was discolored and raised, a scar that had healed but would never fully disappear.

“Franz,” Sisi said. “What is this?” Instinctively she reached forward. She didn’t realize what she had done until it was too late—until her fingers touched the soft raised flesh on the back of his neck.

“Oh, this?” He stiffened, reaching his hand for the spot, grasping her fingers before she could retract them.

“You have a scar,” she said, now more preoccupied with the feel of his hand atop her own than the raised skin of his wound. They stared at one another, their hands still touching, his palm warm against hers. After a pause, he released her hand and she dropped it to her lap.

Flustered, she tried to clear her head and remember her question. “What is it from?”

Franz fingered the spot, his expression clouding over. “A would-be assassin.”

“Truly?” She gasped.

“A Hungarian, by the name of Libényi.”

“He . . . he tried to kill you?”

Franz nodded.

“How?”

“I was walking the walls in Vienna, examining the fortifications, when this Libényi came up behind me and stabbed me in the neck.”

Sisi put her hand to her own neck in a reflexive gesture. “Horrific,” she said.

“I was saved by two things. First, my uniform. The one you saw me in last night. It’s god-awfully heavy and unforgivably hot, but it’s sturdy. Sturdy enough that it protected against the blade.”

Sisi looked at the coat lying on the ground between them, the more casual riding coat. It was heavy, but nowhere near as heavy as the white uniform had appeared. Franz, sensing her thoughts, added: “I only ever wear this thing when I’m here. Back in Vienna, I wear the uniform every day. You’ll see. Things are very . . .
different . . .
in Vienna.”

Sisi couldn’t help but scowl at this curious remark, wondering what he meant by it. But she didn’t probe. Instead, she asked: “You said you were saved by two things. What’s the second?”

“My men. The loyalty of my men. They fought that Hungarian back.”

She nodded. “And thank God. But that sounds”—Sisi stammered—“horrendous.”

Franz sighed. “Mother was terribly shaken. It made her hate the entirety of Hungary even more. And she kept repeating that it showed the importance that I be married. Produce an heir. And soon.” Franz laughed, but not a lighthearted laugh. “In some ways, however, I was almost glad that it happened.”

“Glad?”

“To be wounded made me feel . . . I don’t know. More worthy. Like I could finally understand what all of the soldiers I command are facing. It makes me more like them.”

Sisi blinked heavily, turning her gaze on the pool of water beside them. “That’s one way to see it.”

“Ever since then, the imperial guard has been like my shadow.”

“Maybe it was unwise of us to lose them,” Sisi pointed out, looking around at the woods in which they sat, alone, with no sign of the bodyguards.

“I feel safe here. Don’t you?” Franz smiled, turning so that his upper body angled toward hers. “But you’re as pale as a ghost, Elisabeth. Did my story upset you?”

“It is horrific to think . . .” Sisi let her voice trail off.

“You are upset by the idea of me being hurt?” Franz’s eyes stared expectant, hopeful.

Sisi nodded. “Of course.”

Franz smiled, putting a hand softly on top of hers. She let it rest there, though she knew she should pull away.

“Then I’m doubly grateful it occurred,” he said, his voice quiet now. “It granted me the opportunity to win your sympathy.”

Not sure how to respond, Sisi merely sat beside him, thinking about this confession. And about how terrifying it would be to have people in the world who desired to kill you. What immeasurable pressure her cousin lived with.

Franz interrupted her troubled musings after several minutes. “Heavens, it’s hot.” He pulled his hand back from her to wipe his brow.

“Indeed,” Sisi agreed, her own head feeling fuzzy. She was not sure if it was from the heat and the exertion, or from something else entirely. From Franz. From the image of Helene’s face that kept passing before her mind. From her frenzied, frantic, confused thoughts.

“I’d like to go swimming,” Franz said suddenly, staring at the water.

“I’ll take Diamant and begin walking down the hill, if you’d like to swim,” Sisi offered, beginning to rise. “You can meet us on the trail.”

“No, no, no,” Franz shook his head, pressing his hand against her arm, holding her beside him.

She turned, her gaze flying to Franz’s hand where it held her. He dropped it, releasing her.

Sisi swallowed, speaking in a light tone. “Why not? Take a swim, you’ve earned it.”

Now Franz looked away, lifting a loose blade of grass and releasing it into the breeze. “This is the source of the drinking water. One is not supposed to bathe in it. It would taint the supply for the villages below.”

“Oh, I see. Yes, I suppose as the emperor, you aren’t able to be reckless. Perhaps you, of all people, ought to honor the rules.”

Franz thought about this a moment, plucking more grass from the carpet of green beneath them. His hands seemed restless, as did his thoughts. “What if we did decide to be reckless?” He posited, staring into her eyes once more with a new, alarming intensity. “What if we did the reckless thing? Didn’t think of the others first, but thought of what we wanted? If we did what was right for us, just you and me?”

And suddenly Franz was no longer talking about swimming in a spring.

“But we can’t,” Sisi answered, her reply barely a whisper.

“Why can’t we?”

“Because . . . you belong to your people.”
And you belong to Helene.
Her throat was dry, so scorched that all the water in this brook wouldn’t cool it down. “Your decisions aren’t just made for you. Or for me. They are for the empire.” What had her mother raised her on?
“One must do one’s duty.”
Her duty was to support Helene.

“Isn’t an emperor entitled to happiness?”

“Of course he is.”

“What’s the point of being emperor if I can’t have the one thing I most want? The one thing that will make me happy?” He stared, eyebrows knit, into the reflection of the small, smooth pool. Eventually, he slapped the ground and rose up, walking back toward his horse. Sisi guessed that their excursion was over.

They descended the hill in a strained silence, Franz’s mood clearly darkened. When they arrived back at the stables, Franz handed over the reins of his horse to a groom and left Sisi with a quick, “Excuse me, Cousin Elisabeth.”

“Thank you for the ride, Cousin Franz,” she called after his retreating figure.

He paused, glancing over his shoulder in her direction. “I shall see you at dinner, Elisabeth?”

“Yes.”

“Good. We are having a cotillion.” And now, his tone was laced with frustration. “A dance, in
my
honor. I turn twenty-three at midnight.”

“Oh,” Sisi said, “that’s right.”

Franz wavered. “Very well. Good-bye.”

With that, he turned and was gone, walking briskly across the courtyard, leaving Sisi in a troubled, confused silence.

Franz’s abrupt departure was as difficult to understand as his behavior had been all day. Why had Franz insisted on spending time with her, speaking to her in these vague insinuations and indecipherable declarations? What was the point of it? she wondered. It was maddening, the way he had allowed his fingers to graze her skin. The way he had smiled at her, affixing her with those light-blue eyes filled with—what was it? Hope? Affection? Why couldn’t he have saved all of these charming and quizzical looks for Helene, the one to whom he was betrothed?

It was like sitting before a grand table, a table laden with every delicacy she could have ever hoped for—smelling the sauces and anticipating the sweets—only to pick up her fork and be told she was not allowed to taste it.

Why did he have to be so maddeningly wonderful? So good to others? So handsome? So attentive to her? Her heart felt joyful, even giddy, when she recalled how his fingers had sought hers. How she had felt the soft skin on his neck.

What was worse was that she suspected that he felt the same for her. And that irrefutable realization gnawed at her, aching like a rotten tooth that evaded extraction, but from somewhere deep inside her.

She paced the courtyard, unwilling to reenter the house.
His
house. And her bedroom, which she shared with his fiancée. His fiancée, who happened to be her beloved sister. Helene, her closest confidante and only friend.

Helene. Sisi pitied Helene, and yet, she was furious with her sister. How could Helene be so carelessly cruel as to squander this, to not appreciate the unparalleled gift she had been given in being matched to Franz? Hadn’t her very disinterest paved the way for Sisi and Franz to find the affection that existed between them?
Oh, Helene, how I envy you! And yet, I hate myself for doing so.

She was also angry with Franz. She resented him for his reckless kindness and veiled remarks, when he knew full well that he would never be hers. Was he just toying with her for his own amusement? He, who could have any girl in all of Europe, was he just enjoying her as his latest conquest?

But underneath all of that, more potent than her anger toward Helene or Franz, there brewed a deep self-loathing that was directed at no one but herself. How could she have allowed herself to waltz so recklessly into this situation? To enjoy his kindnesses so much? To return his smiles, allowing them to turn into laughter? Why had she felt the need to speak up for her sister, and in doing so, to pull attention away from Helene? Why had she allowed herself to go riding with Franz, and worse, to enjoy it as much as she had? And how, oh how, had she allowed herself to fall in love with her sister’s fiancé?

V.

They look into one another’s eyes, a silent communication passing between them. Even after all the years, all the hurt taken and doled out between them, only the two of them can go through this. What awaits on the other side of the doors is something they must face together.