Revolutionary Era
Right after the Polish crisis wrapped up, the Elector of Saxony's extravagant display of loyalty spread not only through the Empire but across Europe.
It was essentially a monumental event where the Elector had sworn fealty to the King of Germany—short of actually kneeling.
First and foremost, the princes of the Holy Roman Empire now had concrete proof that the vague sense they'd felt was becoming reality.
The Electorate of Saxony had been one of the Empire's top powers for nearly two hundred years, and with Bavaria and the Palatinate fallen, it was unequivocally the Empire's third strongest.
To be precise, the Electorate of Hanover was also a contender, but it was backed by Britain, so it hardly counted as their own strength.
Even as third place, though, it meant nothing against juggernauts like Austria and Prussia—and now that was manifesting in stark reality.
Elector Augustus III of Saxony seemed dead serious; he summoned the surrounding nobles and threw a massive, over-the-top party.
"We must all follow the guidance of His Highness Franz Stefan!"
"Your Highness, do you really think we'll follow through on that?"
"Oh, you stubborn fools. Haven't you learned anything from Poland's partition? The Russian nobles who were trembling in fear folded their tails and rushed to negotiate the moment Prussian and Austrian forces arrived."
"So you're saying we should bow our heads preemptively if we don't want to get swept up in their overwhelming military might?"
The Elector of Saxony had no intention of going down in history as a mere defeated lackey cowed by Franz's power.
Bending that way might save his neck for now, but there was no guarantee things would stay the same in ten or twenty years.
He needed to unite not just as a subordinate, but as the leader of all nearby nobles—perhaps even as the captain of Franz Stefan's personal guard for the next generation of emperors. Only then would Franz have no choice but to keep Saxony indispensable.
Meanwhile, back in Prussia after another glorious victory, Friedrich's presence had reached an untouchable peak.
"Gaaah! Germanic blood is boiling!"
"With Prussia and Austria together, couldn't we conquer to the ends of the stars?"
"We've already beaten France and Russia—now Britain's the only one left?"
"Those seal-like Brits wouldn't dare set foot on land; they can't stop us."
The Junkers' happiness circuits had evolved beyond mere euphoria.
In their minds, they could already see themselves reigning as masters of the European continent alongside Friedrich.
"...It's all great, but there's one thing. Why hasn't Your Majesty married yet?"
Yet even in this perfect scenario, one anxiety lingered: Friedrich hadn't married, let alone secured an heir.
At twenty-eight, he could have had several children already, but he showed no interest in even wedding—leaving the nobles in a panic.
"Even in Austria, Archduchess Maria Theresa has borne three children and is now pregnant with a fourth..."
"They're all girls so far, but still, having daughters beats having none at all."
Several candidates for Prussian queen had been floated before, but Friedrich shot them all down without hesitation.
Something about not feeling attracted.
"Sigh... His standards are impossibly high, as perfect as he is. Does anyone know what kind of woman His Majesty prefers? We could pool our efforts to find her."
"The only women close to His Majesty are Princess Wilhelmine in Vienna now, and Archduchess Theresa, his chess rival?"
One was his own sister, the other a married woman... It was maddening that his few close female friends were utterly ineligible as queen candidates.
In their frustration, one Junker ventured a most delicate, embarrassing hypothesis.
"Uh... could it be... that His Majesty has no interest in women's bodies...?"
In other words, suspicions he preferred men.
But the Junkers dismissed it as baseless.
"I doubt it. If His Majesty favored men, there'd be favorites around him—rumors would spread like wildfire. But he doesn't keep any handsome men or pretty boys particularly close privately."
"True enough."
"Perhaps His Majesty is asexual? Something like that."
People without sexual attraction to anyone did exist, so it wouldn't be strange if Friedrich were one.
The problem was that he was the king of a nation needing an heir.
"If no one catches his eye, national interest comes first. If he does take a queen, which nation's woman do you think it should be?"
"Austria, obviously."
"Agreed."
"Who else?"
Junkers were the type to swallow what's sweet and spit out what's bitter as a way of life.
Just a few years ago, they'd called Austria a weak, corrupt Catholic backwater. But after stringing together victories together, it had morphed into a reliable, honorable ally.
The world was vast, and there were plenty of spoils to divvy up.
At the end of the day, wasn't it better for fellow German-speakers to band together and dominate the world than let total strangers take it?
For future conquests, someone needed to capture Friedrich's heart.
Ideally from Austria. Absolutely.
The same moment.
France. Paris.
"Your Majesty, complaints from the East India Company about British merchant ships' harassment growing daily are piling up."
"Those filthy scum. Showing their true colors at last."
Louis XV wasn't surprised at all to hear Austria and Prussia carving up Poland and turning the Electorate of Saxony into slaves.
After losing the last war to Austria and meeting Franz one-on-one, he'd known this sequence was inevitable.
The Holy Roman Empire would unify under Franz's grasp sooner or later.
This was just following the script.
The real issue was the English pirates baring their teeth now that they saw an opening.
"Did you summon their ambassador to protest?"
"Yes, but they just repeat that it's unfortunate accidents from inspections."
"Stuffed on nothing but sawdust, their brains have turned to parrots too. So, they've calculated that since the homeland crushed us against Austria, they can trample us freely now?"
"Your Majesty..."
This was playing right into Franz's predictions.
He might be disagreeable, but the man was rarely wrong.
Preying on the weak had become the European norm, but no nation despised the weak more than Britain.
And France being on that list was the ultimate humiliation for Louis XV and his nobles.
"The East India Company is just the start. Soon, similar incidents will erupt everywhere our colonies border theirs. Fleury, must I keep taking this lying down?"
"...Wasn't our secret pact with Austria to avoid exactly this?"
"Yes. But they left the timing to us. So I'm asking: how much longer do I endure?"
"Arming colonial troops with the new rifles will finish next year. The British are still researching them, so even then, they won't manage proper production."
The issue was funding, but Louis XV had countermeasures.
"Request noble cooperation. Tell them Britain's depredations are worsening—if we don't show them now, sugar supplies will take a long-term hit."
"Understood."
No French noble would smile and take Britain's 'what can you do about it?' attitude.
This was about pride, not just money.
"I'll write to the ambassador in Vienna... no, to Franz directly. Execution next year. We'll strike the English pirates in India and North America both."
As if to prove the Polish crisis wasn't the end, but the beginning.
The seeds of conflict had flown beyond Poland across the Atlantic, ready to sprout.
Though I'd smoothly wrapped up the Polish partition and returned to Vienna, my workload hadn't lightened.
For starters, I needed to finalize establishing the new principality centered on Poland's great nobles, and devise plans for exploiting the Elector of Saxony, who was rampaging to found my fan club.
Plus, with the fourth child—our first son, if my guess was right—Maria Theresa's delivery and the crown prince's birth would send ripples; that needed consideration too.
I received Louis XV's letter amid this tangled priority mess.
[...For these reasons, I believe I can honor our agreement next year. We'll attack the British in the colonies, so I trust you'll handle any fallout if things go awry.]
Holy crap, this is gonna be chaos.
I could already hear global maritime insurance premiums skyrocketing.
No matter how badly France had been trounced by Austria twice, it was still a powerhouse with real reserves.
We'd slyly sold them weapons and shells too, and with noble backing, tangling with Britain would be a breeze.
The world would reassess: France wasn't weak; Austria was just too strong.
Not a bad narrative shift.
Best of all, Louis XV kindly tipping the attack timing let me deploy another money-printing cheat key.
Hoard key supplies, regulate insurance inflows preemptively.
With money pits like upcoming projects lining up, maximizing war profits was crucial.
And soon after.
"Franz, did you summon us with utmost secrecy because you've made another new weapon?"
"No other nobles?"
"It's still experimental; once the frame solidifies, we'll hold a grand demo."
I brought my father-in-law and Theresa to the deepest lab in the Imperial Research Institute.
The spacious room held an absurdly massive marble pillar, tethered to twelve sturdy, heavy horses.
At my signal, coachmen drove the horses, slowly lifting the pillar via ropes before letting it thud back down.
My father-in-law and Theresa nodded nonchalantly at the sight.
Normally, shifting a pillar that size would've needed more horses and men.
"Now, allow me to show you a glimpse of the new era."
No sooner had I spoken than the coachmen unhitched, connecting to a massive steel machine draped in cloth.
Hiss-thud! Clank! Hiss-thud! Clank!
Rhythmic, powerful noise accompanied the giant wheels smoothly spinning.
The ropes tautened; the pillar that had strained twelve horses rose smoothly, steadily—far faster than the beasts could manage.
"Good heavens..."
"Incredible."
The Emperor's eyes bulged; Theresa covered her mouth.
"Still a prototype, not perfect, but it'll be ready next year. Then this Empire will transform beyond recognition."
"Next year..."
"Yes. Just as France and Britain start slugging it out in earnest."
While all eyes fixated on the Anglo-French clash, Austria would quietly undergo revolution.
Thus.
"Let others wage war; thou, happy Austria, spew forth steam!"