Chapter 63
Chapter 63
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Translator: Wjin
Chapter: 063
Chapter Title: Habsburg-Lorraine (2)
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After Friedrich rose to become Prussia's de facto supreme leader, the kingdom's political landscape was completely reorganized around him.
The Prussian nobility—the Junkers—already knew full well who held the real power, and Friedrich didn't have particularly bad relations with them either.
The Junkers took note of this young king's genius for military affairs.
Their influence stemmed uniformly from land. Vast estates, bountiful agricultural yields. They always welcomed territorial expansion without question or complaint.
They didn't outright block commerce and industry, but their unwavering belief was that rents must always take precedence over commercial income.
Thus, a king specialized in warfare was nothing short of a blessing to them.
"Once His Highness Friedrich ascends the throne, our territories will expand even further, right?"
"Of course. It's clear as day from how he crushed France this time."
"With direct shipping down the Rhine now possible, grain exports will get a real boost too. The only thing left is expansion within the German sphere... but whether the other principalities will stand by and watch is the real question."
"That's why His Highness joined hands with Austria, isn't it? I don't think it's a bad move."
As the recent negotiations had revealed, Austria was undoubtedly aiming to extend its influence toward northern Italy.
Allowing Prussia access to the Rhine and essentially endorsing the swallowing of the Duchy of Berg were proof enough.
"If Austria pushes into northern Italy and the Adriatic, while we take northern Germany, it could be an ideal coexistence. Not bad at all."
"Exactly. Sure, we might one day clash over who truly rules the Empire, but that's a problem for the future."
Even if they ended up fighting tooth and nail decades from now, none of the Junkers in this room would be around anymore. Why worry about things after they're gone?
All they wanted was more land and more revenue.
Therefore, the passing of that frail king who had been bedridden held little significance to them.
To men who had transformed into the very incarnation of a warrior race, a king who couldn't move was simply unnecessary.
No need to add that Wilhelm's reputation among the Junkers had been scraping the bottom of the barrel even in everyday life.
"It's astonishing—no one's even mourning."
Now the late king, Wilhelm had breathed his last. In accordance with custom, high-ranking generals and physicians examined the cause of death. His body was thoroughly washed and placed in a coffin.
As per his final will, a six-week mourning period would now begin. But not even six hours had passed, and already there was no sign of anyone grieving.
Even his own children weren't shedding tears; they were complaining that six weeks was too long. One could only imagine how outsiders felt.
Friedrich let out a sigh as he looked at his sister, who seemed utterly unperturbed.
"Did His Majesty say anything to you in private before he passed, Sister?"
"Nope."
"Me neither. Honestly, I didn't expect him to go so soon."
"Yeah. He always acted so tough when he was alone."
Friedrich Wilhelm, King of Prussia and Elector of Brandenburg, had lived a life of eccentricities, and even his death baffled everyone.
"The physician said His Majesty suffered from extreme anxiety. Was it that severe, even before I returned?"
"Yeah. He threw massive tantrums, convinced you might march your army in and seize the palace. Trembling in fear and anxiety every day—who could endure that?"
"Even if he intended to pass the throne to me, he wouldn't make it that obvious... He must have been beyond rational judgment."
Wilhelm's absence from Friedrich's triumphal procession wasn't mere reluctance; he physically couldn't appear.
Tormented by paranoid delusions that his son would usurp the throne, he was already far from normal—and in no state to face the public.
A man once so feared and hated had met such a pathetic end.
Yet Friedrich couldn't bring himself to laugh in triumph. Relief mingled with bitterness, leaving a strange lump in his throat.
Wilhelmina gave her brother a wry smile as she met his gaze.
"What, still sad because he's your father, blood and all?"
"Sad? Not a single tear. If he'd apologized even once, I might have said I was sorry too. But that's impossible now."
"Better to focus on the future. Of course, I believe you'll do far better than Father. I won't see much of it myself, heading to Vienna soon."
"Life in Vienna won't be so bad. Oh, right—is today the day?"
The very day Prussia marked the end of an era with solemn proceedings, Austria—coincidentally—celebrated the dawn of a new one.
The wedding of Franz Stefan and Maria Theresa.
Friedrich rose and gazed out the window.
Once he ascended the throne, trips to Vienna would become even harder.
If not for these events, he might have rushed there himself to offer congratulations. It was a shame he couldn't.
"Still, we'll have plenty of reasons to cooperate ahead."
To unify the Empire and bring France and Britain to their knees, Prussia needed Austria, and Austria needed Prussia.
This war had already proven the immense power they wielded together.
He already felt omnipotent, as if all Europe knelt at his feet.
The future held no worries for him. ◇◇◇◆◇◇◇ People might marry twice in life, but how many marry the same person in the same place twice?
Until the proposal, it had just felt like getting remarried. But on the wedding day itself, my eyes snapped open at the crack of dawn.
Common perception paints royal weddings as chaotic, extravagant spectacles that leave the couple exhausted. And that's spot on.
Habsburg weddings were infamous as full-package affairs cramming the ceremony, banquet, ball, and bedding ritual into 17 grueling hours.
The day's schedule kicked off just past 6 a.m.
Admittedly early, but Theresa was already ramrod straight in the chapel, tense as a coiled spring.
"Theresa, get any sleep?"
"Huh? Me? Yeah, tons. Slept like a rock."
"Really? You'd think you'd be nervous. Strong heart, huh?"
"Ah, not that I had zero expectations or anything..."
The confessor droned on about marriage and the transmission of life, but we let it go in one ear and out the other, chatting idly.
Afterward, she changed into something lighter, and I donned morning banquet attire. We enjoyed breakfast with the imperial couple.
"To think the little child is already getting married... Time flies."
"Theresa, learn well at Franz's side."
"Yes, yes. We'll be happy, so don't worry. It's not like marriage means going anywhere—we'll still see you around the palace."
The Empress's eyes brimmed with concern over whether she'd manage, but Theresa brushed it off nonchalantly—was it bravado or genuine confidence?
Until lunchtime, we observed the wedding rehearsal, signed the marriage contract, and affixed seals under privy council witnesses.
But it wasn't over.
Next came the grand change into full wedding garb.
A massive diamond tiara, the lion ruby brooch symbolizing Lorraine, even the famed French-Austrian stylist Bertin overseeing it all.
Vivid memories from decades ago resurfaced, making my nose tingle inexplicably.
Soon, she emerged in her dress, the picture of a perfect bride just before the procession began.
"How do I look? Good?"
Seeing her beam with the world's happiest smile, I repeated the words I'd once told her.
"I thought an angel had descended. You're the most beautiful in the world."
"Really? Franz, you're the handsomest too."
I felt the others nearby stifling chuckles, but whatever.
That's what these days are for—enduring the lovey-dovey talk to savor the wedding properly.
Even in my past life, their closeness reportedly turned servants' stomachs at times. This round would be worse; they'd better brace themselves.
"Well then, shall we?"
"Yes~!"
Church bells rang out, and a hundred-gun salute split the sky.
We, the world's happiest bride and groom, paraded through cheering streets.
After waving to the packed crowds lining the way, we returned to the palace. The clock had already ticked past 7 p.m.
Theresa looked a bit weary, but regrettably, the evening schedule was only just beginning.
The night was still young—and long. ◇◇◇◆◇◇◇ Shedding the heavy dress weighing on her shoulders and slipping into light robes finally let her breathe easy.
Theresa steadied her breathing in front of the mirror.
The evening banquet had been fine, but the ball? She couldn't even remember how she'd gotten through it.
Not from fatigue.
"Ugh... What do I do? The bedding's right around the corner."
The climax of any royal wedding—the bedding procession—was nearly upon her.
Theresa's heart raced so fiercely she feared it might burst.
"Calm down, calm down. If I look tense here, Franz really will treat me like a kid."
She'd prepared thoroughly with Anna's help for exactly this.
She knew this was her once-in-a-lifetime moment and opportunity.
"Franz is too kind, but he still sees me as a child. I can feel it."
If she didn't captivate him with mature allure now, shaking that "kid" label could take ages.
Thus, she had her perfect strategy ready.
[Kisses: Don't overdo it. Eagerness alone can lead to teeth-clacking disasters.]
[Too passive, and he'll feel awkward. If he's not that experienced, a little female initiative can seize control.]
"Okay, okay. Calm. Stay composed."
Thorough investigations—via servants' testimonies—confirmed Franz lacked experience here too.
He'd never strayed to other women, always buried in work or exercising in his spare time. No room for such pursuits.
Right—seize the reins with mature poise.
Steeling herself, Theresa headed to the bedroom.
Clergy, close kin, and maids trailed her to the entrance.
"Then, Your Highness Theresa. We pray blessings upon the imperial house and take our leave."
Once the maids parted the bed curtains, confirmed the couple entered, and lit just three candles, the entourage withdrew.
Her prior research said these three symbolized faith, hope, and love.
Unlike the Habsburgs, the French Bourbons reportedly watched consummation and publicized births—utter madness.
Anyway, she slipped into bed and reviewed her final notes.
"Theresa, I'll just tidy my robe and be right back."
"...Huh? Uh, yeah! No rush... take your time..."
Oh no. Franz didn't seem tense at all?
Or was he manfully hiding it? Yeah, that must be it.
At least sinking into the plush bed washed away the day's fatigue.
As her consciousness blurred, Theresa closed her eyes briefly.
Turning to Franz, returned from his robes, she crossed her legs in her sultriest practiced pose, gazing languidly.
Rehearsals had flopped, but now it flowed naturally. Was she the type strong in the clutch, not practice?
"...Th-Th-Th Theresa?"
"Shh! My little kitten, Franz. Don't tense up. I'll take care of everything."
Approaching his rigidly tense form, she embraced him naturally, leading him to bed.
It was perfect.
As if it were all a dream. ◇◇◇◆◇◇◇ "Snore... mmm, Franz. Hehe, come here."
I'd run through countless scenarios, but this? Beyond imagination. And impressive.
Returning from tidying my robe, there was Theresa—passed out cold, mumbling in her sleep, buried in the bed.
Fair enough; 17 hours of tension would knock anyone out flat upon hitting the sheets.
I approached to tuck her in properly for better rest.
"Hm? What's this?"
A small notebook lay by her head. I hadn't meant to peek, but the contents jumped out.
[How to Kiss Well]
[Seizing Control on Wedding Night]
...She'd studied, in her own way.
"Better pretend I didn't see this, right?"
Wondering her reaction tomorrow, I considered waking her—but she smiled so blissfully. Let her be.
Dream on, wielding that longed-for control to your heart's content.
In a way, wouldn't this make for a far more memorable first night than some clumsy reality?
I sat on the bed, watching her sleeping face until the flickering candles burned low.