Façade
'How about calling a few people and chatting over a game of billiards?'
Franz Joseph didn't reject Sisi's suggestion outright.
It was an offer to open up conversation using the loose rules of billiards.
A pretty plausible idea.
Card games require hiding your hand and masking your expressions, making it hard to draw out true feelings.
And as long as you don't disrupt someone else's turn too much, any remark is allowed.
'Not a bad idea. At least we'll be tacitly talking to each other.'
The council had made it clear last time.
'Words don't get through.'
They were stuck on the fundamental issue of even deciding the language.
"Grüne."
Franz Joseph handed him a list of names.
"Select one representative from each kingdom and send out invitations."
'I've invited them to a salon, so they won't go wild with cue sticks.'
Austria's Baron Schmerling.
Hungary's Count Andrássy.
Bohemia's Count Clam-Martinitz.
Galicia's Count Goluchowski.
Croatia's Baron Skochibic.
"For Lombardy, invite Alessandro Rossi of the Lanificio Rossi."
"Rossi... you mean? He's not nobility. It wouldn't be proper."
Grüne reflexively questioned calling a commoner—a merchant at that—to represent a kingdom.
"We can't invite the ones agitating for independence."
'Someone from Venice friendly to Sisi, mostly stays in Schio.'
He'd even sent high-quality wool as a gift for Adriana's first birthday.
"And this is a salon, not a council. What does status matter?"
There was only one reason for Grüne's confusion.
'His Majesty... hosting a social gathering himself.'
The biggest reason Vienna's nobles gossiped about the empress was her complete lack of social activities. In truth, the emperor was the same.
Neither liked socializing, nor dealing with crowds.
If Sisi wanted private meetings on her travels,
Franz Joseph handled them through audiences.
Their temperaments might seem opposites, but they shared the same flaw in the end.
Just as Grüne was about to send the invitations.
"Your Majesty, urgent dispatch."
Franz Joseph set down his pen and looked up.
"Speak."
Grüne's face darkened as he took the telegram.
"A wire from St. Petersburg."
'From Russia?'
"Crown Prince Nikolai Alexandrovich passed away while recuperating in Nice, France."
"The crown prince? What was the cause?"
"Exacerbation of a chronic illness. Pulmonary tuberculosis."
The crown prince's death was no ordinary passing.
'If he'd ascended, relations might have improved. A pity.'
That hope was gone now.
The next in line, Alexander, was already known as far more conservative and strongly nationalist.
"Pulmonary tuberculosis..."
Franz Joseph recalled why Sisi had gone to Madeira for her health.
"Grüne, pass on to the physicians to monitor the empress's health even more closely."
"Schoda, you've been through a lot."
"It's only my duty as a subject."
I thought something major had exploded when all the palace physicians suddenly swarmed in.
Who knew one word from Franz Joseph would summon every doctor in the palace?
"I didn't know you had experience treating tuberculosis, Schoda."
"Tuberculosis isn't treated. Early detection and management are the best approach."
Following Schoda's instructions, I repeatedly breathed in and out.
Schoda packed up his stethoscope and declared,
"Your lungs are clear. Perfectly healthy."
Right? I've been exercising so hard lately.
"His Majesty worries about me too much."
With the crown prince's death from TB, he'd be extra sensitive.
The other countries would be the same.
Especially tuberculosis—they even called it the White Plague, comparing it to the Black Death.
"Your Majesty, but your intestinal movements seem a bit slow. I recommend increasing your portions."
I was in the middle of slimming down for social events, and he could spot even that detail.
"Understood. I'll keep it in mind."
Once the physicians withdrew, I called for Königseck.
"Tell me about the condolence delegation."
"Archduke Albrecht will represent the imperial family, accompanied by the Chief of Staff."
Appropriate enough.
But was it okay for Albrecht and Yun to leave together right now?
Deep down, I'd love to go myself like in Paris last time...
Funeral diplomacy was practically a men's social club.
"Wipe off the makeup and redo it."
If I ran into the Russian ambassador, I'd need a handkerchief ready.
Come to think of it, Nikolai was only twenty-one this year... six years younger than me.
I'd heard he was incredibly tall and sturdy.
"Will Denmark's Princess Dagmar return home?"
"Hard to say. Rumors say the crown prince, right before his end, wished to pair his brother Grand Duke Alexander with Princess Dagmar... The Tsar doted on her greatly too."
Marrying the brother right after her fiancé's death. I'd never exchanged words with her, but it felt a bit pitiful.
I looked in the mirror and removed the ornate jewelry one by one.
'Marriage might actually work out better.' Still, I had to consider how far this union could go.
Bertie's wife Alexandra was fragile-hearted, and even Bertie was paralyzed under Queen Victoria's glare.
But Dagmar?
She could instill anti-Prussian feelings.
Considering the timing of the Russo-French alliance, her anti-German sentiment would factor in too.
It might even be easier to pull the absolutist Tsar to our side than Britain's royals.
'The problem is we'll inevitably clash with Russia over the Balkans...'
"Ida, I need to write to Princess Dagmar."
Holding Italy meant prioritizing the wealthier Italians over the Balkans.
'If only that idiot Napoleon weren't in the picture.'
Austria was naturally in the coalition and hated him, but... had Bismarck stayed quiet?
'Pick me as your target!' He'd courted us aggressively.
Upon hearing the sorrowful news of my cousin from Nice, I was unable to take up my pen for some time.
The death of Crown Prince Nikolai is a sorrow beyond one family—a void left across all of Europe. But above all, I will not forget that it is the loss of the prince as an individual. The world always rushes to the next thing, but grief has no order or deadline.
I pray you do not lose your health, and that even in sorrow, you do not blame yourself.
And finally, one last line. This line, hoping Dagmar and I might grow close.
Just as spring inevitably follows winter, spring will come even to stolen fields. Until then, may we be warmth for each other.
— [Elisabeth]
Our winter was Prussia, Bismarck.
Austria might face winter soon too.
But... the moment Alexandra and Dagmar became empresses,
We could reclaim spring.
"Buried in Sardinian soil... how peculiar."
She was originally set to marry the Sardinian prince.
"Nice is French territory."
Huh? It was annexed after intervening in '59. And we beat Sardinia because France didn't join the war.
"The transfer was finalized yesterday."
Königseck nodded to Ida, who brought yesterday's newspaper.
Savoy was the birthplace of the Sardinian royal House of Savoy.
Selling the Papal States wasn't enough—they sold that too?
Like the Habsburgs selling the Capuchins or the Bourbons selling Saint-Denis.
A reason to sell ancestral graves and family names for cash.
Not just war prep.
Selling their lineage's soul to unify Italy.
With that much money moving... likely buying breech-loading rifles and artillery.
And only one nation could satisfy both.
'Prussia and Sardinia have a secret pact.'
No other answer fit.
But what had they seen?
What in the Prussian army's first demonstration made them sell their lineage?
I had no clue alone.
"Right, I must've been too tired yesterday and didn't hear properly."
I forced my usual serene expression.
"Tell Latour I want to hear right now how he'll educate the crown prince."
If it's a field I don't know, just call in an expert.
