The Madwoman of Miramare

I tried every method I could think of to treat the raving Charlotte.

"Get that away. I know it's poisoned."

I ate a piece of the peach right in front of her.

"See? I'm fine. You try some too, Charlotte."

"…You've taken the antidote already."

"What?"

She curled up in the corner of the dining table, laughing hysterically.

"Napoleon, that devil, must have given you the antidote first! He's only trying to kill me—just me!"

Don't get angry. Charlotte's a patient, Charlotte's a patient…

"Charlotte, we're in Miramare. Napoleon's in Paris."

"No, no! His spies are disguised as cooks. That fruit just now—they poisoned the knife. Yours is fine, but mine's laced with poison!"

She knocked the fork out of my hand.

Clang—

At the sound of the fork rolling across the floor, Charlotte screamed and covered her ears.

"I don't want to die, I don't want to die… Max is coming. The Emperor of Mexico is coming to get me!"

Haa.

I looked down at the peach slices scattered on the floor and let out a deep sigh.

"Königseck."

"Yes, Your Majesty."

"You have holy water ready, right?"

"I'll prepare it right away."

Yes, time to whip up some fake antidote even if we don't have any.

I sprinkled holy water on the fruit in front of me.

"See me adding the antidote?"

I placed it on Charlotte's plate, but she refused it all the same.

Haa.

If she won't even trust the antidote, what will she trust…

She has to eat something to stay alive.

"Find out from the cook what she's eaten so far and what she's refused."

A little later, Königseck returned with a troubled look, bringing the head chef.

"Your Majesty, it's…"

The chef hesitated, unable to speak.

"It's fine, just tell me. Has Charlotte touched anything?"

"Yesterday… she ate eggs laid by the chickens from the gardener."

"Egg dishes?"

"No. Raw ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠eggs."

Raw eggs? And she was trembling like that to eat those?

"Then bring two eggs."

"Two, Your Majesty?"

The chef looked flustered and asked again, but Königseck's eyes standing behind me sharpened instantly.

"How long have you worked here?"

Oh… Königseck. That was kinda cool just now. Where did my sweet head lady-in-waiting go?

Even if it's tiring, she gets hazard pay for dealing with Charlotte. I raised her salary for exactly that reason.

The chef apologized profusely and went to fetch the eggs.

"Where's the original chef?"

"She stepped away temporarily to care for the lady's confinement."

Ah, maternity leave.

In the 19th century…?

A different cook from before brought two eggs on a plate.

"These shells aren't cracked. No one's poked them with a needle. Right?"

Charlotte carefully picked up one egg and held it to the light.

I picked up the remaining one.

"Alright, let's eat together."

Without hesitation, I cracked the top of the egg with a tap, peeled back a bit of shell, tilted my head back, and swallowed the raw egg whole.

Fishy, but a familiar slide down the throat.

"Mmm, fresh."

It's been a while.

I used to eat them a lot for throat care back in the day.

Only then did Charlotte seem reassured and gulp down her egg greedily.

"It's… delicious…"

…It's not delicious, though.

Some eat them to get pretty, others to survive.

Different goals, but two empresses swallowing raw eggs.

What a farce.

*

With me around, Charlotte seemed to at least nibble at other foods too.

Not much, but even one bite is progress.

"It's ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠been a while."

"Queen Henriette."

Was this our first formal meeting?

I rose from my seat to greet her.

Her face showed the fatigue of a long journey and deep worry for her sister-in-law Charlotte.

"You've had a hard trip. Charlotte just fell asleep."

"…Thank you. I was so worried hearing she wouldn't eat anything, but I heard she took what Your Majesty offered."

"Just raw eggs and fruit."

"Anything that keeps her alive is a blessing."

I'd kept this far-traveled guest standing too long.

"Wouldn't you like to rest? Shall I have a meal prepared?"

"No, a cup of hot tea will suffice."

We left Charlotte's bedroom and moved to the drawing room.

"…Beautiful even at night."

"It's even more stunning in the daylight."

The Adriatic Sea was as beautiful as ever.

If only Maximilian had lived here ordinarily.

"How long do you plan to stay, Your Majesty?"

"Not long."

Mother collapsed upon hearing of Maximilian's death and is still bedridden.

Joseph seemed more depressed than expected, even if he saw it coming—I needed to be by his side.

"What responsibility does Austria intend to hold Mexico to?"

What a question.

"Even republicans like Hugo and Garibaldi campaigned to save the archduke."

That's why Mother collapsed.

There was a sliver of hope he'd return alive. I knew better, though.

"They've isolated themselves already. I don't see the need ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠for us to do anything."

Soon Africa—a much closer new frontier—would emerge, but would Europe care about America across the Atlantic?

"Belgium will never forget this humiliation and sorrow. We're neutral, but we'll remember France's hypocrisy well."

"I'll keep that in mind."

No matter what Leopold II gets up to later, Belgium turning from France right now is nothing but good for us.

She's even offering to get mad on our behalf.

If Belgium—cousin to Britain's Queen Victoria—distrusts France, British public opinion won't be friendly toward them either.

I returned to Vienna the next day.

This place feels more depressing than Miramare.

The Hofburg had completely lost its former vibrancy.

"Your Majesty, you've arrived."

"How are the Emperor and Archduchess?"

"His Majesty hasn't left his office for three days and nights. Her Highness the Archduchess remains bedridden without improvement."

Outside, sister-in-law's gone mad; inside, mother-in-law's collapsed; husband fled into workaholism.

Family's running great.

I worried the kids might catch this gloom too.

Gisela and Ferdinand aside, the young ones are delicate.

"First, prepare the archdukes and archduchesses to depart for Prague tomorrow."

Better to isolate them here.

Sending them to Uncle Ferdinand is wiser now. Aunt dotes on kids; she'll care for them well.

Next, to Mother's room.

The corridor usually bustling with officials and nobles was deserted.

When I opened the door, Mother had withered unrecognizably in just days.

Curtains drawn, she sat in the dark room clutching only Maximilian's belongings.

"Mother."

The iron lady once called the empire's only man was gone—only a mother grieving her son remained.

"You're here."

Her cracked voice was something I'd never imagined hearing from her.

"Did you leave Charlotte… in Miramare?"

"Yes. The Queen of Belgium arrived. She'll recover there for a while."

"…I raised her like that. Raising her unlike a ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Habsburg… this is the result."

"It's not your fault, Mother. Maximilian followed his convictions and remained an emperor to the end."

"Emperor-like—what use is such honor?"

If she'd raised him Habsburg-style, as Mother said… he might still be alive.

The Habsburgs ruled Europe for centuries not by winning wars.

They lost the most, in fact. But we acknowledged defeat, compromised, endured shame, and survived most tenaciously. No wonder they say Venus chose the Habsburgs over Mars.

Maximilian paid with his life for not learning that survival.

"Mother. Mexico was Maximilian's burden. But Vienna still has an empire for you to protect through your remaining son. Joseph's… struggling so much."

I gently took her frail hand.

Just as a faint light seemed to return to her eyes—

"Your Majesty, a letter from Belgium."

A letter from Belgium—why bring it to me?

"Read it."

Mother said so, and I tore open the envelope to scan the contents.

"That crazy bastard."

Truly beyond imagination—utter trash.

"Elisabeth."

The vulgar slip escaped me. Mother sighed and gave up immediately.

"What does it say to rile you so?" A few weeks ago, she'd have lectured for an hour.

Forget that—what do I even say to this?

Sister-in-law's locked in a castle, raving mad; brother-in-law executed, body not even recovered yet—and their immediate response is a letter demanding "give us my sister's stuff"?

It almost made insane Charlotte seem sane.

"…We need to protect Charlotte ourselves."

"Didn't the Queen of Belgium say she'd take her?"

Sending her to those lunatics? No way.