Shadows Lifted from Miramare

I pasted the telegram into my diary for the stage direction.

Just try pulling that Congo scam, Leopold. I'll dump all the info I've gathered on you.

I'll make sure you can't even lift your head in Europe.

"Your Majesty, London has notified us that, to confirm ownership of assets protected under British law, they will dispatch a neutral investigative team to Miramare Castle."

Finally making a move, huh?

"And about Belgium's claim of mental incapacity?"

"To verify that, the British royal physician will accompany them."

"Send a reply to Britain. The Austrian court always welcomes transparency and cordially invites the British team to Miramare."

With this, Leopold's kidnapping plot is dead in the water.

Belgium won't dare try anything with the British investigators watching like hawks at Miramare.

*

During a walk with Joseph, I brought up the British matter.

"Yosha, I'll go there myself."

"You?"

"If you go, it'll be a diplomatic issue."

"Sounds like you're telling me to receive that delegation."

"Can't I?"

I widened my eyes as innocently as possible and locked gazes with Joseph.

"... Do you have to go?"

"What's wrong?"

"If the deposit at the Bank of England is already done, their visit is just a formality."

... Busted.

Britain, who didn't even help their daughter-in-law's homeland, would never indulge a cousin throwing a tantrum over some money. Protecting that massive capital is far more important to them.

Joseph walked slowly.

"When will you come back?"

"I'll return as soon as it's over."

Joseph looked like he had a lot to say, but as always, he seemed to be swallowing it down.

"Don't just bottle it up—ask if you have something to say."

I waited for Joseph to speak.

One step, another.

Joseph and I kept walking forward.

"Sissi."

"Yes."

Silence fell again.

He always avoided eye contact when getting real.

"... You've never liked the Archduchess even once. So why go this far?"

"How so?"

"I can't understand why you're pushing protocol and ceremony—the things you hate most—to keep her from going to Belgium."

I don't fully get it myself.

Human hearts aren't one-dimensional, but...

"Our personalities just don't mesh."

Joseph and I have to live together, so we make concessions, but Charlotte doesn't.

"Never liked her, but never hated her either."

We'd just bicker whenever we crossed paths.

There's that saying about familiarity ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠breeding contempt, but thinking of Charlotte suffering persecution in Belgium... it didn't sit right with me.

I stopped walking.

"That's all there is to it."

Joseph didn't press further after hearing my answer.

We resumed our slow walk.

"Sissi."

"Yes."

"Don't push yourself."

I swallowed a smile that slipped out at his cautious concern.

"Got it."

*

The real reason I insisted on coming to Miramare myself was, of course...

"Knew you'd do this."

The open, castle-floating-on-the-sea vibe of Miramare was gone, replaced by a closed-off asylum feel.

Belgium's up to some fun games.

Since when had those thick curtains been hung there?

The air inside the castle reeked of medicine, untouched by any ventilation.

The key to acting is understanding the set first.

Lighting, spatial density, prop placement, movement lines—all of it.

Without that, even perfect acting falls flat.

Those third-rate directors are hell-bent on embalming Charlotte as a depressed lunatic.

Fat chance.

Can't disappoint the British audience with a letdown from Austria, the home of art.

First, the rug on the floor.

It muffled footsteps completely—no presence detected.

Nice touch.

Nothing spooks an anxiety patient like silent approaching footsteps.

"Königseck, no human warmth here."

Königseck immediately ordered the servants.

"Remove the carpets."

The servants rolled up the thick carpets from the floor.

I walked the same path again.

Click, clack.

My heels echoed clearly down the hall with each step.

Now it feels lived-in.

I pointed my fan at the heavy curtains.

A maid pulled them back, revealing the sea Maximilian loved at a glance.

"Windows too."

Fresh sea breeze poured in.

People need fresh air.

Postpartum depression has its reasons.

As I tidied one thing at a time, a Belgian attendant approached.

"Your Majesty, the Archduchess requires absolute rest."

Odd.

"Königseck, did I receive greetings?"

Königseck didn't hesitate.

"No, Your Majesty."

I glanced over the Belgian attendant and turned back to the window.

I ignored him and passed by.

"Still smells of medicine. Violet... no, strong citrus would be better."

Lily's quickest to erase odors, but too funeral-like.

Lavender's calming but screams convalescence...

The servants mopped the floors with lemon and orange peel infusions, placing bergamot oil extractors everywhere.

A sharp, refreshing scent and the sea view in full.

Isn't this why people come to Miramare?

"Empress Elisabeth."

"Queen Henriette, long time no see."

Wondered when she'd come down amid all the fuss.

I lightly gripped my fan and sized her up.

Married off to Belgium like merchandise in a political match, crushed by bone-deep merchant Leopold II, they say.

Rumors she's closer to him than I was to Joseph ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠in our early newlywed days.

Count of Flanders fidgeted like he was on pins and needles.

Situation assessed.

Just Leopold II's orders.

"Miramare's air was too stale, so I aired it out on my own. And the Count's servants didn't fit court protocol, so I sent them back."

"... If the lady of Miramare chooses so, a guest merely follows."

This is Belgium? No, my turf.

(Though if I went to Belgium, it'd be my turf too.)

"Thanks for understanding."

Only one place left to go.

"Charlotte."

"Elisabeth."

She lay limp and listless.

I raised a hand to stop the approaching servants and maids, handling it myself.

I flung open the curtains.

"Beautiful weather today—the blue sea looks stunning."

Charlotte pulled the covers over her head like avoiding the light.

How many days have they left her like this?

I yanked the blanket off and swept the bedsheet.

Whew, like my blanket back when I lived alone.

I replaced it with the one Königseck handed me. Charlotte curled into a ball in the bed's corner, glaring at me.

"After I shared sunny-side-up eggs with you."

Repaying kindness like this.

I bickered with Charlotte as usual.

I picked up the dusty comb from the small vanity.

"Belgian maids can't even brush properly, huh. Though you chased them out 'cause you couldn't trust them."

Charlotte stayed silent.

"What's with this mess? Giving up the empress act today?"

"It's not acting. I am an empress."

"Right, I'm an empress, you're an empress."

"That wasn't Maximilian."

Charlotte had seen Maximilian's body with her own eyes.

The Novara brought it to Trieste harbor.

It was so gruesome, Joseph had the coffin sealed so Mother wouldn't see, proceeding straight to the funeral.

"Everyone out. I'm fine."

Now just Charlotte and me in the room.

"Elisabeth, no one wants to be alone with me."

"Doubt you'll scare me off."

"... Not what I meant."

I brushed it off casually and lay on the bed.

"British are coming soon."

"... So?"

"Then you'll choose: go to Belgium and wait for Maximilian, or stay here and wait."

Seeing me lounging comfortably, Charlotte tossed out her usual jab.

"... You're still not empress-like."

"You saying that now?"

Here I am helping you.

At least today's easier.

Her usual outbursts made even talking this hard.

"Even if you pick Belgium, don't worry. I'll rescue you through Bertie."

"Don't call another man like that."

"Max too—"

"Don't call him Max."

"You call him Yosha."

Charlotte looked like she was forcing down her anger.

... But you know I'm on your side.

Leopold II read the telegram.

As an empress with many children, she seemed the domestic type, so he hadn't asked Victoria.

Instead, he tried the Prince of Wales, but got rejected.

'Doesn't the Empress Elisabeth have her own thoughts, cousin?'

He hadn't known Bertie preferred hanging out with like-minded Sissi over his shady, calculating cousin.

'We need colonies to avoid peeking at other nations' eyes.'

His idiotic parliament and people didn't grasp his grand vision.

"Your Majesty, a letter from the Austrian Empress."

As Leopold read the letter, contempt made his mustache quiver.

'That Habsburg ornament...!'

Leopold ground his teeth as if to crush them, but could do nothing else.