Rosy Cheeks and the Drums of War
“Mommy!”
Sophie’s voice rang out, drawing my gaze. Who are you, and what have you done with my daughter? The nursemaid looked mortified, clutching the hem of her dress that was about to burst at the seams.
“Sophie.”
Is this what a granddaughter looks like after visiting Grandma’s? She looked like she’d roll right down the hall if she tripped.
The nursemaid approached cautiously and asked me, “Your Majesty, there are no clothes that fit Archduchess Sophie.”
Ah, so that’s it…
“I suppose you didn’t put a corset on her.”
It’s called a corset, but really, it’s just a cotton vest—like an undergarment hanger to keep her bloomers and stockings from slipping down.
“Well, the corset doesn’t fit either…”
I eyed Sophie’s plump, rosy cheeks. She hadn’t been this chubby when we left Vienna.
“The two Majesties…”
The nursemaid trailed off. For those two, who’d lived in childless silence their whole lives, how adorable must this little girl have been—looking just like Joseph? They’d probably stuffed her with every delicacy and sweet from Prague.
I sighed at the corset strings dangling uselessly in the air.
“Hehe, Mommy. Here.”
Sophie held out her tiny hand. A half-melted candy was stuck gooeyly to her palm.
“Grandpa gave it to me.”
Of course, Grandpa was the culprit.
Sophie stretched her short arm and popped the candy into my mouth.
“Aigoo, look at those sticky hands.”
I sighed but took her sticky little fingers and wiped them clean with my handkerchief. We had mass at St. Vitus Cathedral this afternoon anyway.
“No time to call the seamstress.”
The maids nodded in unison. Mass was right around the corner. Measuring and altering now would take until sunset.
“Dress her in something loose today.”
“But Your Majesty, protocol…”
“Any other options?”
I poked Sophie’s soft tummy. She burst into giggles and rolled around, delighted. Sophie, you think this is funny. Mommy’s head hurts. Still, she looked healthier than when we were in Vienna—thank goodness. Under the Archduchess’s strict rules and diet, she’d never have gotten this plump and willful. Kids should be a little chubby and free-spirited like this.
“Actually, perfect. Dress her in a loose Bohemian-style gown. One with Bohemian embroidery on the sleeves.”
“There are a few among the gifts we received.”
“And don’t tie her hair too tightly—let it flow naturally.”
As they changed Sophie’s clothes, I began preparing too. Standing before the mirror, the maids held up outfits one by one.
“How about the new blue silk gown?”
It was pretty, but not for today. If it’s in the papers, war is basically a done deal…
“Wear the black velvet.”
Sophie Esterházy-Lichtenstein bowed her head at once. “Understood.”
Sophie beamed innocently in her loose gown, representing Bohemia. I had to symbolize the Empire.
Another maid brought the jewelry box. I selected the garnet necklace. Bohemian garnet. I held the red gems against the black velvet dress. Pale skin, black fabric, red garnets—the stark contrast was striking.
Honestly, I look good in anything.
“Let’s go.”
*
Prague’s streets were already thronged with crowds. I peeked through the carriage curtains, and a roar erupted.
“Long live Her Majesty the Empress!”
“Long live Archduchess Sophie!”
The Bohemians were ecstatic. Unlike Vienna’s stiff, arrogant nobles, these people were rougher but more passionate.
I’d seated Sophie by the window on purpose.
“Look! See the gown on Archduchess Sophie!”
“That’s our Bohemian embroidery!”
“Heavens, she’s dressed like a Prague girl!”
Mission accomplished. The baggy dress, thrown on to hide her chub, looked to the citizens like the court respecting their culture.
Sophie, loving the cheers, waved out the window.
“Mommy, people are yelling.”
“Yeah, they like you, Sophie.”
“Me? Why?”
I tickled her side and whispered, “Because you’re cute.”
The carriage followed the Vltava River up the hill to Prague Castle’s third courtyard. Beyond it loomed the soaring Gothic spires of St. Vitus Cathedral, piercing the sky.
The carriage halted, and a footman opened the door. I took a deep breath, grasped Sophie’s hand, and stepped down. The black velvet hem pooled softly on the stone pavement, and the red garnet necklace glowed blood-red in the sunlight.
For a moment, silence fell. The innocent child beside the empress on the brink of war—we made quite the contrast, leaving a deep impression, I hoped.
“Oh, she’s here! My niece-in-law!”
A cheerful voice shattered the solemnity. Beside my uncle stood his guardian and wife, Empress Maria Anna, with a kind smile. As I curtsied, Ferdinand clapped like a child.
“Pretty, so pretty. My Sisi looks pretty today too. But why the black? Like a crow.”
“Nandl, mind your dignity.”
Anna gently reined him in, but Ferdinand ignored her and approached Sophie.
“Sophie! Did you eat the candy?”
“Yes! It was yummy!”
“Right? Want more?”
As he rummaged in his pockets, the footmen panicked and tried to intervene. I shot them a look to stop.
Right now, what the Prague citizens wanted wasn’t a rigid court—it was a human family.
“Uncle, if you give it after mass, she’ll be even happier.”
“Oh, right? Mass? Yes, mass. We must greet the Lord.”
Ferdinand nodded, then awkwardly took my hand and led me inside. “Come on. I saved good seats.”
Inside the cathedral, rainbow light poured through the massive stained glass. The pipe organ’s majestic tones echoed.
I clasped my hands, closed my eyes, and murmured Latin prayers piously. The priest’s voice droned low and steady.
Like fifth-period math right after lunch.
And I got what Uncle meant by “good seats.” Plush velvet cushions and warm sunlight pouring on my back.
“Ma… Mommy.”
Sophie shook me. I’ll never get used to this.
“Mommy, mass is over…”
Already? A quick glance showed everyone pretending to pray, waiting for me to leave.
“I must’ve prayed too fervently, worrying about your papa, Sophie.”
Can’t admit to napping in front of the kid.
*
We’ve been staring each other down for over four months now. In that time, my belly’s grown too big to hide.
Papers in London, Berlin, St. Petersburg were losing interest, pretending not to care. Not fighting? Whatever.
Austria was basically choking to death. No matter how we fudged taxes, the empire’s size was no match.
“Your Majesty, report from Vienna.”
The documents Sophie Esterházy-Lichtenstein handed me detailed this month’s revenues. Honestly, our tax system was a mess.
Gate duties, salt monopolies squeezing the poor, while Bohemia and Lombardy bore the brunt. Nobles dodged everything, admin costs leaked everywhere. Empire reality.
Fix this, or even autonomy won’t stop tax revolts.
“Doesn’t Her Majesty know about this?”
“She does. But…”
“Just say it.”
“Vienna’s nobles feel the court’s sun shines only on the fringes.”
In other words, Vienna’s nobles were sulking, making tax reform tricky. Pandora’s box someday.
A knock, and the door opened. A maid rushed in and whispered, “Your Majesty, war has begun.”
That’s not the important part.
“Who crossed the Ticino first?”
Who crossed the Rubicon first?
“…Sardinia.”
We’d endured their provocations, insults, border standoffs until our blood ran cold. All for this moment.
We won. Britain wants Italian unity but not French dominance. Prussia hates outside help in victory. Russia and the Ottomans are dying.
Just keep Joseph from commanding personally… after Solferino’s horrors in Crimea.
“Chief lady-in-waiting. The list I prepared last time?”
“All ready as Your Majesty commanded.”
I was about to say go ahead when—
“Your Majesty! You’re in your ninth month!”
Have the maids been around me too long? I hadn’t said a word.
Of course it was a lie. Tending the people while pregnant is crucial. It’s all image. Superstars like me have a duty to fans.
Sophie Esterházy-Lichtenstein and the maids rarely opposed me, but not on this.
“…Fine. What if I just sit nearby?”
“Your Majesty…”
They’d say I’d managed fine before, so why wander pregnant now? But then and now are different.
“Everyone in the empire knows of Your Majesty’s pregnancy.”
True. The empress secluded in Bohemia was an open secret; even papers hinted at it. Few didn’t know.
As I stayed silent, Sophie Esterházy-Lichtenstein offered a compromise.
“…How about using Prague Castle’s banquet hall?”
“Banquet hall?”
“Yes, Your Majesty. Serve the meal you prepared there.”
Then where do I sit?
“With a tent to show only your silhouette, the people will know it’s you.”
“Good. Sophie Esterházy-Lichtenstein, as you say.”
She sighed in relief and dismissed the maids.
“Your Majesty, you called me that in Venice too. At court, only titles exist.”
Ah. Not relief about the plan—my etiquette slip again.
It happens.
“Haven’t we grown close? When can I use your name? I already call the reading lady by hers.”
I pouted unwittingly.
“The reader’s role is for that. If—if the day comes I can’t serve you, then hear it.”
Fire her now, and I could use her name?