France Clashes with Catholic Forces and the Emperor, Rejects Sardinia's Demands
I held the letter from the Duchess of Metternich to the candle flame.
We'd pushed the Italian front forward in an instant, as if we'd never faltered.
The difference in commanders' abilities could create such stark results. No wonder they say the greatest enemy of our own forces is incompetent leadership.
"If we win, Milan will probably stay as is."
I casually asked Sophie Esterházy during a moment when we were alone.
"That's highly likely, Your Majesty."
"I don't really want to go to Milan, though."
Jesus might embrace even those who hate me with love, but that's not my style.
I'm the empress, not a saint.
Besides, while Milan's tax revenues were substantial, the costs of maintaining garrisons were steep with rebellions popping up so often.
Would Sardinia eventually side with Prussia and take Lombardy anyway? Bismarck wouldn't hand over all of Italy, that's for sure.
Who knows.
The one crucial thing is: we have to exclude Bosnia.
I have no interest in a future where I get shot in Sarajevo.
But... it doesn't look pretty on the map.
Exclude Lombardy from the Italian side and Bosnia from the Balkans? Then the empire's lower half would be too narrow, ruining the whole silhouette. Include it, and Bosnia isn't even valuable land.
To include or exclude—that is the question.
That's a problem for later. I need to discuss it with Joseph, who failed at Greater Germany.
"The Swiss account?"
"I've set it up as Your Majesty requested."
Later, I should slip some money to Ludwig to build him a castle.
I can't let my family end up under the Prussians.
Maybe give Maximilian a little something too... Thinking of Maximilian suddenly reminds me.
"I want to know the latest on Milan."
Venice quieted down after my visit, but Milan's been surprisingly calm?
I figured a rebellion would erupt during wartime, but it's dead silent. Did they all desert to Sardinia already?
"They cherish Archduke Maximilian."
True enough—he's a liberal at heart.
With such a good-natured, art-loving man ruling, it makes sense they'd stay quiet. Italians prefer romantic nobles over brutish soldiers.
Just like how they loved me in Venice.
Sophie Esterházy glanced at me.
"I'll prepare plans for a Milan tour."
I shook my head slightly.
"No, never mind."
I still hadn't forgotten the uproar at La Scala.
"Better to go to Venice with the emperor next time."
If we keep Lombardy, maybe Maximilian won't end up in Mexico?
Probably best to let him live happily there.
Knock, knock.
At that moment, a cheerful knock and voice came from beyond the office door.
"Mommy!"
"Sophie."
The door flew open, revealing wriggling little bundles of life.
"Gisela, Rudolf."
Sophie, ever the eldest, clutched the hands of Rudolf and Gisela, who had just started toddling unsteadily.
"Waa, ma!"
Rudolf, who could barely speak yet, grinned at me and stretched out his arms.
So cute—
The nannies hovered anxiously behind, fretting over every potential tumble.
I've got to play with them a lot while they're young.
Franz Joseph rushed straight to Prague without a moment to celebrate the victory.
'Your Majesty, labor has begun.'
He'd initially resisted going, but after Field Marshal Hess's advice, he set off for Prague.
There was nothing more to gain from this war anyway but money.
France wouldn't want Austria expanding its influence in Italy further.
"Your Majesty, please calm down."
Grüne spoke calmly to Franz Joseph, whose leg was jittering across from him.
The scenery blurred past the window like arrows, but to Franz Joseph, it felt slower than a snail's crawl.
"The empress has already given you three children."
It was a rough but solid reassurance—she'd done it three times before, so she'd be fine again.
But Franz Joseph rubbed his dry face and corrected him.
"Twice. Gisela and Rudolf were twins."
Grüne fell silent.
What did it matter if it was once or twice? The point was, she was crossing the brink of death again right now.
Franz Joseph's anxious gaze fixed on the hazy view beyond the carriage window.
The empire... and Sisi.
That was the entirety of the world for this rigid emperor.
Arriving in Prague late at night, Franz Joseph sought a carriage immediately.
"Straight to the carriage."
"Your Majesty, perhaps rest one night at a nearby inn—"
"Adjutant."
"I'll prepare it at once."
'He's still not over his anger.'
From Prague station, Franz Joseph rode straight to Prague Castle, where an eerie silence filled the air, stirring dread.
"Your Majesty?"
'Did something go wrong? The baby? Or Sisi?'
Forgetting all decorum, he bolted down the corridor to the bedroom where Sisi rested.
Spotting Joseph Schoda emerging after tidying up, Franz Joseph demanded,
"The empress?"
"She's fine, Your Majesty."
"Then the child?"
Schoda looked puzzled.
"Pardon? The child is healthy..."
"Then why is it so quiet?"
"Ah, the others are at the cathedral for Mass. Archduke Ferdinand himself ordered it—a thanksgiving Mass for the birth of the new archduke."
"Uncle?"
Franz Joseph let out a hollow chuckle in relief.
With his nephew's wife's labor coinciding, the old man had eagerly led the palace staff to the cathedral.
That explained the deathly hush in the castle.
'I think ten years just dropped off my lifespan from the shock.'
Franz Joseph patted his chest and cautiously opened the firmly shut bedroom door.
The maids, startled by the emperor's sudden arrival, hurriedly curtsied in Hofknicks.
"What's all the commotion?"
Sisi's voice came from beyond the canopy, and Franz Joseph parted it with relief.
"...Sisi."
There sat the empress, drinking beer.
"Yosha...? Why are you here...?"
'Shouldn't you be in Vienna right now?'
"Beer?"
Franz Joseph's voice cracked.
I wiped the foam from my lips with the back of my hand and replied nonchalantly.
"Thirsty. The doctors say nothing beats dark beer for restoring a mother's strength."
He stared at me blankly, then cleared his throat loudly and hastily straightened his rumpled uniform.
"Right... If you have the energy for beer, it must not have been serious."
That dumbstruck look earlier, and now scrambling for imperial dignity.
I tugged his hand, and he yielded weakly.
"Why are you sweating so much?"
I dabbed the beads on his forehead with a handkerchief from a maid and asked.
He replied shamelessly.
"It's hot in here."
"Why are your hands so clammy?"
"Too long on the train—the vibrations must still be lingering."
"Why are your eyes red-rimmed?"
"Dust got in them."
I couldn't help but snicker.
Stubborn to the end.
I pressed his trembling hand to my cheek and whispered,
"Sure, let's go with that."
"It is that."
The more I looked, the funnier it got.
As if recalling our promise to use casual speech, his words gradually shifted— like a clumsy sync-up.
"So, what about the war?"
At my question, he finally regained his emperor's bearing.
"We won. France refused to intervene, Sardinia backed down. A perfect victory."
"Victory report plus a son's birth—double celebration."
He'd been happy at Rudolf's birth too, but this was different. In an era of high infant mortality, having just one heir was the empire's biggest vulnerability. Now a second archduke.
"How about Ferdinand for the baby's name?"
"Perfect. Like your great-uncle—a kind man. It'll be a gift to the Bohemians too."
He nodded and approached the cradle.
A red bundle snoring softly in sleep.
He lifted the baby with even more care than with Rudolf.
"Son, on the day you were born, the whole empire whispered your name. Ferdinand."
"What do you mean? We just named him, and now the whole empire's whispering Ferdinand."
He gently laid the baby back in the cradle and replied,
"You and me."
Wow, shameless. He drew close and murmured my name cautiously.
"Sisi."
"What?"
He seemed about to speak, then hesitated endlessly.
When would he cure that chronic habit?
As I sipped my beer and waited, he finally spoke.
"What if we stop having children now?"
Did I hear that right?
"Yosha."
"Rudolf and Ferdinand—two sturdy sons to lead the empire. You've fulfilled your duty."
He met my eyes squarely, resolute.
"I love our children, but I won't risk losing you for more. What I want isn't the mother of my children—it's my wife, Sisi."
Ouch, my hand won't uncurl.
"Strange hearing that from the man who always stressed the emperor's duties. You've even forgotten casual speech."
I set my beer mug on the side table.
Then, right before his gaze, I held out my open hand.
My duty's done, huh?
Meeting his eyes, I slowly folded my fingers one by one and whispered,
"Hungary, Galicia, Venetia, Dalmatia—"
His gaze followed my fingers, mesmerized.
"Croatia, Tyrol, Transylvania."
Seven.
I unclenched my fist and wiggled seven fingers lightly before his eyes.
"What does that mean?"
You can see it plain as day? Asking anyway, even though he knows.
"Seven means let's have seven more. One archduke per crown."