Joseph's Test of Patience
Franz Joseph was racking his brains over the empire's myriad problems.
When I unfold the map, to the north there's ambitious Prussia, to the south a blazing Sardinia, to the east that crooked Hungary, and when I open the treasury, nothing but dust flies out.
Hungary was still refusing to pay taxes, and even trying to borrow a loan from Britain was futile—Britain was dissatisfied with Austria's political system.
The mere fact that Sissi had been personally invited to the British Expo was a special circumstance.
Fortunately, we're holding out on reparations for now... but the only option left is for Sissi to win Britain's favor.
Franz Joseph decided to curtail Bach's authority.
At least until they secured a loan from Britain, it was better to show some liberal leanings.
He rang the bell to summon Grüne.
"Grüne, summon the interior minister."
"Your Majesty, but the liberals will run riot."
"I know. However, right now Britain's pounds are more desperate than their discord."
If we could borrow from Russia, we would have already. Franz Joseph set aside goals he couldn't achieve right now.
To him, there was one thing slightly more important.
The fact that he still hadn't received permission for union from Sissi.
Unlike in Vienna, even after the purification rite, Sissi was lounging around in just a thin chemise under her gown.
Damn it, I'm the emperor, yet I can't even have marital relations freely.
The rite was complete, so religious hurdles were cleared.
Looking at Sissi's complexion, she seemed eager to set off on a trip right away—physical conditions were met too.
But.
"Grüne. Summon the court physician."
"Is something troubling you?"
Grüne's eyes were filled with genuine concern.
A man whose loyalty was unmatched in the empire.
Which made him all the more frustrating.
Franz Joseph swallowed his rising ire with effort.
"Not my physician—Schoda. Bring the empress's physician at once."
"Understood. I'll fetch him immediately."
This stoic general merely nodded, unlike last time when he'd read the letter.
It was the duty of a closest aide not to pry into private matters.
"...Just go already."
As Grüne left the room, Franz Joseph let out a deep sigh.
"Talking to a wall would be better."
Moments later, Joseph Schoda entered, and Franz Joseph took a brief respite.
"Physician, one question. How much longer must it be impossible?"
Schoda had anticipated the question and prepared his answer.
"Your Majesty. Medically and by imperial law, at least 100 days must pass."
"It wasn't a difficult birth like last time, and the empress seems to have nearly regained her strength already."
"Judging by appearances alone is dangerous. She may look fine on the outside, but the source of life has not fully healed."
In the end, it was just another "don't."
How much longer, exactly? As if reading Franz Joseph's thoughts, Schoda specified the period.
"You must have patience for at least two months."
"Didn't you say returning to Vienna is possible now?"
"If you wish, you could depart even today."
He thought returning to Vienna now might be better.
At least she wouldn't be wandering the room in just a chemise.
Franz Joseph failed to gain permission for union today as well.
After finishing his duties, he opened the bedroom door. Sissi was propping her chin on the table, gazing out the window.
The chair she sat on was a recent fad from Vienna's cafés.
A skeletal frame without heavy mahogany or lavish velvet cushions.
He had dismissed it as a plaything for commoners.
That eyesore... can look like that too.
Through the open back of the chair, her waistline was starkly visible above the chemise.
Every time Sissi languidly twisted her body, the chair's curves merged with hers in perfect harmony.
Damn it.
Franz Joseph rubbed his dry face, recalling Schoda's warning.
But the visual stimulation was overwhelmingly intense.
Tap, tap.
Even the rhythm of her tapping the table felt like a seductive melody tempting him.
That chair is too obscene. Order it removed from the palace immediately...
The moment Franz Joseph moved to ban Thonet's chairs.
"Your Majesty? You're here?"
Sensing his presence, Sissi turned slightly to look at him.
"This chair is more comfortable than I thought. It's light and sturdy—I'm thinking of entering it in the London Expo."
As she smiled faintly and rose, the thin fabric slipped down smoothly.
Franz Joseph clenched his teeth.
"...Glad it's comfortable."
He hid his cracking voice and clasped his hands behind his back sternly.
Her slender shoulders, narrow waist. The hair flowing along her body, and that drowsy, free-spirited expression.
It was the purest form of Sissi that he cherished and yearned for so deeply.
Unaware or perhaps aware of his feelings, she beamed innocently and picked up an object from the table.
"Do you know what this is?"
"What is it?"
A thick paper rolled into two cones, connected by string.
Sissi handed him one cone and stepped back until the string was taut.
"Put it to your ear."
Clueless, Franz Joseph cautiously pressed the cone to his ear.
She whispered into her cone from afar.
"I missed you, Yosha."
The vibration traveled along the string, tickling his ear.
A vivid echo, as if she were nibbling his earlobe while whispering.
This is torture. The cruelest torture in the world.
Franz Joseph couldn't set down the cone and took a step forward.
One step, two steps.
As he approached, the string slackened and touched the floor.
Her voice no longer carried, but it didn't matter.
Now he was close enough to feel her breath.
"We're this close, and you want me to just listen to your voice."
"...What do you mean?"
When did I say just listen to your voice...?
Sissi started to protest innocently, but shut her mouth at his gaze.
...Is she a bit cute?
She caught on to why he was acting this way.
Sissi gently raised her hand and cupped the cheek of the Franz Joseph looking down at her.
"The physician said no only to that."
Sissi pulled his neck slightly and pressed her lips to his.
A light smack as their lips parted.
"Husbands and wives don't have to join bodies to share love."
And once more, Sissi and Franz Joseph's lips met.
"Mmph..."
Unlike the first light kiss, a deep indulgence, tongues entwining as they savored each other's breaths.
The room filled only with their ragged breathing.
Franz Joseph wrapped his arms around Sissi's waist.
The warmth and soft texture transmitted through the thin fabric.
"Nngh..."
The sound leaking from between Sissi's lips stimulated him further.
"Haa..."
Ending the heated kiss, the two caught their breaths.
St. Petersburg, Russia—at the Prussian embassy.
The Prussian ambassador to Russia tossed logs into the fireplace while cursing the Junkers.
"Damn it all, a second term? It's a demotion, nothing less."
The Junkers in Berlin feared him.
He'd smoked cigars right in the faces of Austrians at the Frankfurt Federal Assembly or hurled insults—afraid he'd cause trouble, they shipped him off to Russia.
They hoped he'd hunt bears in this frozen wasteland, drown in vodka, and rot away quietly.
But he had no such intentions.
"Your Excellency, a dispatch from Berlin."
The secretary timidly entered and placed a bundle of papers on the desk.
The ambassador downed a potent mix of champagne and stout in one gulp.
Tch. What Prussia needs now isn't iron and blood, or ink and pens.
He picked up the papers and checked the contents.
Austrian Emperor: High likelihood of coronation in Prague.
"Ha! Look at this."
He let out a hollow laugh.
The Austrians have put their heads together nicely.
St. Petersburg high society was abuzz with praise for Austria.
Emperor Joseph who kept faith without betrayal, and the empress who made him do so.
Thanks to them, Russia-Austria relations were tighter than ever.
On the surface.
But unlike the Russian nobles, the ambassador sensed the subtle discontent the Tsar and Tsarina harbored toward the Kaisers.
The dead speak no words, but they rule the living's emotions.
He wiped the liquor from his lips with the back of his hand, eyes gleaming.
Austria had sided with Russia in the Crimean War, but the timing was subtly late.
That moment's hesitation lingered as a spark of betrayal in the prideful Russian royals.
And now this card in his hand: the Prague coronation.
It would make a fine bellows.
"Secretary."
"Yes, Your Excellency."
Bismarck stubbed out his cigar in the ashtray.
"Set up a meeting with Foreign Minister Gorchakov tomorrow evening. Even if we have to pretend it's a chance encounter at the hunting grounds."
"On what pretext?"
"To convey Prussia's concerns over the Austrian emperor donning the Bohemian crown."
He sank deep into the chairback, hit upon a fine idea to sow discord between Austria and Russia.
"If the Kaiser holds a coronation in Prague, it's a gesture embracing the Czechs—Slavs—after Hungary. For the empire's stability, sure, but from our Prussian view as Germans, it's perfect to decry as abandoning German identity."
"Indeed. We can narrow Austria's position in the German Confederation."
"Fool. That's basic."
The ambassador clicked his tongue in frustration.
"The key is Russia. They believe they're protectors of all Slavs. Yet the Austrian emperor crowns himself with St. Wenceslas's crown—a Slavic one—and claims lordship over Slavs?"
It looked like the ultimate opportunity.
"From the Tsar's perspective, it could seem like an invasion of his sacred domain. Dare the Habsburgs play overlord to Slavs? Whisper that, and mixed with resentment toward the late emperor, we'll get a delicious reaction."
He took up his pen again and wrote a reply to Berlin.
Prague coronation signals Austria's departure from the Confederation. Will reveal the truth throughout the German Confederation. Here, will stoke the Tsar's wrath.
The man smiled in satisfaction and refilled his empty glass.
"Time to repay the humiliation of Olmütz."