Boredom?

Buol, the Austrian ambassador to Britain, was deep in conversation with Disraeli.

"So, Your Excellency believes Prussia is a militaristic state?"

Not me—it's Her Majesty the Empress who sees it that way.

"Didn't you see what Prussia displayed at the Expo? Unlike what we might expect from an absolute monarchy, think back to those artworks they exhibited."

The star of the London Expo had undoubtedly been Krupp's steel cannons.

While Prussia's exhibits—steam engines, precision machinery, chemical products—focused on practicality, efficiency, and above all power, Austria had showcased Bohemian glassware adorned with Viennese craftsmanship, ornate glasswork, luxury furniture, musical instruments, emphasizing culture.

"Look at the Bohemian glass goblets we put on display. They're delicate art that couldn't survive even a single second without peace."

But putting it another way...

Austria has judged that it cannot defeat Prussia at present.

That was the takeaway.

"Wouldn't it be strategically advantageous for a powerful Prussian army to check both France and Russia right in the heart of the European continent?"

Disraeli's point was valid.

"What efforts must Austria make to invade the British mainland?"

"...Attack Gibraltar, I suppose."

"Is that realistic?"

A coastal navy that couldn't even escape the Mediterranean without Britain's permission.

"If they support nationalism as the Whigs claim, they're saying they'll hand Schleswig-Holstein to Prussia."

Buol was implying that Prussia's ironclads could sail straight from the North Sea to attack London.

"Denmark is the homeland of Archduchess Alexandra Wales. Her Majesty the Queen won't sit idly by."

Though they had only exchanged betrothal vows so far, Disraeli pointed it out.

"The British Empire can't declare war without Parliament's approval. And that Parliament is currently swarming with nationalists."

"But if they take Schleswig—"

Disraeli started to say nothing would change but thought better of it. Militarism inevitably led to imperialism. For an expanding nation, it was a given.

If they dredge canals deep enough for warships to pass through.

The Suez Canal was under construction.

Which meant Prussia could build a grand canal too.

A fleet emerging into the North ‍‍‌‌⁠⁠‌‍‍‌⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠‌‌‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Sea without Danish interference, clashing with Prussia's ironclad-dotted warships?

Buol, who had gone all-in on Sissi Coin to survive, was sowing seeds of distrust just as she wanted.

◇◇◇◆◇◇◇

"Your Majesty, a letter has arrived from Torcello Island."

Finally?

No way... she's not menopausal, is she?

Considering her age, it was possible.

It could be the dying gasp of Bourbon's last hope without an heir—or a miracle from God.

The Count of Chambord was nicknamed the Miracle Child, after all.

The moment I tore open the seal and unfolded the letter, my intuition kicked in.

Pregnancy.

If this thickness were ‍‍‌‌⁠⁠‌‍‍‌⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠‌‌‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠filled with curses, that would be scarier.

Thanks to the Lord • A miracle • The quickening • Blessings • Anxieties...

— Trembling script overflowing with excitement and emotion —

Sure enough, as I turned the first page, the stationery was covered in handwriting quivering with excitement and rapture.

A volume of letters rivaling the output of a god was now mine.

Henri V, once called the Miracle Child, had produced another miracle.

Perfect fodder for the French Catholic factions and legitimist royalists to go wild over.

"This news must not leak to anyone. Keep it secret until the birth."

If it's a princess, the backlash would be fierce too.

"Tell the Count of Chambord's retainers: absolutely no entry."

They'd meddle in everything, no doubt.

When a mother-to-be needs peace more than anything, those zealots would drag her to church without sleep under the guise of prayer, or push bizarre folk remedies to ensure a son.

With their hollowed-out royal house being the top priority.

Now, if only we could sort out the military...

Raising more taxes here would alienate the people, and funding it from just Joseph and me was absurd.

If history had played out as it should, you'd have lost your Black Sea fleet and become international laughingstocks! I stepped in to force a draw at best.

The saying was spot on: save a drowning man, and he'll demand your bundle.

Russia was blaming us for their own incompetence, using our late entry as an excuse.

Wasn't Hungary the same?

Hundreds of years ago, trembling in fear of the Ottoman Janissaries, they begged to hide under the Habsburg skirts.

But now that the Ottomans were the sick man of Europe, they rioted, calling us oppressors.

That's why you don't adopt black-haired beasts.

Of course, I didn't hate Hungarians like Hunyadi or Ferenc themselves.

It was the Magyar nobles lording over them and their sycophantic burghers I despised.

We're better on the inside, same as outsiders.

We defended Lombardy, got reparations from Sardinia after the Crimean War losses, so capital's flush—but diplomacy hasn't improved, and at that moment... we'd be just like them.

"Esterházy, what's the European situation these days?"

"Noisy over the Schleswig-Holstein issue."

Sigh.

All I really had was future knowledge.

"Let's return to Vienna."

"How much luggage shall we pack?"

"Just me."

The wet nurses were my people anyway.

Outside Vienna, Mother-in-law couldn't overhaul the children's education overnight.

Plus, with redevelopment in full swing, it wasn't healthy for the kids.

I needed to go to Vienna, dig through the original London Protocol of 1852—the aftermath of the First Schleswig War—and every diplomatic document from that era.

Don't rush. Piece it together like a puzzle.

Reverse Coffee Shop taught me: Schleswig-Holstein was Bismarck's diplomatic debut and the overture to Austria's downfall.

I wasn't a politics major or historian, but I had the results sheet.

The Russia issue was unexpected, though.

Still a long way to go.

"We've arrived, Your Majesty."

The empire's capital, the emperor's residence: Vienna.

Riding in the carriage, I peeked through the curtains at the outside.

The walls blocking the front of Hofburg Palace were gone, and the Ringstrasse was slowly taking shape.

Finally starting to look like the Vienna I knew.

"The park..."

"Your Majesty."

Got it.

I wanted to stroll with the kids in the park.

"What's that hideous box?"

"The site for the new opera house."

That's the opera house? It looked like a box submerged in water.

Opera houses usually serve as city landmarks, so they'd design the foundation high.

"Shall I summon the architect?"

"No, there must be a reason for designing it that way."

What did I know about architecture anyway?

I'd ask Joseph to add a fountain ‍‍‌‌⁠⁠‌‍‍‌⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠‌‌‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠at the entrance.

I didn't know building, but it did look bland for a landmark.

When the carriage reached the inner palace square, a military band played crisply, and soldiers in white uniforms saluted like razor blades.

The carriage halted, the door opened. I naturally awaited Joseph's firm hand to take mine.

But amid the welcoming crowd, Joseph was nowhere to be seen.

"Welcome to Vienna, Your Majesty."

Fanning my face to hide, I scanned beyond the parasols, but no sign of the emperor in uniform.

This had never happened before.

Joseph wouldn't not come for me.

Of course, I knew May was busy with military drills and admin.

But I hadn't shown up unannounced—I'd sent word ahead of my arrival, yet no welcome?

Hiding my unease and hurt behind the fan, I returned to the empress's apartments.

"Your Majesty, a bath first?"

Yes, wash up, then meet with Hübscher.

"Yes."

Heading to the bath, there were traces of Joseph.

Shiny copper pipes and faucets.

Because I loved baths, he'd splurged on plumbing renovations.

"Bring Ida's book."

The maids preparing the bath withdrew, and I turned the faucet.

Steaming water enveloped me in warm comfort.

Am I going crazy?

We were often apart before.

I hadn't left Joseph for just a day or two.

Hugging my knees, chin on them.

Thinking about it, it was odd.

Franz Joseph was a Sissi addict before he was emperor.

Whenever I left, he'd send daily letters begging to see me.

Even from the battlefield, asking after me.

Yet here I was, back in Vienna of my own accord, and not even a glimpse?