Ja, ich will - Reprise
'A steamy bathroom with mist rising from the bath, the male lead covered in sweat and dust as he enters, and the female lead embracing him in the tub, soaked to the skin.'
I tossed out the joke pretending to be nonchalant, but honestly, my heart wasn't nearly that bold.
When Franz Joseph was out of sight, I'd pout like a child from sheer disappointment, but the moment I saw him fretting over me, my heart would melt away like snow in spring.
Were we really still going through these childish little reassurance rituals after eight years of marriage?
"Boredom..."
I stared quietly at my reflection in the mirror.
What if he stops loving me this passionately someday? What if, once I become too familiar, he starts feeling friendship instead of love? What would I do then?
Flowers wilt eventually, and beauty doesn't last forever.
They say a pretty face lasts a year, a great figure three years, and a good personality ten. Honestly, after more than eight years, even the prettiest face has been "worn out."
I'm still beautiful, sure, but what more could I offer Franz Joseph?
Cooking?
No way I could outdo the palace chefs.
Cleaning?
That'd just steal some servant's job. In the 21st century, picking up trash might be a virtue, but not here.
If he wanted politics, he'd talk to his ministers, not me.
The more I thought about it, the more hollow it felt. Am I seriously left with just this body?
Looking back, yeah, that was it. Whenever I wanted something, I'd tell Franz Joseph, and he'd listen quietly without a word.
Even with my knowledge of the future, my foundation was always his love.
Was there any guarantee I wouldn't end up like Russia's Empress Maria—bearing eight children to fulfill my duty, only to wither away old and sick?
I'd thought beating Mother-in-law was all it took.
But what if Franz Joseph was mistaking his sense of deprivation for love, like the other-timeline me?
He dies in 1916 at 86. I'd be 78 or 79 then.
I had to make sure he needed me right up to the end.
It felt like my wrinkled, distant-future self was asking from beyond the mirror.
Will you still be guarding the empress's throne then?
If so, how will you hold onto it?
Will he still love you?
"Baron Hübner requests an audience."
Esterházy's voice snapped me out of my reverie.
"Send him in."
I gathered my scattered thoughts and slipped back into the cold mask of an empress.
"Your Majesty."
"What I requested?"
"The original London Protocol."
I pored over the articles meticulously.
Article 3 seemed the most promising, at least.
It explicitly declared that the rights and obligations of Holstein and Lauenburg, established between Denmark and the German Confederation, would remain unchanged.
But declaring war over this? The other powers wouldn't just sit idly by.
"Baron, from this alone, I can't see why the March Ordinance caused such a stir."
"Because they can't annex Schleswig alone."
Tell me more.
"Schleswig and Holstein were pledged by the London Treaty to remain united forever. Stating that the German Confederation's rights are preserved means hands off their union."
So, the ordinance tried to split off Holstein—full of Germans—violating the treaty.
What cards can I play right now?
Russia's busy with the Polish uprising, Queen Victoria leans pro-Prussian, Eugénie is an enemy state regardless of personal ties.
It was like a feast laid out on a silver platter.
Denmark breaking international promises by annexing just Schleswig? Perfect bait for Bismarck.
Diplomacy was ideal, but once their constitution passed, only military action remained.
"Even if it escalates to war, we can't back out."
Is this the stress Franz Joseph deals with every day?
I handed the protocol back to Hübner with a wave.
"I'll withdraw now."
How do I handle this?
Three years. Too soon. With industrialization just ramping up, no guarantee we'd win militarily.
After the Crimean War, Franz Joseph seemed to have learned something—he was pushing hard on industry now...
Even after Baron Hübner left, the stiff paper texture of the London Protocol lingered on my fingertips.
History's wheel rolled mercilessly toward the Schleswig-Holstein mud pit.
Denmark's arrogance clashing with Bismarck's greed, on the verge of explosion.
"Sissi."
I turned at the familiar voice.
"Yosha? What brings you here at this hour...?"
"Evening looks busy, so I came to keep my promise now."
All those calculations faded before his blind tenderness.
Sure, it might've started for power.
Winning his heart was my survival back then.
Nine years ago, the girl in that strange, glamorous wedding dress was gone.
The me who'd learned etiquette under Esterházy, who'd needed him to beat my mother-in-law—gone too.
If that were all, I'd have stopped seeking him after claiming the empress palace.
After Rudolf, I'd fulfilled my duties as empress. Strip away the excuses—survival, obligation, investment for the future—and only raw truth remained.
I'm crazy about you too.
"For our ninth anniversary, shall we go hunting together?"
"Bad Ischl?"
"Anywhere."
"I'll clear this weekend."
"Didn't you say you're busy?"
"Weekends are free."
Liar.
Sundays he did paperwork except for morning mass and family dinner.
Did he think I didn't know what every palace servant knew?
"I like that answer."
I rose with his escort.
"But not now—summer vacation instead."
Can't during this critical time.
"Sissi."
"Why?"
"...Gladly, then. Ich liebend gern."
"I love you. Ich liebe dich."
"...What brought that on?"
He cleared his throat and looked away, but didn't loosen his grip on my hand.
"Was it that hard to say?"
If he'd meant "got it," it'd be Ja or Gern.
He deliberately chose a phrase with Liebe.
"You're terrible at lying, Yosha."
How'd I fall for this emotionally clumsy man?
I'm an easy woman, after all.
That thought had barely crossed my mind when—
Clink.
The sound of plate meeting fork shattered the mood.
I'd just taken one spoonful of soup.
"......"
Across from me, Franz Joseph's plate was spotless.
He dabbed his mouth with a napkin, looking satisfied.
Wait, hold on—my soup? I'd barely started.
The footman reached for my plate.
"Hey."
As he froze, I quickly spoke up.
"I haven't finished."
"Your Majesty, since His Majesty the Emperor has concluded his meal..."
I glared at Franz Joseph, clutching my plate.
We'd just been in full romantic mode.
Where'd my sweet whisperer go? Why's some stern army uncle sitting there?
This wasn't Hofkapelle time.
Franz Joseph paused mid-chair-push, looking awkward.
"...Ah."
Ah?
"You're not about to scold me for gaining weight, are you?"
"Dismissed. Wait until the Empress finishes."
The footman retreated at the Emperor's command.
"Weight? No such thing. You're too thin—it's worrying."
Hmph.
Smooth talker.
I resumed my soup.
But his piercing gaze lingered.
Jobless Franz Joseph, staring only at me.
"It's overwhelming."
"Hm?"
"Can't swallow bread with you watching like a drill sergeant."
This wasn't boot camp.
He looked wronged.
"Watching? I just think you look beautiful eating."
"Liar."
"The truth."
Enough.
I set down my spoon.
"I'm done."
"Already? You barely ate half."
"How can I with you supervising?"
His dejected look reminded me of Franzi, who couldn't ride for months during my pregnancy.
Can't give in to that face.
I wiped my mouth, forcing composure.
"Haven't started work yet, right?"
I knew full well.
Under my insistent stare, he finally stood and offered his hand.
"Let's walk."
We headed to the garden behind the Hofburg Palace.
The Burgergarten, strictly off-limits to the public.
High walls and iron fences blocked all outside eyes.
Even guards turned their backs at the gate—this was Vienna's one place to shed our Emperor and Empress masks.
I instinctively straightened my posture, widening my stride.
A few steps of marching ahead, skirts swishing like always.
Then the steady click of boot heels behind me—I froze.
Turning, Franz Joseph stood awkwardly.
Hands behind back, rigid as a military review.
"......"
"......"
We stared for a moment.
At the table, he was too fast; on the walk, I was too fast.
Don't we match at all?
A laugh slipped out.
"Why laugh, Sissi?"
"Just... thinking how different we are."
I backtracked to his side, grabbed his clasped arm, and hooked it through mine.
We walked again, this time sneaking glances at each other's feet to match pace.
"We'll adjust like this, bit by bit. We vowed it, remember?"
"We did."
In joy or sorrow, health or sickness.
One step, another. Feet bound together, even if uncomfortable.
"Sissi."
"You love me?"
He curved his lips at my tease.
"While I'm away at the monarchs' conference, will you act as regent for me?"