Je T'aime.

XXXV. A Smoking Pistol

My mother always awoke early in the morning, nearly rising with the dawn as if she herself pulled the sun from his slumber tucked in the horizon. Almost as soon as she woke she prayed, then for coffee before her morning government briefing. My father, being named officially but not practically as ruler in some places, was required to attend, yawning with bags under his eyes.

Some days, when the mood struck me, I would attend one of these briefings with all of mother's officials and advisors. I was not allowed to join the general assembly on the floor, but I watched from a small balcony usually meant for the Empress Consort, whose position had been empty for nearly twenty years. My mother sat on her gold-plated throne, the imperial crown atop her head and robes of state draped around her shoulders. It was always a great sight to see my mother there in the highest position, the only woman in the room.

To her right, a little below her, was my father. He rested his cheekbone against his fist, fighting against oncoming sleep. Scribbling notes to her left was Crown Prince Joseph. As per usual during a time of war, the first matters of business were updates on military campaigns and pressing matters of treaty. For five years now the first matter of business had been war.

Then after war came internal affairs, then imperial affairs, then international relations. The meeting itself usually took about three hours, but it was scarcely eight o'clock when the meeting adjourned. Another would be held after luncheon, then another before my mother retired to bed.

I began to leave the room just after the meeting concluded, coming down the stairs to depart with the politicians and noblemen, talking amongst themselves and shuffling papers. Joseph left with his friend Ernest, a budding imperial advisor, discussing something about the governorship of the Austrian territory in the Netherlands. Just as I was about to leave my mother called for me. "Mimi, dear."

"Yes, Mama?" I replied.

A slight smile crossed my mother's face, which I knew meant this was not a serious matter. "The weather seems to be cheering up. What do you say about a carriage ride? And do invite Isabella."

My mother, Isabella, Eleanore, and I began to load into a topless carriage on the south side of the palace grounds. Once we were settled, the coachman said, "A tour of the gardens, Your Majesty?"

"Ah, yes," replied my mother, "then to the street on the western side. Over a few blocks and then back through the gardens."

"Very well, Your Majesty."

The coach rocked a little as François propped himself onto the back of the carriage. "Oh, Lieutenant," beckoned my mother, "You don't have to come along."

François adjusted his crossbelt and replied, "Where the Crown Princess needs protection I follow, Madame. That was my specific instruction from the King of France."

My mother smiled. "Very well, then. Off, Haas."

"Yes, Your Majesty."

The carriage began to roll through the paths of the garden, travelling under arches of brambles where the roses would grow once spring fully arrived. Though the plants were starting to slowly awaken- bits of green poked through the brown death of winter everywhere.

"So, Isabella," my mother began, "I met with your uncle and his wife. Very kind man."

A smile spread across Isabella's face. "He is, isn't he? I missed him."

My mother raised an eyebrow. "He said you can throw quite the party."

Isabella chuckled shyly. "Yes... I suppose so. We had a great time."

My mother leaned over and placed her hand atop Isabella's. "I'm glad. I used to be quite fond of parties in my day. It truly is a blessing that you can put life back into this court. You are a breath of fresh air."