Maria Theresa

Belle rolled off of Adam and threw off the covers that embraced her. Immediately she felt the chill, and shivered as the cold air nipped at her naked body. The fire had died, there was not even a candle lit in the room, and although the moonlight coming in through the window – the curtain was not drawn – mitigated that, it gave no warmth.

She wrapped herself in her red velvet dressing gown as she got to her feet, and slipped said feet into her slippers.

"Belle?" Adam asked.

Belle did not answer him as she walked across the bedroom to the little table that sat beside the door.

The magic mirror rested there.

It was wrought in silver, with lines of metal criss-crossing up the handle towards the mirror itself, with a fleur de lis embossed upon the back. A beast's head, or at least its upper jaw, sat at the top of the handle, obscuring just a little of the glass.

It retained its magic. It was the only thing in the castle that had done so when the curse was broken. Everything else had returned to the way that it was meant to be – Adam had become a man, Cogsworth, Lumiere, Mrs Potts, they had all regained their humanity, and all the darkness had been banished from the castle. Even the gargoyles had been transformed to shining angels.

But this mirror, this enchanted mirror that had for so long been Adam's only window on the world, that remained as magical as it had ever been.

Adam had given it to her, on the day that the curse had been broken, but Belle had brought it with her into Adam's room because she had thought that they might have need of it.

Now she carried it back to bed, holding it in both hands – it had been made for a larger and a stronger creature than she was, and it required one hand on the handle and another to steady it – as she looked at her reflection in the glass. The metal was cold against her fingers, colder even than the room itself.

Adam shifted in bed, half-rising, crawling across the bed until he was looking over her shoulder on his hands and knees. "You're going to use it?"

"We might as well," Belle replied. "No one will know, after all."

"Who are you going to use it on?" Adam asked. "Prince Eugene? His wife?"

"I think they'll be in bed at this hour, don't you?" Belle replied.

"Then it is Queen Maria Theresa, then," Adam guessed. "You don't think she might have turned in herself?"

"Cogsworth says that she works late," Belle said. "Apparently she asks for many candles, and he has seen the light coming in from under the crack in her door late into the night."

"What is Cogsworth doing roaming the castle late into the night?" Adam asked.

The beginnings of a smile pricked at the corners of Belle's mouth as she looked around and up at him. "Making sure that everything is in order ready for when you get up in the morning," she said.

"I see," Adam murmured. "Dare I ask how you know that?"

"He checks up on me in the library," Belle explained. She was no stranger to staying up late herself, especially when there was a good book involved. Sometimes she would take said book to bed in place of her husband, but other times she would stay in the library for hours and hours as the sky darkened and the stars came out. The servants were all such dears about it: Lumiere lighting the candles around her as she read; Mrs Potts bringing her a pot of tea and a few biscuits to nibble on; and Cogsworth finding excuses to bustle in and out, really for no better reason than to make sure she was alright.

She had found herself doing that quite often, during the visit by their Imperial guests; the library was the one place that she could be sure of not being bothered by Maria Theresa or her sisters. The library was her place, her sanctuary, she would not be disturbed there. To be frank, and why should she not be frank to herself, it was being than deceiving oneself, she doubted that Maria Carolina or Maria Sophia had ever picked up a book in their lives. Even Queen Maria Theresa… well, she had made her views on reading quite clear at dinner.

Adam leaned forward to plant a brief kiss upon her lips, even as he put one arm around her waist. "So, what is it that you hope to see from spying on her?"

"I want to know if she's genuine," Belle said. "Or if she's playing us for fools."

"You think she'll admit it if she is."

"Perhaps," Belle said. "She is more likely to admit somewhere she thinks we can't hear her."

"Are you expecting her to cackle manically as she reveals her true colours?"

Belle snorted. "No," she admitted. "And it's likely that she'll be all alone and we won't learn anything. But isn't it worth trying to find out."

"I thought we'd made our decision?" Adam said.

"We have," Belle said. "But we still have time to reconsider that decision." She paused. "If we see nothing of any interest, then we will go to Armorique and trust in her good faith. But if we see something that suggests that she doesn't mean to keep her word… isn't it better to know now?"

Adam nodded. "Your wisdom is, as always, unimpeachable," he said. "Very well. Would you like to do the honours?"

Belle looked down into the mirror. She could see her own reflection clearly, her face staring back at her, taking up most of the mirror, making it so that very little of Adam could be seen.

Not that she herself would be visible for much longer.

Belle held the mirror up a little higher, and spoke in a clear voice, "Show me Queen Maria Theresa."

The silver of the mirror was consumed with a bright green light, a sickly light but blinding all the same, so bright that Belle had to look away for a moment. It was like fire, crackling and leaping as it consumed the metal, and yet it gave no heat. All her fingers felt was a slight tickling upon the skin, as the image in the mirror changed from Belle's reflection to a picture of Queen Maria Theresa where she sat in a chair in her guestroom in the east wing of the castle.

Maria Theresa, Archduchess of Austria and Dowager Queen of Bavaria, dipped the nib of her pen into the ink. She shook it gently, to dislodge any stray droplets of ink that might otherwise fall onto the page, and then began to write.

My dear son,

Her eyes of burning amber glanced upwards, to where young Maximillian's portrait in miniature sat upon the table at which she worked. Alongside it sat a portrait of her late husband, but her eyes did not dwell upon his features; she remembered them, they were burned into her memory, she would remember his face until her dying day.

-remember it as they brought him in, head half-stoved-

Maria Theresa frowned. No, no, not like that. That was not how she wished to remember him. That was not how she would remember him.

And yet there were times, in the bitter watches of the night, when she could not avoid such thoughts.

Looking at his portrait did not help. He had been a handsome man, before the fatal accident; even that awful handlebar moustache that Caroline had loved to tease him over had seemed to suit him, somehow. He had had a face which she had loved to look on. She had loved even the scratchiness of said moustache when he kissed her.

And yet looking at his picture… all she could think about was the way he had looked on that day, when they had brought him back to her.

She reached out with her left hand and lowered the miniature, placing it face down upon the table. She had no desire think such things.

She looked instead upon her son. Upon their son. Their son who would never know his father, who had had a crown placed upon his head since almost before he could walk, who had been king before he had been old enough to understand his coronation vows.

To a detached observer, to one of these newfangled republicans with their coarse manners and their loathsome cries of 'liberty' and 'justice' upon their lips, it might seem absurd that this rosy-cheeked boy, this child with the baby fat still on his face, should be the King of Bavaria, that he should hold a great nation, one that had played no small part in the history of Europe, in his little hands.

Yet it was so. Her son, her Maximillian, was the king. And one day he would be Emperor also; Maria Theresa's father had no sons, and even if Caroline and Sophie wed then her son would be elder than their offspring, and from the eldest daughter sprung. The blood of the most noble houses of Habsburg and Wittelsbach were mingled in him, and so in him would the great realms of Austria and Bavaria be joined.

Let other nations wage war; but you, happy Austria, will marry.

So it was said of old, and so it had proved true to the great advantage of their dynasty. From the earliest beginnings, when Snow White, Princess of Bohemia, had wed the Archduke Ferdinand of Austria to unite their two dominions, the Habsburgs had grown their fiefdom through marriage as much as through war and conquest. Through advantageous marriages they had acquired Hungary – those parts of it which were not under the control of the heathen Turks – Croatia, Silesia, practically the whole of Cisalpine Italy, as far south as Tuscany and as far west as the alps. No other house in Europe had been so successful in their marital acquisitions – or in their acquisitions of any kind.

And yet.

And yet…

And yet they could not rest. Maria Theresa could not rest.

Her gaze fell once more upon the picture of her son. He was a sweet boy, and kind; he had his father's kindness in him. He laughed often, cried when he was upset, loved to cuddle and to snuggle, and would often climb into her bed at night and fall asleep in her embrace. He was a sweet boy, he was her sun and moon, and the world would devour him if she did not ensure his safety.

Maria Theresa looked down at the pen in her grip. The ink, she noted with distaste, was dry. She frowned, and dipped the pen in more ink, and continued to write.

I will soon be home with you.

Only duty had compelled her to leave him at all. Only a sense of where he was safest had compelled her to leave him behind. In Bavaria, in the Neschwanstein palace, he could be kept safe. Some of the Bavarian nobles still regarded her as 'the Austrian woman', an interloper, an envoy sent to devour their kingdom and absorb it – they were not entirely wrong – but they loved their little king, their sweet king whom no one could dislike. Some amongst them even harboured hope that Bavaria would absorb Austria when he became Emperor, and not the other way around. In the Neuschawanstein he was well protected, ringed about by valiant Bavarian soldiers who would die in his defence.

He needed to be protected. The world was no place for sweetness, or for kindness.

Many generations ago, Maria Theresa's ancestor Snow White had been forced to flee into a kind of exile. Her stepmother had planned to murder her, to avoid having to yield up the throne of Bohemia when she came of age. Snow White's misadventures had became something of a family legend: how she had been forced to run into a terrible wood, enduring nightmarish horrors until finally she found a place of refuge.

In later years, in more recent years, it had become something of a family tradition for young archduchesses of their dynasty that they would be forced to… to recreate that harrowing flight of the young princess: they would be forced into the woods, driven, hunted, given no help, forced to endure the cold and the fear, and see if they could survive for three days.

Maria Theresa's elder sister, Maria Josephina, had failed to do so. Not all archduchesses made it out. But those who did understood that the world could be hard and cruel, and there would be times when nobody would help them.

Maria Theresa suspected that Caroline and Sophie had managed to suborn someone into helping them, given the way that they seemed to have utterly failed to learn the lesson the trial was designed to teach.

Still, she had learned the lesson, and though Habsburg boys did not have to go through that particular ritual – for which Maria Theresa was very glad – she had learned that lesson well enough for her late husband and her father and her son.

The world was a cold place, and not kind.

And sometimes, as much as you might wish to marry, it was necessary to wage war as other kingdoms did.

Burgundy. Burgundy, Burgundy, Burgundy. Of all the kingdoms in the Empire it was the only one that could rival Austria for strength. Larger than Bavaria, it sprawled across Gallia and Germania, stretching south to Provence and the Mediterranean sea, encroaching on the Alps from the north, climbing up the Rhineland towards Flanders. She was honestly surprised that little Franche-Comte had managed to remain independent of it; either the princes of this land had been very canny or very lucky or both.

Or perhaps the Kings of Burgundy had simply not found the place worth taking. Maria Theresa confessed that she found very little here worth possessing.

Burgundy, on the other hand… Burgundy had a great deal worth possessing. Newfangled industries were creeping south and west out of Albion and Armorique, spreading into Normandie, Flanders, Aquitaine and Burgundy. The Rhineland territories of Burgundy and Aquitaine were industrialising faster than anywhere else in the Empire, their goods displacing many traditional artisans from further eastward in the Reich. Weavers, spinners, and many other old and honourable occupations complained that they were ruined by the cheap goods coming out of the west. In time, perhaps, the industries themselves would come east also, and factories would spring up in Vienna, Budapest, Munich and Venice, but until that happened the west would grow richer and the east grow poorer by comparison.

The King of Burgundy, proud Charles, had been altogether too pleased with this turn of events. His kingdom was already large and strong, it had always been a thorn in the side of the Emperors who sought to control it. Charles had been positively insufferable. He had dressed his queen in jewels richer than Maria Theresa or her sisters had possessed, he had talked openly of the notion that the Habsburgs' time as possessors of the Imperial dignity had come to a natural end, that the extinction of the male line of the dynasty would be a good time for another family to take the reins. A family like the Burgundian Capets, well fancy that! He had begun building fortifications along the latest scientific lines. Fortifications facing east.

He had meant to deny her son his Imperial birthright, and with the wealth of his nation – already strong and powerful – he might well have achieved that grand ambition.

So Maria Theresa had had him murdered, him and his queen both. A hunting accident, terribly tragic, but if you would go riding out into thick woods in search of your quarry, well… shots went astray, men on horseback looked much like deer, God was not always kind or merciful.

Or perhaps it had not been an accident? After all, it was not only the newfangled industries that were spreading eastward, but newfangled ideas, too. Hateful ideas, liberal ideas, ideas that went against centuries of established thought. Ideas that defied God, defied kings and emperors, ideas that talked of rubbish like the rights of man and the consent of the people. Ridiculous!

Maria Theresa's son was only five years old, her father was infirm in body and mind, it fell to Maria Theresa to preserve the ancient thrones of her dynasty, to ensure that there was an empire, hearty and strong, to pass onto her son. She burned books, if need be she would burn men too, as her ancestors had burnt the heretic Martin Luther, in order to quash these thoughts and return the people to good order and obedience.

She flattered herself that she had been successful in that endeavour. In Bavaria her son was well-beloved, and in Austria… in Vienna they yet babbled in the coffee houses, but in the fields, in the farms, in the towns, in the real Austria they yet held to the values that the made die Alte Reich a power to be reckoned.

And who was to say that the murders of the King and Queen of Burgundy were not the work of liberals? Well, who other than Maria Theresa and Amelie? Revolutionary societies were everywhere, Europe was consumed by war not only between the Holy Roman Empire and Aquitaine but between the Habsburgs and the Carbonari. And so, upon news of the tragic deaths of the Burgundian king and queen, a regiment of Bavarian cuirassiers, fortunately deployed, had crossed the border into Burgundy, ridden hard to Dijon, seized the young princess and ridden, ridden, ridden all the way to Neuschwanstein, where Maria Theresa had taken the girl into her care. Princess Mary was betrothed to her little Max, and although neither of them were old to understand that yet, Maximillian was delighted to have a playmate his own age. They had both lost parents, but Max was so kind and gentle that he had banished all grief from Mary by his company. The Neuschwanstein rang with their laughter, and the servants and the guards alike smiled to see the two of them together.

It gladdened Maria Theresa's heart that she had been able to do good, even in the midst of realpolitik.

However, there was one problem with this, and that problem was that she had been so hasty to spirit Princess Mary away that she remained Princess Mary, uncrowned. Well, according to a certain point of view. A kingdom could not remain without a king any more than a body could remain without a head, but a kingdom without a crowned head could be contested. King Charles' elder sister had married the King of Aquitaine, and their daughter, Eleanor, contested the Burgundian throne, alleging that her claim was better than the daughter of the late king! She even had the gall to suggest that there was something unseemly about Maria Theresa welcoming a poor orphan into her household, she called it kidnapping, and appealed to all true Burgundians to rally to her and her rights.

Well, two could play at that game. Maria Theresa had accused Eleanor or orchestrating the deaths of her uncle and aunt, and then… happy Austria might marry, but they could still wage war like other nations when the need arose. They might not have the industries of the west, but her men of Bavaria and Austria, her Croats and Hungarians, the men of Saxony and Cisalpina, the Frisians, the Poles, the Burgundians and Rhinelanders who had rallied to their young princess, they had shown these decadent Gauls that courage and valour could yet triumph over arms and factories. They had driven back their enemies in disarray, what now could stand against them?

Armorique, apparently, Armorique which sought to deny her the victory that she had earned.

Well, not exactly; they thought they were promoting peace. Maria Theresa supposed that that was admirable, in a sense. Blessed, after all, were the peacemakers.

But she would not allow this desire for peace to cheat little Mary of what rightfully belonged to her, nor to deprive her son of his new friend. She would not allow the strength and wealth of Burgundy to pass into enemy hands.

It might be, of course, that there was no harm nor slight to the Empire intended; that was why she was sending Prince Adam to Armorique, to spy out the lie of the land for her, to see if there was good faith in Amorique, or allies to be found.

The idea of dealing with the upstart whom the Armoricans had made their princess – and who, it was said, enjoyed great influence, to the extent of ruling the kingdom in all but name – irked her somewhat, descendant of so many noble princes as she was – that was why she was sending Prince Adam ahead of herself - but she was not averse to the idea of ending the war, on favourable terms.

And if Prince Adam found the situation unfavourable, well then…

The world was a dangerous place.

Belle put down the mirror. "That wasn't very helpful," she observed.

Adam chuckled. "So," he said, "we go to Armorique."

Belle smiled. "We go to Armorique," she said.

After all, Maria Theresa had given them no reason not to.

"I'm so glad to hear that you've come to this decision," Queen Maria Theresa said as she smiled genially. She and her sisters stood in the antechamber, just before the great doors leading out of the castle. Outside, her servants were loading the last of their belongings onto the coaches which would carry the royal party away from here.

Not too far away, standing just beyond the doors, stood two people that Belle had not been introduced too over the course of the visit here. Not that that was too surprising – there were a lot of people who though that they were too good to be introduced to Belle – but these two didn't have the look of grand aristocrats or haughty nobles. One of them was a man, dressed in the slightly ragged-looking white coat of a fusilier captain, with a top hat perched incongruously on his head, overshadowing his eyes and parts of his face. What Belle could see of his face was covered by an unkempt beard, while most of the other officers that the Queen and the Archduchesses had brought with them were either clean-shaven or possessed well-groomed moustaches.

The other figure was a woman, swathed in a common cloak of dark brown wool, with the hood up so that her face was hidden, although Belle could see a touch of red hair peaking out from underneath the hood.

They were not the kind of people that Belle would have expected to see standing so close to the royal party, to say the least.

"Yes, indeed, you are to be congratulated," Theresa said. "For making not only the wise choice, but also the right choice as loyal subjects of His Imperial Majesty."

"I hope that our good service will not be forgotten," Adam replied.

Theresa chuckled. "Of course not, Prince Adam," she stepped closer towards him, and her voice dropped. "But it isn't courteous to say such things out loud."

She snapped her fan open, and fanned herself with it although it was hardly warm. "And now we must take our leave of you. Farewell and good fortune, Prince Adam; correspondence to Vienna will find me once your mission is completed." Theresa's eyes found Belle for a moment, and the two of them looked at one another. Belle half-expected Maria Theresa to say something to her, but she did not. Of course she didn't. What would a queen, a regent, the daughter of so many Caesars, have to say to the likes of her?

As Maria Theresa turned away without a word, Maria Carolina walked up to Adam. At least she didn't push Belle away this time, but she still ignored her presence as she reached up and put her hands on Adam's shoulders, pressing herself against him. "I'm going to miss you so much, Adam. Are you going to miss me?"

Adam shuffled uncomfortably. "Your presence in my life has made such an impression on me that I don't see how I could fail to notice your absence."

Belle was able to restrain herself from laughter, even as she was quite impressed by the way in which Adam was able to put her down. Judging by the irritated way in which she snapped her fan and glared at him, Maria Theresa had noticed the tacit insult.

Judging by the gleeful smile on her face, Carolina had not. "Really? I'm so glad to hear it! I knew you felt that way, I knew it! I'm going to make sure Theresa brings me to Armorique for this congress-"

"If it takes place," Theresa said sharply.

Carolina ignored her. "Because although I'm sure it will be incredibly boring, you'll get the chance to see so much more me. Isn't that wonderful? What am I saying, of course it is." She stepped back. "Now, give me a goodbye kiss."

"Caroline!" Theresa snapped.

Caroline huffed. "I suppose it will have to wait. Until then, Adam."

She, too, turned away, leaving only Maria Sophia standing in the doorway, staring at Adam with an appraising eye.

"I have to say, Prince Adam, that you were a little disappointing," she said.

"I am glad to say that you were exactly as I expected, Archduchess."

"I think you must have been much more impressive as a monster."

Adam's jaw tightened. "To some maybe, but for myself I am exceedingly glad to find myself a man." He bowed. "I wish your majesty and your graces a pleasant journey home."

"Pleasant? Unlikely, the best we can hope for is that it shall be swift," Theresa declared. She looked back at them. "Oh, one more thing. I have decided to send these two with you to Armorique; although they are humble fellows they possess my trust, and as such they will act as the guarantors of the Empire's interests there."

Adam inhaled through his nose. "You doubt my loyalty, your majesty?"

"I doubt men I know far better than you, Prince Adam, don't take it personally," Theresa said. "This is Captain Avenant, although he is a soldier in my father's army I believe that he originally comes from this part of the world, isn't that right, Avenant."

Avenant bowed his head. "Indeed, your majesty, I was born in the very village yonder." His voice was gruff, but not completely devoid of the local accent. "Although I have never met his highness or the madame," he looked up at them both, fixing Belle with an intent gaze of his blue green eyes. "I believe that you were both acquainted with my brother, Gaston."

Belle's eyes widened. She found herself taking an involuntary step backwards, and tightening her grip on Adam's arm as she did so. No, it couldn't be. He had a brother? She couldn't imagine the man she'd known as being capable of sharing anything, not even a mother and father, with anybody else. A brother? Gaston's brother, here? With them? Surely this wasn't happening.

Adam bared his teeth, unfortunately it wasn't as intimidating as it had been when he had fangs. "Your Majesty, what is the meaning of this? This man-"

"Is not his brother, whoever that might be," Theresa declared mercilessly. "If his presences makes your back itch, well then, perhaps that will focus your attention on not doing anything contrary to our interests."

"What is that you expect I'm going to do?" Adam demanded. "What have I done to make you believe this is necessary?"

"As I told you," Theresa said, in leaden tones that made clear her dislike for being questioned. "There is nothing personal that has warranted my distrust. I simply do not trust too widely. In any case, in addition to Captain Avenant, this is Amelie, one of my huntresses."

Amelie threw back her hood, revealing red hair cut short around the shoulders, and mismatched eyes of blue and green set in a fair but freckled face. She smiled, but in the present circumstances Belle could not help but see it as a mocking smile.

Avenant did not smile. And he kept on staring at her.

"Obviously, humble as they are, they will not undertake any diplomacy," Theresa said. "But they have eyes and ears, and they will know if you… do anything that you shouldn't. Goodbye, Prince Adam. And good luck." She turned away, and walked to her carriage with her sisters.

Leaving Adam and Belle alone with the brother of their enemy.