Griffis The Empress

A Dazzling Love Story | As Seen on Netflix
1. Auflage 2022
ISBN: 978-1-80075-253-5
Verlag: Swift Press
Format: EPUB
Kopierschutz: 6 - ePub Watermark

E-Book, Englisch, 320 Seiten

Autoren/Hrsg.

Griffis, Gigi

Leseproben

NOW ELISABETH WAS THE WINDSTORM. WILD AND free, her horse, Puck, gaining speed beneath her, breaking into a gallop. Her nightgown clung to her sides, and her hair bounced with the rhythm of the horse’s movement. Riding away from self-important dukes, away from mothers who tried to pinch her into a smaller shape—lacing her soul into a corset. She would not shrink, not for anyone.

She knew she would fall in love one day, and that love would make her more expansive, not less. She’d written poems about it, her favorite lines etched deep in her soul. As she and Puck cantered through the forest and leapt over meandering streams, she recited them to herself:

Only . Elisabeth knew with her whole heart that she would know him when she found him. Her soul would reach across the gap and recognize his right away. She knew he was not the pompous duke, so now, she rode. Away, away, . Windstorm, hailstorm, tempest. Climbing up into the hills where low shrubs, rolling fields, and mirror-bright lakes spread out below her in every direction.

She only wished she could take Helene out into these hills with her, bring her back to herself. They could forage for berries, soaking their dress hems in dew. Lay out under the stars at night. Live, breathe, and stop trying to fold themselves into some other shape—and for what? There was nothing worth losing yourself over: not your mother’s whims, not even an emperor. That’s what Elisabeth had told her sister last week after Helene accidentally mislabeled the forks during etiquette lessons: . If you had to be prim and proper all the time, know every fork by name . . . wouldn’t you just suffocate in the box they forced you into?

Besides, Elisabeth had heard the talk. There’d been an attempt on the emperor’s life. Her heart twisted in her chest at the thought that the engagement might put Helene in danger too.

Elisabeth urged Puck on faster, tightening her hands around the reins. She was a wild thing, untamable in the way of a storm or a fire. She’d never let herself become what Mother wanted her to be: a girl without hope, without dreams, without love. She would find her great love one day, and they’d be untamable together.

Today, Puck was the only one who understood that feeling. Her beloved horse was the only one who truly knew her, knew what it was to be free. She felt a rush of affection for him as they crested a hill, and she softened the pace. She was on a ridge, a steep, rocky drop on either side, the sun a pink-yellow orb in the distance.

She closed her eyes, reveling in the tickle of sun on her skin, the smell of forest pine in the air, the strength of Puck beneath her. If only all of life could feel like this—so lived in, so real.

But then, unexpectedly, the world tilted. Puck bucked beneath her, and Elisabeth flew through the air, righting herself just enough to fall on her hands and knees. She gasped at the impact, her knees throbbing with it, hands clutching at the grass as if those fragile green stalks could anchor her to the earth.

When she looked up, Puck was disappearing down the ridge path, wild from whatever spooked him.

And then she saw it: a grass snake. This one wasn’t poisonous, but Puck didn’t know that. He hated snakes like she hated dukes. They’d both flee before the bite came.

“Puck.” Her voice was resigned. He was far away now. But never mind that. What mattered was that they were unhurt. She’d retrieve Puck, and all would be well. Better yet, she’d have quite the excuse for why she wasn’t at the house for the duke’s visit.

“All will be well,” she repeated quietly to herself as she followed the horse’s path down the hill. There Puck stood, on the edge of a pond with the sun gleaming off his chestnut coat. How beautiful he looked. How she loved him.

But then he turned—and all was not well.

Her father was asleep when she walked into his bedroom— but he wasn’t alone. Not one but women lay beside him, neither of them Elisabeth’s mother. The room was elegantly decorated, like every room her mother had touched, but strewn with wineglasses and empty bottles. As she slipped into the darkness, Elisabeth stepped gingerly over the clothes that should have been on the two women—but were most certainly not. Her father was entangled in arms and legs, breasts, and the contours of exposed thighs. The hills and curves that comforted her father were not the same ones Elisabeth sought out.

The room smelled of sex, stale wine, and cigar smoke. Elisabeth’s nose wrinkled involuntarily as she stepped up to the foot of the bed and was greeted by the nipples of a third woman she hadn’t immediately seen.

And this was why Elisabeth refused to marry for anything less than love. She didn’t want a life like her mother’s, pretending not to notice that her husband was entertaining other women in her own home. And she didn’t want a life like her father’s, constantly seeking comfort from outside his marriage because he’d never loved her mother one day in his life.

It wasn’t the sex that bothered her. She hadn’t been with a man yet herself, but her father’s reckless behavior meant that she knew a lot about it. She wasn’t a prude; she wasn’t afraid. She just hated the way it underscored the lack of love between her parents—two people who were supposed to love each other first and foremost.

But Elisabeth didn’t have time to dwell this morning. Puck was injured. Besides, it wasn’t the first time she had encountered her father in this state, and she knew it wouldn’t be the last.

She spoke into the darkness. “Papa? I need your help.”

Groggy, he opened his eyes. As usual, his look was brazen rather than sheepish. Her father, the rake.

“Puck’s injured,” Elisabeth whispered.

Her father didn’t answer—only sat up and began to untangle himself from the snarl of limbs on the bed. Elisabeth turned away. She’d seen enough already.

When he moved into her line of sight, Father was dressed and carrying both a cigar and his rifle, two things he was rarely without. He motioned for her to lead the way out of the house.

“What happened?” he asked once they were outside.

“Something with his leg . . . he doesn’t want to walk.” Elisabeth was relieved to hear that she sounded steady. Certain.

“We’ll have a look.” Father picked up the pace, then smirked as he realized what day it was and turned to look at his middle daughter. “I thought you were getting engaged this morning. Aren’t your mother and the duke waiting for you?”

Elisabeth gave him a sideways glance.

“I’m curious to see what absurdity he’s wearing today.” Father raised an eyebrow at her, and she laughed, if a little sadly. Papa was a strange and fickle ally, but he at least understood how ridiculous her suitors were.

“You could stop it, you know,” Elisabeth replied. “You could send these dukes away.”

He waved a hand, dismissive. “You know these affairs are your mother’s business. Nothing to do with me.” It was the same answer as usual. Sure, Father would teach them to ride and laugh heartily at their antics. But when it mattered, he never stepped in. Elisabeth didn’t know why she kept hoping for something different.

Then, finally, they were there. Puck stood before them holding one leg up off the ground. He was breathing much heavier now, chest trembling, eyes wild. He looked much worse than Elisabeth remembered. She glanced at Father as his eyes narrowed, his lips turning down. Her heart trembled. This was her fault. She had taken Puck out to feel the freedom of wind on her face and now—

Now the foolish duke would be the end of them both.

Father stepped forward, examining Puck’s leg.

“It’s broken,” he said, more irritated than sad. Puck might be a friend to Elisabeth, but to her father, he was property. Another thing to be replaced.

Tears brimmed in her eyes, but Father shook his head. “His leg is broken, Elisabeth. You know what we do when a horse breaks a leg. He won’t be able to run; you won’t be able to ride him.”

Ride him. That was all Father saw Puck as: a thing to ride, a workhorse, nothing more.

When Elisabeth was little, he told her that you had to shoot a broken-legged horse because it couldn’t live a full life anymore. But that was just an excuse, a dispassionate business decision. Why did Father get to decide how Puck felt about the fullness, the potential of his life?

Father cocked his rifle and handed it to Elisabeth, its weight heavy and familiar in her hands. “Do it,” he said, nodding at the horse.

Elisabeth’s skin went cold, and her hands began to shake. Puck had been her horse, her friend, her comfort for more than ten years.

“I can’t,” she whispered.

“You caused the damage; you pay the price.”

Her father was so good at blame. Never mind his own flaws. Elisabeth bit the inside of her cheek.

“Puck isn’t damaged goods to be thrown out. He’s my friend.” She knew what her father would say, but Puck was worth fighting for. Even fighting a losing battle.

“He’s a horse, Elisabeth. Not a person. And you shouldn’t have even been out here.” He took the gun back, aiming it at Puck. Her poor, precious, wild, free Puck.

Elisabeth grabbed the barrel. “No, wait. It will heal. I know it.” It was a hopeless plea, but still she made it. If she said...