Although Patagonia had not yet fallen into their hands, someone was already eyeing its throne.
That someone was none other than Franz's younger brother, Maximilian. His jealousy of Franz bordered on madness; he couldn't imagine that anyone in the world could be so lucky.
The string of victories won by the Austrian Empire in 1848 could only be called miraculous. Apart from the Vienna Uprising, Maximilian couldn't understand how Austria had managed to win.
In fact, the "big shot" the rebels of the Vienna Uprising kept talking about was Maximilian. But the rebel leaders had all been fooled by the sixteen-year-old boy.
Maximilian was indeed a thoroughgoing Liberal, but he wasn't stupid.
He knew perfectly well that everything he had came from his family, so he would never betray them, no matter how righteous those people made themselves sound.
"The crafty hare is dead, and the hound is boiled; the birds are gone, and the fine bow is put away." "When the nest is overturned, how can any egg remain whole?" Franz told one bedtime story after another from the East, and Sophie adapted them to local tastes before telling them to the other children.
Maximilian was nowhere near as naïve as he had been in history. And, of course, things were much as he suspected: those privileged classes and great nobles merely wanted to use him.
Afterward, they could install Maximilian as a puppet emperor, or drag him out as a scapegoat and pin the entire blame for the Vienna Uprising on the House of Habsburg.
As for the so-called facts, the so-called truth—who knew? And who cared?
The people would only cheer for the victors, while the losers would shoulder all the blame. So, in Maximilian's eyes, he was the hero who had saved Austria.
Franz, meanwhile, was