An Unreliable Family

In 1834, Franz was still a toddler of four years, forced to spend his days in the stifling boredom of the royal nursery.

Nighttime was the most grueling ordeal, for his unreliable mother would insist on tucking him in. Sophie felt that lulling a child to sleep was a mother's sacred duty, and consequently, Franz found himself wide awake.

The first rabbit fell ill, the second came to see, the third bought the medicine, the fourth brewed the tea, the fifth rabbit died, the sixth carried the bier, the seventh dug the grave, the eighth buried the dead, the ninth sat on the ground and began to cry, and the tenth asked why he wept? The ninth replied, the fifth rabbit is gone and will never return!

The lyrics were eerie, chilling enough to make one shudder upon reflection. Yet, his mother seemed oblivious to the child's reaction, singing on in her own world, occasionally yawning, and wondering to herself why the boy wouldn't just fall asleep.

It wasn't that Franz didn't want to sleep; it was that the bizarre lyrics had burrowed into his brain, refusing to leave, keeping him wide awake in terror. To think that this was one of the ten most famous horror nursery rhymes from the future—how had Sophie managed to pick this one?

In the end, Franz devised a plan: he would tell stories to lull Sophie to sleep, then summon a maid to carry her away.

Just as Franz let out a sigh of relief, a man reeking of alcohol stumbled in. The stench was distinct—not the scent of any single spirit, but a chaotic concoction of many.

It was none other than Franz's unreliable father. Knowing he was not quite like normal people, he always made sure to avoid others when he arrived.

The desire of parents to care for their children is universal, whether they are royalty or commoners.

And so, Franz's father arrived, clutching a flask of wine.

Franz's father had only two hobbies: drinking and hunting. He believed wine was the finest thing in the world, for once drunk, one would never feel tired or dwell on unhappy memories.

Franz had never cried since birth, so his father assumed the boy must be deeply repressed and in need of release. He recalled his own father's words: "Good things should be shared with family."

Thus, he had mixed his ten favorite wines together and come to the nursery, intending to share his favorite drink with his eldest son and help him grow up fast—after all, drinking alone was no fun.

He poured a glass for Franz, one for himself, and sat there grinning foolishly.

Franz felt his brow twitch, silently lamenting how the original owner of this body had managed to survive to adulthood. He walked to the door, opened it, and whispered a few words to a maid. Moments later, Lady Morcia began to shriek, and a swarm of royal guards and physicians rushed in, promptly bundling away Franz's unreliable father.

Hofburg Palace, Hall of Mirrors.

Francis II was napping on his throne. He loved this room; it made him feel as though he could relive the glory of the House of Habsburg.

The conversation at St. Stephen's Cathedral yesterday, along with any "revelations" and those unreliable plans, had already been cast to the back of his mind. Compared to such risky ventures, he preferred the comfort of the afternoon sun.

Francis II had never been a brave man. Once, his brother had carried out sweeping military reforms that revitalized the Austrian Empire's army, but in doing so, he had offended those with vested interests.

Unable to withstand the pressure, he had dismissed Archduke Charles, the man Napoleon had called his "strongest opponent." The result was that, to this day, the military problems of the previous century continued to plague the Austrian Empire.

Francis II knew full well that Austria's influence at home and abroad was waning, but heavy debts and a tangled web of interests made every reform a case of playing whack-a-mole.

He found himself wishing he had listened to his other brother, Archduke John, and pursued economic reforms to abolish internal tariffs and suppress the nobility. At the time, Napoleon's invasion had severely weakened local power brokers, and the nation was united—it had been the perfect moment for reform, yet he had failed to act.

Then there was the recently established Zollverein, which Austria should have joined.

"This is a Prussian conspiracy!"

"We must do something; there can only be one giant within the German Confederation!"

"Once Prussia controls the Zollverein, their rise will be unstoppable!"

At the time, the entire hall had been in an uproar, with ministers bickering as if they were ready to come to blows.

Whether it was the Minister of Finance Kolowrat, the Prime Minister Metternich, or that overreaching Baron Bruck, all had approached Francis II to weigh the pros and cons of joining the Zollverein, strongly advising the empire to sign on.

Being excluded from the Zollverein would severely diminish Austria's influence. But the domestic nobility, such as Prince Windisch-Graetz and Prince Esterhazy, had opposed it. Francis II felt he could not ignore these voices; he had no choice but to...

No choice. Francis II smiled bitterly, a trace of misery in his expression. He felt less like a supreme monarch and more like an old widower being led by the nose by domestic trifles.

Today was the day the Prussia-led Zollverein was officially established. A tariff agreement lasting eight years would become the foundation for the future erosion of Austria's influence.

Outside the palace gates, Prime Minister Metternich, Minister of Finance Kolowrat, and Baron Bruck—three men who disagreed on everything and rarely spoke to one another—had uncharacteristically reached a consensus.

"Austria must join the Zollverein." The blunt Baron Bruck spoke first; he never liked to beat around the bush and firmly believed that everything he did was for the sake of the country.

Minister of Finance Kolowrat loathed the man before him, for Baron Bruck was always prattling on about the country and the people.

Kolowrat was entirely different; he never hid his greed for money and power.

He believed that those who refused to discuss interests were either hypocrites putting on a show, or members of the established elite using such rhetoric as a smokescreen to protect their own gains. These hypocrites were often far more terrifying and filthier than those who openly craved wealth and power.

"Austria is not joining the Zollverein; we are going to lead it. Prussia is not fit to lead the Zollverein! The German states are our dumping ground for goods and our source of raw materials. Austria does not yet have a colony of its own, and that is unacceptable! The German states shall be our first colony."

After finishing, Kolowrat looked at Baron Bruck with a provocative glare.

"I said what you were thinking. I heard from the doctor that bottling things up is bad for your health. Don't thank me."

Kolowrat laughed toward the sky and strode toward the palace gates.

Baron Bruck sneered at Kolowrat's behavior, muttering with disdain:

"Madman."

He then stepped forward and entered the palace gates as well.