Klemens swallowed as a sudden wave of nervousness overcame him. He strolled into the room, clasped his hands nonchalantly behind his back and placed a cocky grin on his face.
“Good morning, Your Majesty. Or rather, good afternoon?”
He had already broken the protocol, for etiquette required him to wait until his father spoke first.
His father acknowledged this with a grimace on his face and a fleeting glance at his son. “I missed your presence yesterday after the gala banquet. Your absence was noted by several dignitaries as well. The Grand Duchess was particularly disappointed that you never put in an appearance at either the post-supper concert nor the following entertainments.”
“Beethoven is not to my taste, nor the tableaux vivants, which they said took a good four hours.” Klemens shuddered.
The Emperor slammed a hand onto the lectern, tearing Klemens out of his memories. “Still, you should at least have made an appearance, if only to greet the Grand Duchess!”
Klemens cleared his throat. “Well, as a matter of fact, it is because of her I am here today to speak with you.”
His father gave a curt nod. “Excellent. The plan is to announce the engagement after the ball this coming Saturday.”
Klemens froze. “With all due respect, Majesty, no.”
His father’s fingers froze in the process of turning a page. He lifted his pale eyes to his son’s. “No?”
Klemens shook his head. “Call it off. This engagement will not happen. The official marriage negotiations have not begun yet; we have not made any promises, no documents have been signed, so it is not too late.”
He observed a redness creep up his father’s neck, which was the telltale sign he was about to lose his temper. He pushed on nonetheless. “I will not and I cannot marry the Grand Duchess. This is not only personal reluctance on my part, for I cannot abide the woman, but it is also political. Not now, not at the congress, not when there is so much at stake. It cannot have escaped your attention that such a union with Russia will upset the balance of power you and Metternich are trying so hard to achieve.”
Klemens liked to give the impression that he was politically illiterate when he was anything but. He knew better than anyone that Metternich, despite his insistence on maintaining a balance of power, intended to keep a back door open to Russia, using him.
And Klemens had a rather strong reluctance to being used.
“Personal reluctance? You cannot abide her?” his father rumbled, pointing a shaking finger at him. When he was younger, that had always made his knees knock against each other in terror, but he was no longer a little boy and much was at stake. His future, his entire life depended on the outcome of this talk.
Klemens attempted to appease him. “It is true I donot really know her, but very often all it takes is a single meeting for one to know whether or not one will suit. Trust me, Father, we do not suit. A union between us would be a disaster.”
“What will be a disaster is allowing you to run over every person ramshackle as you see fit! The scandalous stories that are spread throughout the country—shocking, I say, shocking! You are a good-for-nothing, and for once you will do as you are told.”
His father completely ignored any argument he had brought forth. It was as if he had not spoken at all.
Klemens drew in a breath to steady himself. “With all due respect, father, I will not,” he repeated. And he would repeat that sentence if it were the last thing he ever said.
“May I remind you it is your duty, as an archduke of Austria and an heir to this throne, to marry the woman that is selected for you. It is what you were born to do.”
Klemens clenched his fists until his knuckles turned white. He could not bear another word of it. Austria had always used marriages as treaties, a game his great-grandmother Maria Theresia had played with ruthless skill. Sixteen children, and every one of those who survived into adulthood was bartered for politics. He and his siblings were expected to follow the same path.
A fate he would resist if it killed him.
“I am not, and never will be, heir to this throne!” he burst out. “There are three others ahead of me. So stop harping on about it.”
“Do you hear yourself?” his father thundered. “How dare you renounce the duty you were born to!”
“I do not care a whit for duty,” Klemens shouted back. “You know as well as I that I will never follow in your footsteps, so for heaven’s sake, Father, let me lead my own life!”
“Have you taken leave of your senses?” his father roared.
“I have never had a clearer head! And I refuse to be a pawn in this ruthless game of politics you are playing. I refuse to sacrifice my life and my happiness for it. And I will marry the woman I love and cherish. And that is certainly not the Grand Duchess.”
“You…you…” The finger he had pointed at him shook, and spittle sprayed over the lectern. “The devil you will!”
Too late, Klemens realised his outburst had not been the most diplomatic thing to do. He should not have mentioned Pippa at all. Not yet. Not with his father virtually bursting at all seams with fury. He struggled to pull himself together.
“I apologise, Your Majesty. My outburst was inappropriate. I suggest we repeat this conversation when both of us have calmed down somewhat.” He could not imagine ever having a conversation with his father that would not end in a shouting match, but devil take it, he had to try.
