In the spring of 1824, Schönbrunn Palace was once again filled with music, flowers, and royal guests.
Thirteen-year-old Franz stood quietly among the crowd. His uncle, Archduke Franz Karl, was marrying the nineteen-year-old Princess Sophie of Bavaria. The grand ceremony was held in the palace chapel. The sun streamed through stained-glass windows, casting soft light on the marble floor.
Franz spotted Sophie the moment she walked down the aisle in her ivory wedding dress, her brown curls pinned neatly beneath a pearl tiara. She looked elegant, confident—nothing like a nervous bride. And then, just for a second, her eyes met his.
She smiled at him.
It wasn't a royal, formal smile. It was warm, real, like she saw something in him others didn't.
Franz didn't smile back right away. He was stunned. No one had ever looked at him like that in this palace.
A few days later, Franz was sketching in the palace garden, sitting by the fountain. He was drawing the statue in the middle of the pool, trying to capture the details of the water and marble. A breeze blew some leaves across his page.
"You're pretty good," a voice said.
He looked up, startled. It was Sophie.
This time, she wasn't dressed like a bride. She wore a light blue dress and a simple pearl pin in her hair. She looked more like a curious young woman than a princess.
Franz quickly stood and bowed. "Your Highness."
She smiled. "Do you prefer Franz or François?"
He blinked. No one in the palace ever called him by his French name.
"I don't mind either," he said quietly.
She glanced at his sketch. "You forgot the reflection in the water. But still—it's a lovely drawing."
"I'll fix it," he replied.
She gave him a teasing look. "Maybe one day, you'll draw a portrait of me?"
After that, they kept running into each other—sometimes in the hallways, sometimes in the gardens. Sophie always seemed to find time to talk with him, even if only for a minute. And Franz, for the first time in years, found himself wanting to talk back.
One morning, while sitting together on a stone bench by the trees, Sophie turned serious.
"Do you know why I'm kind to you, Franz?" she asked.
He shook his head.
"My stepbrother Eugène," she said gently. "Before he died, he asked me for one thing. He said you were the only person he regretted not helping enough. He wanted someone to make sure you didn't fade away, forgotten and alone."
Franz didn't know what to say. He had never expected to hear that name again—let alone from this world.
"I want to be your friend," Sophie continued. "Even your sister, if you'll let me. I'll help you grow strong in this palace."
Franz swallowed hard. "And I'll protect you too, Sophie."
She smiled. "One day, this palace will listen to me. When that time comes… you'll have your freedom."
Franz nodded slowly, but his mind was racing. He knew exactly who she was—not just a princess, but a future queenmaker.
He had studied the history.
Sophie wasn't marrying a future emperor. Archduke Franz Karl, her husband, was the youngest son of the emperor. But everyone knew the emperor's eldest son, Ferdinand, was sick and infertile. Even if he took the throne, he would never truly rule.
Eventually, the crown would pass to Sophie's side.
In 1835, Ferdinand would become emperor. In 1848, too ill to govern, he'd be forced to abdicate. Sophie would push her son—Franz Joseph—to take the crown at just 18. And from then on, she would rule Austria behind the scenes as its true power.
But that was still 24 years away. Franz didn't have 24 years.
He had been reborn into this world with one goal: to change his fate.
He remembered his last life—working like a dog in Manhattan, paying off student loans, grinding for four years, only to be dumped by his fiancée and killed by a random shooter. He had done everything right and still ended up with nothing.
Never again.
This time, he would have power. Freedom. Maybe even love.
And Sophie—this clever, future queen—might just be the first ally he needed.
Ever since Sophie married into Schönbrunn Palace, Franz had gained a rare companion. Though she was six years older, the two often spent time together—painting in the garden, playing duets on the piano, reading books side by side, and debating poetry with the ease of old friends.
Her husband, Archduke Franz Karl, was a dull, timid, and thoroughly unremarkable man. But Sophie, full of life and wit, brought color into the gray corridors of the palace—and into Franz's cloistered world.
Time passed swiftly. Franz, once the small boy trailing behind courtiers, had grown into a tall, serious young man. Nearly seventeen, he stood over 180 centimeters, with sharp features and a quiet, commanding presence. His guardian, Count Kaspar von Reinhardt, described him in one sentence: "Intelligent, disciplined, and unshakably determined."
But behind those calm gray-blue eyes, there was more—something unreadable. Something that made even seasoned statesmen uneasy.
It was this unease that brought Prince Metternich, the powerful Chancellor of the Austrian Empire, back to Schönbrunn Palace.