Schönbrunn Palace,Vienna,Summer 1828
When Emperor Franz I learned of the failed assassination attempt on his grandson in Budapest, a tense silence fell over Schönbrunn Palace. The fire in the hearth crackled, but it did little to warm the frigid atmosphere in the great hall. The Emperor sat on his throne, his aged face stern, his fingers drumming unconsciously on the armrest. Kneeling before him were Archduchess Sophie and her husband, Archduke Franz Karl. Sophie's face was wet with tears, while the Archduke's expression was grave, his hand holding his wife's.
"Your Majesty," Archduke Franz Karl began, his voice steady as if rehearsed, "Franz is my nephew, and now he has been attacked. He has only you to rely on. Though he is the son of that man, he is also your grandson! He has lived alone here as a guest since childhood. I beg you, let him return to Vienna, to be with us, at least until he has recovered and is away from this danger."
Prince Metternich stood nearby, his face calm, a faint, almost imperceptible sneer on his lips. He stepped forward slightly, his voice firm and powerful. "Your Majesty, I understand the Archduke's concerns, but this is a terrible idea. Prince Franz, as the sole son of Napoleon, is a threat in himself, a focus for all of Europe. If he remains in Vienna, he will only give those with bad intentions an excuse to incite rebellion. Now is the perfect opportunity for him to gain experience in the provinces and stay out of political disputes."
Archduke Franz Karl was left speechless by Metternich's rebuttal. He looked lost, instinctively turning to Sophie for guidance. Sophie understood immediately; she had to speak for herself. She slowly stood up from the floor, a move that broke palace etiquette and shocked everyone present.
"Your Majesty!" Sophie looked up, her gaze fixed on the Emperor. Her voice, though tearful, held an unyielding urgency, with a hint of a desperate challenge. "If it were your own grandson's life on the line today, would you still choose to remain so calm?!"
The words hit like a thunderclap, freezing the air in the great hall. The Emperor's gaze shifted between Sophie and Metternich. He was well aware of Franz's difficult position and the political motives behind Metternich's words. After a long silence, he made his decision. "Sophie, Franz, you may leave. Metternich, send a message immediately to double Franz's guard. Instruct them to ensure his safety at all costs! If anything else happens to him, I will hold you personally responsible!"
Metternich bowed slightly, a flicker of triumph in his eyes. "Yes, Your Majesty. I will do everything in my power to ensure Prince Franz's safety."
Night fell, and the carriage entered the dense woods of the Eastern Marches. Franz sat alone in the carriage, lost in thought. He knew Metternich's assassination plan would happen again, and his goal was to use this second attempt to disappear from this world for good.
That evening, the carriage stopped at a simple inn. After Franz had washed up, Greta finished making his bed and lit the room's candle. Just as she was about to leave, she stopped, blocking the doorway with her body. This was her only chance.
"Greta, is there something else?" Franz's voice was low, causing her heart to race. He watched her cautiously, his right hand already on the dagger hidden at his side.
"Your Highness, this is from the Archduchess before you left. She instructed me to give it to you only if you were in grave danger." She pulled a letter from her dress and handed it to Franz with both hands.
Franz took the letter and opened it. The handwriting was indeed Sophie's. The message was filled with worry and deep affection.
"My dearest Franz, if you are reading this, I don't know if you are safe. When I wrote this, you were about to embark on your journey to the provinces. My heart aches for you; I wish you could stay in Vienna, by my side forever. But I know that is not possible. You have Napoleon's blood in your veins, and your eyes will always hold a longing for the French Empire. I cannot stand in the way of your ambitions, but please let me pave the way for you. I have a loyal servant, whose father was a devout follower of His Majesty Napoleon. She is a master of disguise and mimicry and can help you escape danger. Trust her. She will be your wings, to carry you to the freedom you desire. Remember, no matter where or when, you will always be my Franz."
Franz looked up from the letter, his eyes filled with doubt. "Why would Sophie trust you?"
Instead of answering, Greta took a small box from her pocket. Inside were various makeup items and wigs. She took a lump of clay and kneaded it on her face. Then, using powders and paints from the box, she meticulously transformed her features. In just a few minutes, her face was an exact replica of Franz's, right down to the mole at the corner of his mouth.
Franz was shocked. He had never seen such a magical disguise. To prove it, Greta walked to the door, carefully opened it a crack, and told the guard outside, "I feel a bit faint. I won't need you tonight." The guard, unaware of any deception, simply gave a quiet nod and walked away.
Greta returned to the room and removed the disguise. Franz, who had watched everything from behind the door, was left speechless. He whispered, "That's... perfect."
Greta's voice then changed, becoming an exact imitation of his own. "Your Highness, my father was a loyal follower of His Majesty Napoleon, and I was given special training from a young age. I not only master disguise but also mimicry. The Archduchess knew of Metternich's plot long ago and sent me with you to help you escape at the right moment."
Seeing his own face on Greta, Franz's heart swelled with excitement. He knew the gift Sophie had prepared for him would be the most crucial part of his plan.
He took a deep breath to calm himself and said to Greta, "Very well. Now, let's discuss how the son of Napoleon will disappear from this world for good."
Greta smiled slightly, knowing that tonight, they would change the course of history forever.
Meanwhile, in the palace in Vienna, Prince Metternich closed his study door and sat at his desk, his face a blank mask. Opposite him stood an envoy in a dark blue cloak, his sword still at his waist, his face contorted with barely contained rage.
"He's alive," Metternich said calmly, as if announcing an inevitable failure.
"That's impossible!" the envoy sputtered, his voice shaking. "Our men poisoned them and struck a blow… how could they have failed?"
"I only care about the result," Metternich cut him off, his voice cold as ice. "An assassination attempt on the living son of Napoleon in Hungary has failed. How long do you think we can keep this secret?"
The envoy gritted his teeth, a flicker of vicious intent in his eyes. "The second attempt won't fail."
"I hope so," Metternich said, his eyes lowered as he picked up a quill, as if toying with a person's fate. "Next time, don't involve me. I have never seen you, nor heard of your plan."
"Don't worry," the envoy sneered, rising to leave. "When he is dead, everything will be clean."
As the door closed, Metternich stared out the window at the setting sun, murmuring to himself:
"History must not have a second Napoleon."
Meanwhile, in the palace in Vienna, Prince Metternich closed his study door and sat at his desk, his face a blank mask. Opposite him stood an envoy in a dark blue cloak, his sword still at his waist, his face contorted with barely contained rage.
"He's alive," Metternich said calmly, as if announcing an inevitable failure.
"That's impossible!" the envoy sputtered, his voice shaking. "Our men poisoned them and struck a blow… how could they have failed?"
"I only care about the result," Metternich cut him off, his voice cold as ice. "An assassination attempt on the living son of Napoleon in Hungary has failed. How long do you think we can keep this secret?"
The envoy gritted his teeth, a flicker of vicious intent in his eyes. "The second attempt won't fail."
"I hope so," Metternich said, his eyes lowered as he picked up a quill, as if picking up a person's fate. "Next time, don't involve me. I have never seen you, nor heard of your plan."
"Don't worry," the envoy sneered, rising to leave. "When he is dead, everything will be clean."
As the door closed, Metternich stared out the window at the setting sun, murmuring to himself:
"History must not have a second Napoleon."