Chapter 5 The Guillotine's Embrace

# Chapter 5: The Guillotine's Embrace

The boy's funeral is small, private—nothing like the state ceremony my parents received. I stand alone at his graveside after the others have departed, watching as workers fill the unmarked plot with soil. No headstone will mark Thomas's final resting place. No record will acknowledge his brief claim to Habsburg blood.

Rain soaks through my black mourning dress, but I don't move. Let the court whisper about my strange vigil. Let Heinrich report my every action to whoever truly holds his leash. I no longer care.

Three days have passed since the blood test. Three days since Heinrich executed a child before the entire court. Three days since Elias lowered his pistol rather than fire—choosing restraint over revenge in a way I never could.

"I thought I'd find you here."

I don't turn at the sound of Elias's voice. "Have you come to pray for his soul, revolutionary? I didn't think you believed in such things."

"I believe in justice." He stands beside me, our shoulders almost touching. "Heinrich has gone too far."

"Heinrich has always gone too far. It's why he's survived so long."

"And you? How have you survived?"

I finally look at him, rain streaming down both our faces. "By becoming what I needed to be."

Something shifts in his expression—understanding, perhaps. Or recognition of the girl I once was, now buried as deeply as the child in this grave.

"The revolution moves tonight," he says quietly. "The outer garrisons have already fallen."

I should be alarmed by this news, should call for my guards, have him arrested. Instead, I feel only a strange calm.

"Why tell me this?"

"Because I'm offering you a choice." He takes my hands, his touch warm despite the cold rain. "Come with me. Abdicate. The people don't hate you, Adelaide—they hate what the crown represents."

"And if I refuse?"

"Then I can't protect you when they storm the palace."

I pull my hands away. "I don't need your protection. I never have."

"Then why did you let me live? That day in the courtyard—you knew I was planning to assassinate Heinrich. You could have had me executed on the spot."

"Perhaps I wanted to see if you could actually do it." I turn back to the grave. "You couldn't. You still believe in mercy."

"And you don't?"

"Mercy killed this child. Mercy keeps Heinrich in power." I face him fully now, rain plastering my hair to my face. "Mercy is a luxury I discarded long ago."

We stand in silence, the distance between us measured not in inches but in ideologies. Finally, I speak the words that have haunted me since the blood test.

"My parents may be alive."

His expression doesn't change. He's suspected this too.

"The portrait fragment," he acknowledges. "And Heinrich's words."

"If they live, they're prisoners in their own kingdom." I swallow hard. "Everything I've done—everything I've become—was based on a lie."

"Then help me end it." His intensity burns through the cold rain. "Join us. Rule differently."

I laugh bitterly. "The people's revolutionary, asking a Habsburg to join his cause? What would your comrades say?"

"They don't need to know. Not yet." He steps closer. "Meet me tonight. The north tower. I'll show you what we've discovered."

Before I can respond, he's gone, disappearing into the misty graveyard like a ghost.

---

The palace buzzes with nervous energy that evening. Servants whisper in corners, falling silent when I pass. Guards exchange tense glances at their posts. They can feel it coming—the tide of revolution washing against our walls.

I dismiss my ladies early, claiming fatigue. Once alone, I change into simpler clothes—dark trousers and a fitted jacket that won't rustle or catch. Clothes I keep for midnight escapes to the city, when I need to remember who I am beneath the crown.

The north tower is the oldest part of the palace, used mainly for storage now. As I slip through shadowed corridors, I'm acutely aware of how exposed I am. If this is a trap, I'm walking into it willingly.

The tower door creaks as I push it open. Spiral stairs disappear upward into darkness. I draw the small dagger from my boot—never unarmed, another lesson Heinrich taught me—and begin to climb.

Elias waits at the top, a single lantern casting his face in harsh relief. He's changed as well, back into his revolutionary's uniform. The sight sends a chill through me.

"You came alone," he observes.

"As did you, apparently." I glance around the empty chamber. "No ambush?"

"No ambush." He moves to a heavy tapestry covering the wall. "Help me with this."

Together we pull the ancient fabric aside, revealing a door—small, iron-bound, and sealed with a lock I recognize immediately. The royal seal of the Habsburg line.

"Where does it lead?"

"We don't know." Elias produces a key—old, tarnished silver. "This was hidden in the archives, in the room that burned. Thomas found it before the fire reached us."

My hand trembles slightly as I take it. "If you're lying to me—"

"Then kill me." He places my dagger hand against his chest. "But first, open the door."

The key slides into the lock with resistance, then turns with a heavy click. The door swings inward, revealing a narrow passage lit by strange, cold blue lights—phosphorescent fungi growing along the damp walls.

"After you, Your Majesty," Elias says softly.

We follow the passage in silence, descending into the heart of the palace foundation. The air grows colder, staler. Finally, we reach another door—newer, reinforced with modern steel.

No key will open this one. Instead, a complex locking mechanism requires a specific sequence. I recognize Heinrich's handiwork immediately.

"Stand back," Elias warns, removing a small packet from his jacket. "Blasting powder."

"Wait." I examine the lock more closely. "I know this system. Heinrich installed the same on my mother's jewel room." I press specific points in a pattern, feeling the mechanism shift beneath my fingers. "He always uses the same sequence. The date my parents died."

The lock clicks open.

Beyond lies a chamber carved from the bedrock beneath the palace—a prison cell furnished with surprising comfort. Books line shelves along one wall. A chess set sits mid-game on a small table. And in the center, two figures rise from their chairs, faces pale from years without sunlight.

"Adelaide?" The woman's voice is hoarse, disbelieving.

I can't breathe. Can't move. They are older, gaunt, but unmistakable—the faces from my childhood, the parents I thought long buried.

"Mother?" The word escapes as barely a whisper.

Before I can reach them, a slow clapping sounds from behind us. We spin to find Heinrich standing in the doorway, a squad of royal guards flanking him.

"How touching," he says coldly. "The family reunion I've worked so hard to prevent."

Elias draws his pistol, but guards immediately level their rifles at my parents.

"I wouldn't," Heinrich warns. "Not if you want them to live another minute."

"You monster," I hiss, fury unlike anything I've ever known coursing through me. "All these years—"

"All these years I've kept them alive," Heinrich interrupts. "Remember that. I could have killed them at any time."

"Why?" My father demands, his voice stronger than his frail appearance suggests. "Why this elaborate charade?"

"Because a dead king makes a martyr," Heinrich explains calmly. "But a living one, hidden away? That's leverage. Insurance against your daughter's... independent streak."

He turns to me with a smile that doesn't reach his eyes. "I made you, Adelaide. Everything you are—every lesson in power, every skill with poison—I cultivated. And now your revolutionary friends think they can simply walk in and undo my work?"

"The revolution has already begun," Elias says. "The outer city is ours. It's over, Heinrich."

"Nothing is over until I say it is." Heinrich draws his own pistol, aiming it at my mother's head. "Your Majesty, you have a choice to make. Rule beside me as you were trained to do, or watch your parents die—this time for real."

I look at Elias, at my parents, at the monster who shaped me into his perfect weapon. In this moment, all paths forward become crystalline in their clarity.

"You want me to rule?" I step forward, my voice steady. "Then let me make my first independent decree."

I reach into my jacket, removing a small vial of clear liquid. Heinrich's eyes widen in recognition—he taught me to make this particular poison.

"Put that down," he orders, pistol wavering between my parents and me.

"I offer you a deal, Heinrich." I uncork the vial. "Rule beside me or watch me burn the kingdom to the ground." I raise the poison to my lips. "Without a Habsburg heir, civil war is inevitable. Everything you've built will collapse."

"Adelaide, no!" My mother lunges forward but is restrained by guards.

Elias watches me, understanding dawning in his eyes. He knows what I'm doing—what I must do.

I swallow the contents in one gulp.

Heinrich's face contorts with rage and disbelief. "You stupid girl! What have you done?"

The effect is immediate—burning pain spreading from my stomach, my vision blurring at the edges. I smile through the agony.

"I've made my choice."

Chaos erupts. Guards hesitate, unsure whether to maintain their positions or help their dying queen. My father breaks free in the confusion, tackling one soldier. Elias moves with revolutionary speed, disarming another.

Heinrich strides toward me as I collapse to my knees, grabbing my face with brutal force. "The antidote—where is it?"

I laugh through the pain, blood speckling my lips. "There isn't one. Not for this."

As darkness closes in, I feel Elias kneel beside me. In one fluid motion, he presses his lips to mine—and slips something between them. A pill.

Cyanide. A quick death rather than the lingering agony of the poison.

I swallow it deliberately, my eyes locked with his. Then I whisper the truth that will destroy Heinrich's last hope:

"I've been immune since the day you left."

The last thing I see before consciousness fades is Elias's face—shock giving way to understanding, then determination as he turns to face Heinrich across my fallen body.

The battle for the kingdom begins with my death.

Or what they believe is my death.