Josephine

𝓔𝓹𝓲𝓼𝓸𝓭𝓮 23: 𝓣𝓱𝓮 𝓝𝓪𝓼𝓽𝔂 𝓣𝓻𝓾𝓽𝓱 𝓸𝓯 𝓦𝓪𝓻

March 17, 1971, Saint Patrick's Day

I fixed the buttons of my coat, which hung over my shirt repeatedly. I shivered from the coldness of my bedroom. It had been an unbearable winter in New York this year and even the warmth of the palace often kept me cold regularly. I was spending Saint Patricks Day with the High Command, they could use a break from the frontlines. They were also probably bored out of their minds since our soldiers were still bogged down in the brutal winter. I had been dead wrong about this war being over by Christmas... and I felt guilty about it. I had promised them home by the holidays and here we were in the third month of the next year and this awful war had no end in sight.

"Your majesty?" A voice came through the wooden door.

"Yes?" I replied.

"The High Command has arrived at the palace madame!"

"Alright I'll be down momentarily," I responded as I slipped on my loafers.

I stared at my reflection in the mirror. My normally chocolate hair now had blonde highlights at the tips. I have heard much anger that it is 'unroyal' and 'inappropriate' though frankly I could care less about the opinions of the 'traditionalists'.

Traditionalists are the noblemen and people who seek to preserve American custom, even if it wildly outdated our current time. Some of them strive to reinstate slavery in our vast colonial territories from Alaska to India.

I spun on my heel and left my bedroom into an even colder hallway. I knew winter would soon be over, and then the Imperial Army could and would smash the rebellion into little bits. The hallways of the palace were empty and barren, silenced of seemingly any life. I jogged down the silvery marble stairwell, which wound around to the main floor. Generals Mackenzie, Cochrane and Dimopoulous waited, wrapped in thick fur coats and their hats in their gloved hands.

"Gentleman!" I exclaimed.

The generals bowed inelastically as I approached them. I extended my hand, gloved in fine silk. Each of the men shook it gingerly, which I knew would anger the traditionalists. Men should supposedly kiss a woman's hand. But this isn't the 1840s, this is 1971.

"It must be nice to get a break from the front is it not?" I asked.

"It is quite the pleasure to get out of the frigid snowbanks, and especially to dine with you your majesty on such a dutiful holiday!" Mackenzie replied.

"William is not the only one to feel this way, your majesty," Cochrane added, "The temperatures are causing even the most disciplined soldiers to break,"

"The reason I have been unable to strike back across Saint Lawrence is partly due to vicious mutiny," Dimopoulous stated.

"Mutiny? In my army? Well, no matter, let us discuss the war situation over Saint Patrick's feast!" I exclaimed, "This way gentlemen!"

I led the commanders through the palace into the dining hall, where plates of corned beef, sauerkraut, cabbage, soda bread and shepherd's pie.

"Your majesty I have never seen such a feast in years!" Cochrane said gobsmacked.

"Welcome to the luxury of the palace," I replied, "Servers, sit these men down and bring out the wine!"

The generals sat down at the table. I had requested that we eat privately while the other nobles, dukes and duchesses eat separately. I was seated at the end of the table as servers brought out glasses of red wine on golden platters. They placed out the glasses on the table and began pouring the wine. The thin red liquid steadily filled up to the brim.