𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐑𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓𝐄𝐎𝐔𝐒 𝐇𝐄𝐈𝐑

ℭ𝔥𝔞𝔭𝔱𝔢𝔯 9 | 𝑻𝑯𝑬 𝑷𝑨𝑺𝑺𝑰𝑵𝑮 𝑶𝑭 𝑨𝑵 𝑨𝑪𝑬

The old-fashioned candles are burning low and the gas lamps are dimmed in the Emperor's antechamber. The Limoges clock on the mantelpiece says that it is nearly four in the morning. Those who are waiting do not speak, still dressed in their finery for the ball. Your grandmother sits straight-backed in a hard chair by the door as though waiting for a summons, Marshal Ney standing beside her with his head bent. Marshal Duval paces, while his wife and Eugenie have slipped outside where they can talk without breaking the funereal tension in the room. Alexandre leans on the mantelpiece looking into the fire.

Franz stands at the opposite side of the room from Alexandre, moodily staring at a book open in his hands. He hasn't turned a page in a quarter hour. He looks considerably more sober than he was earlier in the evening.

This is how it ends, you think. These are the Emperor's final hours, perhaps even his final moments. He has set in motion all of Europe since before you were born. What will happen now?

The door opens. Dr. Larrey is stooped, his hair white, more tired than you have ever seen him. He appears not to know who to look at, or perhaps he is simply too overcome with grief to think of politics. After all, he has known Napoleon for nearly forty years. "The Emperor is gone," he says quietly. "He suffered cerebral apoplexy and did not regain consciousness."

Franz takes a deep breath, as though visibly shouldering a burden. "My father is dead," he says. "I hardly knew him, and now I must take his place. I am the prince imperial, my father's heir. May God rest his soul."

Marshal Ney regards him steadily. "You are his son. But not his only son."

"I am the heir to the throne of France," Franz says. "If you will not confirm it, that does not change the fact." He turns on his heel and leaves the room.

Your grandmother closes her eyes.

"Where do we go from here?" Marshal Ney murmurs, almost meditatively.

"To hell," says Marshal Duval.

"It will be to hell with an Austrian king," your grandmother says. Her eyes are open and blazing with unshed tears. "And we will lose everything we have worked for these last forty years. Everything. Education. Religious toleration. The rights of women. Everything."

"Or we are at war with all of Europe," Ney says. "Do you understand what that will mean?"

"I understand perfectly," your grandmother snaps. "I've fought them."

"So have I." For a moment they stand perfectly still, their eyes locked.

"We could proclaim Alexandre anyway," Duval says. "We could say the Emperor legitimized him on his deathbed."

"He didn't," Ney says.

Duval shrugs. "Who will know he didn't? Only us. The army and the people would support him."

"That will start a war," Ney says sharply.

"Everything will start a war except handing France over to Franz," your grandmother says. Her eyes do not leave Ney's. "And then what will you do? Agree that there cannot be too many Caesars?"

Ney goes utterly white.

"Oh yes," she says softly. "I am for Alexandre. Are you?"

The marshal takes a long, shuddering breath. "I am for Alexandre," he says. "Yes."

"And so am I," Duval says. "Alexandre?"

You draw Alexandre aside. You have only a moment to speak to him privately.

"I'm so very glad for you," you say. "You know that if you need help, I'm always here."

"I'm going to need help," Alexandre says. "Believe me. I couldn't have come this far without you."

He embraces you, then kisses you soundly. You hear a cough from behind you, but when you turn, Duval and Ney are affecting not to notice. Your grandmother is smiling.

Alexandre gathers the attention of everyone in the room with his gaze. "I'm ready," he says.

"The Austrians won't let us get away with this without a fight," Ney says. "As far as they're concerned, Franz has every right to the throne."

Duval nods. "The first thing I'd do if I were them is make an immediate grab for the capital. If they can seize the Tuileries and crown Franz, it will sway public opinion in their favor."

Your grandmother nods. "So how do we hold the capital?"

"From the air," Alexandre says. "Their only assets are their airships and whatever troops they brought with them under the pretext of guarding Franz. If we can cripple their air power, they have nothing to fight with. They can't match our forces on the ground."

The Bonaventure sits at anchor, its bulk a white ghost against the dark sky. On the eastern horizon, you can see the first line of midnight blue heralding the coming dawn.

Alexandre calls, "Look alive! We have to make ready to launch now!" as you scramble up the gangplank. All around you, other airships are preparing to launch, but many are manned only by skeleton crews, as is the Bonaventure. There's no time to wake men from their beds and hurry them to the field.

You see the distinctive shape of the Revenant starting her engines as well. She's armed only with a harpoon cannon meant for landing in high winds, but then, so are you. You take some comfort from the sight of carronades on the decks of three large military airships. The other ships launching are various civilian vessels, and some make immediately for the horizon, fleeing rather than joining in the city's defense.

You see three Austrian airships in the sky, Franz's ship and his two escorts.

"We outmatch them," Alexandre says in satisfaction.

"I'm not sure we outgun them," you say. As you watch, one of the Austrian ships fires its cannons, a bright flash against the lightening sky. One of the French warships takes heavy damage and noses back down toward the field in a deadly dive.

"Take the helm!" Alexandre says, and turns to the speaking tube to shout orders to the ship's engineers. The air is full of ships, a ragged mass of pilots with no training in how to fly in formation. It takes you a moment to make sense of the confusion. Two of the Austrian ships are moving into position to engage the remaining French warships. The other is changing course, making for the Tuileries.

You follow the Austrian warship breaking away, but at a safe distance. We can't engage a warship with no cannon aboard.

The Austrian ship begins to descend toward the gardens of the Tuileries. You watch as it lands and Austrian troops boil out, pouring toward the palace. Alexandre makes a wordless noise of protest, but the French warships are still pinned down by the other two Austrian aeropilés.

"We have to land," he says. "I can't just stand here and watch them take the palace."

"We'll have to surrender if we land," I say. "I'd rather make a run for it, but if that's what you truly want, I'll do it."
"No," Alexandre says after a long moment. "If it were only me, I'd stick with this to the bitter end. But you deserve better. Take us higher, away from this disaster." He spares one last lingering look for the Tuileries dwindling beneath you. "And set a course for Calais."

"Victoria will be waiting for you in England," you say.

"There's that," Alexandre says, and a faint light returns to his face.

"At least we have each other," you say. "That's something."

Alexandre reaches for your hand and squeezes it hard. "How could I bear losing France if I didn't have you?"

"You have me," you say. "We'll face whatever happens next together." The Bonaventure races toward the Channel, leaving Paris behind.

I'm gonna be honest, I feel like changing the ending so that Alexandre will be on the throne, what do you think?