A week had passed, and the date Napoleon had been eagerly awaiting had finally arrived—May 6th, 1800. In his bedroom, Napoleon stood before a full-length mirror, dressed not in his usual First Consul uniform, but in the familiar attire of a General. His coat is adorned with gold braids, epaulets glistening, and pins proudly displayed.
The time had come for him to assume command of the Army of the Reserve, stationed in Paris, ready to embark on a critical campaign. The tricorn hat rested firmly on his head as he glanced at his reflection.
"It has been a while since I last wore this," Napoleon murmured to himself, his gaze fixed on the reflection staring back at him from the mirror. Memories of his younger days as a military officer flooded his mind—battles fought, victories won, and the indomitable spirit that had carried him through it all.
The General's uniform brought with it a sense of familiarity, a reminder of the path that had shaped his destiny. It was a symbol of his rise from humble beginnings to becoming one of the most influential figures in France. As he straightened the golden braids on his coat, his mind wandered back to the days when he was just an ambitious young man with dreams of greatness.
Back then, he was not the First Consul of France, tasked with governing the nation and making decisions that affected the lives of millions. He was simply a soldier, fiercely determined to leave his mark on history, like Napoleon.
Yeah, one might argue that he is simply following the trail of Napoleon, but it's a different reality when one must command an army on the battlefield and lead them to victory. If he doesn't have the passion, determination, and courage, then even with modern knowledge and cheat abilities, he wouldn't be able to get to where he is now.
As he was staring at the mirror, Napoleon heard the hooves of the horses outside the chateau. He peered out of the window and saw Bessierres and his officers assembling in the courtyard.
"They are early," Napoleon remarked.
Then the sound of the door opening caused him to glance over his shoulder.
"Oh, it's my beautiful wife," Napoleon said with a smile, turning to face Ciela as she entered the room. She looked resplendent in her house dress.
Napoleon had taken to calling Ciela "my beautiful wife" whenever she visited him, and he found it endearingly cute, especially her reaction when her cheeks turned rosy.
"That doesn't work on me anymore," Ciela retorted playfully, trying to maintain her composure, though her cheeks betrayed her by turning a shade of pink.
Napoleon raised an eyebrow. "Oh, really? Are you sure about that?" he said, taking a step closer to her.
Ciela crossed her arms, feigning indifference. "Positive. I'm immune to your flattery. I always hear it every day, so it's only natural that I don't get flustered anymore," she replied, trying to sound nonchalant.
Napoleon chuckled, not buying her act for a moment. "Is that so?" he teased, reaching out to tuck a loose strand of her hair behind her ear. "You might say that my love, but your cheeks seem to have a different opinion."
Ciela tried to suppress her smile, but her efforts were futile. "Alright, fine," she admitted, her playful facade crumbling. "Maybe I still find it charming, but don't let it get to your head."
Napoleon grinned and suddenly pulled her close. He leaned in, his lips meeting Ciela's in a passionate kiss that swept away any pretense of indifference.
When they finally broke the kiss, Ciela's cheeks were flushed, and her breath was slightly unsteady. "You always have a way of making me forget my protests," she admitted, a soft smile playing on her lips.
"Did you just have a strawberry cake? Because your lips taste delightfully sweet," Napoleon teased.
Ciela's cheeks turned an even deeper shade of pink, and she playfully swatted his arm.
"Stop it you silly~!"
Napoleon chuckled at Ciela's response. But seconds later, the atmosphere inside the bedroom turned serious at the prospect of Napoleon leaving and going to the battlefield.
"So, you'll be leaving again to go to the battlefield," Ciela said, a hint of sadness in her voice. "Sometimes I wish you didn't have to wear that uniform and could stay here to govern France. But I know that would be selfish of me, and your leadership on the battlefield is part of what makes you so charming."
"There's just no way I would miss Marengo," Napoleon said with determination. "And I need this victory so that our plan of renovating Paris and the whole of France can proceed. Infrastructure projects from the Second Empire, Haussmann's renovation, the Belle époque that would make Paris and France a beautiful city. I promised you that I will bring the aesthetics of France to you—the Eiffel Tower, the Arc de Triomphe, Palais Garnier, and more. Doesn't that make you excited?"
"Then you must return victorious, okay?" Ciela said, her expression serious. "I mean it. We have changed history too much, and there's no guarantee that you'll live through the battle where the real Napoleon emerged victorious. If you get shot, I will be angry."
"I would love to see how you look when you are angry," Napoleon smiled at Ciela's playful remark, trying to lighten the somber mood that had settled upon them. "Well, let's hope it doesn't come to that," he said with a wink, though his eyes conveyed the seriousness of the situation.
Ciela managed a small smile, though her worry was still evident in her eyes. "You better," she replied, trying to sound lighthearted but failing to completely hide her concern.
Napoleon pulled out a photo from his pocket, and there, he showed it to Ciela. It was a family photo taken with the camera introduced back in December.
"This will be my reminder of what I am fighting for," Napoleon said.
As they were having a serious moment, a knock on the door interrupted their conversation. Napoleon turned his attention to the door as it opened, revealing Beaumont.
"Sir, General Bessierres is waiting for you outside," Beaumont informed.
"Tell him I'm coming out," Napoleon replied.
He gave Ciela's hand a reassuring squeeze before releasing her and turning towards the door. "I'll be back before you know it," he said, offering her a small smile.
Ciela nodded, trying to stay composed despite the worry gnawing at her heart. "I'll be waiting for your safe return," she said softly.
With one last glance at Ciela, Napoleon stepped out of the bedroom and made his way downstairs. There he found Francis and Aveline waiting for him, standing by the door.
"Ah…Francis, Aveline," Napoleon began. "Papa is going to be out for a while."
"Why are you not wearing your red uniform Father?" Francis asked he had grown accustomed to seeing his father wear his consul uniform.
"Is that your general uniform?" Aveline observed.
"That's right, Aveline. Papa needs to go to the front and defeat the enemy," Napoleon replied with a warm smile, bending down to be at eye level with his children. He ruffled his children's hair affectionately before continuing. "Behave yourself okay."
"When are you going to return?" Aveline asked.
"Hmm…I'll be back next month, but I'll send you a letter so that we can keep in touch while I'm away," Napoleon replied.
"Good luck Father," Francis said.
"Come back safe okay?" Aveline added, her eyes brimming with concern.
Napoleon smiled warmly at his children. He pulled them into a tight embrace, cherishing the moment with his family before he had to depart. Then, Napoleon rose to his feet and exited the chateau where General Bessierres was waiting for him.
General Bessierres approached Napoleon with a respectful salute. "Are we ready General?"
"Yes."
This 𝓬ontent is taken from fre𝒆webnove(l).𝐜𝐨𝗺