Chapter 412 The Emperor's Children Part 1
As the morning sun began to fill the dining hall of the Royal Palace of Madrid, Tristan Bonaparte shared a quiet breakfast with an English noblewoman. The table between them was long, yet it seemed to shorten with each shared glance and smile.
Tristan observed the noblewoman, appreciating the simplicity and elegance of her attire She wore a cream-colored dress, tailored to fit her form without excess or ostentation. The red cape that draped over her shoulders was bright and eye-catching, but its design was practical, meant for warmth rather than show.
Her hair was light blonde, pulled back to reveal the full extent of her gentle features. Her eyes were bright and attentive as she looked back at him, a smile gracing her lips.
"Uhm…Your Majesty, I can't help but notice that you are looking at me quite oftenly. Is there something on my face?" she asked.
Tristan's smile broadened, and he leaned forward slightly, resting his elbows on the table, an informal gesture that seemed to close the distance between them even more.
"My apologies, Lady," he began. "it's not something on your face that captures my attention, but rather the face itself—its composure, the way it reflects the morning light, and, if I may be so bold, how it seems to brighten this hall more than any chandelier ever could."
Her laughter, light and melodic, filled the room, and she placed her hand lightly over her mouth in a gesture of feigned modesty.
"Sir, you have a way with words that could turn breakfast into a ballroom dance," she replied. "But tell me, is it the custom here in Spain for noblemen to offer compliments as freely as the sun offers its rays?"
"It is not the custom, perhaps, but an inclination of the heart when in pleasant company," Tristan said and continued. "And in such a company, it would be a disservice to conversation to not speak one's mind. And by the way, my lady, I'm not a Spanish nobleman but a French one. I am, after all, the son of the Great Emperor who is ruling France. Napoleon Bonaparte. And you haven't introduced yourself formally to me."
The noblewoman tilted her head slightly, her smile taking on an added layer of warmth.
"I stand corrected, Your Majesty.?I am Lady Shiela Belfast. My family holds modest estates to the north of England. While we may not command an empire, we do take pride in our contribution to the realm's tapestry."
Tristan nodded, his interest clearly piqued. "Lady Belfast," he repeated, savoring the name. "A beautiful name for a beautiful lady. England's countryside must surely be lesser for your absence."
Shiela's eyes sparkled with amusement. "Flattery will get you everywhere, Your Majesty," she quipped. "But I must admit, I do miss the green fields and the cool breeze of my homeland. However, Spain—and this palace—have charms of their own."
"Indeed, they do," Tristan agreed with a chuckle. "But surely those charms are eclipsed by the company one keeps.
He continued.
"I take it that you coming here to Spain, to this very palace, is not just for a change of scenery, Lady Belfast," Tristan said, his tone shifting subtly to a more serious tone. "Your presence here, if I am not mistaken, is a silent acceptance of the proposal that has been extended, the union our families have arranged."
Shiela's smile softened, and she lowered her eyes for a moment, a silent acknowledgment of the weight of his words. When she raised her gaze to meet his again, there was a new depth to be seen.
"Yes, Your Majesty," she began. "And I'm very honored that you have selected me over other candidates. The arrangement was made between our families, and I am here to honor that agreement."
"You should know, my lady, that I am the son of Napoleon Bonaparte, the man who brought Great Britain to its knees. Surely, you have no grudge against the son for the father's deeds?" Tristan asked.
Shiela Belfast held his gaze, her expression composed. "Grudges are a heavy burden to carry across the channel, Your Majesty. I prefer to travel light," she replied with a pragmatic tone. "I judge individuals by their own actions, not by their lineage. Besides, our countries have found peace, and so shall we, if we're to move forward."
Tristan nodded, appreciating her practical approach. "Well said, Lady Belfast. The past is behind us, and I'm looking forward to building something new, something ours."
Shiela considered his words, then nodded in agreement.
As Tristan was about to speak another word. One of his advisors suddenly entered the dining hall.
Tristan was slightly dismayed at the interruption. He looked towards the advisor with an arched brow, signaling his displeasure at being disturbed during a private moment.
"Your Majesty, I apologize for the intrusion," the advisor said, clearly aware he had breached protocol. "There are urgent matters that require your attention. Affairs of the state that cannot wait."
Tristan sighed, the reality of his position never allowing for a truly private life. "Very well," he said, turning back to Shiela with an apologetic smile. "Duty calls, it seems. We will have to continue our discussion at a later time."
Shiela nodded, the understanding in her eyes evident. "Of course, Your Majesty. I would not keep you from your responsibilities."
With a final glance at Lady Belfast, Tristan stood and followed his advisor out of the dining hall.
***
Tristan followed his advisor to his office, and as soon as they arrived at the doors to his office, the advisor stopped and faced him.
"Your Majesty, inside your office would be your cabinet members. So it is going to be crowded."
"So it is really serious huh?"
"It is indeed, Your Majesty," the advisor confirmed, his face stern.
Tristan's expression hardened. "Understood. Let's not keep them waiting then."
He briskly walked into his office, where his cabinet members stood waiting.
The room was filled with a tense atmosphere, papers were strewn across the table, and maps with various markings hung on the walls. The chatter ceased as he entered; all eyes were on him, expectant and anxious.
"Good morning," Tristan greeted them, taking his place at the head of the table. "Now, what is so urgent that it cannot wait until after breakfast?"
One of the senior advisors stepped forward, a dispatch in his hand. "Your Majesty, the Empire of France has declared war on the Russian Empire and the Ottoman Empire. They have reached out to us and ask that we come to their aid as allies in this conflict," the senior advisor finished, handing the dispatch to Tristan.
Tristan scanned the document quickly. "So my father really did it huh? They fired at the Ottoman troops that crossed the demarcation line."
"Your Majesty, they aren't waiting any longer. They need our decision."
"My father has asked his son to join him in battle, a son would never turn his back on his father, especially in a time like this," Tristan said. "As the King of Spain, I answer to his call. The Empire of Spain shall declare war on the Russian Empire and the Ottoman Empire."
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