The date was March 25th 1829, at the Tuileris Palace. Napoleon II arrived at the massive gates of the palace.
The gates were opened and the carriage carrying Napoleon II entered along with his convoy of Imperial Guards.
At the main entrance to the palace stood Napoleon I, along with his wife, Marie Louise. They watched as the carriage of Napoleon II neared them and the mont it arrived right in front of them, the Imperial Guards opened the door, revealing Napoleon II.
"Father," Napoleon II said as he approached Napoleon I, and perford cheek-to-cheek. He did the sa to his mother, and once it was concluded, his father spoke.
"The announcent of your marriage to Princess Elisabeth of Wittelsbach next week. The news will be carried through telegraphs across the continent, everyone will know of it."
"I see, that’s good Father, the only thing we need to do is send out an invitation to the royal families of Europe."
"Oh they’ll co," Marie Louise said, placing a hand on Napoleon II’s arm. "Emperor Francis II has already confird his attendance."
"The Austrian Empire huh?" Napoleon II said. "It’s obvious that they will co, you are his daughter after all."
"Now, now, at my coronation, No royal families attended. But now, they are craving for our invitation," Napoleon I noted.
"That’s because they want sothing for their national interest," Napoleon II said. "Now, for the reason I am here, father."
"Oh right, I have a eting with my ministers and I think it’s best that you join us as it concerns the national security of the French Empire," Napoleon I said, his tone growing serious.
Napoleon II didn’t know at first why he was summoned to the Tuileries Palace. But now he has an idea.
"Okay, but first let go to the bathroom, I’m holding my pee since thirty minutes."
"Armand will escort you," Napoleon I said.
Caulaincourt was already at his side.
"This way, Your Imperial Highness."
They moved through the interior corridors of the Tuileries.
They stopped at a side chamber near the administrative wing.
"This restroom was completed last year," Caulaincourt said, opening the door.
Napoleon II stepped inside.
The room was tiled in pale stone. Clean. Functional. Along one wall stood porcelain urinals fed by concealed piping. A brass valve sat above each basin.
Napoleon II stepped forward, unfastened his trousers, and relieved himself. When he finished, he reached up and pulled the lever.
Water rushed down with force, carrying everything away through the hidden pipes beneath the floor.
He stepped to the washbasin.
Fresh water flowed from the faucet when he turned it. He washed his hands thoroughly, fingers, palms, wrists. A bar of soap sat on a small tray—French-made, lightly scented. He used it, rinsed again, then dried his hands with a folded cloth.
Caulaincourt was waiting.
"This way, Sire."
They walked deeper into the palace.
The doors to the eting room were already open.
Inside, Napoleon I stood at the head of a long table. Marshal Davout was there, arms crossed, posture rigid. Berthier stood nearby, papers in hand. Several senior officers were present, uniforms dark, expressions tight.
Napoleon II noticed the wooden crates imdiately.
They were stacked near the wall.
"Marshal Davout, Berthier, Father."
"Your Imperial Highness," Berthier and Davout intoned.
It’s a miracle that these two marshals, the best of the best, were still alive in this tiline. Possibly because the fall of France didn’t happen. They are one of the greatest assets of the Empire.
"Take a seat, we are starting this eting soon," Napoleon I said, gesturing to one of the vacant seats.
Napoleon II took his seat nearest to Napoleon II and the Marshals also took their seats.
"The reason for such eting is about the threat of the British Empire," Napoleon I began.
"The British," Berthier tutted his tongue. "They are an existential threat to the French Empire."
"They are our archrival," Davout added. "And they are becoming increasingly better. They are industrializing as fast as ours."
"We all know that the British Empire and the French Empire engaged in a comrcial trade. Both helped our economies, but our modern and state-of-the art machinery and equipnt are being used to further their military capabilities."
"Well that doesn’t concern ," Napoleon II said. "We only sold them the machinery and equipnt, not the technical know-how of the technology itself. We have the upper hand."
"I don’t think so anymore," Napoleon I said, his tone sounding like he was chiding him. "You have to take this seriously. For the last fifteen years, we simply industrialized and modernized our economy. Sure the technology that you have designed has helped France progress. It now has electrical lighting, huge manufacturing companies, mining, transportation such as steam engines, in short we heavily invested in our dostic affairs."
"As that should be father, a strong economy is vital for the Empire," Napoleon II said.
"But it doesn’t have the military to back it up!" Napoleon I snapped, his voice rising sharply. His hand struck the table once, hard enough to rattle the papers near Berthier.
The room went still.
Davout did not move. Berthier lowered his eyes to the docunts in front of him. The officers kept their backs straight, faces unreadable.
Napoleon II, however, did not flinch.
He leaned back slightly in his chair and exhaled through his nose.
"Father," he said calmly, "you really shouldn’t raise your voice like that."
Napoleon I glared at him.
"This is not a joke."
"I know," Napoleon II replied. "But you’re not twenty anymore. Sudden shouting is bad for the heart. Mother would agree with ."
There was a brief pause.
Berthier coughed once and looked away. One of the officers shifted his weight.
Napoleon I’s jaw tightened. His anger didn’t vanish, but it redirected. He straightened slowly, forcing his tone back under control.
"You always do this," he said. "Deflect."
"I don’t," Napoleon II replied. "I just refuse to panic."
Davout finally spoke.
"The concern is not imaginary," he said. "British procurent has increased. Their foundries are expanding. Their experintation with new infantry weapons is real. One of which is..."
With a flick of his fingers, the officers standing behind them acted accordingly. They grabbed sothing out from the wooden crate. Napoleon II followed their movents and when he saw what they were grabbing out there, his eyes widened.
"That’s a rifle."
"It’s an advanced rifle," Napoleon I said. "It’s a breechloading rifle that is far superior than our standard-issue rifle. Word is that the British Empire is equipping their soldiers with that rifle and producing it at an industrial rate thanks to our technology. They call it a needle gun."
"And to add," Davout interjected. "They are also modernizing their navy. According to our intel, the British Navy had been experinting on a new propulsion technology, instead of sail they are using steam for propulsion, its energy transferred to the rotating screw underneath the aft of the ship. Imagine a ship cruising without the need of wind. And instead of wood, they are using iron! Our naval fleet consisted of wooden ships; it will be ineffective against the British Navy."
"Also, they are using explosive shells, making it vulnerable to our ships. If only the budget were high, we could experint and adopt so of the new technology to our ranks."
"So in short you are worried we are lagging behind the British military and navy? Is that it?" Napoleon II asked.
"I’m surprised that you can be so calm about this, Your Imperial Highness," Davout said.
"Napoleon," Napoleon I said. "If I were to give the crown to you, at least make it able to survive for another year. I have followed everything you have said and now I need you to co up with a solution to our anxiety. We have a surplus of budgets that we can use to modernize our military, we only need your greatest mind to co up that’s better than them."
Napoleon II sighed. "So the ti has co huh?"
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