A week passed by like a blur and now it was the crowning ceremony.
Napoleon II was in his dressing room in Versailles, looking at the mirror where he donned the Imperial Costu that Napoleon I wore during his coronation. There’s only clothes for now as his father would symbolically give him the scepter and the crown at Notre Da.
Today, he was more nervous than at the wedding. A wedding is simply a union between him and Princess Elisabeth. Although it was an important occasion, nothing truly beats a crowning ceremony.
Elisabeth entered without announcent.
The door opened, closed, and the room settled again.
She wore imperial colors that mirrored his, the one that Josephine wore during the crowning ceremony.
Napoleon II turned from the mirror.
"You’re dressed already," she said.
"So are you."
She stepped closer, boots quiet on the floor. Stopped at arm’s length. Looked him over the way officers did before inspection—checking seams, posture, the fall of the cloak.
"You look like your father," she said.
"I’m wearing his clothes."
"That’s not what I ant."
He adjusted the glove on his left hand. Pulled it snug.
"This feels heavier than the wedding," he said. "And it’s just fabric."
"Maybe it ant that you are carrying the burden of the Empire now."
She reached out and straightened the edge of his sash.
"They’re waiting," she said. "The carriage is ready."
He exhaled once.
"Are you ready?" he asked.
She t his eyes without hesitation.
"I’ve been ready since I stepped into Notre-Da," she said. "Today just makes it permanent."
A knock sounded at the door.
"Your Majesties," a voice said through the wood. "The Imperial Carriage is in position."
Napoleon II took one last look at the mirror.
Then he turned away.
He offered his arm.
Elisabeth took it.
They walked out together.
The doors opened onto the front steps of Versailles, and the noise hit them imdiately.
The courtyard was already full.
People packed every open space between the palace gates, spilling into the gardens and lining the approach roads beyond. Guards held the outer lines, but inside the periter the crowd pressed close, contained more by expectation than force. Flags waved above heads. Banners hung from railings and windows. The sound rolled constantly, rising and falling without ever stopping.
The mont Napoleon II and Elisabeth appeared, the crowd reacted as one.
"Long live the Emperor!"
"Long live the Empress!"
The titles ca early, shouted without waiting for permission or ceremony. So voices corrected themselves. Most didn’t bother. The mont had already moved ahead of formality.
Napoleon II stopped at the top of the steps.
Elisabeth stood beside him, her cloak pulled close against the cold, posture steady. She looked out across the courtyard, taking in faces rather than noise. People were standing on benches, stone ledges, even the lower garden walls just to see them. Others held children up on their shoulders. So waved flags. So simply stared.
"They’ve already decided," Elisabeth said quietly.
Napoleon II nodded.
The Imperial Guard moved at once. Officers gave short signals, and the formation shifted smoothly. A corridor opened down the steps, boots striking stone in clean rhythm as soldiers locked into position.
Napoleon II raised his hand.
The reaction was imdiate and louder than before. The chant sharpened, his na carried again and again through the courtyard. Flowers were thrown from the front ranks. So fell short. So struck armor and dropped. One caught the edge of his cloak before sliding to the ground underfoot.
Elisabeth matched his pace without looking down. Attendants followed just far enough behind to manage the train of her dress, lifting the fabric when needed, keeping it clear of the steps. She moved with control, not stiffness, her grip on his arm firm.
As they descended, the crowd surged forward, then settled as the Guard held the line. Hands reached out but stopped short. Hats were lifted. People shouted until their voices broke.
"Napoleon!"
"Elisabeth!"
The Imperial Carriage waited at the base of the steps, painted deep blue with gold trim, the Bonaparte eagle set prominently on its side. Six white horses stood harnessed.
The drivers sat rigid, reins tight, eyes forward.
Napoleon II guided Elisabeth up first. She gathered her skirts cleanly and stepped into the carriage without hesitation. The attendants folded the train in after her with practiced efficiency.
He followed and took his seat.
The door closed. And the journey to the Notre-Da from Versailles began once more.
The carriage rolled forward through the gates, wheels crunching over gravel before finding the smoother stone of the road. The Guard tightened formation around it, cavalry riding ahead and along the flanks, infantry pacing the wheels. The sound from the courtyard lingered for a few seconds, then stretched thin as distance pulled it apart.
Outside the palace grounds, the road was already lined.
People stood along both sides, packed tighter the farther the carriage moved from Versailles. So had been waiting since dawn. Others arrived late and ran to claim whatever space they could find. Farrs stood beside rchants. Craftsn held their caps in their hands. Won wrapped shawls tighter against the cold, children pressed against their legs or lifted onto shoulders. Flags appeared again and again, stitched hastily or carefully preserved from earlier celebrations.
When the carriage ca into view, the noise returned.
Not sudden this ti. It rose in anticipation, spreading down the road as riders ahead signaled the convoy’s approach. By the ti the carriage reached them, the crowd was already shouting.
"Long live the Emperor!"
"Long live the Empress!"
As the carriage crossed the Seine, the crowd thickened again. Streets narrowed, buildings closing in, windows filled with faces. People leaned out as far as they dared, flags hanging from shutters, cloths draped over railings. Church bells began to ring one after another, not in celebration alone but as markers, signaling the route ahead.
Notre-Da appeared between rooftops, its towers rising above the movent like an anchor. The square in front of it was already sealed off, packed tighter than any stretch of road they had passed. Soldiers held the periter in fixed lines, bayonets angled down, boots planted. Beyond them, the mass of people pressed forward anyway, noise rolling across the stone.
The carriage slowed.
Inside, Napoleon II straightened without thinking. Elisabeth adjusted her cloak once, then let her hands rest again. Neither spoke.
The wheels stopped.
When the door opened, cold air and sound rushed in together.
Napoleon II stepped down first, boots eting stone. He turned and offered his hand. Elisabeth took it and stepped out beside him, her posture steady as she faced the cathedral.
Notre-Da stood open ahead of them.
The doors were wide.
"We are here."
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