"Would that be all, Your Imperial Majesty?" Berthier asked.
Napoleon II shook his head. "There is another but this one is not organizational level. It’s more like aesthetics. I want to change the uniform of the French Army and Navy."
"Oh..." Berthier chuckled. "That we can discuss. What you don’t like in the uniform?"
Napoleon II leaned back, eyes lifting toward the tall windows for a mont before returning to Berthier.
"They look good on parade," he said. "They don’t work."
Berthier’s smile faded a notch. "In what sense?"
"In every sense that matters once shooting starts," Napoleon II replied. "It’s color is so bright like it’s begging the enemy to shoot us. You know the needle gun of the British, they have superior range," he said. "And we’re still dressing n as if the battlefield stops at a hundred paces."
Berthier nodded in agreent. "Bright colors bleed into distance."
"They bleed into graves," Napoleon II added. "Blue coats. White straps. Brass that catches sunlight. A rifleman doesn’t need to see our banners to know where to aim."
He leaned forward now.
"I want uniforms that disappear at distance. Grey. Field-blue. Earth tones. Cloth that dulls light instead of reflecting it."
Berthier studied him. "That’s a sharp break from tradition."
"Tradition was built for muskets," Napoleon II said. "Rifles change everything."
"And the cut?" Berthier asked.
"Functional," Napoleon II replied. "Shorter coats. No tails. Trousers that allow kneeling and crawling. Tunics with real pockets. Belts that carry weight without cutting into the body."
Berthier inclined his head. "I can’t imagine the uniform you are describing. Perhaps if we can make one first and then decide from there?"
Napoleon II nodded. "That’s exactly what I want. I can draw a uniform and have it sent to the workshops myself."
Berthier raised an eyebrow. "You?"
"Yes," Napoleon II said. "It’s best if I am the one who draws it."
"It does make sense, Your Imperial Majesty. Since you are the one who knows the design," Berthier said and added. "What about the navy?"
Napoleon replied simply. "Sa approach. We are considering the future of warfare. When a war breaks out, which hopefully not, it won’t be fought in Napoleonic style, it will be a new era."
Napoleon II let the words settle, then pushed his chair back and stood.
"That will be all," he said. "For now."
Berthier rose as well.
"I’ll begin imdiately," Berthier said. "The commands. The council. The service chiefs. And I’ll have workshops prepared for your designs."
Napoleon II extended his hand.
Berthier took it without hesitation.
"Keep inford," Napoleon II said.
"You’ll have them," Berthier replied.
"That’s all I ask."
They released their hands.
Berthier adjusted his coat, then gave a short nod. He turned toward the door. It closed softly behind him.
Napoleon II exhaled once, then looked to the others.
"Armand. Charles."
Both straightened at once.
"I want so ti alone," Napoleon II said.
Armand nodded. "Of course."
Charles closed his notebook without comnt.
They filed out quietly, the sound of their footsteps fading down the corridor until the room was still.
Napoleon II remained standing where he was. He walked back to the table, rested his palms against the worn wood, and stared at the empty space where maps would soon be laid.
This was it, reforming the ard forces of France. Looking back, France had been idle for the last fifteen years in international affairs. Now, France is stronger economically, and has a massive reserves of money that can be used to rearm an Empire who had lost most of its conquered territories during the Napoleonic wars.
"I guess I have to sign the orders for rifles and machine guns from the arms manufacturing company. I’ll call them tomorrow."
Napoleon II straightened, pushing away from the table. He left the council room without calling for an escort.
His destination is the place where his wife, Elisabeth, was staying.
Napoleon II crossed the inner courtyard and stepped into the garden.
The air outside was cooler. Gravel paths stretched between trimd hedges. Fountains sprouting columns of water steadily. At the far end of the path, Elisabeth stood beneath a line of trees, sunlight catching the edge of her dress. Two court ladies walked a few paces behind her.
Napoleon II stopped when he saw her.
She turned before he called out, as if she had felt him there. Her expression softened when their eyes t.
"You’re finished," she said.
"For today," he replied.
He approached at an unhurried pace. When he reached them, he inclined his head slightly toward the ladies.
"You may leave us," he said. "I won’t need attendance."
The ladies curtsied at once.
heir footsteps faded down the path, skirts brushing stone, until the garden belonged to the two of them.
Elisabeth looked at him more closely now.
"You look worn," she said.
Napoleon II nodded once. "I am."
She didn’t press. She gestured toward a stone bench beneath the trees. He followed, sitting beside her. The bench was cool through his coat. He rested his elbows on his knees for a mont, hands clasped, staring ahead at nothing in particular.
Elisabeth turned slightly toward him. "You are already tired in the morning. I guess it must have been an exhausting eting."
"True," Napoleon II confird. "Which is why I need this."
Napoleon II shifted closer. He turned toward her and leaned in, his arms sliding around her back. This ti he didn’t hesitate. He rested his head against her chest, cheek pressed through fabric where he could feel the softness of her breast.
Elisabeth drew a slow breath and adjusted her posture so he could rest more comfortably. One hand ca up to the back of his head, fingers threading gently through his hair. The other settled between his shoulders.
He didn’t speak. His shoulders rose and fell once, then eased. The tension bled out of him in small incrents, like a knot loosening under patient hands.
They sat that way.
Elisabeth tilted her head slightly, resting her cheek against his temple.
"So you just want so company," Elisabeth grinned.
"I do."
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