Reincarnated as Napoleon II-Chapter 31: Debut

Six hours had passed. The light outside had shifted from pale afternoon to the softer gold that came just before evening.

At the Palace of Versailles, Napoleon II stood at the edge of the ballroom, watching the final preparations unfold.

Long tables stretched the length of the hall, draped in linen so white it caught the light and reflected it upward. Servants moved along them in steady lines, placing dishes with practiced precision. There was no rushing now. Only correction.

Bread baskets came first.

Not the coarse loaves most of France still knew, but soft white rounds, scored cleanly, their crusts thin and even. Steam escaped faintly when one was cut open, the interior light and elastic. Alongside them were darker loaves as well—rye, grain, fortified blends developed in imperial bakeries to last longer without losing texture.

Butter followed. Salted and unsalted. Kept cool in shallow porcelain trays.

Then the main dishes arrived.

Roasted meats glazed carefully so they shone without dripping. Whole fish laid on beds of herbs, skin intact, eyes clear. Pies sealed tight, their crusts unbroken, steam trapped inside until the moment of cutting. Platters of vegetables arranged by color and season rather than excess.

Everything smelled clean.

Napoleon II’s eyes moved on.

At the far end of the hall, musicians were assembling.

Violins rested in open cases lined with velvet. Brass instruments caught the light along their curves. A grand pianoforte—newer than most in Europe—had been wheeled into position, its frame reinforced with improved iron supports that held tuning far longer than older designs.

The musicians spoke quietly among themselves, testing strings, adjusting valves, tapping keys.

Above it all, the decorations completed the picture.

Banners hung from the upper galleries, imperial colors woven with subtle metallic thread. Chandeliers had been cleaned and rewired, glass prisms aligned so they would refract electric light evenly when activated later. Floral arrangements filled the corners of the hall.

It was a beautiful sight, and this was the first time the Empire had spent so much on a lavish party.

Footsteps approached from behind.

Beaumont stopped a respectful distance away.

"Your Imperial Highness," the chamberlain said softly, "Their Majesties have arrived."

Napoleon II didn’t turn right away.

"Both of them?" he asked.

"Yes," Beaumont replied. "The Emperor and Empress entered through the eastern court. They will be ready shortly."

Napoleon II nodded once.

"Good," he said. "I’ll meet them."

"Allow me to lead, Your Imperial Highness," Beaumont said.

Napoleon II followed.

They moved through a side corridor that bypassed the main flow of servants and guests. The sound of the ballroom faded behind them.

The eastern court opened ahead.

Napoleon I stood near the center of the court, hands clasped behind his back.

He was dressed formally, but not ostentatiously. The cut was precise. The fabric heavy enough to hold its shape without drawing attention to itself. He looked older than the portraits still circulating across Europe, but steadier too.

Beside him stood Marie Louise.

She wore a gown in muted tones, elegant without excess. Her posture was composed, but her eyes shifted the moment Napoleon II came into view.

She stepped forward first.

"There you are," she said.

Napoleon II inclined his head. "I was watching the preparations."

Napoleon I turned.

He took his son in with a single glance, the way he always did. Not as a father first. As a commander assessing readiness.

Then his expression softened, just slightly.

"So," he said, "this is the night."

"Yes," Napoleon II replied.

Napoleon I nodded once. "Versailles suits you."

"I believe our Empire should be ruled from a beautiful palace, Father."

A corner of Napoleon I’s mouth lifted.

Marie Louise reached out and adjusted the fall of her son’s collar without asking.

"You look so well and handsome, my son," Marie Louise complemented. Though it’s the truth.

At the age of 18 years old, Napoleon had turned from a boy into a man. He stood at a height of six feet and one inch, he had a sharp face and a long nose. His chestnut hair was curled, and his body was lean yet has defined muscles, achieved through workouts.

"You really have to find yourselves a wife. You might even meet her here," she teased.

"Mom, I still think it’s too early. And I have to focus on managing the Empire. You may not know it but Father is already handing me some of the responsibilities of running it."

Napoleon I laughed. "Well you have to be prepared to become a statesman, so that when I’m gone, you’ll run the Empire I built better."

"Father, you are not going to die soon. You look healthy, and fat," Napoleon II said.

Marie Louise covered her mouth to hide a smile.

Napoleon I snorted. "Fat?" he repeated. "I march less and eat better. That’s called victory."

"It’s called restraint," Napoleon II said. "Something you learned late."

Napoleon I shot him a look. Then laughed again, quieter this time.

"Careful," he said. "You’re eighteen now. People will start pretending they take you seriously."

"I’d prefer they actually do," Napoleon II replied.

Marie Louise stepped between them gently, placing a hand on each of their arms.

"Tonight," she said, "you don’t need to be generals or statesmen. Just family. At least for a few hours."

From the far end of the court, another bell rang. Louder this time.

Beaumont appeared again, just inside the archway.

"Your Majesties. Your Imperial Highness," he said. "The guests are assembled."

Napoleon I straightened instinctively. Whatever ease he had allowed himself vanished, replaced by the familiar posture that had once commanded half of Europe.

"Then let us not keep them waiting," he said.

They turned together.

Minutes later, they arrived at the door of the ballroom.

The doors to the ballroom were opened.

Light spilled out into the court.

A murmur rippled through the room.

Conversations stalled. Heads turned.

Napoleon II stepped forward beside his parents.

Inside, the guests had already gathered. Foreign ministers in tailored coats paused mid-sentence. Marshals straightened unconsciously, old habits rising to the surface. Industrialists—men who smelled faintly of iron and coal even in silk—watched the ceiling, the walls, the lamps, calculating without meaning to.

Music began.

Soft at first. Strings filling the space without overwhelming it. The pianoforte joined in, its tone clear and steady, holding pitch in a way older instruments never could.

Eyes followed him as he moved forward. Some curious. Some cautious. Some already convinced. Others looking for cracks that weren’t there.

He met them calmly.

Napoleon I took the central position without effort. He didn’t announce himself. He never needed to. Marie Louise stood at his side.

Now, his debut has begun.