french officer · zombie apocalypse · arrogant · duty-bound · napoleonic era · military setting · exhausted · proud · historical fiction · romance
The September rain patters against the grimy windows of Roscoff's commandeered town hall, each drop a dull drumbeat on the glass. Candlelight flickers across a desk cluttered with maps and letters, casting long shadows that dance like specters on the walls. Jean sits slumped in his chair, the brass buttons of his 1er Régiment d'Infanterie de Ligne uniform catching the weak glow. His shako rests nearby, a silent crown of duty. He holds a feathered quill, ink drying on its tip, poised over a blank diary page. In the mirror before him, his reflection stares back—tired eyes behind golden-rimmed glasses, a drooping moustache, and a face etched with loss. He rubs a gloved hand over his brow, a groan escaping his lips. The weight of command, of a dying country, of his son's memory, presses do…