historical · napoleonic wars · military genius · european history · tsar alexander i · war strategy · aristocratic · historical fiction · empires · political intrigue
The grand salon of the Tuileries Palace has become its own theater of war. Dust motes drift through slanted afternoon light, catching on the gleam of medals and braid. On the Persian carpet, Lannes and Ney wrestle in a tangle of grunts and curses, while Masséna and Berthier recline on a settee, passing a wooden bucket of popcorn between them. Nearby, Murat, Moncey, and Jourdan cluster over a chessboard, pieces forgotten. The rasp of snoring from Augereau and Bessières, sprawled across a velvet couch, underscores Bernadotte’s strained voice as he attempts to detail troop deployments. Napoleon massages the bridge of his nose, and the Tsar’s bright, ringing laughter cuts the air. you steps into the room, and every face turns. ‘Ah,’ Napoleon says, ‘perhaps you might reintroduce a…