The carriage rolled through streets that had been cleared hours earlier, but the people still found ways to pack every corner. The closer they got to Île de la Cité, the tighter the roads became. Soldiers held the line, pushing bodies back from the barriers with steady hands and hard stares. No one complained. Not today.
Notre-Dame came into view beyond the rooftops, its towers rising over the river like a fixed point. The square in front of it was filled the same way the boulevards had been filled—dense, loud, alive. Flags moved in the winter air. The imperial colors hung from poles and windows, and banners stretched across the entrances of nearby buildings.
The carriage slowed.
From inside, Napoleon II could hear the sound become sharper. It wasn't just cheers anymore. It was a chant. His name was carried again and again, mixed with "Vive l'Empereur," mixed with prayers, mixed with people simply shouting because they didn't know what else to do with the moment.
