December 25th, 1835. At the Palace of Versailles. It was early in the morning.
Napoleon II's eyes fluttered as he
The room was quiet. Curtains drawn. No light yet beyond what filtered faintly through the edges of the fabric. The air inside remained steady as the heating system running through the palace kept the temperature even despite the cold outside pressing against the walls and windows.
Beside him, Elisabeth remained asleep.
Her breathing was steady, her posture unchanged beneath the covers. One arm rested near him, the other drawn slightly inward.
Napoleon II shifted.
The movement was small. Enough to sit up without disturbing her.
The cold did not reach him.
He placed his feet on the floor and stood.
Across the room, a servant had already entered at some point during the early hours. His uniform had been prepared and laid out in order—coat, trousers, boots, all aligned without a crease. A basin had been filled, though unused.
Napoleon II moved past it.
