Reincarnated as Napoleon II-Chapter 53: Prelude to Wedding

The date was December 02, 1829. At Notre-Dame, the preparations for the imperial wedding between Napoleon Bonaparte II and Princess Elisabeth of Bavaria were now making their final touches.

Napoleon I wanted it to be as grand as the crowning ceremony when he was crowned Emperor of France in 1804 and the Pope himself would be the one to officiate the union.

Scaffolding had been removed days earlier, leaving Notre-Dame exposed in full view, its stone façade scrubbed and restored, banners of imperial blue and gold hanging between the towers. Workers moved with practiced efficiency across the square, laying carpets, erecting stands for dignitaries, and setting iron barriers that traced the route the procession would take. Every motion followed a schedule drafted weeks in advance. Nothing was left to chance.

Inside the cathedral, the transformation was more striking.

Rows of candles lined the nave, their flames steady in the still air, casting warm light across the vaulted ceiling and illuminating the worn stone ribs above. Fresh tapestries depicting imperial victories and allegories of unity hung along the walls.

The altar had been rebuilt for the occasion.

The gold leaf traced its edges. Silk cloth imported from Lyon draped its front. Behind it stood the high-backed ceremonial chairs reserved for the Emperor and Empress-to-be, positioned slightly forward—close enough to the altar to honor tradition.

This is just the wedding, Napoleon II and Princess Elizabeth are to be crowned next week, and France already wanted to make a statement to the visitors.

Meanwhile, in the Tuileris Palace, Napoleon II was being supported by five manservants helping him dress for the ceremony.

Napoleon II stood still at the center of the chamber, posture straight, gaze fixed on his reflection as layers of fabric were fitted onto him one by one.

First came the inner shirt, fine white linen tailored to sit close to the body without restriction. It was plain, almost austere, meant to be unseen. Over it went a fitted waistcoat of dark blue silk, embroidered lightly along the edges with gold thread.

Next was the coat.

It was imperial blue, cut sharply at the shoulders, structured to give him a commanding silhouette. Gold embroidery traced the cuffs, collar, and seams, depicting bees and laurel wreaths—the emblems of the Bonaparte dynasty.

A sash followed, deep crimson edged with gold, wrapped carefully across his torso and pinned at the hip. Medals and insignia were fastened next, each placed perfectly.

One servant knelt to secure his boots, black leather polished to a mirror sheen, reinforced at the heel.. Another adjusted his gloves.

Finally, the cloak.

It was imperial velvet, dark blue lined with white silk, clasped at the shoulder with a golden eagle brooch. When it settled over him, it completed the image France expected to see.

Napoleon II studied himself in the mirror.

This was it, his marriage.

Then came a familiar voice.

"Napoleon."

It was Marie Louise, dressed beautifully for the occasion.

"Mother," Napoleon simply said.

"You look as dashing as ever. How are you?" 𝕗𝚛𝚎𝚎𝐰𝗲𝗯𝗻𝚘𝚟𝚎𝗹.𝕔𝐨𝕞

"I must say, the clothes are not very comfortable, it’s heavy and thick."

"You have to endure it for the rest of the occasion. You are to have your Queen now."

"She would be next week," Napoleon II corrected. "Are everything ready Mother?"

"Your father is already at the church and the royal carriage is waiting outside the palace. There are a lot of people outside waiting to see you."

Napoleon II nodded once and took a slow breath.

"Then let’s not keep them waiting," he said.

The manservants stepped back at once. The doors to the chamber were opened, and Napoleon II walked out without hesitation. His footsteps echoed faintly along the marble corridor as he moved through the palace, the imperial cloak trailing behind him, brushing softly against the polished floor.

Outside the Tuileries, the sound reached him before the sight did.

Cheers.

The imperial courtyard was lined with soldiers of the Imperial Guard, standing at attention in immaculate formation. Their uniforms were spotless, bayonets catching the pale winter light. Beyond the iron gates, the streets were packed.

People filled every available space.

Men in dark coats, women wrapped in shawls, children hoisted onto shoulders. Flags waved above the crowd—blue, white, and red, many marked with the golden eagle. Some had climbed onto crates and railings just to catch a glimpse. Others leaned out of windows and balconies, tossing flowers down onto the road below.

The moment Napoleon II appeared, the cheers surged.

"Vive Napoleon!"

The sound rolled forward like a wave.

Napoleon II paused briefly at the top of the steps. He did not wave immediately. He scanned the crowd instead, eyes steady, taking in the faces. These were not distant subjects. These were the people of Paris. The people who would live under his reign.

Then he raised one hand.

The reaction was immediate. Hands shot up in response. Flags waved harder. The cheers sharpened, louder now, carrying down the boulevard and echoing between the buildings.

He descended the steps and approached the imperial carriage.

It was larger than the standard royal design, reinforced and plated, painted deep blue with gold trim. The Bonaparte eagle was emblazoned on its sides, wings spread. Six white horses waited at the front.

As Napoleon II stepped inside, the door closed with a solid click.

The carriage began to move.

The procession rolled forward at a controlled pace, flanked by mounted guards and infantry marching in precise formation. The streets of Paris were alive. People waved handkerchiefs, hats, flags—some shouting his name until their voices cracked. Vendors abandoned their stalls. Church bells began to ring in the distance, one after another, as if the city itself was announcing his passage.

Napoleon II sat upright inside the carriage, one gloved hand resting on his knee. Through the window, he saw the reconstructed Paris pass by.

This was the heart of France.

He raised his hand again as the carriage passed through a particularly dense crowd. The response was instant. Children ran alongside until guards gently pushed them back. Flowers struck the side of the carriage, some slipping through the open window and landing at his feet.

For the first time that morning, Napoleon II allowed himself a faint smile.