Читать книгу A Reckless Beauty - Kasey Michaels, Кейси Майклс, Kasey Michaels - Страница 5

March 1815

FRENCH SOIL ONCE MORE, so long denied him. Paris awaits!

Napoleon Bonaparte, by the grace of God, Emperor of France, King of Italy, etc., etc., halts at the head of his army of less than one thousand of the Old Guard who had chosen to be exiled with him on Elba for more than a year.

The moment is here. He comes face-to-face with an equal number of royal troops that have appeared with orders to exterminate him and his “band of brigands.”

Bonaparte dismounts and walks forward ten precise paces on the dusty road. One slight, small man, alone between two armies. Unarmed. Vulnerable.

“Soldiers of the fifth army corps!” he shouts defiantly to the royal troops, his voice carrying in the still air. “Don’t you know me? Is there one among you who wishes to kill his Emperor, let him come forward and do so. Here I am!”

And, in a move so daring it brings gasps of dismay from both sides of the line, he throws wide the simple gray cloak covering his chest.

After a tense silence, the cry goes up from all sides. “Vive l’Empereur! Vive l’Empereur!”

The one thousand are now two thousand. Bonaparte remounts and surveys his new army from atop his charger, and then stands straight in the stirrups.

Solemnly, silently, he points toward Paris.

And the world trembles…