The coronation had come as a shock. Various referendums had unequivocally named your commander, Napoleon, Emperor of the French. Golden laurel wreath still atop his head, Napoleon sat at the head of the table. Wine glass in hand, he raised it to eye-level. "To the new Empire."

A shiver ran down your spine as Napoleon made eye contact with you. His blue eyes stared into your own, alight with ambition and desire. "What do you say, mon ami?"