Stories of the Imperial Roman Republic

[snip]

OOC Note: I had more I wanted to do before this, but would rather move forward than backfill.

February 20th, 1912. Imperial Palace, Rome. Amelia's Study

Amelia carefully maneuvered a pair of tweezers to place the last strand of thread. Gently winding it around its stay, she completed the task with a small knot. No sooner had she set her hands on the table then a knock came from the door behind her. "Who is it?" she inquired.

"You get three guesses and the first two don't count." Alonzo's voice filled the room. "What are you working on?"

"It's a model of Grandfather's ship." Amelia stood up and pointed to the small model of the Emperor Hadrian IX. "It's a gift for father, please don't tell him."

Alonzo met his sister's pleading gaze "Secret is safe with me."

"Do you need something brother?" Amelia smoothed her skirt absentmindedly. "Or did you just come to mock me for another unladylike pastime like the others?"

"I wanted to let you know that I'm needed with the Regiment for the foreseeable future. I should be able to return for the big day and all that." Alonzo replied, "I'm sorry I won't be around to help with the prep work."

"It's ok." Amelia moved to stand in front of her brother. "Besides, people keep telling me it's my job to become good at things like this."

"That may be true, to a degree." Alonzo smiled warmly. "But that also does not mean you cannot pursue things that bring you joy. I personally find your models to be top quality stuff. Unladylike my rear end. Keep your chin up Millie, I know you can do this." It was clear Alonzo was not speaking just of party preparations. "Now come here, I get a hug before I leave."

Amelia pulled her brother close. "Someday I will make a model of the ship bearing your name." she said mostly into his chest.

Alonzo broke the embrace and looked his little sister in the eyes. "And it would occupy the most prominent location I could place it. Do you think you could make a statue sized one for the courtyard, or is that a little too self-serving?"

Amelia couldn't contain a single, loud, laugh. "Perhaps a little bit vain of you." Her grin went ear to ear. "Stay safe brother, We all love you."

"I love you too Millie." Alonzo said and kissed her on the forehead. "See you at the party." He then bowed and left the room.



February 22nd, 1912: Imperial Palace, Rome. Amelia's Bedroom.

A clicking of bootheels started Amelia awake. Rain tapped softly against the windows, the rhythm lulling her back to sleep. Then she heard the first voice.

"Stay here, we will send someone if she is needed. Keep things calm."

"Yes, sir." A second and third voice replied.

Amelia gently peeled the blankets back and sat up in bed. What on earth was going on? She squinted at the clock on the nightstand. 3:30AM, what are men doing outside her door at this time. She slid her feet out from under the blankets, finding the strategically placed slippers to fend off the cold from the stone floor. She tiptoed to the window and looked out through the streaks of rain. There was activity in the courtyard, several men moving around with far too much haste for this hour. Her next move was back to the bed, to grab her robe. Wrapping herself in the additional layer, she moved to the door. Pressing her ear against the wood, she heard no other sounds. She gently tugged on the handle, and the well-lubricated hinges swung the door open. Right away she noticed the two guards outside her door were not the normal men who occasionally passed the hallway during the night. Something seemed off to her until the sleepy fog of her mind parted just enough, and then lifted violently when the pure terror of the revelation flooded her thoughts. The guards were wearing red armbands adorned with a silver aquila. That armband was only used by the guardsmen of the heir to the Imperial Throne. Amelia was not the heir to the Imperial Throne unless...

"Where is Alonzo?" The question cleared her lips before the guards noticed her, and it clearly startled them both. Amelia repeated the question. "Where is Alonzo?"

One of the guards finally found his voice and bowed. "Crown Princess, I apologize for not seeing you. Please go back inside."

"But I'm not the Crown Princess." Amelia stammered. "My brother, Alonzo, is the Crown Prince. Where is he?' A pause so thick it could have been cut with a knife followed. "Is Alonzo alright?"

The guards look at each other with pained eyes, before the first one spoke again. "I'm sorry Crown Princess, I have been asked not to comment on any questions you might have. Please go back to your room."

"I'm going to see my father." Amelia felt a well of emotion being to erupt inside her. "Let me pass."

"I'm afraid we can't let you, Crown Princess." The second guard spoke.

Adrenaline flowed freely as Amelia pushed past both guards. She escaped their feeble attempt at restraining her, both clearly not keen about aggressively laying hands on the sixteen year old girl. As she passed a window, she saw her father on the other side of the rain-soaked courtyard. Taking the next turn, she stepped out into the rain, forgetting for a moment that she was still in her nightgown and robe. Rain hitting her face began to blend with tears as the reality continued to wash over her like a wave. The Emperor saw her and turned out from the covered perimeter to meet his daughter as quickly as possible. By the time he reached her, she was standing shakily in the middle of the courtyard, tears, and rain running down to the ground off her cheeks.

"My little Waterlily." The Emperor spoke softly.

Amelia interrupted before he could continue. "Is Alonzo safe papa?" She knew what the answer to this question must be, but refused to let the reality cave in on her. "Is he safe?"

Trajan VIII's gaze met his daughter's tear-filled eyes, and she realized he was close to breaking down as well. "We received word a short while ago. While on a night training exercise, Alonzo became separated from his men. A search was called, and they found him. It was not far from the training area, but it was in much rougher terrain. He had been thrown from his horse and landed on his head. I am told there was likely no pain. He is with God now."

Amelia felt the last of her will to disbelieve the truth flicker out like a weak candle in a windstorm. Her legs buckled underneath her as the poorly restrained tears turned into a flood. Her father caught her and slowly lowered the pair to the ground. Amelia sobbed hard into her father's chest, failing to choke out any gasping words. Father and daughter sat holding each other in the middle of the courtyard. Both cried harder than they had in years.

[snip]

February 26th, 1912 Rome

The consistent but random tapping of rain on stone backdropped the proceedings unfolding around Amelia. The dark sky set a fitting backdrop. Numbly, she put one foot in front of the other, keeping pace behind and to the left her father. To her right, the head of the Imperial Senate walked. Ahead of her, the sharp sound of horseshoes on cobblestones was muted by the open wagon carrying an ornate wooden coffin. Her brother's body lay inside, the splendid full dress uniform kept dry by the lid. Behind her the procession continued, military men, politicians, and foreign dignitaries. The splendid boulevard was lined with Roman citizens, the silence unnatural for a crowd of this size. All there to pay their respects to a member of the royal family.

Amelia had experienced this once before, when her mother and other brother had passed away. Then the crowds had also been large, the procession long, and the grief unrelenting. That was over five years ago, when Amelia was only 11. Her relationship with Alonzo had blossomed out of the dark pit of hopelessness and had been her rock in the years since. Now Alonzo was gone. Amelia had hardly come out of her room in the last 4 days, only appearing for official functions. Even then, the actions felt forced, almost mechanical. She felt alone, unable to force herself to move at times. When she thought there were no more tears she could physically weep, her body would conjure a new reserve and the raw emotion would flow again. Her father had joined her several times, holding her gently and crying softly along with her. It did little to pull her out of the well of sadness she could see no light within.

The procession continued, Amelia not bothering to try and keep track of time. The horses pulled the wagon onward over the wet cobblestones, until at the command of the driver they stopped. Amelia looked up, suddenly aware of how heavy the soaked fabric of her black dress pulled down on her frame. The weight, had the cold wet been absent, was almost comforting, like a heavy blanket when tucked into a warm bed. From behind her men in the full parade uniform of the Roman Army and Imperial Navy stepped forward. The black armbands they wore stood out, especially against the crisp white of the Navy men's jackets. On command, they began to unload Alonzo's coffin. She felt a gentle touch on her arm and turned her head. The Emperor met her gaze, which was again filling with tears.

"It is time Amelia" Her father's voice was able to mask the feelings she was unable to suppress any longer. "May I help you to the service?"

Unable to speak as the raw emotional wound within her writhed with fresh pain, Amelia managed a short burst of small nods which sent tears scattering around her cheeks. Her lips quivered uncontrollably as her father took her arm and guided her behind the solders and sailors carrying the coffin. Again, she focused on putting one foot in front of the other, the task made more difficult by the mud between the road and the gravesite. The service passed by in a blur. The only distinguishable moment for Amelia came when flowers were placed before Alonzo was lowered into the earth. While others placed a rose, Amelia placed a singular white waterlily, after the childhood nickname her brother and father had given her.



Custom dictated that the current Emperor and the Heir were not to leave funerals in the same carriage. Some old superstition about death not being able to find both. This left Amelia alone for the long ride back to the palace. The cold weight of her clothing combined with the vortex of emotion inside her drained all the warmth from her, the sobbing and shivering wracked her body like a plague cough. When the carriage arrived Amelia could hardly stand. As if by divine placement, two handmaidens were there to help guide the exhausted Amelia back to her room where a warm fire burned. They strip the soaked clothing off her, dried her, and settle the exhausted girl into bed. They then left silently, exchanging nods with the guard outside the door.

Hours later a much warmer Amelia heard a knock on the door. She pushed herself into a sitting position and then softly called out "Who is it?" after whipping her runny nose on the sleeve of her nightgown.

"Its your father." The soft voice of the Emperor replied. "May I come in?"

"Of course, father, please." Amelia replied as the door swung open on well-oiled hinges.

Trajan VIII approached and sat on the foot of the bed, his eyes and cheeks clearly showing he had been crying as well. Amelia though her own face must look quite a sight. Trajan met his daughter's eyes.

"Amelia..." The thought trailed off as he brushed a tear away. "Amelia, I wish I could tell you this would all feel better soon. It is not going to. It will take time. I know you and Alonzo were close, and his loss wounds you deeper than anything else in this world could. I know you know this already, but I am here when you feel like everything is overwhelming. Please let me do for you now what I could not do when your mother left us. You deserved better of me then and I can only ask your forgiveness and be here for you now."

"O Papa..." Amelia sniffled and continued "I know this is hard for you too and I have been terrible this last week.."

"You have not been, and don't you dare think it." Trajan cut her off. "You have lost someone very dear to you. It is ok to feel, and feel quite forcefully. I'm sorry, I should have let you finish, please continue."

"It's ok Papa. I need to be there for you as well." Amelia replied. "I know that Alonzo would have hated seeing us pushing each other away. He felt very strongly about family."

"That he did." Trajan replied "It was one of his best qualities." He then turned his head and looked thoughtfully out a window. "Amelia, you know I love you so much."

"I love you to papa." Amelia moved over to pull her father into a tight embrace.

Trajan returned the hug. "I'm glad to hear that. Now, can I possibly talk you into coming to eat something with me? I find it easier to talk on a full belly then an empty one."

"Of course papa." Amelia untangled herself from the blankets. "Let me put on something proper and I will meet you in the kitchen. I am quite hungry now that you mention it."

Trajan stood up and walked to the door. Before exiting, he turned and looked at his daughter. In that moment, the first time he had seen her moving organically in days, he knew she would eventually be alright again. As would he.

[snip]

March 13th, 1912. Saint Rochelle, Capital of the Roman colony of Novus Francia

Much had changed since the Roman troops first came ashore almost two years ago. What had once been a small fishing village had rapidly blossomed into a large city that grew more modern by the day. By virtue of its harbor, which had been underutilized by the Caddo-Wichita Union, what was now known as Saint Rochelle was the hub for the Roman administration of the Republic's freshly won territory. That is what brought the man known as Philippe Marceau to the growing hub. Philippe was not his real name, but like many his name had not translated well into the Modern Latin used by the Roman administration. To ease his work, he had adopted a Roman name for use when dealing with the Roman bureaucracy. One of the many changes his people had to endure since they had lost the battle at what was now called The Alamo, another half-correct Modern Latin translation of its proper name.

Philippe had not expected what came after. Rather than impose the harsh penalties and concessions on the defeated, as was custom in conflict with the tribes to the north and west, the Romans had set about to rebuild the political and social infrastructure. Taking the parts of Caddo-Wichita government that works and quickly discarding the segments that didn't or clashed with Roman goals, the new administration had accomplished more within the last year than the Caddo-Wichita government had in the last ten. New roads, businesses, and amenities had sprung up to service both the Caddo-Wichita people and the Roman citizens. The land this expansion of Roman civilization had rolled over was why Philippe had come to Saint Rochelle today.

The Caddo-Wichita had little idea how valuable some of the land they claimed was. The Romans did, and many enterprising Roman colonists had sought to claim as much of it as they could. This had unfortunately resulted in many altercations, some physical and a few fatal between Caddo-Wichita Roman. While the wheels or Roman justice turned slowly but for the most part fairly, resentment grew at the flaunted wealth that Roman colonists built off of what had been Caddo-Wichita land. There had been much discussion about moving beyond the laze-faire landgrab that had precipitated the tensions, and Philippe believed that he had found a solution that would benefit all sides.

Clutching his briefcase, a gift from the elders of his small town, Philippe entered the very new building with Amministrazione Coloniale carved above its massive entryway. Once inside, he spoke with the receptionist, a young Roman woman, and was directed to the third floor of the building. Finding the door with B. Forestier: Ministro Delle Imprese Coloniali stenciled in thin black letters on the frosted glass, Philippe knocked twice. Barnabé Forestier, an older man with thin gray hair and a plump figure opened the door after half a minute.

"Welcome, welcome." Barnabé extended his hand. "You must be Philippe. I apologies for not knowing your native name, but official documents are like that."

Philippe took the outstretched hand. "Thank you for meeting me mister Forestier." Philippe then followed Barnabé into his office. The two men sat down and Philippe produced documents from his briefcase. Over the next four hours, Philippe and Barnabé discussed, dissected, and debated what Philippe proposed. Refreshments were brought, handwritten revisions or additions made to carefully typed notes, and the idea continued to improve.

"Dear heaven's, look at the time." Barnabé dabbed sweat from his brow as he looked at the large grandfather clock in the corner of the office. "I have kept you far to long."

"It is all right." Philippe successfully hid his shock at the time. "I fee our conversation was productive enough to warrant the length." He began to gather the sheets of paper the two had poured over.

"Indeed." Barnabé replied, also working to gather papers. "I will give these to one of our secretaries to revise and formalize before we present them to the Governor."

"Are you sure it's a good idea to have me there?" Philippe handed the documents to Barnabé.

"Of course, this is your brainchild after all." Barnabé set the papers down on his desk and walked Philippe to the door. "I think the corporatization of native land claims will be a net positive for everyone involved. I know you need to get settled at your hotel, but I would love if you would join Marie and I for dinner at the Chateau Picard. They have the finest collection of Aquitanian wine and food in the city."

"I would be honored." Philippe replied. "Thank you for your time mister Forestier."

[maddox]

 :)
That blank sealed my grin.

[snip]

Roman Foreign Ministry, sometime in early August 1912

"Polly-what?"

"Polynesia sir, a large chain of islands in the South Pacific."

"And we gave them the African territory we just spent time and money working to grab for this chain of islands in the middle of nowhere?"

"Yes sir, the Vilinus had occupied many of the other ports in the area, so any overland expansion from there was going to be a nonstarter, unless we wanted to start shooting Vilinusian solders."

"Lord knows we don't need that. Besides, we did get some monetary assistance from them as well to help develop the territory. Nice bit of work by Mr. Sauvageon on that front."

"Indeed, I'm glad Sauvageon is working out at the post."

"Yes, keeping smooth relations with our northeasterly neighbors here at home is a good thing. The less likely we are to be forced into a war here in Europe, the more we can focus on where we may be forced into one in America."

"So its true the Aztecs are moving across the river?"

"I'm afraid so. Force redeployment are already underway in the New World. All under some tidy little name too. Speaking of which Mr Airaldi, your next assignment is in. You will be travailing to the Peoples Republic of Maya. You depart with a navy ship leaving on Friday for Saint Rochelle."

[snip]

Early August, 1912. Rome

Amelia considered herself a reasonably quick study. The same, she had reaffirmed over the last several months, could not be said of a majority of the Imperial Assembly in matters of how to be proper around a young woman. This was of course complicated by the fact that said young woman was the heir to the Imperial throne. If there was a finite number of ways to trip over oneself, metaphorically and physically, Amelia had yet to find that limit between all members of the Imperial Assembly.

Since Alonzo's passing, Amelia had been thrust into a role she had never dreamed she would need to prepare for. Her sixteen years of life until that fateful April day had groomed her, despite her best efforts, for the life traditionally held be daughters of nobles. A barter piece to be moved around into a place where she could produce offspring, preferably male, for the most conveniently placed male noble her father could find. All that had changed. While Amelia had an academic, if detached, understanding of the machines of the Roman government, the real-world workings of those machines were both fascinating and dull, somehow both at the same time.

Her father's insistence that she begin learning hands-on as quickly as possible is what had landed Amelia in weekly sessions with the Imperial Assembly. At first, the mostly older male makeup of the Assembly hardly knew what to do with the poor girl. Some treated her like a child, stopping to explain the simplest ideas as if her brain was incapable of learning something other than sewing without a slow, simple explanation. The more mentally agile members quickly discovered that Amelia was quite intelligent and began (with some not-so-gentle suggestion from the Emperor) to include her in discussions, from an advisory standpoint only.

Not all these sessions were learning, there were some where she was expected to sit silent and listen. Today was one of those sessions, as one of topics concerned her. The Emperor had talked to her before things began.

My Little Waterlily, he had said, as much as I know you dislike it, today is one of the days you must bite your tongue. As I am sure you know by now, there is a time for the figure of authority the throne represents to take a stance and a time for it to endorse the stance taken by others. Today is one of those days, even though it concerns you.

Amelia had playfully rolled her eyes and affirmed to Trajan VIII that she would be a good woman and heir and bite her tongue. She almost had to physically bite it now, as the discussion had grown heated yet again.

"There is no way this can possibly be allowed." Assemblyman Uggeri from Wessex practically spat the words out. "The Army is no place for a woman, no mater if the position is ceremonial or not. Besides, what sort of example would that set to the world?"

What was being debated with this small group of Assemblymen, Ministry of War bureaucrats, and members of the Roman military was the traditional placement of the heir to the imperial throne's place in the armed service, specifically the Roman Army. It had been tradition dating back a thousand years at least that the heir to the throne had served in the Roman Army. The tradition was not without its issues, at least one sole heir had been killed in service, sometimes resulting combat injuries had sometimes made continuing a bloodline, difficult.

"This is a time-honored tradition of our nation, dating back to the times of the First Empire." Minister Aloisi, an old Aquitanian nobleman retorted. "To throw it away now would simply do nothing but spit on the graves of those descendants of rulers past who gave their lives in defense of our nation."

Inwardly, Amelia fought to suppress an exasperated sigh. The same argument had been making the rounds of the small group for what felt like hours, though it had hardly been one. Amelia felt for the poor Army generals seated in the middle of the room. After their opening remarks, which had amounted to We will do as we are ordered, it does not matter if we like it and you know it, the poor men had to endure the same debate she had. The Navy admiral however seems to be enjoying watching his land-bound counterparts squirm a little bit, the Marine general was doing much the same.

Emperor Trajan VIII coughed and stood before another Assemblyman could circle back to the other counterargument again. "Gentlemen, I can tell that there are many passions that burn hot as fire on this issue. It is clear that you all desire the best for the nation, its people, and my heir."

Amelia recognized that her father was providing a little bit of cushion for the hammer that was about to come down from the throne.

"That said, these arguments grow in tighter circles by the word. Nothing will be accomplished aside from flared tempers and wounded pride if we continue this path. I cannot speak for the parties involved but surly there must be an option we have not considered."

Almost as if on cue, the Admiral stood up. To the credit of the generals, Amelia had to work to see any expression of shock.

"Gentlemen of the Assembly, your grace, and my lady." The last part directed at Amelia, which was sure to offend at least Uggeri and Aloisi. "I have a proposal for the body to consider. I believe that there is a third option that is unconsidered. It would be possible to, instead of a commission in the Army, to provide Princess Amelia a commission in the Imperial Navy. It is my belief..."

Uggeri shot to his feet, cutting the admiral off. "Preposterous! The Navy has no need of such a role, the people would never stand for it!"

Aloisi also began to stand and protest but Trajan bet him to the punch. "Assemblyman Uggeri, you will let the honored Admiral finish. Afford him the same courtesy that you would ask others in this body to afford you." The implied suggestion was anything but one. Uggeri sat down.

"Thank you, your grace." The Admiral nodded and continued. "It is my belief that the Navy is qualified to provide the opportunity for the heir to serve in the armed forces. Her family has provided great service to this country, we should allow her the same opportunity."

"Do you have some sort of qualification that would imply the heir is more fit to serve in the Navy than in the Army?" Her father asked. "As I recall, that is one of the points we have circled around time and time again."

"In fact, I do your grace. While the esteemed Assemblymen have noted repeatedly that Princess Amelia's limited experience with firearms would be an obstacle to her service, the Navy would have no such hesitation. Does your grace recall your visit to the Atlantic Fleet in late February of 1910?" The Admiral reached for a folder with only a few sheets of paper inside.

"Indeed, I do, it was quite a lovely time." Trajan replied.

"Then your grace might recall that Princess Amelia took part in a gunnery drill on board the IRS Lauri during that visit." The admiral produced the documents from the folder. "As the esteemed members of the Assembly can observe here, the only part of the drill that the Princess was unable to partake in was the transfer and working of ammunition. This was done as a safety precaution, as the Princess was only fourteen at the time and would have been unable to handle the munitions without assistance. Aside from that, the drill was successful for the duration of the Princess's involvement. I also have here testimonial from the crew regarding her involvement. All this speaks to that the Princess would be a welcome addition to the ranks of the Imperial Navy, even if the position were ceremonial."

"Well gentlemen, it seems as if we have an alternative." Trajan settled back into his chair "Now, let us discuss the merits of the proposals before us."

The debate lasted another half an hour before the consensus was reached. Amelia's service in the Roman military would take place in the Imperial Navy.

[Kaiser Kirk]

Trajan VIII's gaze met his daughter's tear-filled eyes, and she realized he was close to breaking down as well. "We received word a short while ago. While on a night training exercise, Alonzo became separated from his men. A search was called, and they found him. It was not far from the training area, but it was in much rougher terrain. He had been thrown from his horse and landed on his head. I am told there was likely no pain. He is with God now."

I've been otherwise occupied and not keeping up with various folks news.
If there was a State Service, Parthia's Ambassador would attend.
They would send someone higher rank, but at 4700nm, I expect the travel time is to great.

[snip]

October 25th, Ministère de la Marine: Département de la Construction et de la Réparation

"So, I believe that is the last account. Where do we go from here?"

The comment from a man seated near the head of the table worked its way through the smoke-filled room. The cool autumn air the reached tantalizingly in from the large open windows for those lucky enough to be close. Around the large table sat many men, the table filled with papers large and small.

"What we understand from the various accounts of the action off the Ryukyus is well known." A different man than the first now spoke. "It goes to show that the type of conflict we can expect in three of the major seaways and areas we are expected to defend is not going to be as previously thought."

"So, you are saying the Navy is obsolete?" The first man spoke again.

"Hardly sir." The second answered. "Merely that we need to engage in several serious discussions about what will best meet our long-term needs and about what we can best do in the short term to meet those needs with the assets we have."

A third man spoke up. "What is good about the relative success of the torpedo, though we do feel that the figures we have are optimistic as to the absolute numbers involved, is that torpedoes and their launching mechanisms are relatively cheep to replace on existing ships with on-deck installations. This work can be done quite quickly."

"Additionally, the relatively confined nature of some seaways, mainly the Albian Channel, mean that we can take advantage of greater number of smaller more mass-producible craft for the deterrent defense of those regions." The second man spoke again. "Given the improved quantity of these ships, combined with good reconnaissance, will serve to make these areas functional inaccessible to capital units."

The first man again asked a question. "So that covers the Albion Channel. Do you believe the same applies to the Mediterranean or Caribbean?"

"In some ways yes and in others no." A fifth man was quick to reply. "While those areas are confined bodies of water, they are larger and so while areas can be made extremely inhospitable for capital ships with a large number of torpedo, they are open enough to allow for some maneuver. Ultimately, we cannot outright replace the battle fleet in these regions. The torpedo is still an important area-denial platform for them."

"This brings up another important point." The fourth man floated a statement to the room. "Within the last three years, the necessary operating areas of our fleet have expanded greatly. We now need a battlefleet that can be not just in two places, but in three. One of these is almost too far away for the oldest of our ships to reach in one go."

"This is true." The second man replied. "I feel that the fundamental goals of the navy; the protection of trade and the security of supply lines, are now at odds with the ships that we have and the ships we have planned to build. Specifically, when it comes to capital units."

"Do you mean to say that the entire battlefleet is obsoleted?" The first man practically threw the question.
"Hardly, I merely suggest that the priorities of construction and refit need to change." The second man seemed to have anticipated the first's response and had prepared. "Our modern capital ships are not vastly different from the type in service with other nations. What issues they do have, mostly outdated fire control systems, can be fixed quickly and efficiently. Our older ships are in worse shape, but there is already the existing plan to replace them. I am not suggesting we vastly deviate from the schedules already set, merely that we alter the type of ships being built. We are only ever going to have one battleline, and recent events have shown that the areas we though we needed a world-class battleline to defend, that said battleline can be augmented with means we did not have before. With that fact, we can work in the longer term to improve the quality of the battleline with new ships, but also expand our capabilities to protect trade and supply lines by adding different capital ships to our arsenal."

"You mean more ships like the Respublica." The third man interjected.

"Yes." The reply from the second man was firm. "While controversial when first proposed and started, I firmly believe that ships like the Respublica are more useful than the battleline of old."

This set off a lively debate that lasted for hours. Papers were scattered, tempers flared, cigars burnt to ash. By the end, the future direction of the Imperial Roman Navy had changed.

[snip]

Excerpt from Capital Ships of the Imperial Roman Navy: A Design History (1991)

Chapter Ten: The Maid of Orleans, IRS Jeanne d'Arc

In the leadup to the launch of the IRS Respublica in early 1913, work had been underway on a follow up design for some time. As covered previously, the reception of the Ryukyu Disagreement in the eyes of the Roman Navy had introduced fear into the planners of the Imperial Navy. Facing the potential for a naval war in another confined waterway, the Caribbean Sea, designs began to shift. No longer was the standard 5500nm range at 10 knots considered adequate, it would take these ships to long to cross the Atlantic and they would be almost incapable of fighting on arrival if they did not have a chance to refuel. These concerns did not allow for upending of the traditional battleship, but merely prepared the stage for the items that would.

The first was the extent of Sultan Ali the 8th's naval reforms becoming clear. Where before it had been felt that older pre-Invicta ships would be sufficient until help arrived from the Atlantic Fleet at Brest, the rumors of what became the Sultan Ali Class Battlecruisers proved to be the tip of an Aztec naval buildup. Second was increased Aztec contact with Japan on a military level. While much of the finer details we now know were obscure to planners of the time, it was clear the Aztecs were in a position to learn how to fight a modern engagement in similar areas to where the only current combat experience had shown decisive results. After much deliberation, a follow on to the Respubica was given the formal design go-ahead in early 1913, with expected laydown to be early in the following year.

[Removed section about shortcomings of the Respublica, early specifications, protection, challenges of speed, and shipyard improvements]

With the problems of dockyards being remedied and other requirements well defined, the main bottleneck around the Large Armored Cruiser – 1914 (LAC14) proposals was of armament. The ubiquitous 340mmL45 was again selected as the main weapon. The lower rate of fire of triple turrets was well known by this point and had been a constant source of harassment for the proponents. Design configurations existed for various turrets and layouts. Ultimately, three configurations solidified. The first was a 4x2 design, LAC14-A3, with the turrets arranged in twin gun turrets set as superfireing pairs fore and aft. The second was a 3x3 design, LAC14-B1, with  the turrets arranged identical to the Respublica. The third, LAC14-B4, was a 2x3 design with triple turrets arranged fore and aft. LAC14-A3 was to large for other aspects of the requirements, while LAC14-B4 was not felt to have enough firepower with only six guns on the broadside. The LAC14-B1 design was the favorite despite the shortcomings of the Respublica layout, until the LAC14-C1 design was introduced. Using the quad turret under design for the follow on to the Audax class [The consolidation of main armament was intended to allow for more powerful engines on the same hull], LAC14-C1 was able to combine the firepower of the A3 design with the more weight-economic layout of the B4 design while not suffering limited firing angles for a section of its battery like the B1 design. After much consideration and parallel development on the B1 design, the C1 design was selected for construction. Shortly thereafter, the name Jeanne d'Arc was assigned to the ship.

[snip]

February 20th 1913, Imperial Palace, Rome.

"I simply don't see why it was even a discussion."

It took all of Amelia's willpower not to attempt to engulf the head the comment had originated from between her teeth and bite down as hard as she could. Formal events were suffocating enough in the best of company, but the woman across the table was far from the best. While her father entertained some visiting nobles in another part of the palace, Amelia was forced to listen to a small number of others discuss her future as a wife. As with topics such as this, far too many people though they had opinions that were more valid than anyone else's. The current speaker was no exception.

"It's quite simply improper and I don't understand why those dusty old men even touched the subject, let alone forced it."

The rage building in Amelia came within millimetres of leaping out of her before a gentle touch on her thigh snapped it back. She glanced to her right. Her aunt Isabella looked sympathetically at her from the corner of her eyes. Now is not the place they seemed to say but we both know she is wrong.

The woman across the table, older with attempts at counseling such fooling nobody but herself, continued. "Besides, there is no telling what such proximity to so many men will do to her fertility."

"Duchess Fabien." A male voice that Amelia recognized as belonging to Count Hubert Soriano from somewhere in Albion called Downton tartly interrupted. "I do not believe this is appropriate conversation to breach here nor anywhere for that matter."

"The Count forgets his rank." Duchess Fabian preachily spat. "Besides, what would you know of these matters. You are here for your connections, nothing more."

Amelia's teeth dug into her tongue past the point the iron taste of blood began to leak across it. Count Hubert was a kind man and did not deserve this. Aunt Isabella squeezed her thigh again, but Amelia hardly felt it.

Duchess Fabian continued unperturbed. "Besides, if something were to happen, we would be without an heir for the first time in modern history. Not to mention what it would do to her prospects if one of those animals you call the common service man acts as you know they will."

The audible gasp by several of the table's occupants at the implied barbaric act was the final straw. Amelia snapped; the frothing rage replaced by an icy calm behind a pointed mental dagger. "Perhaps the Duchess means to imply that she is only capable of proceeding carnally joined with those who cannot overcome their animal instincts." She glared across the table; eyes filled with fire.

"Excuse me young lady." The Duchess recoiled. "Nobody gave you permission to speak. You clearly have a long way to go to become a passable wife."

"The Duchess forgets her rank." Amelia replied while standing. "I am the Crown Princess; it would do you well to remember that. Much like it would do you well to remember that your so-called days of beauty are far past and the money you married into cannot buy you an ounce of respect as much as it could buy you a faithful husband."
"How dare you speak of these things." The Duchess replied, tone indicating Amelia's barb had struck several raw nerves.

Amelia turned to Count Hubert "Count Soriano, please accept my most heartfelt apologies for the Duchess's remarks. I bid the rest of you a good evening." Amelia curtsied to the Count as he hurried to stand. She then turned and left though one of the large doors into the garden, the Duchess still spluttering at the table.

The calm focus began to crack as the cool night air brushed Amelia's skin the further she moved from the door. Her hands began to shake with rage and sadness as the lights from the palace faded behind high hedges and partition walls, leaving Amelia bathed in the soft light of the full moon. She followed the path mostly by instinct, having explored every inch of these gardens since she could first walk. Finally, she turned a corner and saw the large formal sitting room where her father sat with several important nobles. She wanted nothing more than to burst though the door and tell her father what had happened. It took three steps in the direction of the door for her to catch herself. That might have worked when she was a little girl and had wet the bed or cut her arm, but now she was seventeen and the heir to the throne. Acting that way in front of a collection of nobles would make her look weak and likely confirm the bias many of them likely had about her future, hopefully very distant, ascension to the throne.

As quickly as she had advanced, Amelia ducked back into the garden and out of site of the windows. Finding a bench next to a small fountain, she sat and held her head in her hands. For how nasty and short sited the Duchess's comments had been, they had struck a nerve within Amelia's personality. She feared that she would never be good enough to truly fill the several roles that had been thrust directly and solely upon her that fateful April night almost a year before. While her confidence in preforming the governmental duties had grown considerably, confidence in other aspects had waned. Amelia greatly feared that she did not possess the beauty to catch the eye of men, the wit to entertain them, the prowess to love them, and ultimately the ability to make them love her in return. She feared that her future marriage would be the sort of arranged one where it only served the purpose of making heirs, not the loving partnership that her mother and father had. Above all, Amelia feared being alone. Isolated by the power her lineage would bestow upon her, forever at the top of an ivory pedestal, admired by all but genuinely loved by none.

"Excuse me miss, are you, all right?"

The male voice pulled Amelia back to the moonlit garden. She lifted her head from her hands and looked in the direction of the voice. There stood a young man, most likely in his early to mid-twenties. The polished brass of his Marine uniform buttons softly reflected the moonlight.

"Crown Princess Amelia!" The exclamation was followed by a deep bow. "Apologies for not recognizing you. Please allow me to introduce myself. I am Eugène Charpentier, heir to the Dutchy of Gascogne."

Amelia stood and curtsied, quickly observing the rank on the uniform. "A pleasure Lieutenant Charpentier. Are you here with your father?"

"Yes." Eugène replied. "The emperor's hospitality has been excellent." Eugène smiled as he continued. "The food was wonderful at dinner, though I do find fault with the Italian wine, Aquitanian is unquestionably better."
Amelia opted not to suppress a playful giggle. "I believe you would incur the wrath of several of our chefs with that remark."

"I do apologies for not introducing myself sooner, we did arrive rather later than we wished." Eugène started to continue but halted as his gaze caught on a detail of Amelia's face.

Amelia preempted the obvious question, embarrassment dripping from her voice as color rushed her cheeks. "Yes, my eyes are indeed two different colors. It's a rather unfortunate defect one really cannot hide."

"I do disagree that one would want to hide it." Eugène replied "I do hope my observation has not cause the Crown Princess any discomfort or embarrassment. If a further comment would not be out of line?" He paused to allow for an answer.

"It would not, and you are most polite for asking." Amelia managed a faint smile underneath her fierce blush.

"I find that it enhances the already resplendent beauty of the Crown Princess and that those who think it a defect are as wrong as it is possible to be wrong." Eugène practically came to parade-prefect attention as he spoke.

The blush of embarrassment only burned hotter on Amelia's cheeks, but was joined by a nervous tingling in the pit of her stomach. "Lieutenant you are far to kind in your remarks. Thank you." The cutting bite of Duchess Fabian's remarks melted into the tingling pit.

"Would m'lady care to join us for some evening refreshments?" Eugène offered. "I'm sure your presence would be most welcome in the warm indoors."

"I very much would like that." Amelia replied. "Should we go in?"

"It would be my honor and privilege to escort you." Eugène offered his arm.

Amelia took it gently and let Eugène escort her into the sitting room. She was received warmly. The night went late and only when all the guests had retired did she finally bid her father good night and returned to her room. The evening had done much for her confidence.

[snip]

April 16th, 1913. Saint Rochelle.

Dana Carlyle turned the gate of the waist-height fence surrounding the small house plopped into a neat line with others like it. While there were slight variations in color and details, the buildings were largely the same up and down the row. A side effect of the rapid expansion of Saint Rochelle, and one that afflicted many streets. As the gate closed, a large black shape practically exploded though the light door and shot into the yard. The midnight black Labrador bolted straight at Dana, flecks of saliva flying off its jowls. Following the dog out the door was a young girl, running as fast as her short legs would carry her.

"Daddy's home! Come quick Mommy, Daddy's home!" she gleefully cried in the direction of the door that was now banging against the frame.

The dog reached Dana first and lept at his face, tongue reaching out to give his master a proper welcome. "Hello there Kaliopie, it's good to see you to." Dana said as the dog almost knocked him off balance.

"Daddy!" The primal cry of the almost four-year old human missile sounded again just before impact. Poor Kaliopie was bulldozed out of the way as the girl plowed into Dana's chest.

"Nellie!" Dana managed to excitedly reply as his daughter attempted to smash the air from his chest. "Did you miss me?"

"So so much." Nellie's reply was muffled by Dana's uniform jacket. "I tried to stay up until you came back but mommy wouldn't let me."

Given Dana had been gone for a month, that would have been quite an impressive feat. "I'm glad she made you get some sleep; you need it with how much you have grown."

Nellie pulled away from Dana and beamed. "Look at how tall I am now." She puffed up to squeeze every millimeter out of her tiny frame that she could.

Dana scooped Nellie up in his arm and carried her back in the direction of the house. "So big I can hardly carry you." This was of course untrue, but it didn't hurt to let Nellie believe. "Now where is your mother?"

"Right here my darling." Peggy Carlyle pushed the door open, allowing her incredibly pregnant belly to exit without impact. "Welcome home."

"Hello Peggy." Dana set Nellie down next to a hovering Kaliopie and pulled Peggy into a loose embrace. "I missed you dearly."

"As did we." Peggy replied guiding Dana's hand to her belly. "I thought for a moment that someone was going to want to greet you in person. Please thank the general when you see him again."

"Of course. I came as soon as I could." Dana replied. "What did the doctor say?"

"He does not know why the false contractions came on so strong." Peggy replied. "But everything is still..." She was cut off by a wince as Dana felt a tiny foot impact his hand. "Still fine. Any hour now I'm bound to pop."

"I'm glad I made it home before that happened." Dana replied.

"I had to run to the nice policeman!" Nellie piped in pridefully, toothy grin splitting her face ear to ear.

"You did," Peggy grabbed her daughter and pulled her into the family hug. "and you were so excited."

"I just want to know if I have a little brother or a little sister." Nellie poked Peggy's belly. "You can come out now, Daddy's home."

Peggy winced as the small finger jabbed. "Indeed, he is. Now I would love to get inside and get off my feet."

"A wonderful idea." Dana replied. He then opened the door for Peggy as she pulled Nellie inside, Kaliopie following. It was good to be home with his soon to be larger family.



While Captain Dana Carlyle was settling in at home, Général de Brigade Manuel Sforza engaged in the timeless pose of a man lost in thought. His eyes squinted at the object of his focus, left hand stroked his right cheek as the lines of supply documents on his desk refused to become simple for him. He set the documents down and returned to looking at the large map laid out on the conference table in the center of the room. The map showed the colony of Novus Francia in stunning detail. Rivers crossed with new railroad lines that sharply defined the web of major settlements and industrial endeavors. The New World was quickly growing to mirror the Old. What this map also showed was what Manuel and the rest of the Roman military staff in Novus Francia had begun to fear greatly for the last eighteen months.

Along the southern and western edge of the boundaries of Novus Francia, the Azteca Domain had slowly been assimilating land. Blossoming out from the boarders they had held since 1910, the tumorous growth had slowly but steadily confined the Roman colony in a potential vice grip. Left unchecked the rich territory could be surrounded by Aztec holdings. Should that occur, even the vaunted Roman Army may not be able to hold forever. Less so if the Navy could not do its damn job and keep supplies from the arms factories of western Europe flowing. However, the Aztec holdings had not continued to caress the boarders of Roman territory and had swung to the west. Now there was a sizable gap, but not an insurmountable obstacle should the Aztecs be attempting to lure the Imperial forces into complacency. The terrain was rough, but not entirely inhospitable. Holding it would make the attack of Roman territory overwhelming, or the defense of it much simpler.

Atop the map were multitudes of small markers, each representative of various military units. The majority of these, and by far the more detailed, were Roman units. Lesser detail was available for known or expected Aztec troop concentrations, the identified units lacking much detail compared to their Roman counterparts. Manuel's eye flitted over the map, the scenarios of a practiced strategic mind playing out repeatedly. As yet another permutation of a hoped-unnecessary hypothetical began, the door to the briefing room was thrown open and slammed into the wall as a helplessly young Aspirant who had been manning the desk outside burst into the room.

"Maréchal D'Espèrey to see you Général!" The excitable youth spouted the statement at parade ground volume into the quiet room, the words almost echoing.

Manuel came to attention and saluted as D'Espèrey entered the room. "Maréchal D'Espèrey, to what do I owe the pleasure sir?" Both Manuel and D'Espèrey knew what was to be discussed, but the Aspirant did not need to know that.

D'Espèrey returned the salute. "More of the boring redundancy, I fear. Perhaps your doorman could fetch us some refreshments?" The code for we need to talk alone.

"An excellent idea." Manuel replied. "Aspirant, go fetch us some Iberian Whiskey, ask the kitchen staff, they will know where to find it."

The excitable young man came to attention and saluted both men. "Yes sir Général, Maréchal." On the salute being returned, he bolted from the room and closed the door.

"Iberian whisky?" D'Espèrey suppressed a chuckle.

Manuel cracked a smile. "Will keep him occupied for a while. To have that enthusiasm again."

"If we have to take the foolhead that comes with it, count me out." D'Espèrey gestured to the table and the unit markers atop the map. "I hope you don't like the position of those."

"We have been given the go-ahead then I take it." Manuel's mood lost the thin humorous edge from the Aspirant's quest. "Do we know the company we can expect?"

"No." D'Espèrey's reply was curt. "So rather than make this a light, natural expansion its going to be more along the lines of conquest. This move will shorten the portion of the boarder that matters by a not insignificant distance. Should the day come, we can trade space for time."

Manuel scowled at the map. "Indeed we can."

"It will mostly be a calvary operation. There will be some infantry for the garrison of major settlements and the like, but its wide-open terrain. Not a lot of room to hide and lots of room to maneuver. I have managed to shake a couple scout aircraft, including two Albatross." D'Espèrey had begun to shift some of the unit markers around.

"And how did you manage that? I've been asking for any one of those flying contraptions for months, and then you get multiple Albatross's?" Manuel had joined the movement of unit markers.

"If we have company, we need all the visibility we can get." D'Espèrey replied.

When the two had finished moving markers around, the planned grab of more land in the name of Trajan VIII was visible on the table. Right in the thick of the plan sat Manuel's old unit, the 44th Dragoons.

[The Rock Doctor]

Nit-pick:  Southern and western edges of Novo Francia.  Me and the Mayans are picking on the eastern edges.

Good stuff, though.

[snip]

What I get for posting shortly before midnight. I'll fix it shortly.

[snip]

September 18th, 1913. Mancunio, Wessex-Londinium.

The cold morning air was delightfully clear. As the low sun gently caressed the hills and trees, the beauty of the day was almost lost upon a small crowd of people gathered around a large grass field with a wide barn-like structure at one end. The imposing doors on the field side of the structure were open, and most of the crowd clambered for a look inside. The sign on the left door read A. V. Roe and Company, with Caprioni Aviation Partner in smaller lettering underneath.

While the people of Mancunio had grown more familiar than average with various strange objects in the sky, the first flight of more published types still drew large crowds, both locals and travelers. The plane being moved out of the barn by a handful of A. V. Roe employees was quite modern and sleek compared to older types that were more jumbles of fabric, wood, and wire. A few other company employees worked to clear a rout for the plane, while a senior employee stood on a conveniently placed box and began to address the crowd.

"Ladies, Gentlemen, it is my pleasure to present to you today the latest aeroplane from the A. V. Roe Company. This modern marvel of aviation as been created with the partnership of the Italia-based Caprioni company. Equipped with the finest rotary engine making eighty horsepower, it is sure to prove another wonder of our modern age. I give you the Beagle!"

He gestured gratuitously at the aircraft to scattered applause. "I am also thrilled to present to you one of, nay, the finest pilot in all the world. Please help me give a fabulous welcome to Mister F. P. Raynham!"

The exclamation was again met with scattered applause as a younger man quickly stepped on to the box, waved to the crowd, and then left as suddenly as he had arrived. Returning to the group pushing the Beagle out onto the marked runway, he engaged a man with grease-covered hands and forearms.

"I don't know why they insist on parading me around like that, its not like I'm the only pilot in existence." Raynham said to the mechanic.

"Because to them you may as well be Bleriot." The mechanic replied between breaths as the Beagle neared the end of the grass field.

"That is true." Raynham replied "Is she ready?"

The team of men finally positioned the aircraft at the end of the field and most began to retreat in the direction of the barn. Raynham clambered into the cockpit as the mechanic moved to the propeller at the front affixed to the rotary engine.

"As she ever will be." The mechanic replied affectionately tapping the propeller. He then grabbed it along with another man and looked at Raynham.

Raynham gave the two men a thumbs up and they turned over the propeller. The engine coughed to life as the mechanic and other man ran out of the way. Raynham opened the throttle and the Beagle surged forward down the grassy field.  After a short time, the bouncing stopped and the Beagle clawed its way into the air.

[snip]

Note: This is going to be a multi-part story, not sure how many parts yet.

October 6th, 1913. Brest, the Hotel Vesuvio

The soft sound of violins and the sharper tone of brass instruments spread throughout the Hotel Vesuvio's tall lobby, dining rooms, and grandly appointed ballroom. The controlled tremor of strings spilled softly into the grounds outside pushed by horns, filling nook and cranny with enticing sound. People in formal attire milled around the marble columns of the entry way as more arrived via horse-drawn carriage and motor cars. Seeing friends or acquaintances, the people gradually filtered inside where tables full of fine food were scattered about the minutely manicured space. Hotel staff with not a thread out of place carried never-ending trays of various refreshments and hors d'oeuvres. The dancefloor of the grand ballroom held many couples, a formal waltz guiding the pairs around in circles. The full grandeur and luxury of the Republic's upper class was on display, and not a moment was to be wasted.

Above the cavernous grand staircase, Amelia looked discreetly over the crowd, hoping nobody noticed her face beside the ornately carved trim. Nerves played a part in her descression, but also formal protocol as she had not yet been announced. Formality was stifling. She ducked back around the corner, satisfied that nobody had seen her, and returned to pacing the breadth of the hallway. A new waltz began to play downstairs, wrapping itself in the smell of fine food and drink as it drifted to the Princess and the others with her. At this moment, she had two companions, the ever-present Ploussard in splendid Marine dress uniform, and a handmaiden named Aurélie Orlando in a fine evening gown. It was the latter whom Amelia approached as her hands moved to her head to fuss with a small tiara.

"Why wont it just say in place." Amelia whispered exasperatedly. "Its going to fall off as soon as I step on the stairs." Amelia folded her legs under her dress and sat on the hall floor.

"Don't you touch it." Aurélie replied. "Let me handle it." The slightly older woman waited for a moment for Amelia to finish sitting, then began carefully examining the tiara. "It has not budged an inch m'lady."

"Are you sure?" Amelia questioned, reaching for the tiara again with gloved hands.

"Perhaps if m'lady had taken the advice offered and worn the tiara ahead of time, she would feel more comfortable with it." Aurélie answered while gently swatting the gloved hands away from the tiara and surrounding hair. "You trust me, don't you?"

"Of course, I do." Amelia stopped attempting to alter the position of the tiara. She paused to chew gently on the inside of her cheek momentarily before continuing. "I look ridiculous don't I."

Aurélie managed to suppress a sigh to everyone but Amelia. "M'lady, I know its hard for you to comprehend, but you are quite the attractive woman. Don't you agree Ploussard?"

The older man glanced sidewise at the two young woman, both young enough to be his daughters. "It does not matter if I agree or not, you are both my charges this evening and I do not relish the inevitable task of dealing with any young men that choose to make fools of themselves on account of the beauty possessed by both of you."

Amelia felt her cheeks burn hot with blush at the compliment. Even she had, grudgingly, admitted that the dress she wore was quite stunning with her in it. The base was an almost green shade of blue, like shallow ocean water, in a soft, luxurious, Chinese silk. The fabric began above her breasts, perhaps a little lower cut than some older ladies would find appropriate, but still quite modest, with a bundle over each shoulder to support the gown. It followed her form rather fitted to her waist, where the skirt flared out and cascaded to the floor. A second layer began at the top hem line, this one made of a semi-translucent purple silk, that fell to around her knees. This second layer split around her belly button and the skirt ended gathered to the outside of her knee on either side, showing the first layer from the front and back. A thick gold silk sash sheathed with an almost invisible diaphanous pink fabric pinched the top of the gown to her ribcage, the long thinner tails hanging over her backside to about mid-calf.  The straps had some short sleeves made of the same fabric as the dress that covered her shoulders. Adorning the rest of her arms were elbow length eggshell white gloves.

The gown was not all that Amelia had unique to this evening. A stern woman who had commanded her to sit in front of a mirror and be silent had performed the small wonder, in Amelia's eyes, of taming her hair. Normally falling in an unruly state to her shoulders, its natural semi-curled appearance masking some of its length, the brown strands lightened by much Mediterranean sun had been coerced into a reasonably ornate bob with most of her hair collated around an silver hairpiece behind and above her left ear. Somehow firmly secured was the silver tiara, inlayed with fine ruby stones that winked red in the light. The woman had also applied faint amounts of makeup to Amelia's face, not much was really needed. The ensemble was completed by the gilded-wire wrapped emerald necklace that had been presented to her by the Incan ambassador, which hung close to her neck above the hem of the dress.

"He is right about one of us you know." Aurélie replied "Next to you I'm as good as invisible." She winked as she finished speaking.

Aurélie's dress was less ornate, but no less stunning. It had much the same outline of Amelia's but the second layer did not have the split in the skirt. The gown was themed on a black silk, with a red sash. The sash was also much thinner.

"You are joking right?" Amelia cracked a faint smile.

"I would never m'lady." Aurélie fainted insult in a friendly tone. She giggled.

Amelia giggled in return; a slight amount of tension broken. The waltz playing below faded into its last notes and was not followed by the start of another. The almiglation of voices the music had covered gradually faded. Amelia knew what this meant, and with Aurélie's help stood up. A man's voice began speaking at volume to the crowed downstairs, his words distinguishable, but ignorable. Ploussard appeared at Amelia's left side and offered his arm.

"Are you ready Crown Princess?" Ploussard asked, looking down from his towering six-foot height at the shorter Amelia.

"No, but its to late to do anything about that now." Amelia finished the statement with a gulp.

"You know your father would be here if he could." Ploussard's quite sincere backing of the statement shaving off room from the normal bluntness of his tone.

"I know, thank you." Tinges of pain leaked around the edges of Amelia's reply. "I'm sure he will be well by the time we return."

The pair, followed by Aurélie a step and a half behind, began to walk to the top of the stairs as the voice addressing the crowed below arrived at the apex of his speech.

"It is now my pleasure, ladies and gentlemen, to introduce our honorable guest for this evening. Crown Princess Amelia!"

Happy birthday to me Amelia though sarcastically as hundreds of eyes turned to her from the hotel floor.