Hearing that from Napoleon I, Napoleon II was delighted.
"I'll go prepare myself for this trip," Napoleon II said.
Napoleon nodded. "Do that."
The boy turned and left the study with quick, controlled steps.
Napoleon watched the door close, then exhaled through his nose. He reached for his coat, shrugged into it, and headed out himself.
Caulaincourt was still down the corridor, already speaking quietly with an aide.
"Armand," Napoleon called.
Caulaincourt turned at once. "Sire."
"Prepare a carriage," Napoleon said. "Small escort."
"Yes, Sire," Caulaincourt replied without hesitation. Then, carefully, "Where shall we go?"
Napoleon paused, considering the question. Then he waved a hand, dismissive.
"Nowhere in particular," he said. "We're walking the city. Streets. Quarters. Wherever the road takes us."
Caulaincourt blinked once, then nodded. "Very well. Paris, as it is."
"Exactly," Napoleon said.
"I'll have it ready in an hour."
An hour later.
Outside the Tuileries Palace, the courtyard was already active.
A carriage waited near the gates. No banners. No fanfare. Just horses, leather, and steel. Guards stood off to the sides, present but unobtrusive.
Napoleon II was already dressed when he arrived. Dark coat. Clean boots. Simple, by imperial standards. Nothing that drew the eye.
Napoleon I followed shortly after, in uniform as always. He never traveled out of it. Not to war. Not to the city. Not even now.
They boarded together.
The door closed. The carriage rolled forward, wheels rattling over stone as Paris opened ahead of them.
For a time, Napoleon II stayed silent, watching the streets pass by. Markets setting up. Workers moving in tight lines. The smell of smoke, bread, damp stone.
Then he spoke.
"Father," he said, eyes still on the window, "why do we live in the Tuileries and not Versailles?"
Napoleon did not answer immediately.
"Versailles is too far," he said at last. "It was built for kings who wanted distance. From the city. From the people. From reality."
"And the Tuileries?"
"It keeps me close," Napoleon replied. "Close to ministers. Close to the army. Close to trouble. Power doesn't sit well when it's isolated."
Napoleon II nodded. That made sense.
The carriage turned, moving deeper into the city.
After a few moments, he asked again.
"Then… could I live in Versailles someday?"
Napoleon glanced at him.
"You want it?"
"Yes," Napoleon II said. "Not now. Later. When it's no longer a symbol of detachment. It could be used differently."
Napoleon studied his son for a second longer than usual. Then he shrugged.
"If you wish," he said. "It's just a building."
"Thank you Father. You know in my previous life, the Palace of Versailles was the top tourist destination. I want to make it a residence of mine someday."
"I won't stop you for that, so long that you contribute to the Empire."
"That's the easy part which is what I'm currently doing right now," Napoleon II replied.
Napoleon II chuckled and then pulled out a note.
"What is it?" Napoleon I asked.
"It's a note where I'll note what I'll see later."
Napoleon II looked out the window again as the carriage rolled past a narrow street. Buildings leaned inward. Upper floors nearly touched. Laundry hung like flags between windows. The road below was uneven, muddy in places, choked with carts and people moving in opposite directions.
He tapped the glass once.
"Paris didn't become beautiful by accident," he said. "It was forced to be."
Napoleon shifted slightly, interested now.
"In my previous life," Napoleon II continued, "this city was reshaped. Not decorated. Reshaped. Cut open and rebuilt."
He lowered the note onto his knee and began writing as he spoke.
"Wide boulevards," he said. "Straight ones. Not these winding streets that trap air, filth, and people. Roads wide enough for light to reach the ground. Wide enough for wagons to pass without stopping everything behind them."
Napoleon followed his gaze. He knew these streets. He had fought in cities like this. Narrow streets were good for barricades. Bad for order.
"They demolished entire neighborhoods," Napoleon II said calmly. "Thousands of old buildings. Medieval ones. Romantic ones. They didn't care. They cut straight through the city."
Napoleon raised an eyebrow. "That would anger people."
"It did," Napoleon II said. "But it worked."
The carriage passed a clogged intersection. A cart had stalled. People shouted. Nothing moved.
"In the future," Napoleon II went on, "Paris had long axes. From monument to monument. You could stand at one end and see clear to the other."
He glanced at his father.
"It wasn't just beauty. It was control."
Napoleon said nothing.
"Wide streets stop barricades," Napoleon II added. "Troops can move. Artillery can pass. Crowds disperse naturally. Disease spreads slower when air moves."
He underlined something on the page.
"Sewers," he said next. "Real ones. Underground. Not open gutters. Waste removed instead of left to rot in the street. Clean water brought in separately. Not wells next to cesspits."
Napoleon exhaled slowly. He had lost more men to disease than bullets in some campaigns.
"And the buildings," Napoleon II continued. "Uniform height. Stone façades. Balconies aligned floor to floor. Not because it looked nice—but because it enforced order. Light. Ventilation. Fire control."
The carriage emerged into a broader avenue. Still crowded, but less suffocating.
"This wasn't done under a general," Napoleon II said. "It happened later. Under Louis-Philippe. And then perfected after him."
Napoleon turned his head slightly. "My nephew again."
"Yes," Napoleon II said. "He ruled differently. Less conquest. More consolidation. He understood that a capital is a weapon too."
He wrote another line.
"Parks," he said. "Large ones. Not private gardens. Public spaces. Green lungs. Places where people can breathe without leaving the city."
Napoleon looked ahead, imagining it despite himself.
"I see. So you want to replicate what Phillip Louise did during his reign?"
"Of course Father, so you best gather the best architects and engineers, we are going to transform Paris into the most beautiful city in Europe."