Terms of Surrender Part 1

The Hôtel de Ville of Paris, once the seat of republican pageantry, had been transformed. The tattered tricolor no longer flew over its roof. In its place, the banner of Aragon hung beneath a cold, gray sky—blue and gold catching little sunlight through the mist that lingered over the Seine.

Inside the main hall, chandeliers flickered with gaslight. The Aragonese had repaired the ruined lines within a day. Long tables lined with velvet were rolled into place. Soldiers stood at every archway, flintlocks fixed and sabers drawn. And in the center of the great hall, two rows of chairs faced each other.

It was the day after Paris surrendered.

And now came the terms.