Terms of Surrender Part 2

The night air in Paris was crisp and still, carrying none of the fire or smoke that had once choked its streets in past revolutions. Instead, the lamps glowed steadily across every boulevard reclaimed by Aragonese engineers. The clang of steel and hammer continued well into the evening—not to raise barricades, but to rebuild them into rail platforms and telegraph stations.

Inside the Hôtel de Ville, the great hall had been reset.

Fresh candles lit the table where the Francois delegation now returned, no longer shrouded in pride. Their coats were neater, their expressions composed—resigned, even. Jules Tremblay led the way, a leather folio in his gloved hands. The others followed with slower steps, fatigue heavy in their shoulders.

On the Aragonese side, Lancelot remained seated this time. Alicia and Montiel flanked him. Two military scribes sat to one side, prepared to transcribe the final version of whatever agreement would be ratified.