A month later, in the Château de Chantilly, Napoleon was in the courtyard, fiddling his hands with a screwdriver where he tightened the last nail to the sounder, an electromechanical device that produces audible clicks or sounds when receiving telegraph signals.

The moment it was tightened, Napoleon straightened his posture and wiped the sweat off his forehead. In just a month, he finished making the telegraph. Though technically it only took him two weeks, because the three weeks were spent with him and Ciela visiting their factories and ensuring that the production is maintained despite the political upheaval happening in France.

"Was it done?"

Napoleon heard her soft velvety voice sound from behind him. He glanced over his shoulder and saw Ciela walking towards him with a plate of strawberry tart.

"I'm sure you are hungry so I baked you some," Ciela said, handing him the plate.

"Thank you," Napoleon smiled as he took the plate and grabbed a fork to dig into the sweet treat. The first bite melted in his mouth, the tangy sweetness of the strawberries perfectly complemented by the flaky crust.

"Hmm!" Napoleon exclaimed in delight. "This is delicious."

"I'm glad that you like it," Ciela replied, her eyes twinkling with satisfaction. She looked at the telegraph that he finished making. "This is finished right?"

"Yup, I built the receiver in your office so that we can test it now," Napoleon said, setting aside the plate on the courtyard table.

"Really? May I have the pleasure of receiving the first telegraph message?"

Napoleon chuckled at Ciela's enthusiasm. "Of course. It would be an honor to have you receive the inaugural telegraph message. Without your money, I wouldn't be able to build this."

"But it was your invention that made me what I am now," Ciela giggled. "I'll head to my office."

Napoleon watched as Ciela retreated back to the palace before returning his attention to the telegraph. They say that those who have the most powerful swords, guns, or other weapons win the war, but for Napoleon, it was communication that held the key to victory. With the telegraph, he could transmit orders and receive vital information in a matter of moments, allowing for swift decision-making and strategic maneuvering.If only Napoleon had the telegraph in his original world, he might not have suffered defeats in battle. Many of his losses were a result of miscommunication, with his marshals failing to receive his orders due to dispatch riders being intercepted by the enemy. The telegraph would have provided him with a reliable and rapid means of communication, ensuring that his commands reached the intended recipients without delay.

Five minutes later, Napoleon was certain that Ciela was in her office, and so he decided to transmit his first message.

Napoleon carefully positioned his fingers on the telegraph key. The key, a small lever connected to an electrical circuit, was the interface through which he would transmit his message. With practiced precision, he pressed the key down, completing the circuit and allowing an electric current to flow.

The current traveled through a wire connected to the telegraph line, extending from Napoleon's courtyard to Ciela's office.

As the electric current reached Ciela's office, it entered a telegraph receiver. The receiver consisted of a sensitive electromagnet and an armature positioned near a sounder. The electromagnet had been wound with copper wire, creating a magnetic field when an electric current passed through it.

Simultaneously, in Ciela's office, the electromagnet inside her telegraph receiver was energized, attracting the armature towards it. This movement caused a lever to pivot, which in turn allowed a small hammer to strike against the sounder, producing an audible click.

Back in the courtyard, Napoleon eagerly listened for the distinctive sound of the telegraph clicks. Each click represented a dot or a dash, following the patterns of Morse code or Bonaparte code.

In this instance, he tapped out "N" (dash-dot) followed by "B" (dot-dash-dash-dash), which were his initials.

Now the telegraph system was in Ciela's hands. In her office, she listened attentively to the sounder, interpreting the clicks of the telegraph. With the reference which she found lying on her table, she deciphered the transmitted message as "NB," Napoleon's initials.

Her lips curled to a smile, astonished again by Napoleon's brilliance. He built a working telegraph.

Ciela prepared to respond. She positioned her fingers on the telegraph key in her office, mirroring Napoleon's actions. As she pressed down on the key, an electric current once again flowed through the circuit, initiating the transmission of her own message.

Napoleon watched as the telegraph line came alive, carrying Ciela's response through the intricate system he had painstakingly constructed. He decoded the incoming message.

[I-T-W-O-R-K-E-D]

"It worked," he whispered, unable to contain his elation. First the steam engines, and now the telegraph. This proves that any technology that he might introduce in the future, will work flawlessly such as those.

Five minutes later, Ciela returned to the courtyard to see his reaction. But what she had not anticipated was Napoleon's excitement bubbling inside him. Where she found herself being lifted by Napoleon and swirled around in a joyful embrace.

"It worked! The telegraph worked!" Napoleon cheered as he continued spinning.

Ciela laughed, her arms wrapped tightly around Napoleon's neck. She could feel the sheer joy radiating from him.

ƥαṇdαs ηθνε| "I know! I know! Put me down, Napoleon."

Napoleon finally set her down, a wide grin spreading across his face.

"I'm sorry, I couldn't help myself," Napoleon chuckled.

Two minutes later, their jubilant celebration settled into a moment of tranquil serenity. They found respite in the picturesque Château de Chantilly courtyard, where the fragrance of blooming flowers mingled with the gentle breeze. Ciela gracefully settled on the meticulously trimmed grass, the vibrant green blades providing a soft cushion beneath her. Napoleon, his face glowing with a radiant smile, leaned into the comfort of Ciela's lap.

Her thigh was soft and warm beneath his head. He looked up at Ciela, whose face was partially obscured by her ample bosom. She tenderly stroked Napoleon's hair and gazed down at him with affectionate eyes.

"This is good," Napoleon commented. "Resting my head on your thigh and gazing at your beautiful face. It feels like I'm in heaven staring at an angel."

Ciela blushed at Napoleon's heartfelt words, her cheeks turning a delicate shade of pink.

"There you go again saying such…silly things," Ciela replied shyly.

"Tell me if your thigh is getting uncomfortable, I will stand up…"

Ciela shook her head. "No, you can rest your head on my lap for as long as you like, Napoleon."

Napoleon smiled. "Well, I will take my time then."

He closed his eyes, savoring the moment. But his mind wandered to the issue France is now facing. Over the last month, Ciela had gathered information about what was happening in Paris.

There were underground preparations taking place, fueled by growing discontent among the Parisian populace. Economic hardships, exacerbated by skyrocketing inflation and widespread unemployment, had pushed the people to their limits. The scarcity of bread, a staple of survival, only added fuel to the simmering anger. The streets became a breeding ground for revolutionary sentiment, as radical groups seized the opportunity to spread their message and gather supporters.

Meanwhile, the Legislative Assembly, the governing body of France, struggled to maintain control in the face of mounting unrest. The deep divisions within the government, particularly between the Girondins and the Jacobins, further complicated matters. The Girondins, proponents of gradual reform and moderation, clashed with the Jacobins, who advocated for radical change and swift action.

The massacre of the Champ de Mars helped the Jacobins to gain momentum, as they portrayed themselves as champions of the people against a corrupt and ineffective government. Rumors of secret societies plotting to overthrow the regime circulated among the citizens, adding to the air of tension and uncertainty.

It would not be until the War of the First Coalition, where the Duke of Brunswick issued his infamous manifesto threatening to destroy Paris, that the situation would escalate into a full-blown crisis, leading to the insurrection of August 10, 1792.

He opened his eyes and looked at Ciela. She assured him that she will help the royal family escape France. Despite his concerns for her safety, he still allowed her. The only thing he can do right now is trust that she will deliver the intended result.