Prologue

April 1871

Christine's ears were full of the clattering of carriage wheels on cobblestones and the heavy sound of horse hoofs stomping through the streets. Her nose wrinkled at the inescapable smell of burning wood, and the acidic taste of bile filled her mouth. As they lurched along, she grasped the padded seat so tightly her knuckles were surely turning white.

For better or for worse, the only sense she seemed to lack was sight. The curtains were pulled shut, ensuring that no light entered the carriage. But the streets were dark at this time of night, and no one had bothered lighting the streetlamps for more than a week. The curtains weren't closed to prevent her from seeing, but to prevent her from being seen.

Noise, the smell of smoke, and utter confusion had reigned supreme in Paris for several days and nights. There was talk of shootings and executions, of captured prisoners and cannons, demonstrations and uprisings.

Everyone was reminded of the siege of Paris the year before, when they had been surrounded by Germans. At least then there had been relative peace within the city. But now Paris was tearing itself apart from the inside out.

Christine wasn't entirely sure what had caused this madness, in the first place. Her head was full of music and art, and she had never felt there was room for politics. Such matters seemed distant from opera and ballet. Christine had always believed that politics were earthy and harsh, sneaky and dishonest. She was focused on beautiful, ethereal pursuits. She took St. Paul's advice to the Philippians to think on things that are pure and lovely.

She had heard arguments back stage about who should wield power in France – Napoleon III or a republican government. Before the fighting broke out, it had never occurred to Christine to consider the matter herself. She couldn't possibly say if she was republican or an imperialist. The important question to her was – who would keep the theatres open, the Republic or the Empire?

At the moment, the theatres were closed as management tried to navigate the politics of the day, a pursuit for which they were particularly ill-suited. Madame Giry had told her that they were trying "to play both sides," but Madame had not seemed optimistic that they would succeed.

These political arguments had recently turned into violent action. With the theatres closed for the foreseeable future, Christine and her guardian, Mamma Valerus, were being driven away from their little flat near the Salle le Peletier, and from Christine's burgeoning career at the Opéra National de Paris.

The carriage hit a bump, jolting Christine out of her reflections and causing Mamma Valerius to grab her arm. Christine could just make out that the bumpy ride had left Mamma Valerius' black lace widow's cap askew on her wispy hair. Christine couldn't imagine what her own brown curls – a bit wild even on a good day – must look like right now.

The good, selfless widow had been terrified for Christine's safety for months as peace in Paris grew less and less certain. Mamma Valerius would have gladly left the city as soon as the siege was over months ago, but they had Christine's singing career to consider. It had always been her Papa's fondest wish that she become a great singer, and it had been the only future Christine had ever wished for. Christine gloomily ruminated on the impossibility of becoming a world-famous diva in the countryside.

But with the Opera closed, there was nothing to keep them there. A retreat would do Mamma Valerius good, Christine thought. When they were offered the chance to get out of Paris, what else were they to do? Besides, it wasn't as if this was the first time she and Mamma Valerius had left everything they knew behind.

They had sold what they could, packed a few essentials, and then abandoned anything else. After dark, they had crept out the back way of their little flat and had gone down a side street to meet a discreet carriage driven by a man whose face was totally obscured by a scarf and a wide-brimmed hat. They had kept to alleyways with little traffic. They were traveling too quickly to do so quietly, but they intended to be far away from Paris before daybreak.

There was only one place they could go – only one place that made any sense to them. Perros-Guirec, their seaside refuge. Perhaps they would be able to stay in the little cottage where she and her father had stayed all those summers ago.

It might be good for them to relive those pleasant memories – back when her father had sighed with contentment at blue skies over the sea.

xXx

The carriage finally stopped at dawn, and the sudden stillness woke Christine from an exhausted, dreamless sleep. The dimly lit carriage was suddenly illuminated by the rising sun as their driver opened the carriage door. He climbed right in, as if he were their social equal – a ridiculous notion, for he was, of course, far above them.

The driver pulled off his thick scarf and hat, revealing the unkempt blond hair, mild green eyes, patrician nose, and strong jawline of Raoul, Vicomte de Chagny.

"Oh, Monsieur le Vicomte," Mamma Valerius cried, "are we safe at last?"

"As safe as two women traveling alone could possibly be," he said with a frown. "I wish you would let me accompany you the rest of the way."

Mamma Valerius shook her gray head and declared, "We couldn't accept, my dear boy. You must return to Paris as soon as you can and get your mother and sisters out. These republicans are no more a friend to your station than the bloodthirsty villains who wielded Madame Guillotine!"

"I don't think Paris will sink quite that low again," Raoul assured her, "but I will feel much more at ease when my family is removed."

"You must visit us as soon as you can," Mamma Valerius said, clasping his hands in hers and casting a beatific smile on him that lit up her heavily-lined face. "You have been our savior, monsieur. We couldn't have fled this awful trouble without your assistance. We shan't forget it, Christine and I."

Here she threw Christine a knowing look that made her blush. Mamma Valerius was such a romantic at heart! She was, no doubt, convinced that unequal status and wealth were small obstacles to two young people.

Raoul couldn't quite meet either woman's eye as he pulled out his wallet. Raoul handed the wallet over to Mamma Valerius and told her that this should help them arrange carriages and inns all along their route. It was a generous sum – far more than they needed to travel another couple of days. Mamma Valerius tried to return half of it to him, but he flatly refused.

"You will need it to set yourselves up in Perros," he told them firmly. "My family has always supported the arts. Think of this as a commission – for the finest soprano in Paris to take a safe, relaxing holiday by the sea. Once this madness is over, you will return to the city and give a private concert in our townhouse, just for us. Now, you must be tired. Sleep in a carriage is hardly any sleep at all. We're parked at an inn, which will do very well for you until tomorrow. Five miles down the road, there is a station where you can board a train that will take you a considerable way towards Perros."

"Aren't you going to stay and rest, monsieur," Mamma Valerius asked with astonishment. "You've been driving all night."

"No, I'll be fine," Raoul assured her. "I must get back as soon as I can, or my brother will worry."

He opened the carriage door again and helped both women down the steps. He unloaded their trunks, chattering the whole time about what a wonderful time they would all have once his family returned to their estate near Perros. He would come to call on them as soon as he arrived, and he would invite them to tea at the chateau.

Christine didn't bother pointing out that his mother, the Dowager Comtesse, his brother, the Comte, nor his sisters – a marquise and a baronne – would likely never allow two women like Mamma Valerius and herself to darken the front door of their chateau. She rather liked the unaffected scene he laid out for them, and she didn't want to spoil it.

Once they had secured a room for the night, and he had taken their up their trunks, it was time to part. Raoul embraced them both warmly and held Christine's hand for just a little longer than was proper as he said, "I will be a happy man the next time I meet you by the sea, Little Lotte."

"We will keep a chair by the fire for you," Christine promised, blushing again as she looked into his green eyes and warm, open face. "And I'll be sure to ask everyone there for a story, so I will have many things to tell you when we see each other again."

As Christine and Mamma Valerius laid down to rest in their lodging, she heard her guardian humming Mendelsohn's "Wedding March." Christine shook her head in amusement as pleasant dreams overtook her.

A/N: I know the real Paris Commune of the 1871 only lasted a couple of months. However, in this alternate universe, it lasts much longer, and has a more devasting impact on the city. It won't be quite as bad as the Reign of Terror, as Mamma Valerius fears, but it's bad enough that Christine will not be returning to the Paris Opera anytime soon.