A/N: Flic is French slang for 'cop/police officer'. Nous sommes Paris is French for 'we are Paris'. This chapter is heavily influenced by the events of April 15, 2019 when the Notre Dame cathedral in Paris caught fire. Thankfully, in our reality, the damage was able to be repaired and none of the stained glass windows were lost. In Kase's reality, things are different. Please enjoy!

The Thing About Burning Bridges

The thing about burning bridges was, as a royal, it was never something done privately.

Paparazzi were not allowed past the front gates of the palace. Even from that distance, Kase could still hear the shouts, the pops of cameras, and the cries of the public demanding answers. Kase wasn't being held prisoner in his room per say, but Henri's presence by the door made it clear that he wasn't allowed to roam. Not while there was damage control to be done, and he was the damage.

"On a scale from one to ten, how bad is it out there?"

Henri remained silent, his stance in the doorway tense and rigid. A picture perfect guardian. Or jailer.

Kase took the silence as confirmation. "That bad huh?"

"That bad," Henri agreed, his tone not quite neutral enough to hide his own anger.

No doubt Manon had been crying all night in her mother's arms, upset at why the people she loved the most were fighting. Upset that her big night was overshadowed by Kase's mistakes. Elyan was never going to talk to him again. Henri only spoke to Kase out of duty, and even that was terse, clipped, as if he wanted to be free of his restraints of professionalism and deck him across the jaw. Kase would let him; he'd deserved it.

Kase had fucked up. He knew that. But he didn't know how bad until now. To make Henri, of all people, mad...that was quite a feat.

But that was nothing compared to Gen's wrath.

Gen paced the length of her office, suit rumpled and jacket thrown across a chair. Her hair was a mess and her eyes rimmed with lines and circles that hadn't been there before the ballet. Kase sat with his head bowed, gazed fixed on his wing-tipped shoes. He knew better than to speak before spoken to.

"You broke Neelam's heart, Kasey. You broke mine."

"I know, and I'm sorry." Kase had never felt more badly about anything, the ruined look on Neelam's face haunting. "I'm so, so sorry. I promise I'll make this right. Please, let me fix this."

"You can't." Her voice cracked. She blinked rapidly and tipped her head up towards the ceiling to push back tears. "I've stuck up for you your whole life. Every time you mess up, I take your side. Every single time. And every single time I make a fool out of myself. No more."

"Gen - "

"I am la Reine de France and you will address me as Your Majesty!" Gen shouted so loudly that it made Kase jump. The guards by the door straightened to attention. For the first time in their long relationship, Kase was met with hostility. "And I want you out of my country."

"You...you're banishing me?"

The words rang through his ears, nonsensical and empty. He didn't want to think about what they meant. Versailles had been his home away from home - his true home in many ways - and now Gen was just...taking that away?

"You left me no choice." Gen blinked, a single tear falling from each eye before she banished all emotion from her face, shutting it away behind the veil of the crown. His cousin was gone. All that was left was the Queen. "Maybe now that you've burned all your bridges, you'll finally learn something."

Had he learned anything, though? All he learned in that moment, watching Gen's back side storm from her office, was that having someone you love leave you hurt. All he learned now in this not quite limbo, not quite exile was that he couldn't stand the weight of his own thoughts.

A knock at the door had Henri opening it a crack. Another guard poked their head in through the gap and whispered something in Henri's ear. Whatever it was had Henri moving from his post for the first time since he pushed Kase down on the sofa.

"The car is ready when you are," Henri said with all the patience of his profession yet it was patience Kase did not deserve.

There was a plane waiting for him at the private air strip just outside the city. Gen may not have been on speaking terms with him, but she was more than willing to lend him the royal jet to get him out of France. Not that he could blame her. He really did fuck things up badly this time.

All Kase's belongings had been packed - some for him and some by him - in suitcases around the room. The only thing left out was the camera slung around his neck, too precious to throw in the belly of a plane. He hadn't realized how much stuff he'd brought, things he'd take over one duffel bag at a time and simply leave until he returned. This guest suite, with its green walls and baroque furniture had become his even more so than his bedroom back in Illéa.

Now, the walls were bare save for the photos he kept up and couldn't bear to see removed. Most of them were of he, Gen, and Neelam anyway, as much Gen's property as his. She could do with them what she liked. Keep them up or rip them down and use them as kindling. He didn't care. He wouldn't be back to see them.

Maids and butlers filed silently in to collect all the luggage and drag it out to the car. It would require its own transportation, too much to shove in the trunk. Kase would have preferred to leave it all, but Gen was adamant about ridding Versailles of his presence. What a strange procession they made as they walked through the halls: the Prince of Illéa and his entourage of things. There was no hiding what this meant, not to the staff who had come to rely on his presence. It was a walk of shame, and he kept his head low and the hood of his hoodie up over his face to avoid the stares.

Outside, clouds obscured the sun. The gloomy weather matched everyone's gloomy mood. Gravel crunched under Kase's heels as he opened his own door the back seat of the Benz. There was a caravan of three cars to escort him, just in case someone tried to take him out on the way. It was standard protocol, but he was surprised Gen didn't leave him a beat up sedan to fend off the wolves.

No one stood on the steps to wave him off. No overly-excited Neelam stepping on the rail for an extra inch of visibility. No Gen trying to pull her down, a tear leaking from her eye the only sign that she would miss him at all. No Elyan to herd them back inside like a pack of rabid cats. No one at all, just an empty doorway.

Another rejection.

It stung more than he wanted it to. More than he knew he had a right to feel.

The car pulled out of the drive in silence, not a word between he and his unwilling driver. Henri kept his eyes fixed on the road, only the most perfunctory glance back in the rearview as he pulled away from the gate to make sure that the other cars were following. Even the main road was devoid of noise - the beeps and heckles of pedestrian life fading into the background.

Kase felt like the protagonist in those old rom-coms: staring out the window as condensation built like rain drops. He put his headphones in and let the heavy beats drown out everything else. He tried to focus on the positives waiting for him at home: seeing his dog, seeing his siblings, visiting his favorite donut shop and shoving his face with empty, sugary calories that Brayden always said would make his acne flare.

Speaking of Brayden, he needed to text her. His messages had been left on read. She might have even blocked him. But he was worried about her. He knew it was none of his business, that this might be some fucked up form of karma that what she wanted wasn't what she thought it'd be. It maybe even made her miserable. But that didn't mean he wanted her to be beaten. He didn't want her dead, no matter how much the thought of her still hurt.

Flicking his phone back on, he fired off another message. Again, there was no response even though he knew she'd be back on Illéan soil by now. Frustration built behind his temples, made him grit his teeth. The urge to throw his phone was strong, but he held back. One more outburst and Henri would hog tie him and throw him on the plane unconscious. Explaining banishment to his parents would be hard enough without that.

Traffic slowed the car to an unbearable crawl. Kase banged his head against the window. He knew it was juvenlie, but he wanted this to be over already. He wanted to be tucked in his bed, throwing himself a pity party and eating ice cream from the carton with Titus (yes, he shared a spoon with his dog and no, it wasn't gross, fuck you).

Then, traffic stopped.

Paris was always busy, but this was unusual. What was extra unusual was le flic dressed in full navy and black regalia, vest gun and all, walking towards the car. He rapped twice on Henri's window, either oblivious to the flags on the car or ballsy enough to order around the Queen's private security.

"What's going on?" Kase asked, confused.

Upon realizing who was in the back seat, his eyes widened. But, in the true Parisian fashion, le flic remained stoic and unimpressed. In fact, his lips pursed into a frown, as if expecting push back.

"Apologies, Monsieur, but the road is closed ahead. There is a situation in the city. All major highways are closing until further notice. It is a matter of national security."

Immediately, Henri got on the phone. Any matter of national security was Gen's business. Which meant that she had warned the entire Paris Police Department that Kase was leaving and instructed them to make the journey as tedious as possible, or something terrible had happened.

Le flic rapped on the window again. "Monsieur, you may wish to check the news."

Kase pulled his phone out of his pocket.

Immediately, his brain flew to a million different situations that could warrant shutting down a whole city, none of them good. He thought of his sister getting fired upon during her engagement parade. He thought about planes crashes into tall towers. He thought about bombs exploding. Too many terrible things.

Shaking fingers hit the news app.

Notre Dame was on fire.

Literally.

Ancient spires spouted clouds of smoke as the rafters burnt and crumbled. Shaky video cameras caught civilians screaming, crying as they watched their history fall to the orange and yellow flames licking through cracks in the stained glass. All the while, firemen tried put the flames out with hoses and helicopters, water doing little to help the spread.

It was chaos and carnage. A massacre of history and art.

Kase felt his throat close, felt his breath start to quicken. Someone - a couple someones - were locked in tense conversation in the front of the car, but all Kase could hear was the thumping of his own heart in this ears. The thumping turned into a droning, which turned into a single, high-pitched squeal.

"Change of plans," Henri said, shattering the noise.

He put the car into drive. This time, le flic did not stop them; he let the car turn around and speed off down a side road. Even the high speeds did not shock Kase out of his stupor. Neither did driving on the sidewalk, pedestrians jumping out of the way of the madman behind the wheel. If anything, the hurtling of the car made the shapes blurring in his eyes worse. The whole world streaked by but Kase couldn't see it. It was like looking out a straw.

A straw on fire.

Breathing was near impossible. He unbuckled his seatbelt, which was a mistake. The erratic driving sent him to the floor of the car, hand braced on the seat in front of him with his knees on the ground. Everything hurt, his lungs clogged with invisible ash. He was choking. Everything was falling apart.

His fuck ups were manifesting into real tragedy.

Nothing was right.

The Benz screeched to a halt near the bridge to the island. There would be no curb-popping over rushing water.

"The roads are closed from here." Henri cursed a blue streak, something that shocked Kase. Or it would have if Kase had been paying attention. But Henri's dedication of getting back to the palace, back to Gen, wasn't the surprising part.

The surprising part was that they weren't headed to the palace at all. They were headed towards the cathedral. Towards the chaos.

Instead of staying where it was safe, he unlocked the car door and got out.

"Your Highness - !"

The rest of the protest was cut off, drowned out by the honking of horns and the chaos of the crowds quickly amassing around the bridge.

Notre Dame resided on an island in the middle of the river. The bridges were barricaded by police, keeping the cars away, preventing any fuel for the flames. Not that they needed any help, massive stacks of ashen black billowing into the clear blue skies.

Kase didn't think twice. He didn't think at all. He ran.

How long had it been since he'd got his heart pounding this way? Panic didn't count, and neither did anger. When he was younger, Dad used to chase him around the gardens, always too quick to be caught. Now, his arms pumped and his legs burned, shoes not meant for running. Nothing meant for running, the cold air cutting through his thin jacket, his denim jeans. Fresh air forced his lungs to open against their will. His eyes watered from the smoke and the smell, tears falling as he pushed himself forward.

There was no thinking when he ran. Just the pavement under his heels, the wind in his hair, the pull in his chest taking him further, faster.

No one stopped him from jumping the barricade. No one pulled him over and asked for a picture, moving too quickly to be recognized, just another face in the mob. The screams were louder he got to the epicenter, the crush of bodies nearly overwhelming. He'd never been in a space so crowded without protection, and now he felt naked and afraid, looking for Henri even though the man was stuck in traffic far behind.

His feet didn't stop until he was as close as the firefighters allowed, until he pushed up against men in black and yellow uniforms and found they pushed back.

People were everywhere: crushing the manicured bushes, trampling the queues meant for tourists, hanging from the street lamps and risking death by standing atop the ledges that dropped off to the river down below. Some searched for friends and relatives. Others had phones out, recording the horror in real time. News casters had pushed their way inside, trying to gather information from anyone in the crowd looking for their five minutes of fame.

And there, in the middle of the crush, were the Queens of France.

Many someones had bolstered them up, letting them rise above the masses upon the statue of Charlemagne. Neelam held onto the reigns of the great, copper horse, leaning her body forward to peer over the crowd while Gen steadied herself at Charlemagne's side, steadying herself with his scepter. Together, they looked like pirates looking out from the crow's nest, ready to steer them through the brunt of the storm.

Security was surprisingly missing, three royal figures loose in the streets of Paris. Even from this far, Kase could see their fear, could see the haggardness of Neelam's appearance and the tears blotching Gen's face. This was their home, their people. They ached with them. It made Kase feel dirty, like he was trespassing on a private moment. As much as he liked to run here, like to pretend he was more French than Illéan, he shared no kinship with these strangers beside him. He did not feel their pain, he did not feel their loss.

Not like Gen, who had been supplied with a megaphone.

"People of Paris! Listen to me now!" she shouted, her voice echoing over the crowds. If there were people out there who weren't aware la reine walked among them, they were now. "Time is an enemy none of us can fight. I cannot lead you into battle, I cannot administer justice, but I can do something else. I can give you my heart, my tears, and my grief. I can share this pain with you, all of you, the people who feel this city running through your veins as I feel it in mine. This great nation that has seen highs and lows unlike any other. Today is one of those lows. Perhaps the lowest low we have seen in centuries. And yet, we are still standing. We are still strong."

Gen looked up at the flames, her profile regal and strong. Like she was made for this.

"Paris is not its buildings, nor its towers, nor its roads. Paris is not just museums and street lights and the river coursing through the center. Paris is all of us. Each and every one of you here with me. Nous sommes Paris!"

Her words were inspiring. They ran down Kase's spine and gave him chills. The hairs on his arms stood attention.

He wasn't the only one affected.

All around, people stopped and stared. They rallied around their queens, arms interlocked, embracing one another. Sure, there were tears, but they were not all in despair. They mourned together. They raged together.

One people, one city, all of them crying in chorus, "Nous sommes Paris!"

Being part of one moment, one living breathing organism, was a feeling unlike any other.

Kase didn't think. He let his arms move of his own accord, let his body move on autopilot as he pulled out his camera and started photographing history.