"No, none of them..."
Joseph suddenly realized he had been careless—he had followed modern norms where at the age of 15, one wouldn't need to consider marriage matters, yet in the eighteenth century, this was already perilously close to the ranks of a bachelor of advanced age!
Queen Mary's frown deepened.
"Dear, you are already 15 years old, your grandfather and great-grandfather were married at your age," she glanced toward Louis XVI, "Although your father married me at the age of 16, that was indeed somewhat late. I hope you do not follow his example."
Louis XVI nodded in agreement very cooperatively.
Queen Mary took her son's hand, took a deep breath, and said in the gentlest tone possible:
"Dear, if you have no objections to Clementine, why not marry her sooner? Once you have progeny, the people of France will feel much more at ease!"
"I..." At this moment, Joseph only felt extremely passive. He had thought through the whole of Europe, along with Africa and America, yet he hadn't considered planning for his own marriage.
Who would rush to find a wife for a 15-year-old boy, hey! Barely two years past puberty, right?
Marrying too early is also bad for one's health; this is common knowledge... His great-grandfather and grandfather did marry early, but one lived only until 64, and the other passed away in his prime at 36. Hadn't they considered there might be reasons for this?
Moreover, Clementine was actually a relative, did he really want to engage in orthopedics in eighteenth-century France? Besides, she was only 12 years old—such a thing, if it were in the future, would be a minimum of three years' incarceration, with no upper limit!
Seeing her son fall silent, Queen Mary spoke again with solemn gravity:
"Dear, if you are thinking of the girl named Perna... ah, it's not that it's impossible, but how should I put it? Her background is truly too low... If you like her, you can keep her by your side. But as a formal marriage candidate, I believe she must be a princess of a country or at least the daughter of a crown prince."
Joseph almost spat out a mouthful of blood—how did his mother bring up Doctor Perna again...
He tried to calm himself down, reflected for a moment, and decided to play the "ambitious and spirited" card:
"Mother, if we speak of love, then I have only one true love—France!
"As the crown prince, under the witness of God, I hope to make France stand tall atop Europe!
"If I must marry, then I must find a princess from a country that can provide great support to France.
"Clearly, that country is not Austria."
Queen Mary immediately showed a look of surprise: "You think there is a country more suitable than Austria?"
Joseph nodded: "You should have heard, Austria has just been defeated in the Southern Netherlands by the Prussian-Dutch allied forces. If Austria loses the Southern Netherlands, its national power will quickly decline. It might even be surpassed by Prussia!"
"No, my brother will certainly recapture the Southern Netherlands," Queen Mary's voice immediately grew louder, "I know him, Prussians cannot scare him!"
A smile flickered across Joseph's eyes: "Father, mother, then perhaps we should wait until after the situation in the Southern Netherlands is resolved before considering a union with Austria?"
Louis XVI nodded thoughtfully, took his wife's hand, and said softly, "Dear, Joseph has truly grown up. He's able to consider marriage from the national perspective—perhaps we have been too anxious."
Taking advantage of his wife's distraction, he winked at Joseph and mouthed, "You can go now, I'll persuade her."
While his mother was still in a daze, Joseph quickly got up, performed a bow, and then swiftly escaped the Petit Trianon Palace.
For a long while, Queen Mary looked reproachfully at her husband, "You know that's just an excuse."
Louis XVI smiled and said, "Our son is so smart, he must have his own reasons. We should trust him."
"You really spoil him too much," Queen Mary sighed, "Clementine is so pretty and charming, why doesn't Joseph like her?"
Louis XVI kissed the back of his wife's hand, complementing her with an uncharacteristically high emotional intelligence, "With such a beautiful mother, he's likely to set his bar very high for so-called beautiful women."
"Stop it!" Queen Mary broke into a coy smile, but her expression turned serious again, "But he is indeed not young anymore. Before next year, we must decide on a marriage candidate for him."
"Alright," Louis XVI seemed quite in agreement, "I will have a good talk with him."
The central-eastern part of France.
The province of Troyes.
An army, impeccably uniformed with golden iris insignias on their collars and carrying brand-new Auguste-style caplock guns, marched in neat columns at a brisk pace toward the outskirts of the town.
They were heading there to put on a "standard demonstration" for the renowned Champagne Corps. They had performed this task numerous times before, and every unit that had witnessed their demonstration ended up demoralized.
After their departure, any capable officers or soldiers in those units submitting transfer requests to the General Staff, asking to join the Royal Guards, even willing to serve as general laborers there.
In the middle of the troops, a few soldiers caught a glimpse of the young officers riding on horseback to the side-front and began whispering among themselves, "Hey, that captain is new, right? Does anyone know him?"
"I heard he took General Bertier's route to get transferred to the Guard Corps," a big soldier with an unkempt beard said, "His name is something Napoleon... a weird name."
"It's Napoleon. Napoleon Bonaparte." A middle-aged soldier behind them said quietly, "He's Italian. But he didn't join the Guard through connections, I heard he made quite a name for himself quelling riots in Amiens."
"Haha." However, two of the soldiers laughed, "You might not know, but this outstanding officer sir has never been able to finish a 5-kilometer run. He was left behind in the barracks during the previous 'demonstrations'."
"Well, Italians tend to be a bit frail physically..."
"I also heard that this captain often takes sick leave."
"So he's a sickly one, that explains it, haha."
The young officer riding at the front could vaguely hear the laughter of the soldiers discussing him behind his back, causing the veins on his forehead to throb. His hands holding the reins had turned pale from gripping them too tightly.
Yet he couldn't refute them, because that damned 5-kilometer run was simply too difficult.
At first, he didn't believe these soldiers could complete such a distance in 22 minutes, but reality taught him a harsh lesson—only three in the entire corps didn't finish on time. One had a bit of a fever, the other had a broken boot.
The worst part was the requirement from the Guard Corp for officers below the rank of Major to complete the 5-kilometer run alongside the soldiers.
He vowed to himself that during this "standard demonstration," he would definitely shut those mocking soldiers up!
When had Napoleon ever lost to anyone? Those who looked down on him in the military academy had all been surpassed by his excellent grades in the end!