I am the Crown Prince of France

Chapter 110: The Fashion Show

"Balthazar, you can't just focus on their looks," Joseph whispered to his fashion designer. "They're here to walk the runway, not to attend a ball."

He pointed toward the giant catwalk in the square. "You see, when the guests gather below the runway, they'll only be able to see the models' figures, posture, and the clothes they're wearing. Their faces will hardly be visible."

Balthazar nodded repeatedly, still trying to grasp the concept of "runway" and "catwalk," which he had only encountered two days ago.

With Paris abuzz about the upcoming fashion week, everyone was talking about it. So, when the ads for fashion models appeared in the newspapers, the women of Paris were ecstatic—imagine strutting in the grand old palace, wearing the latest, most beautiful fashion, under countless lights, admired by all of Europe's high society, and being paid handsomely for it. Who wouldn't be interested?

At this time, there was no profession of fashion modeling, so Joseph had to conduct open auditions among the public.

The terms "model" and "runway" quickly became the most talked-about words among Parisian women. Actresses, singers, prostitutes, and even noblewomen who had any confidence in their looks or figures were tempted to try their luck by registering at the Tuileries Palace.

After several rounds of initial selection by Balthazar, the dozens of women standing before Joseph were the cream of the crop among the candidates.

Joseph watched with a sigh as the models moved stiffly or deliberately showed off their cleavage. He couldn't help but feel exasperated. He stood up, clapped his hands to get the models' attention, and then did what he least wanted but had to do—demonstrate the catwalk.

"Watch closely. The second step should land here." He felt incredibly awkward but pressed on. "Lift your knee first, then swing your lower leg out, and then take the next step…

"Don't use too much force with your hands; just let them hang naturally… No, I didn't say let them go limp! Fine, put your hands on your hips.

"Don't let your eyes wander—keep your gaze neutral…"

Although Joseph wasn't an expert at this, he had at least seen it enough times to imitate it somewhat. He remembered watching countless Victoria's Secret shows in his past life, so he could at least manage a passable demonstration.

After he finished walking back and forth, the models burst into applause.

Joseph, with a dark expression, slumped back into his chair and said weakly, "Whoever learns this first can become the coach, and their pay will be doubled."

Motivated by the promise of more money, the models immediately became more focused. Some of the noblewomen who had dance training began to grasp the basics, and their movements started to look better.

Joseph let them practice on their own and then turned to the group of male models on the other side of the hall. He gestured for them to take a turn on the runway.

Dozens of handsome Frenchmen immediately started strutting their stuff, their long legs paired with high heels as they sashayed down the runway with flair. They actually looked more polished than the women.

"Stop…" Joseph felt a pang of heartache. "Not like that! That's how the women are supposed to walk…"

A bold blonde model piped up, "But Your Highness, isn't that how you just walked?"

Joseph silenced him with a murderous look and then turned to his bodyguard captain. "Viscount Cossard, could you please show them how to walk—just like you do when you're strolling through Versailles?"

"Yes, Your Highness." Cossard immediately stepped into the middle of the hall, standing tall and walking forward with a powerful, confident stride.

Joseph looked at the male models. "Please practice like that."

Meanwhile, under a construction tent in the Tuileries Palace square, the head of the Fashion Week Organizing Committee's review team was staring intently toward the western hall. There, dozens of beautiful women in elegant dresses were strutting down a wooden platform, their gazes sultry and their postures seductive.

He unconsciously swallowed and asked the president of the Chamber of Commerce beside him, "Viscount Flesselles, what are they doing over there?"

"I heard it's a new way to showcase fashion that the Prince invented. It's called a runway show," Flesselles replied casually, though inwardly he was in awe. How does the Prince, at such a young age, come up with such… ahem… brilliant ideas? This runway show alone will surely make this Fashion Week the talk of all Europe.

"That scoundrel Brienne! That vile, despicable bastard!" Vergennes slammed the letter in his hand onto the table with a loud bang. "I swear, one day I'll tear him apart with my own hands!"

Hearing the commotion, his aide peeked in through the door. "Count, is everything alright?"

"I'm fine. Get out!"

Vergennes turned and shouted, his expression colder than the snow outside the window.

The letter was from the Duke of Orléans. From the date, it was clear that he had sent it the day after leaving Paris. But the messenger must not have caught up with him until he reached Smolensk, where Vergennes finally received the letter.

The letter contained only a few lines, informing him that the Anglo-French trade negotiations had officially begun. The negotiators were Brienne and the Minister of Registry, Nicot.

Vergennes gritted his teeth, recalling how just two weeks ago he had asked Brienne when the trade negotiations would begin. Brienne had told him that some financial data needed for the negotiations were still being prepared and that it would take a considerable amount of time.

And then, he had been sent to Russia to convey France's "concern" over the Russo-Turkish War.

But as soon as he left, the Anglo-French trade negotiations had started.

What he found most unacceptable was that the person replacing him in the negotiations was that worthless "transparent minister," Nicot!

For a long time, Vergennes sat slumped in his chair. He was over two thousand kilometers away from Paris. Even if he set off immediately, by the time he returned to Paris, the treaty would surely have already been signed.

All that awaited him now was the mockery of the entire Parisian political scene.

The fire crackled in the hearth, burning brightly, but Vergennes felt only a deep, penetrating cold. He knew that his political career was likely over.

On the west bank of the Seine, in Mirabeau's villa.

Mirabeau hadn't expected a visit from the Prince, so when he came out to greet him, he seemed a bit flustered. "Oh, it's a pleasure to see you, esteemed Prince."

He stepped back with his right foot and placed his right hand over his chest, bowing respectfully.

Joseph smiled. "I'm pleased to see you too, Count Mirabeau. In fact, I came today because I need your help with something."

Mirabeau personally opened the door for him. "You know, Your Highness, I'm always eager to be of service to you."

Once they were in the reception room, Mirabeau invited Joseph to sit down, enthusiastically offering him some tea that had just been brought in by a maid. "Your Highness, you must try this. It's just arrived from the Far East, and it's nothing like that cheap stuff from India. Oh, and what do you need from me?"

"Thank you for the tea. The flavor is truly excellent." Joseph took a sip of the rich, creamy tea and nodded in appreciation before continuing, "You may have heard that the government is promoting potato cultivation across the country."

(End of Chapter)

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