kingmurat

[kingmurat]

[ Murat lets out a bright, unrestrained giggle — then he straightens up, eyes sparkling like he’s just been handed the best punchline of the century. ]

—pffft. Yeeeaaahhh… suuuure it wasn’t. No shouting at all. Perfectly calm, perfectly quiet, like a library. I believe you, mon frère, truly I do—

[ He throws an arm around Bessières’ shoulders, tugging him close like an overexcited hound. Grinning, he then gives Bessières a hearty head pat that turns into a shameless ruffle, mussing the marshal’s hair despite any protests. ]

—except I don’t. Not one bit.

But you say it works, eh? That’s allll that matters. If you’re happy, if he’s happy, and if neither of you is trying to get the other exiled anymore—well—

[ He punctuates this with a playful squeeze to Bessières’ cheek, ignoring any attempts to bat his hand away. ]

—you might just be as good at love as I am. Might. Let’s not get carried away. Nobody beats me.

[ A beat. ]

…Even if your taste in husbands is absolutely hilarious.

JOYEUX ANNIVERSAIRE!

Okay okay okay—I know, I know what you’re going to say—

“Joachim, please, no enormous gifts.” “Joachim, don’t commission anything in gold this year.” “Joachim, I’m not the King of Anything, stop treating me like I am.”

—But we’ve known each other too long for me not to at least do something, and frankly, if I didn’t, I think I'd be struck dead on the spot by dishonor and shame.

So! Here. I present: A few humble tokens. Modest. Nothing too over-the-top..

A small reliquary pendant, handcrafted, of course. There may or may not be a tiny—big—diamond in it—but only one! Restraint! Inside is a little folded prayer for your safety, which I absolutely wrote myself and didn’t make a priest do for me. (Alright, I dictated it. Details.)

Next: a bottle of vintage wine, aged exquisitely in Naples, where the sun and grapes are especially blessed by God (and your very favorite king—you know, me).

And while we’re on the subject of Naples...

There may or may not now be a ‘small’ seaside chapel being constructed in your name. Just a little thing! A quiet place for peace, prayer, and... well, the occasional patriotic sermon. You might be painted into the frescoes, but I made sure your hair looked good! You’re welcome.

Also: You’ve already got one — but who’s counting? Another Royal Order?

Just say the word. I have so many.

In all seriousness, Jean-Baptiste—thank you. For—er—surviving another year, for staying by my side, for being the greatest force I’ve ever known.

May your day be calm, sweet, and spent however you like best.

Happy birthday, mon frère.

My dear Joachim, you have outdone yourself. I do not know how to convey my gratitude for the splendid tokens of affection you have bestowed upon me. I am speechless but I hope you can understand the red in my face as surprised thankfulness for it all. I shall look forward to seeing that chapel, though it would be sinful to paint me to the equal of the saints. However, as long as it is a small image depicting me among the faithful, it shall be fine.

As for the matter of survival, well, I do my best despite the circumstances. Thank you again for your boundless generosity, I shall endeavor to have as calm a day as I can manage with my husband, my brother and the other you inside my home. My son at least is calm.

[kingmurat]

to the king of naples:

after having caught the stunningly notice of you here how could I possibly keep track of your countless proclamations i thought to graciously extend my hand to you, despite the complicated past my family and yours share, with the desire to confirm if –in this case–perhaps you might be able to also leave this behind.

– @rosie-of-beauharnais 🌹

Oh, wow! Josephine… you do know how to make an entrance, even in writing.

If I’m honest, I didn’t expect such a gracious hand offered from you—our families’ history being, shall we say… rich with “lively disagreements.” But—if you can leave that behind, then how could I possibly refuse?

Although—if I recall correctly—there were whispers, back in the day, that I was already too receptive to you. You remember? Those little court murmurs about “improper flirtations”? Ridiculous, of course!… though, in hindsight, perhaps my dear Caroline should thank you for urging Napoleon to let me marry her. Because clearly, you have exquisite taste in choosing who to keep around!

So yes, Josephine. The past stays in the past. Consider the hand taken and my door always open!

[kingmurat]

[ Murat stares at Bessières with a small squint, blinking one eye, then the other, like he’s trying to read an invisible line of text floating over his friend’s head. The TV is clearly on, but nobody’s watching. Faint cavalry trumpets in the distance.. a mental slideshow of irrelevant images: horse, hat, battle, Bessières with hair down, hat again.. complete silence except the phrase “he’s been married for over a year” scrolling slowly in Comic Sans across a mental blackboard. His mouth opens once—closes—opens again. He shifts his weight. ]

...

… Duke of Montebello.

[ And then it’s like a fuse finally catches—he shoots forward a step, grin exploding across his face. ]

DUKE of— wait—DUKE OF MONTEBELLO?!

LANNES?!

I would’ve never—I mean, I could’ve, but I—ohhh this is—this is too good—!

Do you know how much comedy gold you have just handed me? There must have been so much I was missing! Every insult. Every smirk. Every time he shouted at you and you secretly liked it—ahhh, I see it all now!

And now—now you’re married?! I KNEW IT! I knew all those snide little quips were just both of your terrible, awful attempts at flirting! I mean really, terrible attempts at flirting, the both of you, truly awful—But this—oh, this makes everything worth it.

The way he used to glare at you—ha!—that must have been love at first sight. And the arguments! Mon Dieu, imagine the wedding vows—were they just shouted back and forth across a battlefield?! Ahhh.. Now I’m just a little upset I missed the wedding..

I’m so proud. So, so proud. You, married to Jean Lannes. The loudest, most stubborn man in France—no, in history—and somehow you’ve made it work. This is my favorite news all week—no, all year—no, all my afterlife.

You’re never escaping this, mon frère. Ohhh I’m never going to let either of you live this down—

JOYEUX ANNIVERSAIRE!

Okay okay okay—I know, I know what you’re going to say—

“Joachim, please, no enormous gifts.” “Joachim, don’t commission anything in gold this year.” “Joachim, I’m not the King of Anything, stop treating me like I am.”

—But we’ve known each other too long for me not to at least do something, and frankly, if I didn’t, I think I'd be struck dead on the spot by dishonor and shame.

So! Here. I present: A few humble tokens. Modest. Nothing too over-the-top..

A small reliquary pendant, handcrafted, of course. There may or may not be a tiny—big—diamond in it—but only one! Restraint! Inside is a little folded prayer for your safety, which I absolutely wrote myself and didn’t make a priest do for me. (Alright, I dictated it. Details.)

Next: a bottle of vintage wine, aged exquisitely in Naples, where the sun and grapes are especially blessed by God (and your very favorite king—you know, me).

And while we’re on the subject of Naples...

There may or may not now be a ‘small’ seaside chapel being constructed in your name. Just a little thing! A quiet place for peace, prayer, and... well, the occasional patriotic sermon. You might be painted into the frescoes, but I made sure your hair looked good! You’re welcome.

Also: You’ve already got one — but who’s counting? Another Royal Order?

Just say the word. I have so many.

In all seriousness, Jean-Baptiste—thank you. For—er—surviving another year, for staying by my side, for being the greatest force I’ve ever known.

May your day be calm, sweet, and spent however you like best.

Happy birthday, mon frère.

My dear Joachim, you have outdone yourself. I do not know how to convey my gratitude for the splendid tokens of affection you have bestowed upon me. I am speechless but I hope you can understand the red in my face as surprised thankfulness for it all. I shall look forward to seeing that chapel, though it would be sinful to paint me to the equal of the saints. However, as long as it is a small image depicting me among the faithful, it shall be fine.

As for the matter of survival, well, I do my best despite the circumstances. Thank you again for your boundless generosity, I shall endeavor to have as calm a day as I can manage with my husband, my brother and the other you inside my home. My son at least is calm.

[kingmurat]

Of course, it’s all for you! Why wouldn’t it be? You deserve every reliquary, every diamond, every chapel fresco with hair so glorious the angels weep! It is no more than a mere—nay—a pitiful attempt to honor what you are to me! Now, ah, don’t blush, you know I live for it—you’ll only encourage me.

Come here—yes, right here—let me kiss your cheeks, both of them, properly, and let me—yes, just—ruffle your hair until you look like a cavalryman caught in a hurricane. There! That’s much better.

I will not hear another word about “sinful” likenesses—saints could only aspire to your calm, your loyalty, your—

...

…wait.

Did you just say— husband???

Jean-Baptiste, where in God’s glittering heavens have you been hiding this? A son, yes, of course—I’ve met him, I’ve threatened to teach him to ride a stallion taller than his tutor—but a husband?? Where was I when this happened? Why didn’t you tell me? Was I at war? Was I wearing the wrong boots??

No, no, don’t just stand there looking polite and guilty—you’re going to tell me everything. Names, dates, the color of his coat when you met him— Actually no, hold on. WAIT RIGHT THERE!—Yes—yes, don’t move! Let me pour wine first. This is going to be good.

JOYEUX ANNIVERSAIRE!

Okay okay okay—I know, I know what you’re going to say—

“Joachim, please, no enormous gifts.” “Joachim, don’t commission anything in gold this year.” “Joachim, I’m not the King of Anything, stop treating me like I am.”

—But we’ve known each other too long for me not to at least do something, and frankly, if I didn’t, I think I'd be struck dead on the spot by dishonor and shame.

So! Here. I present: A few humble tokens. Modest. Nothing too over-the-top..

A small reliquary pendant, handcrafted, of course. There may or may not be a tiny—big—diamond in it—but only one! Restraint! Inside is a little folded prayer for your safety, which I absolutely wrote myself and didn’t make a priest do for me. (Alright, I dictated it. Details.)

Next: a bottle of vintage wine, aged exquisitely in Naples, where the sun and grapes are especially blessed by God (and your very favorite king—you know, me).

And while we’re on the subject of Naples...

There may or may not now be a ‘small’ seaside chapel being constructed in your name. Just a little thing! A quiet place for peace, prayer, and... well, the occasional patriotic sermon. You might be painted into the frescoes, but I made sure your hair looked good! You’re welcome.

Also: You’ve already got one — but who’s counting? Another Royal Order?

Just say the word. I have so many.

In all seriousness, Jean-Baptiste—thank you. For—er—surviving another year, for staying by my side, for being the greatest force I’ve ever known.

May your day be calm, sweet, and spent however you like best.

Happy birthday, mon frère.

My dear Joachim, you have outdone yourself. I do not know how to convey my gratitude for the splendid tokens of affection you have bestowed upon me. I am speechless but I hope you can understand the red in my face as surprised thankfulness for it all. I shall look forward to seeing that chapel, though it would be sinful to paint me to the equal of the saints. However, as long as it is a small image depicting me among the faithful, it shall be fine.

As for the matter of survival, well, I do my best despite the circumstances. Thank you again for your boundless generosity, I shall endeavor to have as calm a day as I can manage with my husband, my brother and the other you inside my home. My son at least is calm.

[kingmurat]

Bessières, mon frère de cœur—!

If you are the most unsightly among us, then I shudder to imagine the standards of beauty in whatever celestial stables you've wandered from—because surely, only Heaven breeds such noble creatures in triplicate!

It is a pleasure beyond measure to meet you again, and again, and again if need be. Frankly, I’ve always believed there should be more of you. The world was never generous enough in that regard.

Your welcome touches me, truly. And you know, of all the salons, camps, and courts I’ve wandered into, none ever feel as much like home as the ones you open the door to. I’ll surely be by soon—keep a seat warm, and a wine uncorked!

━━ ⊹ ✦ ⊱ 𝑅𝑜𝒾 𝒹𝑒 𝒩𝒶𝓅𝓁𝑒𝓈 ⊰ ✦ ⊹ ━━

MESSIEURS, DAMES, AMATEURS DE SPLENDEUR— I HAVE ARRIVED!

Allow me to properly introduce myself — though if you're here, I suspect the name MURAT has already galloped far ahead of me…

The Finest First Horseman of Europe, King of Naples, Grand Duke of Berg and Cleves, Prince of the Empire—

But more importantly…?

Joachim Murat!

Born with nothing but ambition and a head full of curls—THE undisputed master of cavalry and charisma! Plus, if I may say so—one hell of a rider. I have led the most legendary of charges, worn uniforms that stopped hearts, and made entrances so grand they ought to be painted into the sky!

Of course, you may know me as the man who fought twice as hard as most generals—and wore plumes taller than all of them, and I’d do it again! The bottom line is, if you see a man on a horse so bedazzled you mistake him for a comet, that’s me. No need to check twice.

You may simply call me Murat. Unless you are feeling respectful. Or infatuated. In either case, Your Majesty is also acceptable.

Do contain your swoons, if you can.

Now, why am I here, you ask? It is not simply out of boredom (though I do detest boredom). Allow me to state it plainly: I am not here to be modest. I was not made for silence—I was made for motion!—the glory of the Empire may have faded, but my style is eternal. And frankly, I missed the sound of applause!

This “blog,” as you call it—well, it’s no battlefield��No horses. No drums. But apparently, one may still make an impression. So, here I am! Ready to entertain questions, receive praise (encouraged), and perhaps even consider serious discussion—once I’ve been properly flattered.

Where there is fun, there ought to be a Murat. I am not above banter, not afraid of questions, and absolutely not ashamed to discuss my hair care routine.

So do not write to me timidly! I am not timid, and neither should you be. Speak boldly! I like bold. I like brave. I like people who act with passion—even if it gets them killed (trust me, I would know). I do not play at modesty. I did not live a quiet life, and I will not pretend otherwise! Do not bore me, and I will be generous. Do insult me, and I will ride right through you like a cuirassier through wheat!

A few notes, if I may:

‣ Be polite. I am a king. And even before that, I am Joachim Murat! You do not speak to me as you would to some dreary historian or pale old bureaucrat. I expect a little style. ‣ If you insult my coat, you’re simply wrong. Jealous. Not as interesting as I am. And likely affiliated with the III Corps. ‣ I do not shy from hard questions—but I don’t answer them for fools.

Write me! Amuse me! Debate me, if you dare—but be warned, I rarely lose. Not in battle, and certainly not in conversation.

En avant! I am,

Joachim-Napoléon Murat

King of Naples, Premier Cavalier of Europe

✦ ⊹ ✦ ⊹ ✦ ⊹ ✦ ⊹ ✦ ⊹ ✦ ⊹ ✦ ⊹ ✦ ⊹ ✦ ⊹ ✦ ⊹ ✦ ⊹ ✦ ⊹ ✦ ⊹ ✦ ⊹ ✦ ⊹ ✦

> There was a point halfway through writing this where I asked myself, “Is this too much cunt?” The answer was an emphatic yes. But honestly, when it comes to Murat, too much is just not a thing. > For those unfamiliar, which I REALLLLYY doubt, Joachim Murat was Napoleon’s flamboyant cavalry marshal and King of Naples—part showman, part warrior, and full-time badass. He’s the character I know best and love playing the most, so expect the drama. Kiss kiss. > As always, this blog is a playful, not perfectly historical interpretation. I’m learning and evolving as I go, etc etc—the whole nine yards—so forgive any missteps or dramatic liberties! > And yes, this blog runs on EST / GMT-5.

TAG DIRECTORY ──

⋆ #Réponses de Sa Majesté – Replies to letters and questions sent directly to His Majesty's inbox.

⋆ #Correspondance avec les camarades – Exchanges with fellow marshals and monarchs.

++ Coming soon because it's 3am and I'm tired /j

[kingmurat]

Oh? Getting interesting? Coming from you, that’s practically applause. I’ll take it.

━━ ⊹ ✦ ⊱ 𝑅𝑜𝒾 𝒹𝑒 𝒩𝒶𝓅𝓁𝑒𝓈 ⊰ ✦ ⊹ ━━

MESSIEURS, DAMES, AMATEURS DE SPLENDEUR— I HAVE ARRIVED!

Allow me to properly introduce myself — though if you're here, I suspect the name MURAT has already galloped far ahead of me…

The Finest First Horseman of Europe, King of Naples, Grand Duke of Berg and Cleves, Prince of the Empire—

But more importantly…?

Joachim Murat!

Born with nothing but ambition and a head full of curls—THE undisputed master of cavalry and charisma! Plus, if I may say so—one hell of a rider. I have led the most legendary of charges, worn uniforms that stopped hearts, and made entrances so grand they ought to be painted into the sky!

Of course, you may know me as the man who fought twice as hard as most generals—and wore plumes taller than all of them, and I’d do it again! The bottom line is, if you see a man on a horse so bedazzled you mistake him for a comet, that’s me. No need to check twice.

You may simply call me Murat. Unless you are feeling respectful. Or infatuated. In either case, Your Majesty is also acceptable.

Do contain your swoons, if you can.

Now, why am I here, you ask? It is not simply out of boredom (though I do detest boredom). Allow me to state it plainly: I am not here to be modest. I was not made for silence—I was made for motion!—the glory of the Empire may have faded, but my style is eternal. And frankly, I missed the sound of applause!

This “blog,” as you call it—well, it’s no battlefield…No horses. No drums. But apparently, one may still make an impression. So, here I am! Ready to entertain questions, receive praise (encouraged), and perhaps even consider serious discussion—once I’ve been properly flattered.

Where there is fun, there ought to be a Murat. I am not above banter, not afraid of questions, and absolutely not ashamed to discuss my hair care routine.

So do not write to me timidly! I am not timid, and neither should you be. Speak boldly! I like bold. I like brave. I like people who act with passion—even if it gets them killed (trust me, I would know). I do not play at modesty. I did not live a quiet life, and I will not pretend otherwise! Do not bore me, and I will be generous. Do insult me, and I will ride right through you like a cuirassier through wheat!

A few notes, if I may:

‣ Be polite. I am a king. And even before that, I am Joachim Murat! You do not speak to me as you would to some dreary historian or pale old bureaucrat. I expect a little style. ‣ If you insult my coat, you’re simply wrong. Jealous. Not as interesting as I am. And likely affiliated with the III Corps. ‣ I do not shy from hard questions—but I don’t answer them for fools.

Write me! Amuse me! Debate me, if you dare—but be warned, I rarely lose. Not in battle, and certainly not in conversation.

En avant! I am,

Joachim-Napoléon Murat

King of Naples, Premier Cavalier of Europe

✦ ⊹ ✦ ⊹ ✦ ⊹ ✦ ⊹ ✦ ⊹ ✦ ⊹ ✦ ⊹ ✦ ⊹ ✦ ⊹ ✦ ⊹ ✦ ⊹ ✦ ⊹ ✦ ⊹ ✦ ⊹ ✦ ⊹ ✦

> There was a point halfway through writing this where I asked myself, “Is this too much cunt?” The answer was an emphatic yes. But honestly, when it comes to Murat, too much is just not a thing. > For those unfamiliar, which I REALLLLYY doubt, Joachim Murat was Napoleon’s flamboyant cavalry marshal and King of Naples—part showman, part warrior, and full-time badass. He’s the character I know best and love playing the most, so expect the drama. Kiss kiss. > As always, this blog is a playful, not perfectly historical interpretation. I’m learning and evolving as I go, etc etc—the whole nine yards—so forgive any missteps or dramatic liberties! > And yes, this blog runs on EST / GMT-5.

TAG DIRECTORY ──

⋆ #Réponses de Sa Majesté – Replies to letters and questions sent directly to His Majesty's inbox.

⋆ #Correspondance avec les camarades – Exchanges with fellow marshals and monarchs.

++ Coming soon because it's 3am and I'm tired /j

[kingmurat]

Well, it wouldn’t be a proper entrance if I weren’t showing up fashionably late to find I’ve already been duplicated, hmm?

No matter. I’ve never minded a bit of competition—especially not from myself. I daresay they’ll find me quite different in the flesh. This article’s still got the best cut, the shiniest boots, and the loudest bark.

But thank you for the warning, mon ami. Always good to see a familiar face—especially one as bold (and as reckless) as yours.

━━ ⊹ ✦ ⊱ 𝑅𝑜𝒾 𝒹𝑒 𝒩𝒶𝓅𝓁𝑒𝓈 ⊰ ✦ ⊹ ━━

MESSIEURS, DAMES, AMATEURS DE SPLENDEUR— I HAVE ARRIVED!

Allow me to properly introduce myself — though if you're here, I suspect the name MURAT has already galloped far ahead of me…

The Finest First Horseman of Europe, King of Naples, Grand Duke of Berg and Cleves, Prince of the Empire—

But more importantly…?

Joachim Murat!

Born with nothing but ambition and a head full of curls—THE undisputed master of cavalry and charisma! Plus, if I may say so—one hell of a rider. I have led the most legendary of charges, worn uniforms that stopped hearts, and made entrances so grand they ought to be painted into the sky!

Of course, you may know me as the man who fought twice as hard as most generals—and wore plumes taller than all of them, and I’d do it again! The bottom line is, if you see a man on a horse so bedazzled you mistake him for a comet, that’s me. No need to check twice.

You may simply call me Murat. Unless you are feeling respectful. Or infatuated. In either case, Your Majesty is also acceptable.

Do contain your swoons, if you can.

Now, why am I here, you ask? It is not simply out of boredom (though I do detest boredom). Allow me to state it plainly: I am not here to be modest. I was not made for silence—I was made for motion!—the glory of the Empire may have faded, but my style is eternal. And frankly, I missed the sound of applause!

This “blog,” as you call it—well, it’s no battlefield…No horses. No drums. But apparently, one may still make an impression. So, here I am! Ready to entertain questions, receive praise (encouraged), and perhaps even consider serious discussion—once I’ve been properly flattered.

Where there is fun, there ought to be a Murat. I am not above banter, not afraid of questions, and absolutely not ashamed to discuss my hair care routine.

So do not write to me timidly! I am not timid, and neither should you be. Speak boldly! I like bold. I like brave. I like people who act with passion—even if it gets them killed (trust me, I would know). I do not play at modesty. I did not live a quiet life, and I will not pretend otherwise! Do not bore me, and I will be generous. Do insult me, and I will ride right through you like a cuirassier through wheat!

A few notes, if I may:

‣ Be polite. I am a king. And even before that, I am Joachim Murat! You do not speak to me as you would to some dreary historian or pale old bureaucrat. I expect a little style. ‣ If you insult my coat, you’re simply wrong. Jealous. Not as interesting as I am. And likely affiliated with the III Corps. ‣ I do not shy from hard questions—but I don’t answer them for fools.

Write me! Amuse me! Debate me, if you dare—but be warned, I rarely lose. Not in battle, and certainly not in conversation.

En avant! I am,

Joachim-Napoléon Murat

King of Naples, Premier Cavalier of Europe

✦ ⊹ ✦ ⊹ ✦ ⊹ ✦ ⊹ ✦ ⊹ ✦ ⊹ ✦ ⊹ ✦ ⊹ ✦ ⊹ ✦ ⊹ ✦ ⊹ ✦ ⊹ ✦ ⊹ ✦ ⊹ ✦ ⊹ ✦

> There was a point halfway through writing this where I asked myself, “Is this too much cunt?” The answer was an emphatic yes. But honestly, when it comes to Murat, too much is just not a thing. > For those unfamiliar, which I REALLLLYY doubt, Joachim Murat was Napoleon’s flamboyant cavalry marshal and King of Naples—part showman, part warrior, and full-time badass. He’s the character I know best and love playing the most, so expect the drama. Kiss kiss. > As always, this blog is a playful, not perfectly historical interpretation. I’m learning and evolving as I go, etc etc—the whole nine yards—so forgive any missteps or dramatic liberties! > And yes, this blog runs on EST / GMT-5.

TAG DIRECTORY ──

⋆ #Réponses de Sa Majesté – Replies to letters and questions sent directly to His Majesty's inbox.

⋆ #Correspondance avec les camarades – Exchanges with fellow marshals and monarchs.

++ Coming soon because it's 3am and I'm tired /j

[kingmurat]

━━ ⊹ ✦ ⊱ 𝑅𝑜𝒾 𝒹𝑒 𝒩𝒶𝓅𝓁𝑒𝓈 ⊰ ✦ ⊹ ━━

MESSIEURS, DAMES, AMATEURS DE SPLENDEUR— I HAVE ARRIVED!

Allow me to properly introduce myself — though if you're here, I suspect the name MURAT has already galloped far ahead of me…

The Finest First Horseman of Europe, King of Naples, Grand Duke of Berg and Cleves, Prince of the Empire—

But more importantly…?

Joachim Murat!

Born with nothing but ambition and a head full of curls—THE undisputed master of cavalry and charisma! Plus, if I may say so—one hell of a rider. I have led the most legendary of charges, worn uniforms that stopped hearts, and made entrances so grand they ought to be painted into the sky!

Of course, you may know me as the man who fought twice as hard as most generals—and wore plumes taller than all of them, and I’d do it again! The bottom line is, if you see a man on a horse so bedazzled you mistake him for a comet, that’s me. No need to check twice.

You may simply call me Murat. Unless you are feeling respectful. Or infatuated. In either case, Your Majesty is also acceptable.

Do contain your swoons, if you can.

Now, why am I here, you ask? It is not simply out of boredom (though I do detest boredom). Allow me to state it plainly: I am not here to be modest. I was not made for silence—I was made for motion!—the glory of the Empire may have faded, but my style is eternal. And frankly, I missed the sound of applause!

This “blog,” as you call it—well, it’s no battlefield…No horses. No drums. But apparently, one may still make an impression. So, here I am! Ready to entertain questions, receive praise (encouraged), and perhaps even consider serious discussion—once I’ve been properly flattered.

Where there is fun, there ought to be a Murat. I am not above banter, not afraid of questions, and absolutely not ashamed to discuss my hair care routine.

So do not write to me timidly! I am not timid, and neither should you be. Speak boldly! I like bold. I like brave. I like people who act with passion—even if it gets them killed (trust me, I would know). I do not play at modesty. I did not live a quiet life, and I will not pretend otherwise! Do not bore me, and I will be generous. Do insult me, and I will ride right through you like a cuirassier through wheat!

A few notes, if I may:

‣ Be polite. I am a king. And even before that, I am Joachim Murat! You do not speak to me as you would to some dreary historian or pale old bureaucrat. I expect a little style. ‣ If you insult my coat, you’re simply wrong. Jealous. Not as interesting as I am. And likely affiliated with the III Corps. ‣ I do not shy from hard questions—but I don’t answer them for fools.

Write me! Amuse me! Debate me, if you dare—but be warned, I rarely lose. Not in battle, and certainly not in conversation.

En avant! I am,

Joachim-Napoléon Murat

King of Naples, Premier Cavalier of Europe

✦ ⊹ ✦ ⊹ ✦ ⊹ ✦ ⊹ ✦ ⊹ ✦ ⊹ ✦ ⊹ ✦ ⊹ ✦ ⊹ ✦ ⊹ ✦ ⊹ ✦ ⊹ ✦ ⊹ ✦ ⊹ ✦ ⊹ ✦

> There was a point halfway through writing this where I asked myself, “Is this too much cunt?” The answer was an emphatic yes. But honestly, when it comes to Murat, too much is just not a thing. > For those unfamiliar, which I REALLLLYY doubt, Joachim Murat was Napoleon’s flamboyant cavalry marshal and King of Naples—part showman, part warrior, and full-time badass. He’s the character I know best and love playing the most, so expect the drama. Kiss kiss. > As always, this blog is a playful, not perfectly historical interpretation. I’m learning and evolving as I go, etc etc—the whole nine yards—so forgive any missteps or dramatic liberties! > And yes, this blog runs on EST / GMT-5.

TAG DIRECTORY ──

⋆ #Réponses de Sa Majesté – Replies to letters and questions sent directly to His Majesty's inbox.

⋆ #Correspondance avec les camarades – Exchanges with fellow marshals and monarchs.

++ Coming soon because it's 3am and I'm tired /j