Weeks passed as the battlefield grew quiet, and hostilities between all involved nations began to settle, agreeing to the proposed truce and the agreement to sign an armistice.
Paris received the delegations in spring rain and polished stone.
The city had hosted treaties before—defeats disguised as compromises, victories diluted into clauses and annexes—but never quite like this.
There was an unease beneath the formality, a sense that the war being concluded had outrun the language meant to contain it.
The conference chambers near the Quai d'Orsay were crowded from the first morning.
British diplomats arrived early, stiff-backed and immaculate, faces composed into masks of professional irritation, eager to regain their tenuous grasp over the region and limit the Russian Empire once more.
The French hosts moved with practiced neutrality, keenly aware that while the treaty bore their city's name, the outcome was not theirs to shape, and while their own interests aligned with Britain in wanting to curtail Russia's expanse, their recent war with Prussia had diverted their national focus from the East to their next door neighbor.
Austro-Hungarian representatives arrived in force, their retinues large, their confidence however was brittle, learning that a formidable empire that had preventing their own expansion south, was defeated by a newborn Kingdom.
Russian envoys came last—and smiled more than etiquette strictly required even with their own rather brusque and stiff bearing.
And then lastly as far as active participants were concerned, there were the Montenegrins.
They did not arrive with pomp.
No gold-trimmed uniforms, no retinues swollen by hangers-on.
Their delegation was small, precise, and unsettlingly calm.
At its head stood King Peter I himself, flanked by a handful of ministers and officers whose posture suggested they would be equally comfortable at a negotiating table or a firing line, truly the powerhouse heavyweights of their Kingdom.
They did not look like victors.
They were not going around showing off, bragging or, rubbing their victory in everyones faces
That, more than anything, unnerved the room.
The Sultan's representatives were seated apart, diminished by absence.
The man himself remained in Constantinople—"for reasons of health," the official line claimed—though everyone present understood the truth.
The Ottoman Empire negotiated now under duress, its signature already written in blood and ash.
When proceedings opened, the French foreign minister spoke first, his voice smooth, ceremonial, and deliberately slow.
"This session," he said, "marks the formal conclusion of hostilities in Eastern Europe and the establishment of a new order in the Balkans."
No one missed the phrasing.
Eastern European.
Not Ottoman.
The illusion of continuity had already cracked.
Maps were unrolled.
They were enormous things, freshly inked, the colors still sharp.
Borders that had existed for centuries were gone now, replaced by confident, decisive lines.
The Kingdom of Montenegro sprawled across the page in a way that felt almost indecent—its territory now stretching from the Adriatic deep into Thrace along the Black Sea, encompassing cities whose names had once been synonymous with Ottoman permanence.
The British ambassador leaned forward, fingers steepled.
"This scale of transfer," he said coolly, "is unprecedented."
Peter I met his gaze without flinching.
"And yet, for weeks now we have already proven capable of managing the lands and the peoples within them without issue."
A murmur rippled through the chamber.
The British man pressed on. "His Majesty's Government must express concern regarding the balance of power. Control of the straits—"
"—remains open to international shipping," Peter interrupted calmly. "Under Montenegrin administration, the use of the strait will be one guarenteed by our Navy."
The Russian delegate smiled into his beard.
"Management," the Briton echoed. "By a state with no prior maritime tradition of this scale."
Which was a jab, Montengro had only formally created a navy within the last few decades, as opposed to Britain, and the other European powers who had Navies for centuries, some even milleniums.
As far as a naval reputation their was seen as a upstart, a mere joke.
Peter inclined his head slightly. "And yet... Our boys managed what you lot could not."
The exchange ended there, not because agreement had been reached, but because there was nothing left to say that had not already been decided on the battlefield.
And any further discussion on the matter would open new wounds, resulting in the creation of new conflicts igniting various wars across the continent.
Now was a time for recovery in preparation of the next wars, France, Russia, Germany, and now Montenegrin had all fought wars in the last 10 years depleting their manpower, at least another 10 would be needed before the next possible large scale conflict could occur.
The Austrian delegation though gritting their teeth were prepared to agree to the cessation of Ottoman lands to Montenegro in exchange for some concessions of their own.
Which was easily accepted, giving up bits of Serbia, and the fringe reaches of Bulgaria were easy enough for Elias to agree to.
Russia raised no objections.
Their grand goal had also been achieved in the end.
The conquest of lands was not their intention, they merely wanted to open the access way to warmer ports.
When the matter of Romania and Bulgaria arose, the room shifted perceptibly.
The Ottoman representatives protested weakly, invoking historical precedent, demographic complexity, and administrative continuity.
The Russian response was immediate and merciless.
With the loss of their European lands, the Ottomans could not properly maintain their hold over the region.
In the end since the lands were not being given over to Russia itself, the delegates could only begrudingly agree to the release of the states hoping to be able to ingratiate themselves to the newly ordained royal families trying to draw them away from Russia's sphere.
"Both states," their chief envoy declared, "have demonstrated the capacity for independent governance and defense. Their recognition is not a concession—it is an acknowledgment of reality."
The French chair nodded.
So did the Montenegrins.
Britain objected again, citing spheres of influence, regional instability, and the danger of unchecked Russian expansion.
This time, the response came from the French.
"The alternative," the minister said mildly, "is to deny independence to peoples who have already won it. That path has… not served Europe well."
The clause passed in the end.
Romania and Bulgaria were recognized as sovereign states, their borders fixed, their independence guaranteed—with the quiet, unmistakable understanding that Russia would stand behind them.
By the third day, the shape of the treaty was no longer in question.
All Ottoman territories in Europe—ceded to Montenegro.
Serbia—absorbed into the Austro-Hungarian sphere.
Romania and Bulgaria—recognized, independent, aligned eastward.
The Ottoman Empire—withdrawn, reduced, intact only beyond the Bosphorus.
The straits—under Montenegrin control.
That last point returned again and again, like a thorn.
British objections grew sharper, less polished.
Though all their repeated attempts managed to accomplish was raising the tensions of the assembled nations, and getting the British ambassador the stink eye from more than a fair share of the delegates for refusing to let what they'd lost go.
On the final day, the Treaty of Paris was laid out in its finished form.
Page after page of dense text, seals affixed, pens prepared.
Each signature carried weight, but none more than the last.
When Peter I signed, there was no flourish.
Just a steady hand.
The Ottoman delegate followed, his signature cramped, almost fragile.
One by one, the Great Powers added their marks.
When it was done, no applause followed.
Only a collective, uneasy understanding that something fundamental had shifted.
The war was truly over in the strictest sense.
And with it a new Era was rising.
Once in which the previously shackled Bear was now free to roam, while the Soaring Eagle looked for new conquests to further prove their martial prowess, and expand their newfound Empire.
And lastly the Lynx which had long spent its time in hiberation had awoken only to shock the world as it eviserated the Camel before it.
As the captured photographs were processed and ink became set on paper, news of this development began to spread across the Western world, making it known from Kings to commoners, that the war was over, and the Kingdom of Montenegro had risen.