Chapter Six - The Coronation of the King

CHAPTER SIX

The Coronation of the King

JOAN DOESN’T ASK.
She insists.

“Take me to Reims.”

It’s not a suggestion. It’s a command from heaven.

Reims is where French kings have always been crowned —
but it’s deep in enemy territory, swarming with Burgundians.
To go there is suicide.

But Joan says go.
And after Orléans, no one dares say no.

So they march.

Town after town surrenders without a fight.
It’s like the land remembers what France is supposed to be.
The people cheer. Bells ring. Priests cry.
A girl on horseback is dragging an uncrowned king through the gates of legend.

On July 17, 1429, they reach Reims.

The cathedral waits like a prophecy fulfilled.
Inside, Charles kneels.
Archbishop, relics, holy oil — the ritual is ancient.
But this time, everyone knows:

He is only here because of her.

She stands beside him in shining armor.
Not a noble. Not a general.
A teenage girl from Domrémy, watching her visions come true.

The crown is placed on his head.
The crowd erupts.
Trumpets sound.

But Joan doesn’t cheer.

She kneels and says one thing:

“Now, let your servant go in peace, O Lord.”

Because this was the mission.
The voices told her to lift the siege.
To lead the Dauphin.
To crown the king.

Mission complete.

So why do the voices go quiet?

Why does the king grow cold?

Why does France… hesitate?

Because miracles have short half-lives.
And even saints are disposable in politics.

Joan will not be sent home.
But she will not be protected either.

She was the sword.
Now she’s a risk.