I sat in the Solar, waiting for the lion to roar.
Napoleon stood by the fireplace, methodically cleaning his pistol with an oil rag. He looked bored. He had just helped me arrest a Prince of the Blood, but to him, it was just Tuesday.
The heavy oak door slammed open. It didn't open; it exploded inward.
Georges Danton stormed in.
He was a force of nature. Massive, scarred, smelling of stale wine and fury. He pushed past the two grenadiers guarding the door like they were made of straw.
"You madman!" Danton bellowed. His voice shook the crystal inkwells on my desk. "You arrested a Deputy! You violated the sanctity of the Assembly!"
He marched up to the desk, slamming his massive hands down on the polished wood.
"The sections are arming themselves, Louis! Santerre is calling out the brewers! The Faubourg Saint-Antoine is marching! You think your little Corsican can stop fifty thousand men?"
He leaned in, his face inches from mine. I could see the sweat beading on his pockmarked forehead.
"They will burn this palace down by sunset! And this time, I won't stop them. I'll lead them!"
I didn't blink. I didn't shout back.
I calmly reached into my coat pocket.
I pulled out the black ledger I had taken from Philippe's breakfast table.
I placed it on the desk, right between Danton's hands.
"Hello, Georges," I said quietly.
Danton froze. He looked at the book. It was a simple thing. Black leather. Worn edges.
But he recognized it. I saw the recognition flicker in his eyes like a dying candle.
"What is this?" he growled, but the volume of his voice dropped by half.
"Open it," I said.
He hesitated. He looked at Napoleon, who hadn't looked up from his pistol. Then he looked back at the book.
He flipped it open.
He didn't have to search. I had marked the page with a red ribbon.
July 20 - 10,000 Livres - Danton.
The air went out of the room.
Danton stared at the entry. He stared at the date. It was the day before the Austrian letter was "leaked."
"Philippe kept receipts," I said, leaning back in my chair. "He was a businessman, just like me. He knew that if you buy a man, you keep the bill of sale."
Danton straightened up slowly. His face went from red to gray.
"It's a forgery," he whispered. "A royalist plant."
"Is it?" I asked. "I have his personal seal on the cover. I have his handwriting matching every entry. I have the bank drafts from the Swiss accounts."
I picked up a piece of paper from the desk. It was a blank Lettre de Cachet.
"And I have this," I said.
Danton looked at the warrant.
"You took money from a Prince to destabilize the King," I said, my voice cold and professional. "That's not patriotism, Georges. That's mercenary work. You sold the Revolution for ten thousand livres."
"I took the money to fund the Cordeliers!" Danton argued, desperation creeping in. "To buy printing presses! To feed the poor!"
"Robespierre won't see it that way," I said.
The name hit him like a physical blow.
"Maximilien hates corruption more than he hates kings," I continued. "If I give him this book... if I show him that the great Danton is on the Royal payroll... what do you think happens?"
Danton swallowed hard.
"He'll guillotine me," he rasped. "Next to Philippe."
"Yes," I said. "He will."
I let the silence hang there. Heavy. Suffocating.
Napoleon snapped the barrel of his pistol back into place. Click.
Danton flinched.
"So," Danton said, his shoulders slumping. "This is it? You blackmail me? You force me to call off the mob, and then you hang me anyway?"
"No," I said.
I picked up the arrest warrant. I held it over the candle burning on my desk.
The paper caught fire. It curled, blackened, and turned to ash in my fingers.
Danton watched, his eyes wide.
"I don't want to kill you, Georges," I said. "I want to hire you."
Danton blinked. "What?"
"I'm forming a new government," I said. "The moderates are gone. Lafayette has resigned. The Royalists hate me because I seized their lands. I am alone."
I brushed the ash from my fingers.
"I need a partner. Someone who can control the street. Someone who can speak to the mob in a language they understand. Someone who isn't afraid to get his hands dirty."
I pointed at him.
"I'm offering you a job. Minister of Justice."
Danton's jaw dropped.
"You're joking," he stammered. "Me? In the Cabinet? I called for your execution yesterday!"
"And today you work for me," I said. "It's a merger, Georges. The Crown and the Cordeliers. The Executive and the Street."
"The people will never accept it," Danton said, shaking his head. "Danton, a minister of the King? They'll call me a sellout."
"Not if we give them a target," I said.
I tapped the black ledger.
"We use this. We purge the Assembly. We expose the Orléanists—Philippe's cronies. The men who took the bribes. We frame it as a cleansing. You and I, rooting out the corruption that is rotting the Revolution."
Danton looked at the book. He saw the potential.
He wasn't just saving his own neck. He was getting the power to destroy his political enemies. He could wipe out the Girondins, the moderates, anyone who stood in his way, all under the banner of "Justice."
It was a deal with the Devil. But Danton was already in Hell.
"And Philippe?" Danton asked. "What happens to him?"
"You want his head?" I asked.
"I want him dead," Danton growled. "He kept a record. He tried to own me."
"Then you shall have him," I said. "A show trial. A public execution. The first head of a Prince to roll. It will satisfy the mob's bloodlust for months."
I stood up and extended my hand.
"Do we have an accord, Minister?"
Danton looked at my hand. Then at Napoleon, who was watching with a thin, amused smile. Then at the ledger.
He realized the genius of it. And the horror.
If he refused, he died. If he accepted, he became the most powerful man in France—second only to me.
He took my hand. His grip was crushing.
"You are a terrifying bastard, Louis," he muttered.
"I'm a CEO," I corrected. "I just acquired your company."
"If I do this," Danton said, not letting go. "We purge them all. No mercy. No half-measures."
"Agreed," I said. "Jean?"
Jean stepped out of the shadows.
"Clear the schedule," I said. "The Minister and I have a government to overthrow."
Danton finally let go. He looked at the ledger one last time.
"Can I burn it?" he asked.
"No," I said, putting it back in the drawer and locking it. "That's my insurance policy. Just in case you decide to become a patriot again."
Danton laughed. A harsh, barking sound.
"You learn fast, Citizen King."
He turned and marched out, shouting orders to the grenadiers in the hall. "Stand down! The King is under the protection of the People!"
The door closed.
I sank back into my chair. My shirt was soaked with sweat.
Napoleon chuckled.
"You handle him well," the Captain said. "He thinks he is a partner. He is just a loaded cannon."
"Aim him at the Assembly, Captain," I said. "And make sure he doesn't turn around."
I looked at the clock. It was noon.
I had survived the riot. I had survived the raid. I had co-opted the leader of the opposition.
I was winning.
But there was one more meeting I had to take. One more negotiation.
And this one terrified me more than Danton ever could.
I stood up.
"Come, Captain," I said. "I have to speak to the Queen."
The walk to the Queen's apartments felt longer than usual.
The palace was quiet now. Danton's orders had already filtered down. The mob outside was dispersing, confused but obedient to their idol.
The Swiss Guards who usually stood outside Marie's door were gone.
That was wrong.
The Swiss were fanatically loyal. They never left their post.
"Captain," I said, stopping. "Where are the Swiss?"
Napoleon frowned. He put his hand on his sword hilt.
"I didn't order them moved," he said.
I rushed to the door. It was the same door Marie had barricaded yesterday.
It was unlocked.
I pushed it open.
The room was stripped.
Not messy, like when she was panicking. It was empty. The silver toilet set was gone. The portraits of her mother were gone. The wardrobe doors stood open, bare.
Marie Antoinette was standing by the window, looking out at the garden.
She was dressed in black. Mourning black. A heavy veil was pulled back from her face. She looked pale, composed, and utterly cold.
But she wasn't alone.
Standing next to her was a man. Tall. Handsome. Dressed in the blue uniform of the Swedish army.
Count Axel von Fersen.
The diplomat. The friend. The rumor.
He turned as I entered. His hand went to his sword. His eyes burned with a hatred so pure it felt like heat.
"Fersen," I said, stopping in the middle of the room. "You were exiled. By me."
"I returned," Fersen said, his voice clipped and precise. "When I heard the King had become a butcher."
I looked at Marie.
"What is this?" I asked. "What is he doing here?"
"He is here to escort me," Marie said. Her voice was flat. No emotion. No hysteria. Just facts.
"Escort you where?"
"Away," she said. "I am leaving, Louis. I am taking the children to the Chateau of Saint-Cloud."
"Saint-Cloud?" I laughed, a nervous, jagged sound. "That's ten miles away. It's indefensible. You can't leave the Tuileries. The mob is still in the streets."
"The mob is yours now, isn't it?" Fersen sneered. "You and your new friend Danton? We are safer on the road than in a palace controlled by Jacobins."
"I did this for you!" I shouted, stepping forward. "I made the deal with Danton to save our lives!"
"You made the deal to save your crown," Marie said. "You saved your power. But look at you, Louis."
She gestured to me. To my simple coat. To the pistol in my belt. To the savage little Captain standing behind me.
"You aren't the King anymore," she said. "You are a faction leader. You are just another Robespierre with a better title."
"I am the father of your children!"
"No," she said softly. "The father of my children would not have fired cannons into a crowd. The father of my children would not have arrested his own cousin without a trial."
She looked at Fersen.
"We are leaving."
"You can't," I said. "I forbid it."
Fersen stepped in front of her. He drew his sword halfway.
"The Swiss Guard is with us," Fersen said. "They are loyal to the Queen. Not to the... Accountant."
He used the word. The word I had used to describe myself in private. Had she told him?
Napoleon stepped forward. His pistol was already in his hand.
"Sire?" Napoleon asked. His voice was eager. "Do you want them stopped?"
I looked at them.
Fersen, ready to die for her. Marie, looking at me like I was a stranger.
If I gave the order, Napoleon would shoot Fersen. He would disarm the Swiss. He would lock Marie in her room.
I would win.
But I would be a jailer. I would be holding my own family hostage.
I looked at the nursery door. The Governess came out, holding the hands of the Dauphin and Madame Royale.
The children looked at me. Then they looked at Fersen.
They ran to Fersen.
He knelt and hugged them.
It broke me. It shattered the last piece of the human heart I had left.
"Sire?" Napoleon asked again.
I lowered my head.
"Let them go," I whispered.
"Louis?" Fersen asked, surprised.
"Go," I said, turning my back. "Before I change my mind."
I heard the rustle of her dress. The click of boots. The door closing.
I walked to the window.
I watched the carriage pull up in the courtyard below. A company of red-coated Swiss Guards surrounded it.
Marie got in. Fersen got in. The children got in.
The carriage rattled over the cobblestones, driving out of the gate—the same gate Napoleon had cleared with grapeshot yesterday.
I stood in the empty room.
I had secured the throne. I had the army. I had the government.
But as the carriage disappeared around the corner, I realized the truth.
I had just become the first King in history to be a bachelor.