The door clicked shut.
I didn't turn around. I stared at the wood grain, counting the knots. One. Two. Three.
Silence rushed into the vacuum where my family used to be.
"Sire?" Napoleon's voice cut through the quiet. "The Swiss Guard has deserted their post. Shall I arrest them?"
I shook my head. "Let them go."
"They are taking the Heir," Napoleon pressed. He sounded offended by the tactical error. "If the Queen controls the Dauphin, she controls the succession. She becomes a rival power center."
"She is my wife, Captain," I said, my voice hollow. "Not a rival power center."
"In politics, Majesty, there is no difference."
I turned to face him. He was right. He was always right. That was why I hired him, and that was why I hated him.
"Secure the palace," I ordered. "Replace the Swiss with your grenadiers. And send a rider to Saint-Cloud. I want daily reports on their safety."
"Understood."
Napoleon saluted and marched out. He didn't offer sympathy. He didn't care about my broken heart; he cared that the chess board had shifted.
I was alone in the stripped apartment.
I walked to the wardrobe. Empty.
I walked to the dressing table. A single hairpin lay on the polished wood. I picked it up. It was gold, tipped with a small pearl.
I remembered when she wore it. The night of the ball, before everything went to hell. When we were just a couple trying to navigate a difficult dinner party.
I squeezed the pin until the metal bit into my palm.
She was gone.
And she was right.
I wasn't the man she married. That man was dead. I was a creature of crisis management, a CEO of survival. I had cut away the weak parts of the monarchy to save the core business.
But I had cut too deep. I had cut away the heart.
I shoved the hairpin into my pocket.
"Jean!"
The spymaster stepped out from behind a tapestry. He looked grim. He had heard everything.
"The carriage is away, Sire," Jean said softly. "Count Fersen has arranged a heavy escort. They will be at Saint-Cloud by nightfall."
"Good."
"The optics are bad," Jean warned. "The King in Paris, the Queen in the country. Rumors will start. They will say you are estranged. Or worse—that she is fleeing your tyranny."
"Let them talk," I said. "I have bigger problems."
I walked out of the room. I didn't look back.
I returned to the Solar.
The black ledger was still on my desk. The ash from the burnt warrant was still in the tray.
I sat down. I felt heavy, like gravity had doubled.
I had Danton. I had the ledger. I had the power to purge the Assembly.
But now I had to use it.
I dipped my quill in the ink. I pulled a fresh sheet of paper.
Decree of National Purification.
A grandiose title for a hit list.
I started writing names.
The men in Philippe's ledger. The corrupt deputies. The journalists who took bribes. The moderate Royalists who had voted against me.
I was building a new government. A "Shadow Cabinet."
Minister of Justice: Georges Danton.
Minister of War: Napoleon Bonaparte.
Minister of Finance: ...Me.
It was a dictatorship in all but name. A Triumvirate. The King, the Demagogue, and the General.
A knock at the door.
"Enter."
It was Talleyrand. The Bishop of Autun. The snake in a cassock. My Minister of Foreign Affairs.
He limped in, leaning on his cane. He looked around the room, noting the absence of the Queen, the presence of the ledger, the smell of burnt paper.
He smiled.
"You have had a busy morning, Your Majesty," Talleyrand said.
"I'm cleaning house, Bishop," I said. "Are you here to resign like Lafayette?"
"Good heavens, no," Talleyrand chuckled, lowering himself into a chair. "Lafayette suffers from a terminal condition called 'principles.' I am immune."
He pointed his cane at the ledger.
"Is that the famous Book of Sin?"
"It is."
"Am I in it?" Talleyrand asked casually.
I opened the book. I checked the T section.
"No," I said.
"Pity," Talleyrand sighed. "Philippe must not have thought I was worth bribing. I'm insulted."
He leaned forward.
"I hear Danton was here. And left... smiling."
"We have an understanding," I said.
"Dangerous," Talleyrand mused. "Danton is a fire. Useful for cooking, terrible for the furniture."
"I needed the fire," I said. "The moderates abandoned me."
"And the Queen?" Talleyrand asked gently. "I saw the carriage leaving. Fersen looked quite... gallant."
I stiffened. "She is at Saint-Cloud. For her safety."
"Of course," Talleyrand said. "Two courts. One in the city, ruled by the King and his Jacobins. One in the country, ruled by the Queen and her Aristocrats."
He tapped his chin.
"It's a civil war waiting to happen, Louis. You realize that? If the Royalists rally to her... and the Radicals rally to you... you will have to fight your own wife for the throne."
The thought hit me like a bucket of ice water.
I hadn't thought of the politics of the split. I had only thought of the emotion.
If Marie became the figurehead of the Counter-Revolution... and I was the figurehead of the Revolutionary Monarchy...
"She wouldn't," I said. "She loves me."
"She loves her son," Talleyrand corrected. "And she hates Danton. If she thinks you are a puppet of the radicals, she will try to save the Dauphin from you."
He stood up.
"Fix it, Louis. Or you will be fighting Fersen on the battlefield. And he is a much better soldier than you."
He limped to the door.
"Oh, one more thing," he added. "The Assembly is meeting in an hour. They are terrified. They know you have the ledger. They are expecting a purge."
"They should be," I said.
"Don't disappoint them," Talleyrand smiled. "Fear is a perishable commodity."
I went to the Assembly.
This time, I didn't take a carriage. I rode a horse.
I rode a white stallion, surrounded by Napoleon's grenadiers.
Danton rode beside me.
It was a grotesque sight. The King of France and the President of the Cordeliers, riding together like old war buddies.
The crowds watched us in silence. They were confused. They hated the King, but they loved Danton. Their brains couldn't process the alliance.
"Smile, Louis," Danton rumbled. "They need to see we are friends."
"We aren't friends," I said through gritted teeth. "We are co-conspirators."
"Same thing in politics," Danton laughed.
We arrived at the Manège.
The hall was packed. Every deputy was there. The air smelled of sweat and panic.
When we walked in—me in my uniform, Danton in his rough coat—a hush fell over the room.
We walked up the aisle together.
I took the podium. Danton stood behind me, arms crossed, glaring at the deputies.
I placed the black ledger on the lectern.
The sound of the heavy book hitting the wood echoed like a gunshot.
Half the deputies flinched.
"Citizens," I began. My voice was calm, amplified by the acoustics of the hall.
"We have arrested the Duc d'Orléans for treason."
Murmurs. Nervous glances.
"He has confessed," I lied. "And he has provided us with his records."
I opened the book. I ran my finger down a random page.
"I see many names here," I said. "Names of men who claim to be patriots. Men who sit in this very room."
I looked up. I scanned the faces. I saw sweat. I saw trembling hands.
"Corruption is a cancer," I said. "It eats the heart of liberty. And today, we cut it out."
I turned to Danton.
"Minister of Justice," I said. "Read the first indictment."
Danton stepped forward. He picked up a piece of paper I had given him.
He grinned. It was the grin of a wolf at a buffet.
"Jacques Pierre Brissot," Danton roared.
Brissot, the leader of the Girondins—the moderate intellectual faction—stood up. He was pale.
"This is an outrage!" Brissot shouted. "I am a man of honor!"
"You are a man of Philippe!" Danton shouted back. "Ten thousand livres! March 4th! Do you deny it?"
Brissot stammered. He looked around for support. But his friends were looking at their shoes, praying they weren't next.
"Arrest him!" Danton ordered.
Two grenadiers marched in and grabbed Brissot. They dragged him out, kicking and screaming.
"Next!" Danton yelled.
"Jerome Pétion!"
Another deputy dragged away.
"Camille Desmoulins!"
A shockwave went through the room. Desmoulins was Danton's friend. His "little brother."
Danton hesitated. He looked at the paper. Then at me.
I stared at him. No mercy, I mouthed. We purge them all.
Danton swallowed. He looked at Camille, who was staring at him with betrayal in his eyes.
"Camille Desmoulins," Danton said, his voice softer. "For taking bribes from the Aristocracy."
Camille didn't scream. He just stood up and walked to the guards. As he passed Danton, he whispered one word.
"Cain."
Danton flinched, but he didn't stop.
We purged twenty men that afternoon. The leaders of the opposition. The potential rivals. The critics.
By sunset, the Assembly was broken. The remaining deputies were terrified, compliant sheep.
I had destroyed the democratic process. I had turned the legislature into a rubber stamp.
I walked out of the hall.
Danton followed me. He looked sick. He had just sent his best friend to prison to save his own skin.
"Are you happy, King?" Danton spat.
"I am secure," I said. "There is a difference."
We walked out to the horses.
Napoleon was waiting.
"Reports from Saint-Cloud, Sire," he said, handing me a dispatch.
I opened it.
The Queen has arrived safely. Count Fersen has deployed the Swiss Guard in defensive positions around the Chateau. He has ordered them to shoot any National Guard troops on sight.
He has also sent riders to the Royalist garrisons in Normandy and Brittany, calling for support.
I crumbled the note in my hand.
Talleyrand was right.
I had secured Paris. I had crushed the Assembly.
But ten miles away, my wife was raising an army.
The Civil War hadn't been avoided. It had just moved to the suburbs.
And the enemy general was the woman I loved.