Fersen was looking at me. The pistol was still pressed to my son's temple, but his eyes were locked on mine, trying to gauge if I was bluffing.
He didn't see the shadow behind him.
The glass doors of the balcony shattered outward.
Marie Antoinette didn't scream. She didn't hesitate.
She swung a heavy silver candelabra with both hands, like a woodcutter swinging an axe.
CRACK.
It connected with the back of Fersen's head.
The sound was sickeningly loud.
Fersen crumpled forward. The pistol discharged into the stone railing—BANG—sending chips of marble flying.
The Dauphin screamed and dropped to the floor, covering his head.
Fersen fell to his knees, stunned, blood pouring from his scalp. He tried to turn, to raise his gun again.
Marie didn't stop.
She hit him again. And again.
She wasn't the Queen of France in that moment. She was a lioness defending her cub. She was pure, primal violence.
"NOW!" I screamed.
The spell broke.
"CHARGE!" Danton roared.
The mob surged forward. They didn't need ladders. They climbed the trellises. They smashed through the lower doors.
The Swiss Guards, seeing their commander down and the Queen attacking him, threw down their weapons. They weren't going to shoot the woman they had sworn to protect.
I ran.
I sprinted through the main doors, up the grand staircase. My boots slipped on the polished marble.
I could hear the fighting in the salon above.
I burst into the room.
It was chaos. The velvet curtains were torn down. Furniture was overturned.
In the center of the room, Fersen was on his back. He was trying to crawl away. His face was a mask of blood.
Marie stood over him, heaving, the bent candelabra still clutched in her hand. Her black dress was torn. Her hair was wild.
She looked at me as I entered. Her eyes were wide, dilated with adrenaline.
"Papa!"
Louis-Charles scrambled out from under a table.
I dropped to my knees and caught him. He buried his face in my coat, sobbing.
I held him tight. I checked him for blood. He was shaking, but whole.
I looked up at Marie.
She dropped the candelabra. It clattered on the floor.
"You brought a mob," she whispered. "To our home."
"He had a gun to his head," I said, breathless.
"Because you cornered him!" she cried. "You drove him to this!"
Danton stomped into the room, followed by four of his biggest men. They were breathing hard, their pikes dripping.
Danton saw Fersen on the floor.
He didn't ask for orders. He didn't hesitate.
He walked over to the Count.
Fersen looked up. He tried to speak. "I... I only..."
Danton pulled a pistol from his belt.
"For the Republic," Danton growled.
BOOM.
He shot Fersen in the face. Point blank.
The sound was deafening in the enclosed room.
Marie screamed. She covered her mouth, backing away until she hit the wall.
I didn't flinch. I covered my son's ears, pressing his face into my chest so he wouldn't see the ruin of the man who had tried to save him.
Danton holstered his pistol. He looked at the body with satisfaction.
"Problem solved," he said.
He looked at Marie.
"Grab her," Danton ordered his men.
"No!" I shouted.
I stood up, keeping Louis-Charles behind me.
"Do not touch her."
"She is a traitor," Danton said, pointing a bloody finger. "She conspired with him. She ran away."
"She saved the boy," I said. "She took Fersen down."
"She's an Austrian liability," Danton argued. "We take her to the Conciergerie. Put her on trial with the others."
"She is the Queen!" I roared. "And she is my wife!"
I stepped toward Danton.
"If you touch her, I will kill you myself, Georges. Right here. Right now."
Danton looked at me. He saw the look in my eyes. It wasn't the look of a politician. It was the look of a father who had just watched a man die and didn't mind watching another.
Danton shrugged.
"Fine," he said. "Domestic dispute. I'll secure the perimeter."
He signaled his men. They dragged Fersen's body out by the heels, leaving a broad streak of red across the expensive Persian rug.
The door closed.
We were alone.
Me. Marie. The boy.
And the silence.
Marie slid down the wall until she was sitting on the floor. She stared at the bloodstain on the rug.
"He loved me," she whispered.
"He tried to kill our son," I said.
"He was desperate," she said, looking up at me. "Because of you. You destroyed everything, Louis. You destroyed the court. You destroyed the church. You destroyed our friends."
"I saved the country!"
"You saved yourself!" she spat. "You are not a King. You are a survivor. There is a difference."
I walked over to her. I held out my hand.
"Get up," I said.
She looked at my hand. It was stained with soot and gunpowder.
She didn't take it.
She stood up on her own, using the wall for support. She smoothed her torn dress. She regained her dignity, piece by piece, like putting on armor.
"What now?" she asked. "The guillotine?"
"No," I said. "The Tuileries."
"As Queen?"
"As a guest of the State," I said coldly. "Under guard. You will not leave the palace. You will not write letters. You will not see visitors."
Her eyes narrowed. "I am a prisoner."
"You are alive," I said. "Which is more than Fersen can say."
I turned to Louis-Charles.
"Come here, Louis."
The boy looked at his mother. Then at me.
He walked to me. He took my hand.
He trusted me. I was the one who came for him. I was the one who stopped the bad man.
Marie saw it. She saw him choose me.
It broke her more than the bullet.
"You took him," she whispered. "You took my son."
"I took the Heir," I said. "France needs him."
I led the boy to the door.
"Come, Marie," I said over my shoulder. "The carriage is waiting."
She followed. She walked behind us, head high, face like stone. She was walking to her funeral, and she knew it.
We walked out onto the balcony.
The mob was waiting in the courtyard below.
When they saw me—dirty, bloody, holding the hand of the Dauphin—they erupted.
"VIVE LE ROI! VIVE LE DAUPHIN!"
They cheered. They threw their caps in the air.
They didn't cheer for Marie. They stared at her in silence. The "Austrian Whore" who had run away.
I looked down at them.
Ten thousand people who would kill and die on my command.
Napoleon was down there. He had found a horse. He was positioning the cannons to guard the carriage. He saluted me with his sword.
Danton was there, wiping blood off his hands with a silk handkerchief he had stolen from the chateau. He nodded at me.
I looked at the horizon. The sun was setting over Paris.
The Civil War was over.
I had crushed the Royalists. I had co-opted the Jacobins. I had secured the Army.
I had won.
But as I stood there, listening to the cheers, I felt a terrible coldness in my chest.
I looked at my wife. She was staring straight ahead, her eyes dead.
I looked at my son. He was gripping my hand so tight it hurt.
I had saved the company. I had liquidated the competition. I had secured the assets.
But the cost was absolute.
I wasn't a husband anymore. I wasn't a father. I wasn't a man.
I was the State.
And the State has no soul.