The message on the workbench wasn't just a threat; it was a promise. They knew where to hurt me. And they had taken my guy.
Panic, cold and sharp, ripped through the victorious haze in my mind. The political games, the PR stunts—all of it felt cheap and stupid in the face of this. This was real. This was violent.
My first thought was for Jean. Not for the ledger, not for the conspiracy. For the kid.
"Find him," I snarled at the guards who had followed me, my voice a low, guttural sound I didn't recognize. "Find the locksmith's apprentice. Now!"
They scattered, their faces pale with shock at my tone.
But I couldn't wait. A cold dread was pooling in my stomach. This was my fault. I had dragged a good, innocent kid into my war, and now he was paying the price for it. I pushed past the guards, ignoring their calls of "Sire, wait!" and ran.
I didn't know where I was going, but my feet carried me towards the servants' wing, a part of the palace I had never seen. It was a different world back here. The gilded hallways gave way to narrow, stone corridors that smelled of lye and boiled cabbage. Courtiers I shoved past gasped in shock, but I didn't care.
A harried-looking physician nearly ran into me. "Your Majesty!"
"The locksmith's apprentice," I gasped, grabbing his arm. "Jean. Where is he?"
The physician's eyes widened. "In the infirmary, Sire. He—"
I didn't let him finish. I pushed open the door he indicated and the sterile, herbal smell of the infirmary hit me. It was a small, clean room, lined with cots.
And on one of them was Jean.
He was alive. The relief was so intense, it felt like a punch to the gut. But he was hurt. Badly. His face was a swollen, bruised mess of purple and black. One of his arms was strapped to his chest in a crude splint.
He saw me and his one good eye widened in terror. He tried to sit up, tried to bow from his cot. "Majesty..." he rasped through split lips.
"Stay down," I commanded, my voice tight with a rage so cold it burned. I walked to his bedside, ignoring the physician who was fluttering nervously behind me.
"I'm sorry," Jean whispered, wincing as he spoke. "They came for the ledger. For your papers. I told them nothing."
"Don't you dare apologize," I said, my voice shaking. Guilt and fury warred inside me. He had protected my secret, and this was his reward.
I turned to the physician, my eyes blazing. "From this moment on, he is under my personal protection. Move him to a private chamber. In my wing of the palace."
The physician's jaw dropped. A common servant in the royal apartments? It was unthinkable.
"Give him the best care you have," I continued, my voice like ice. "And when you are done, send the bill directly to the Duc de Polignac."
That was a stupid, emotional thing to say. A direct, public accusation. But damn, it felt good. They wanted to send a message? Fine. Message received. And here was mine: You hurt my people, and I'm coming for you.
The attack on Jean proved two things. First, Polignac was scared enough to resort to brutal, clumsy violence. Second, he was far too dangerous for me to fight alone. The nobility was a closed circle, an old boys' club from hell, and I was the outsider. I needed an ally on the inside. A rival who hated Polignac as much as I did.
There was only one real choice. The King's ambitious, decadent, and notoriously liberal cousin. The Duc d'Orléans.
History painted him as a snake who would later vote for his own cousin's execution. But right now, I needed a snake to fight a shark.
I arranged a secret meeting. Not in the palace, where every wall had ears, but in the royal stables at midnight. It was neutral ground, smelling of hay and horses, a place far from the silks and whispers of the court.
He arrived alone, as I'd requested, a single lantern swinging in his hand. It cast long, dancing shadows, making his handsome, smirking face look demonic.
"Cousin," he said, his voice dripping with amusement. "To what do I owe this clandestine honor? Are you finally planning to run away and join the circus?"
I ignored the jibe. There was no time for games. "The Polignac faction grows too powerful," I said, getting straight to the point. "Their influence over the Queen... over the treasury... is a threat to the stability of the crown."
Orléans raised a perfectly sculpted eyebrow. "And you, Louis, have suddenly decided to become a stable king?"
"I am a king who knows that a house infested with rats must be cleaned out before they chew through the foundations," I shot back. "I thought you might enjoy a good hunt."
He was silent for a moment, studying me in the flickering lantern light. The smirk never left his face, but his eyes were sharp, calculating. He was weighing the odds, assessing the risk versus the reward.
"The Polignacs are indeed a pestilence," he finally conceded, his voice losing some of its mocking tone. "Their greed is… unseemly. What is it you want from me?"
"Information," I said. "Noise. Sow discord in the court. Question their new appointments. Block their requests. Make them look over their shoulders. Keep them so busy fighting you that they don't see me coming for their throat."
A slow, genuine smile spread across his face. It was the smile of a predator who has just been invited to a feast. "Now this," he purred, "sounds like an amusing sport."
I left him in the stables, feeling like I'd just made a deal with the devil. I had a powerful, if treacherous, new ally. The game was getting more dangerous by the minute. I just had to make sure the snake I'd unleashed didn't decide to bite me in the back.
The next day, the court was buzzing. Not just about the attack on the locksmith, but about my visit to Paris. The story of the baker and the gold coin had spread like wildfire. I was either a saint or a madman, depending on which noble you asked.
I found Marie in the Trianon garden again. In our spot, by the willow tree.
She was waiting for me. I could tell.
Her anger was gone. In its place was a deep, unsettling confusion. She looked at me as if she was seeing me for the first time.
She didn't wait for me to speak. She turned, her expression a turbulent mixture of fear, doubt, and raw curiosity. "First, you go to Paris and charm the crowds like a politician. Then, a boy is nearly killed in your name." Her voice was quiet, intense. "The court says you are mad. That you are cruel. But a madman wouldn't be so... deliberate."
She took a step closer. "What are you really planning, Louis?"
She saw it. She saw the strategy. She didn't understand it, but she knew it wasn't madness. This was it. My chance. My biggest gamble yet.
I had to show her. Not tell her. Words were cheap. Proof was everything.
"Come with me," I said.
I led her back to my study, the silence between us heavy with unspoken questions. I didn't show her the ledger with the fraudulent payments. She would still see that as a personal attack on her friends. I had to show her something else. Something far more powerful.
I walked to my desk, unlocked a small, private drawer, and pulled out a new, pristine ledger. It was much smaller than the others, bound in fine blue leather.
I held it out to her. "This," I said, my voice steady, "is the household budget for the Petit Trianon."
Her eyes widened.
"For your gowns. Your parties. Your staff. Your friends." I placed the book gently into her hands. "From now on, it is yours to manage. No one else's. Not the Controller-General. Not some court functionary. You."
Her pale, ringed fingers rested on the cover of the ledger. She clutched it like it was both a treasure and a snake, afraid to open it. It was the first piece of real power, the first taste of real responsibility, she had ever been given in her life.
I hadn't accused her friends. I hadn't shown her my proof. I was giving her the tools to discover the truth for herself. When she saw the numbers, when she saw the requests for funds, when she saw how much money simply vanished into the pockets of her 'friends' for vague 'services'... she would know. She had to.
It was an act of shocking, unprecedented trust. And it was the biggest risk I had taken yet.
Marie stared at the ledger, then slowly lifted her gaze to mine. Her eyes were wide with a disbelief so profound it looked like pain. She looked at me not as a husband, not as a king, but as a complete and utter stranger.
"The man who married me would never have done this," she whispered, her voice barely audible. The awe in her tone was unmistakable. "He would never have trusted me this much."
She took another small step closer, until she was standing right in front of me. Her eyes searched my face, trying to peel back the layers, to see the man underneath the crown.
"Who are you, Louis?"
Her question wasn't about my plans anymore. It wasn't about the audit or the court or the money. It was about my soul.
And I had no answer to give her.