The next morning, the sun shone brightly on the Tuileries. It was a cruel, cheerful light that mocked the darkness in the Council Chamber.
I walked into the room.
My chest still ached, a dull reminder of yesterday's collapse. I moved slowly, leaning on a cane I didn't want to use but couldn't walk without.
The room was full.
To the left, Georges Danton. He was staring into his coffee cup, refusing to meet my eyes.
To the right, Talleyrand. The Bishop was smiling faintly, tapping a quill against his lips.
At the window, Napoleon. He stood with his arms crossed, watching the courtyard below.
And at the head of the table—in my chair—sat Louis-Charles.
He looked ridiculous. A seven-year-old boy in a high-backed velvet chair meant for a grown man. His feet didn't touch the floor.
But he didn't look like a child playing pretend. He looked like an idol. Still. Cold. Terrifying.
I limped to the table.
"You're in my seat, Louis," I said.
The room went silent.
Louis-Charles didn't move. He rested his small hands on the polished wood.
"The seat belongs to the Crown, Papa," he said. "And the Crown requires strength."
"I am the King," I said, gripping the cane until my knuckles turned white. "I am the one who saved this country. I am the one who hired these men."
I pointed the cane at Danton.
"I saved you from the guillotine, Georges. I made you Minister."
Danton flinched. He looked up, his face pained.
"You did, Louis," Danton rumbled. "And you hesitated at Nantes. You hesitated to kill the Queen. You let her build an army because you were sentimental."
"I killed her in the end!" I shouted.
"No," Napoleon said from the window. He turned around. "The Regent killed her. You slapped him for it."
Napoleon walked to the table. He placed his hands on the back of the boy's chair.
"A leader cannot hesitate," Napoleon said. "War is mathematics. You are adding variables that don't exist. Love. Mercy. Guilt."
He looked at me with pity.
"The boy... he didn't blink. He calculated the necessary force and applied it."
"He is a child!" I yelled. "He doesn't know what he's doing!"
"He knows exactly what he's doing," Talleyrand said smoothly. "He is applying your lessons, Louis. You taught him to be an auditor. He has audited the government."
Talleyrand slid a piece of paper across the table.
"And he found a redundancy."
I looked at the paper.
It was written on heavy parchment. The seal of the Ministry of Justice was already stamped on it.
The Act of Medical Abdication.
I read the text.
Due to extreme fatigue and the deteriorating health of His Majesty, Louis XVI, the Council of State hereby accepts his voluntary retirement.
His Majesty will retreat to the Chateau of Saint-Cloud for convalescence.
All executive powers are transferred to the Regent, Louis XVII, under the guidance of the High Council.
"Retirement," I whispered.
It wasn't a coup. It wasn't an execution.
It was a golden parachute.
It was exactly how I used to fire CEOs in my old life. You didn't drag them out by security. You gave them a nice title, a "consulting role," and a country house, and you changed the locks.
"I won't sign it," I said. I threw the paper back at Talleyrand.
"I built this government!" I slammed my fist on the table. "I saved the economy! I won the war in Germany! You can't just push me out!"
"You built the machine, Papa," Louis-Charles said.
His voice cut through my rage like a scalpel.
"But you are too afraid to pull the levers."
The boy picked up the paper.
"You want to stop the war," Louis-Charles said. "You want to negotiate with England. You want to pardon the Royalists in prison."
"Because the terror has to end!" I said. "We have to rebuild!"
"The terror is the fuel," Louis-Charles said. "If we stop, we crash."
He looked at Napoleon.
"Tell him the plan."
Napoleon stepped forward. He unrolled a map of the Mediterranean.
"We aren't stopping, Sire," Napoleon said. "We are expanding. Total conscription. Every man between 18 and 25. A million soldiers."
He pointed to Italy.
"We invade Lombardy. We loot the Vatican. Then Egypt. We cut off the British trade routes to India."
"Egypt?" I stared at them. "That's madness. That's thousands of miles away."
"It's ambition," Napoleon said. "It's Empire."
"I will never authorize that," I said.
"We know," Talleyrand said. "That is why you are retiring."
Talleyrand pushed the paper back to me.
"You have a choice, Louis," the Bishop said softly. "Sign the paper. Go to Saint-Cloud. Live out your days in peace. Write your memoirs."
"Or?"
"Or we open the Black Ledger," Danton said.
I looked at him.
"I have the ledger," I said. "It's in my desk."
"We made a copy," Danton lied. Or maybe he didn't. It didn't matter.
"If you refuse to resign," Danton said, "we will put you on trial. Not for tyranny. But for mismanagement. We will reveal the bribes. We will reveal that you sold French citizens to pay for the war. We will paint you as a corrupt businessman who stole the people's gold."
"The mob loves me," I said.
"The mob loves a winner," Louis-Charles said. "And you look like a loser, Papa. You look tired."
I looked at them.
The Wolf. The Snake. The Monster.
They were right. I was tired.
My chest hurt constantly. I couldn't sleep without dreaming of Marie's dead eyes. I couldn't look at my son without seeing a killer.
I had achieved my goal.
I had started this journey with one thought: Save my neck.
I wasn't going to the guillotine. I wasn't going to prison.
I was going to a chateau with a nice garden.
I picked up the quill.
My hand shook.
I looked at Louis-Charles one last time.
"I hope you're ready," I said. "It's lonely in that chair."
"I have the Captain," the boy said.
"For now," I warned. "Wolves get hungry."
I dipped the pen in the ink.
I signed.
Alex Miller.
I didn't sign Louis. I signed my real name. My old name.
None of them noticed. They just saw the ink on the line.
"Done," Talleyrand said, snatching the paper away before I could change my mind. "The carriage is waiting."
I stood up.
I left the cane leaning against the table. I didn't need it anymore. I felt lighter.
I walked to the door.
"Goodbye, gentlemen," I said.
Danton nodded, looking relieved. Talleyrand was already filing the paper.
Napoleon snapped a salute. A genuine one.
"Goodbye, Louis," Napoleon said. "You were a worthy opponent."
I looked at my son.
He didn't look at me. He was already waving Napoleon over to the map of Italy.
"The supply lines through the Alps," the boy was saying. "We need more mules."
I walked out.
I walked down the Grand Staircase. The guards didn't salute me. They looked past me. I was a ghost.
I walked out into the courtyard. The sun was warm on my face.
A plain carriage waited. No crest. No gold trim.
I climbed in.
The driver cracked the whip.
As the carriage rolled out of the Tuileries for the last time, I looked back.
I saw the window of the Solar.
I saw the shadow of a small boy standing on a chair, pointing at a map of the world.
I leaned back against the cushions.
I was unemployed. I was widowed. I was dying.
But as the carriage turned onto the road to Saint-Cloud, away from the politics, away from the blood, away from the noise...
I took a deep breath.
For the first time in three years, the air didn't taste like iron.
I was free.