Dawn broke over Paris like a bruised fruit. Purple, gray, and cold.
In the courtyard of the Tuileries, a plain black carriage waited. No crests. No flags. Just four fast horses and a driver who knew how to keep his mouth shut.
I stood by the open door, shivering in the morning mist.
Louis-Charles stood in front of me.
He wasn't wearing his uniform. The blue coat and the tiny sword were gone. He wore a brown woolen suit, scratchy and ill-fitting. He looked like a merchant's son on his way to boarding school.
Which, technically, he was.
"You have the letter for Mr. Pitt?" I asked.
"Yes, Papa." He patted his chest pocket.
"And the name?"
"Charles Capet. My father is a wine merchant in Bordeaux."
"Good."
I looked at him. The dark circles under his eyes were fading, but the haunted look was still there. He had seen too much. He had ordered men to die. That kind of stain doesn't wash out with soap.
"Don't write to me," I said, my voice tight. "If you write, they can track you. If they track you, they will use you."
Louis-Charles looked at his shoes. "I understand."
"Disappear, Louis. Play cricket. Learn Latin. Eat terrible English food. Just... be a boy."
He looked up. His eyes filled with tears.
"Will I ever see you again?"
My heart gave a painful thump. The arrhythmia was getting worse. The stress of the last month was collecting its toll.
"I don't know," I lied. I knew. I was dying. This was it.
"Go."
He didn't move.
Then, suddenly, he threw his arms around my waist. He buried his face in my coat.
"Goodbye, Papa," he sobbed. "I'm sorry I wasn't strong enough."
I held him. I felt his small shoulders shaking.
"You were too strong," I whispered. "That was the problem."
I pulled away. I lifted him into the carriage. I shut the door.
"Drive," I ordered the coachman.
The whip cracked. The wheels rattled on the cobblestones.
I watched the carriage disappear through the gates. I watched my son leave my life.
I was the King of France. I had just won the war. I had absolute power.
And I had never felt more alone.
I walked back into the palace. The silence was heavy.
But it wasn't empty anymore.
Leaning against a marble pillar in the Grand Hall was a man in a green coat. He was cleaning his spectacles with a handkerchief.
Maximilien Robespierre. The Incorruptible.
He looked up as I approached. His eyes were magnified by the thick glass, making him look like an inquisitive insect.
"The tyrant is gone, I assume?" Robespierre asked.
"The boy is gone," I corrected. "He was a child, Maximilien. Not a tyrant."
"A child with a toy army is the most dangerous tyrant of all." Robespierre put his glasses back on. "So. Now that the Regent is deposed... we can restore the Republic?"
He said it casually. But I saw the tension in his jaw. I saw the way his hand drifted toward his pocket, where he likely kept a list of enemies.
He thought he had won. He thought I was a weak placeholder who would hand him the keys.
"No," I said.
Robespierre blinked. "No?"
"The Republic is a failed experiment. It lacks liquidity."
I walked past him toward the stairs. He scrambled to follow me.
"You cannot mean to restore the Absolute Monarchy!" Robespierre hissed. "The people will revolt! The Jacobins—"
"The Jacobins are broke," I said. "And the people are hungry. They don't want a Republic. They want bread."
I stopped on the stairs and turned to face him. I was three steps higher. I looked down at him.
"I'm not restoring the monarchy, Maximilien. I'm restructuring the corporation."
"Corporation?" He looked disgusted. "France is a nation! A soul!"
"France is a distressed asset. And I need an auditor."
I reached into my coat and pulled out a document. It was a commission.
"I am creating a new office. Auditor General of France."
I handed him the paper.
"Your job is simple. Find the corruption. Find the war profiteers. Find the generals stealing payroll. Find the nobles evading taxes."
Robespierre read the paper. His eyes widened.
"You want me to... purge the government?"
"I want you to audit it. If you find theft, you bring me the evidence. I will handle the sentencing."
"And if I find theft in your accounts?" he challenged, his eyes narrowing.
"Then you report it," I said calmly. "That's what 'Incorruptible' means, isn't it?"
He stared at me. He was trying to find the trap.
There was no trap. Just a leash.
If I left him outside, he would start a revolution. If I brought him inside, gave him a salary and a target, he would be the most efficient compliance officer in history.
"I accept," Robespierre said slowly. "For the good of the people."
"Good," I said. "Start with the Army of Italy. I think General Masséna has been stealing socks."
I reached the top of the stairs.
Before I could catch my breath, the doors to the antechamber burst open.
"Brother!"
The Comte d'Artois rushed out. He was wearing a velvet suit that cost more than a battleship. He smelled of rosewater and arrogance.
He had followed me from London. He thought this was his victory too.
"Louis! Thank God!" Artois tried to hug me.
I stepped back. "Charles. You're loud."
"We must act quickly!" Artois shouted, waving a cane. "The mob is confused. We must seize the moment! Restore the privileges! Hang the Jacobins! Rebuild the Bastille!"
He was practically vibrating with excitement. He saw a return to the good old days. Parties at Versailles. Peasants knowing their place.
"The privileges are dead, Charles," I said, walking toward my office.
Artois trotted after me like an angry poodle.
"Dead? We won! You are the King!"
"I am the Administrator," I said, opening the door. "And we are not restoring the past. We are liquidating it."
"Liquidating?" Artois turned purple. "You sound like a shopkeeper!"
"Shopkeepers pay their debts. Unlike you."
I sat down at my desk. It was piled high with ledgers. Real work waiting to be done.
"I have five thousand nobles waiting in Koblenz!" Artois threatened. "If you do not restore our rights, I will rally them! I will lead a true Royalist army to Paris!"
I sighed.
I picked up a small silver bell on my desk and rang it.
The side door opened.
Napoleon Bonaparte stepped in. He was cleaning his fingernails with a dagger.
"General," I said. "My brother is tired. He needs a rest."
Napoleon looked at Artois. He smiled. It wasn't a nice smile.
"I have a lovely suite prepared," Napoleon said. "At the Temple Prison. Very secure. Southern exposure."
Artois went pale. "You... you wouldn't dare. I am a Prince of the Blood!"
"You are a liability," I said, dipping my quill in ink. "Take him away."
Napoleon grabbed Artois by the arm. The Prince squealed as he was dragged out.
"This is treason, Louis! Treason!"
The door slammed shut. Silence returned.
I rubbed my temples.
One son exiled. One fanatic hired. One brother imprisoned.
My family reunion was complete.
"Sire?"
It was Danton. He stood in the doorway, looking nervous.
"The crowd," Danton said. "They are gathering in the courtyard. They saw the carriage leave. They know the Regent is gone. They want to see you."
"Do they have muskets?"
"No. Just curiosity. And hunger."
I stood up. My legs felt heavy.
"Let's get it over with."
I walked to the balcony. The same balcony where my son had stood and watched the women bang their pots.
I stepped out.
A roar went up from the crowd below. Ten thousand faces turned up to look at me.
They looked expecting. They wanted a speech. They wanted to know if the terror was over. They wanted to know if the King was back.
I gripped the cold stone railing.
I wasn't wearing a crown. I wasn't wearing royal robes. I was wearing a plain gray coat.
I raised my hand. The crowd fell silent.
"Citizens," I said. My voice echoed in the square.
"The war is over. The Regent has retired."
A murmur went through the crowd.
"There will be no more speeches about glory," I continued. "There will be no more speeches about virtue."
I leaned forward.
"Go home. Open your shops. Bake your bread. The Bank of France opens tomorrow. We will pay our debts."
I looked at them.
"The accounts are open. Now get back to work."
I turned and walked back inside.
No cheering. No "Long Live the King."
Just a confused silence, followed by the sound of ten thousand people slowly dispersing.
"That was... brief," Danton said.
"It was a mission statement," I said. "Kings give speeches. CEOs give instructions."
I sat back down at my desk.
"Now," I said, pulling a ledger toward me. "Let's see how much money we actually have."
I opened the book.
It was empty.
Zero.
"Excellent," I whispered. "Nowhere to go but up."