The map of Europe blurred. The red pins marking the Austrian positions seemed to vibrate, then multiply.
I blinked, trying to clear my vision. My head felt like it was stuffed with cotton.
"Sire?" Danton's voice sounded underwater. "Sire, are you listening?"
I tried to answer. "The supply lines..."
The floor rushed up to meet me.
I hit the parquet with a thud that rattled my teeth.
Darkness.
Then, a sharp, stinging pain on my cheek.
I gasped, sucking in air.
Danton was leaning over me, his hand raised for another slap.
"He's back," Danton grunted to someone behind him. "Don't die yet, Louis. We haven't won."
I tried to sit up. My chest felt tight, like an iron band was crushing my ribs.
"What happened?" I wheezed.
"You collapsed," Dr. Guillotin said, kneeling beside me. He had a stethoscope pressed to my chest. His kindly face was grim. "Your heart is racing like a bird in a cage, Majesty. You are running the engine without oil."
"I'm fine," I lied, pushing Guillotin away. "I just need coffee."
"You need sleep," Guillotin corrected. "You need to stop leading armies. You need to stop running a government by yourself. If you continue at this pace, you will be dead in a month."
I sat on the floor, leaning against the leg of the map table.
Dead in a month.
The war in Belgium was a stalemate. The Vendée was burning. The Austrians were digging in.
If I died now...
Everything would collapse. Danton would seize power. The Royalists would rally. My son would be a pawn, or a corpse.
"I can't stop," I whispered. "Not yet."
"Then you need a successor," Guillotin said bluntly. "Someone to hold the seal when your hand fails."
I looked at the map. I looked at Danton, who was watching me with a mixture of concern and calculation.
I needed an heir. Not a child. A King.
"Where is my son?" I asked.
I didn't find him in the nursery. The nursery was empty, the toys gathering dust.
I found him in the Cour du Carrousel.
It was raining. A cold, gray drizzle that turned the cobblestones slick.
A company of Grenadiers was drilling in the mud. Big men. Veterans of the Belgian campaign.
And marching with them, struggling to keep pace, was a small figure in a miniature blue uniform.
Louis-Charles. The Dauphin. Seven years old.
He wasn't playing. He was carrying a musket—a custom-made, scaled-down version of the Charleville 1777. It still weighed five pounds.
His face was pale, streaked with mud. His little legs were pumping to keep up with the stride of the giants around him.
Napoleon Bonaparte stood on a crate, barking orders.
"Reload! Faster! A slow soldier is a dead soldier!"
The Grenadiers stopped. They pulled cartridges from their pouches. Bit the paper. Poured the powder. Rammed the ball.
Louis-Charles did the same. His small fingers fumbled with the ramrod. He dropped it in the mud.
"Again!" Napoleon shouted. "Pick it up! Do you want the Austrians to wait while you fix your mistake?"
Louis-Charles scrambled to pick up the rod. He didn't cry. He jammed it down the barrel.
"Shoulder arms!"
I watched from the archway. My heart ached.
This wasn't a childhood. This was a boot camp.
"Captain!" I shouted, stepping into the rain.
Napoleon turned. He saluted.
"Majesty."
"He is a child, Napoleon!" I yelled, walking over to them. "Look at him! He's shivering!"
Napoleon jumped down from the crate. He didn't apologize.
"He is a soldier, Sire. The rain does not care about his age. The enemy will not care."
I looked at my son.
Louis-Charles stood at attention. He held the musket against his shoulder, though it was clearly too heavy for him. He stared straight ahead, his chin trembling slightly.
"Louis," I said softly, reaching out to touch his shoulder. "Give me the gun. Go inside."
The boy didn't move. He didn't look at me.
"I am not a child, Papa," he said. His voice was high, piping, but the tone was cold. "I am a soldier of the Republic."
"You are a Prince," I said.
"Princes die," Louis-Charles said, reciting a lesson. "Soldiers survive."
He looked at Napoleon for approval. Napoleon nodded imperceptibly.
I felt a chill that had nothing to do with the rain.
I had given my son to the wolf to save him from the sheep. But the wolf had done his job too well.
I knelt down in the mud so I was eye-level with him.
"Look at me," I said.
He turned his eyes to mine. They were blue, like Marie's. But they were hard. Guarded.
"Do you know why you are drilling?" I asked.
"To kill the enemies of France," he said automatically.
"No," I said. "To lead France."
I took the musket from his hands. He resisted for a second, then let go.
"You are done for today," I told him. "Go to your room. Read your history books. A King needs to know more than how to reload."
"But Captain Bonaparte said—"
"I am the Commander in Chief," I snapped. "Dismissed."
Louis-Charles stiffened. He saluted perfectly. Then he turned and marched—marched—toward the palace.
I stood up, holding the small musket. It felt heavy.
"You are breaking him," I told Napoleon.
"I am forging him," Napoleon corrected. "Steel must be hammered, Sire. If you want him to hold the throne when you are gone... he cannot be soft."
I looked at the retreating figure of my son.
"He isn't soft," I whispered. "He's ice."
The Council met an hour later.
Me. Danton. Napoleon. Talleyrand.
The Triumvirate plus the Snake.
"The war is a stalemate," Napoleon said, slapping a ruler onto the map of Belgium. "The Austrians are dug in at Mons. They have heavy artillery. If we attack head-on, we lose ten thousand men."
"We can't afford ten thousand men," Danton grunted. "The recruitment drives in the provinces are drying up. The peasants are tired of sending their sons to die for 'Liberty.'"
"And the treasury?" I asked Talleyrand.
"Empty," the Bishop said, swirling his wine. "The Patriot Tax raised five million livres. We spent six million last month on gunpowder alone. We are running on fumes, Louis."
I rubbed my chest. The pain was a dull throb now.
I didn't have time for a long war. I didn't have the money. And I didn't have the heartbeats.
I needed a knockout blow. A hostile takeover.
"We don't attack Mons," I said.
"Then we retreat?" Danton asked.
"No," I said. "We bypass it."
I ran my finger across the map. East. Through the German principalities.
"We leave a holding force in Belgium to keep them busy," I said. "And we take the main army here. Across the Rhine. Through Bavaria."
"To where?" Napoleon asked, his eyes narrowing.
"To the head office," I said. "Vienna."
Silence.
"Vienna is six hundred miles away," Napoleon said. "Through hostile territory. No supply lines. No communication."
"Speed," I said. "We move fast. We live off the land. We requisition wagons. We don't march; we race. By the time the Austrian army in Belgium realizes we're gone, we'll be knocking on the Emperor's front door."
"It's suicide," Talleyrand said. "If you get cut off, you starve."
"If we stay here, we bleed to death slowly," I said. "I prefer the gamble."
I looked at Napoleon.
"Can you do it?"
Napoleon looked at the map. He was calculating. Distance. Speed. Calories.
He smiled.
"The Vienna Gambit," he mused. "It has never been done. Not since the Romans."
"Then let's make history," I said.
"Who leads the army?" Danton asked. "Napoleon?"
"No," I said. "Me."
They all stared.
"You?" Danton laughed. "You can barely stand up, Louis. You want to ride six hundred miles?"
"The men need to see the King," I said. "They need to know I am risking everything with them. It's the only way they'll follow us into Hell."
I stood up.
"I leave tomorrow."
"And who governs Paris?" Talleyrand asked. "Who holds the seal?"
I looked at the empty chair at the end of the table.
"My son," I said.
"The boy?" Danton scoffed. "He's seven!"
"He is the Dauphin," I said. "I am appointing him Regent."
"With a Council of Regents, of course," Talleyrand said smoothly. "Led by..."
"Led by no one," I said. "He holds the seal. But the hand guiding him will be Captain Bonaparte."
Napoleon looked up, surprised. "Me? I belong at the front, Sire! I should be leading the vanguard!"
"You belong where the future is," I said. "If I die in Germany, Napoleon... you make sure he becomes King. You make sure the vultures don't eat him."
I glared at Danton and Talleyrand.
"You stay here, Captain. Guard the boy. Danton comes with me."
"Me?" Danton choked. "Why me?"
"Because if I leave you in Paris," I said, "I'll come back to find my head on a pike."
Danton paused. Then he grinned.
"Fair point."
I walked to the window. The rain had stopped. The moon was breaking through the clouds.
"Prepare the army," I said. "We march at dawn."
Later that night, I went to the Dauphin's room.
He was awake, reading a book on Roman history by candlelight.
He sat up when I entered. He didn't smile.
"Papa," he said.
"I am leaving tomorrow, Louis," I said, sitting on the edge of his bed. "I am going to fight the Emperor."
"Can I come?" he asked immediately. "I have my musket."
"No," I said. "You have a harder job."
I took the Royal Seal from my pocket. The heavy gold ring with the fleur-de-lis.
I placed it in his small hand.
"You are the Regent," I said. "While I am gone, you are the King of France."
He looked at the ring. It was huge in his palm.
"What do I do?" he asked.
"You listen to Captain Bonaparte," I said. "You sign the papers he tells you to sign. But you watch everyone."
I leaned close.
"Don't trust Talleyrand," I whispered. "He lies. Don't trust the Ministers. They steal."
"And the Captain?" Louis-Charles asked.
I thought about the wolf cub drilling in the rain. I thought about the cold ambition in Napoleon's eyes.
"Trust him to win," I said. "But never turn your back on him."
I kissed his forehead. He smelled of soap and old paper.
"Be strong," I said. "France is yours now."
I walked to the door.
"Papa?"
"Yes?"
"Kill the Emperor," the boy said. His voice was flat. Serious. "Make him pay for Mama."
I looked at him.
He wasn't crying for his mother anymore. He was demanding vengeance.
I had created a monster to save a dynasty.
"I will," I said.
I closed the door.
I walked down the hall, clutching my chest. The pain was sharp, insistent.
I had to win this war fast.
Because I was running out of time. And the boy waiting in the wings was ready to take the stage.