Page 5 of The Darkest Oath

Louis clicked the lock again.

The Minister of the King’s Household, Antoine-Jean Amelot de Chaillou, reached beneath the table, plucked the lock from Louis’ hands, and shoved it into his belt pouch. “Perhaps, Sire, we begin with looking at fiscal options,” Amelot said, patting his belt bag like a chastising father. “We cannot ignore the crisis.”

Louis leaned back and pulled his hands to the top of the table. “Are you suggesting again that we raise taxes? I will not raise taxes. The people suffer enough.”

Brienne nodded. “That or another war, but one that brings coin, not just glory. We’ve only just ended the war in the Americas.” He sighed and shook his head. “I understand your willingness to help the colonies pursue liberty from the British, but its price did not benefit France?—”

“It avenged our defeat against the British in the Seven Years’ War,” interrupted César-Henri de La Luzerne, Minister of the Navy. He turned his attention to Louis. “Your Majesty, you made a wise decision to help the Americans. The other great powers are compelled to respect us yet again. And by far,nothingbrings me greater joy than to know the British are weakened by their loss overseas. I stand by the monarchy’s decision to aid the colonies.”

Brienne sneered. “Yes, yes, but your victory and your revenge cost us one hundred millionlivres!” He pounded both fists on the table at the sheer amount of funds spent on the conflict. “Your war debt crippled France!”

Armand-Marc comte de Montmorin, the Foreign Affairs Minister, waved him off. “Your view is too narrow, Minister Brienne.”

Brienne sighed and settled his hands. “The people are starving. Food riots, bad harvests, bad winters,” he paused and shook his head. “Our standing with other nations will not feed them.”

Louis stayed silent and fidgeted with an imaginary lock in his fingers atop the table.

Rollant watched them grow silent. They squabbled over kindling while the house burned. Not that he cared. He’d seen it all before. Different king. Same nonsense.

“My King,” Brienne began again. “Since His Majesty refuses to raise what taxes we do have, and the parlements refuse tax reform, we will no longer be able to borrow if we cannot pay our debts. France will collapse without drastic reform. This is a fact.”

“And what of the parlements?” Louis glanced up with timid eyes. “The parlements, filled with nobles, guard their privileges under the guise of law. They will reject your reforms again, as they did Calonne’s.”

“If we do nothing, we risk rebellion. Call the Estates-General. Let the Third Estate vote on the reforms,” Brienne said.

Chairs scraped as the other four ministers gasped and bristled.

“The reforms will pass with the Third Estate voting,” Brienne finished with unwavering confidence in the working class voting to tax the nobility, the Second Estate, and the clergy, the First Estate.

The Minister of Justice and Keeper of the Seals, Chrétien François de Lamoignon, interjected in the succeeding silence.

“At this moment and onward, the King’s authority is vulnerable. Calling the Estates-General will undermine the crown for all time. It hasn’t been called since 1614, and nothing came of it but a decade of interference and revolt. Give the Third Estate a voice, and they’ll demand more. Equality. Then power. You’ll lose your throne.”

Louis glanced toward Rollant. Their eyes met. Mortal burdens, but Minister Lamoignon was right.

“Don’t mind him, Sire.” Montmorin waved Rollant off. “He knows nothing of this.”

Rollant stared at the intricate scrolling on the wall opposite him. The sad fact was that, at an immortal twenty-six years old, he knew more than humanly possible. He was both the youngest and the oldest man in the room. With an ageless face, he glanced at the portraits on the wall, masking the centuries he had witnessed.

Amelot leaned toward the king. “Calling the Estates-General will alienate the nobility.”

“Minister Brienne,” King Louis dipped his head, giving Brienne permission to speak freely against the violent opposition in the room. Amelot, Montmorin, La Luzerne, and Lamoignon leaned back and lifted their chins.

“I am grateful for the opportunity, Sire,” Brienne said. “The people are restless. Restless people breed rebellion, and rebellion breeds revolution—just as it did in the colonies. The Estates-General will buy the crown time. Give them a voice; perhaps they will not yet demand blood.”

Montmorin shook his head and interrupted. “What of the crown’s reputation amongst the great powers we have fought to earn back?”

Lamoignon silenced him with a raised hand and rose, his face taut. “Once you give the Third Estate a taste of power, they will demand more. They will not stop at taxes. You will give up your power and your lineage of great kings. The Just, The Sun King, The Beloved; they shake their heads.”

Louis leaned back, his face ashen beneath the chandelier’s light. His hands, empty of his locks, clenched into fists and bounced on his thigh until, finally, he rose to his feet slowly with distant eyes. He folded his hands behind his back. “I will . . . consider the matter further.”

Rollant followed Louis out of the Cabinet and down the hall filled with opulent mirrors. Louis let out a long, despair-filled breath. The quiet corridor was empty save for the two royal guards at the entrance to the King’s Cabinet at the other end.

“Chevalier Rollant de Montvieux, you have been with the royal family for centuries,” he said in hushed tones. “What path would you take?”

Rollant hated when the kings would ask him for advice. It was a sheer reminder of his eternal punishment of life.

“And be plain, Rollant,” Louis said, his head drooping. They slowed their pace. “What should I do?”

---