The Crown Prince of France - Chapter 243

Chapter 243: You Are What I Say You Are, Even If You’re Not

The sounds of gunfire and the panicked shouts of servants incessantly gnawed at the nerves of Marquis Saint-Véran.

As his servants helped him into his military uniform, he roared at the dust-covered Major Bren nearby: “You’re saying that’s Berthier’s army?”

The major shouted back, his voice strained: “It’s their banner... and the Paris Police Academy…”

It wasn’t that he was particularly confident, but without yelling, his voice would have been drowned out by the gunfire.

“Is your brain damaged?” Marquis Saint-Véran glared at him darkly, snatched the telescope from a servant’s hand, and cursed as he stormed toward the rooftop. “So, who is attacking me now? Berthier’s three regiments, or some ridiculous police force?”

Ascending to the rooftop, he was immediately greeted by the sight of black smoke billowing all around the estate. The sound of gunfire and military bugles grew sharper, signaling an intense battle.

“Who is it?” Marquis Saint-Véran adjusted the telescope, his gaze falling upon a line of infantry advancing steadily. The line stretched four or five hundred meters wide, methodically pressing forward.

The soldiers’ formation was impeccable, their shooting practiced and precise. They advanced with steady steps, seemingly unfazed by the defensive fire from his side.

Simultaneously, several companies of skirmishers flanked the formation, taking advantage of the terrain to outmaneuver the defenders. Before long, they had closed in on the outermost buildings of the estate.

A twitch formed at the corner of his eye.

The soldiers defending those structures were holding their ground, but it was clear they were at a disadvantage in the exchange of fire. Two key houses to the south had already fallen.

The skirmishers quickly hoisted flags atop the captured rooftops and began shooting down at the defensive lines from their elevated positions.

When the wind unfurled those banners, Marquis Saint-Véran’s expression turned as if he had seen a ghost. They were indeed the flags of the Paris Police Academy! Major Bren had not been lying.

Through the drifting smoke, he also caught sight of the banners of Berthier’s regiments.

In that instant, a horrifying realization struck him: only the Royal Household could command both these forces. Was the royal army attacking him?

Using Berthier’s three regiments and reserve police to attack the elite Montcalm Corps?!

He struggled to suppress the absurdity of the thought, furrowing his brows deeply. The monarchy’s actions amounted to provoking all-out civil war—surely the military would not stand by and allow this to happen! That Austrian wench must be mad!

As chaotic thoughts swirled in his mind, a dull explosion shook the villa. The building trembled violently, causing him to stumble.

A servant rushed forward to steady him and exclaimed anxiously: “General, the house has been hit by cannon fire! Please, you must leave here immediately!”

Marquis Saint-Véran’s pupils constricted as he realized the implications. The estate spanned over four kilometers on each side; cannons at the perimeter should not have been able to reach this far.

For shells to hit the villa, the enemy had to be within six or seven hundred paces!

He shoved the servant aside and leaned out over the villa’s edge. Sure enough, he saw more than a hundred enemy soldiers engaged in a firefight with his personal guards on the western side.

The door to the rooftop burst open, and a corps adjutant stumbled through, shouting: “General! Lieutenant Colonel Bernier has surrendered to the enemy. The western defenses have fallen…”

“I can see that.” Marquis Saint-Véran cut him off with a grim expression. Without any reserve forces at his disposal, how was he supposed to patch the gaps in the defenses?

More reserve police were flooding in from the west, pinning his guards down with overwhelming firepower by the villa’s front garden.

After a brief pause, Marquis Saint-Véran let out a long sigh. Turning to the adjutant, he said, “Issue the order: all forces are to cease resistance.”

“Yes… General.”

...

Forty minutes later.

In the hunting lounge on the eastern side of the estate, Marquis Saint-Véran cast a sidelong glance at the young man before him, dressed smartly in a cavalry uniform. His voice was icy. “Your Royal Highness, Crown Prince, I require an explanation for this attack!”

He showed no concern for his own safety. In truth, he believed it was the royal family that had blundered—and gravely so.

“An explanation?” Joseph smiled faintly. “The Montcalm Corps staged a rebellion, and my soldiers have bravely crushed it.”

Marquis Saint-Véran glared at him in outrage. “What rebellion? This is slander!”

Joseph interrupted, “No, this is what hundreds of journalists witnessed. By tonight, it will be all over the papers.”

“Ha! Are you not aware that you are inciting civil war?” Marquis Saint-Véran retorted, his head held high. “The king persecuting his own army—do you think the other generals will sit idly by?”

“This is merely a rebellion being quelled. They will have no objections.”

“And you think such a charade will fool anyone?”

Joseph waved his hand dismissively. “Whether or not you rebelled doesn’t depend on what actually happened. It depends on whether the military leadership accepts the conclusion that you rebelled.

“Oh, I’m sure the shrewd generals can guess what truly happened here, but they will choose to believe you rebelled.

“Because that belief will separate your predicament from theirs.”

Joseph gestured toward the battlefield outside. “Without widespread provincial uprisings or a compelling pretext, the military will not openly oppose the royal family.

“And your army didn’t even hold out for two hours. That only reinforces the monarchy’s strength in their eyes.

“Now, you are the rebel. They are not. The royal family punishes rebels, and they remain safe.”

“Under such circumstances, do you think they will draw you back into the ‘non-rebel’ camp and risk aligning themselves against the monarchy?”

Marquis Saint-Véran’s face turned deathly pale.

He knew Joseph was right. So long as the military leaders accepted the narrative of his rebellion, they had no reason to risk themselves by opposing the royal family.

The truth? No one cared about the truth.

Especially with public opinion shaped by the newspapers, they would simply go along with the tide…

Marquis Saint-Véran swallowed nervously and looked at Joseph with unease. “What… what do you want?”

Joseph stepped forward and brushed the dust from the marquis’s uniform, left by the earlier cannon blasts. “Don’t worry. Cooperate with me, expose your conspiracy, and testify against certain individuals. In that case, you may be exiled to Besançon, and you might even retain part of your wealth.

“Or, you could keep their secrets and see your entire family exiled to Seychelles.”

He knew that, by French tradition, even if Marquis Saint-Véran had rebelled, the penalty would likely only be exile. After all, when Prince of Condé “Grand Condé” had twice allied with Spain to revolt, forcing Louis XIV to flee Paris, his ultimate punishment was mere exile—and he even returned to France a few years later.

Marquis Saint-Véran nodded almost instantly. “Your Highness, please allow me to swear loyalty to the king once more! Oh, all of this was orchestrated by Duke of Orléans! Two months ago, he told us there would be famine…”

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