Chapter 27: The Emperor’s Return: I
King Louis XVIII slammed his hands on the table, sending papers scattering across the marble floor. His face had gone deathly pale.
"What the hell is wrong with you, Baron?" he shouted at the trembling man before him. "You look like you’ve seen a ghost. Does this have anything to do with what Blacas and Villefort just told me?"
The Baron, head of the secret police, looked like he was about to collapse. His hands shook as he tried to speak, sweat beading on his forehead. The other ministers in the room exchanged worried glances.
"Your Majesty..." the Baron stammered, his voice barely a whisper.
"Speak up!" Louis XVIII snapped, his patience wearing thin.
The Baron dropped to his knees, tears streaming down his face. "Sire, it’s a disaster! I’ve failed you completely. I’ll never forgive myself!"
"Get up and tell me what happened!" the king commanded, his voice echoing through the ornate chamber.
The Baron’s voice cracked as he delivered the news that would change everything, "The exile... Napoleon... he left his prison island on February 26th. He landed in France on March 1st."
Louis XVIII’s eyes widened in shock. "France? You mean Italy, right?"
"No, Your Majesty. France. Near a small coastal town called Antibes."
The king’s face went through a spectrum of emotions. Disbelief, rage, then cold fear. "You’re telling me that Napoleon landed in France, just 250 miles from Paris, on March 1st... and you’re only telling me this NOW? On March 3rd?" His voice rose to a roar. "Are you insane? This has to be fake news!"
"I wish it were, Your Majesty, but it’s all true," the Baron whispered.
The king’s hands clenched into fists. "In France! That bastard is back in France! What were our spies doing? Were they working for HIM?"
Blacas, another minister, quickly stepped forward. "Your Majesty, please don’t blame the Baron for treason. We were all blind to this threat."
Young Villefort, the prosecutor who had first brought warnings about Napoleon’s supporters, cleared his throat. "Your Majesty, if I may... Napoleon is hated in the south. If we rally the southern provinces, we can stop him."
"But he’s not staying in the south," the police minister said grimly. "He’s moving north through the mountain passes, heading straight for Paris."
"He’s coming HERE?" Louis XVIII’s voice cracked like a teenager’s.
The awkward silence that followed was answer enough.
"What about the eastern provinces?" the king asked Villefort desperately.
Villefort’s expression was grim. "I’m sorry, Your Majesty, but the mountain people there... they still love Napoleon. They’ll join him, not us."
Louis XVIII sank into his chair, looking suddenly old and fragile. "How many soldiers does he have?"
The police minister’s face flushed red with embarrassment. "We... we don’t know, Your Majesty."
"YOU DON’T KNOW?" The king exploded. "I give you unlimited resources, a massive budget for intelligence, and you can’t tell me how many men are marching on my capital?"
"The telegraph message only said he’d landed and which route he was taking-"
"Wait." Louis XVIII held up a hand, his face turning dangerous. "You found out about this through a telegram?"
The king began pacing like a caged tiger. "So let me get this straight. Seven allied armies defeated Napoleon. God himself put me back on the throne after 25 years of exile. I’ve spent decades studying my people, understanding what they need. And just when everything is within my grasp, it all falls apart because you couldn’t do your job?"
"Your Majesty, sometimes fate just-"
"Don’t talk to me about fate!" Louis XVIII’s voice was ice-cold now. "Our enemies were right about us. We learned nothing and forgot nothing. If I’d been betrayed like he was, I could accept that. But to be surrounded by people I elevated to power, people who should be watching my back better than their own, because without me, you’re all nothing, and they can’t even see this coming?"
The police minister looked like he wanted to disappear into the floor. Even Blacas was sweating now. But Villefort? He was trying not to smile. This disaster was his ticket to the top.
The king continued his rant, "Do you know what the worst part is? Finding out I’m about to lose my throne through a damn telegram! I’d rather be executed like my brother Louis XVI than be laughed out of power. You have no idea how deadly ridicule is in this country."
He turned to Villefort, the only person in the room who’d seen this coming. "Come here, young man. Tell these idiots how it’s possible to know things before they become disasters."
"Your Majesty," the police minister protested, "it was impossible to learn Napoleon’s secrets-"
"Impossible?" Louis XVIII laughed bitterly. "You have an entire department, agents everywhere, spies, and a budget that could fund a small war. And you couldn’t figure out what was happening 60 miles from the coast? Meanwhile, this young prosecutor, with no resources except his brain, learned more than your entire operation."
Villefort bowed his head modestly, but inside he was celebrating. The police minister shot him a look of pure hatred.
But Villefort was smarter than that. Making an enemy of someone so powerful, even if they were falling from grace, would be stupid. The man still had enough influence to destroy him if he got desperate enough.
"Your Majesty," Villefort said carefully, "this was really just luck on my part. I happened to stumble across some information and reported it like any loyal servant would. Please don’t give me more credit than I deserve, I’d hate for you to be disappointed later."
The police minister’s expression softened with gratitude. Villefort had just thrown him a lifeline, and they both knew it.