Read Chapter 14: The Consortium's Web

The farmhouse kitchen smelled of woodsmoke and cold coffee. Élise had pushed the table against the wall to spread the documents across its scarred surface—Lefèvre's forged ledger entries, the land registry abstracts she'd copied from the archives before they could disappear, and the single cufflink Duchess Marie had pressed into her palm.

Louis stood at the window, watching the lane through the gap in the curtains. He'd discarded his tailored coat for one of her cousin's rough wool jackets, but nothing could hide the set of his shoulders or the way he held himself like a man accustomed to rooms where decisions were made.

"Your father's council," Élise said, tapping a finger on the registry abstract. "They've been consolidating parcels along the Loire and the Rhône corridors for eighteen months. Farmland, forest, abandoned rail yards. All in the name of 'modernization.' But look at the buyers."

Louis turned. "Shell companies."

"Twelve of them. Different names, different notaries, different banks." She slid a sheet across the table. "But the same signatory appears on the incorporation documents for nine of them. A lawyer named Beaumont."

"I know that name." Louis crossed to the table, his eyes scanning the document. "He handles private matters for Duval."

"Then it's confirmed." Élise pulled the forged ledger toward her. "Lefèvre's real ledger would have shown the pattern. The land isn't being sold to a foreign consortium for development. It's being bought by one man through a dozen masks."

"Duval."

"He's the gatekeeper, but he's not the buyer." She flipped to the last page of her notes, where she'd sketched a diagram with charcoal. "The money flows through Duval's bank, but it originates from three sources. One is his own holdings. The second is a trading house in Lyon controlled by the Marquise de Saint-Aignan."

"The Prime Minister's chief of staff is a man named Perrin. The Marquise is his sister-in-law."

Élise paused. Her source network hadn't reached that high. "And the third?"

Louis's jaw tightened. "The third source is routed through a private account at the Banque de Paris. The account is in the name of the Alliance Républicaine."

"A political party."

"Opposition," Louis corrected. "Technically loyal to the crown. Publicly they advocate for 'constitutional reform.' My father's ministers tolerate them because they make the more radical factions look unreasonable."

Élise stared at the diagram. The lines connected Duval, the Marquise, the Alliance Républicaine, and through them, the missing ledger, the attack on the Prince, the dead informant floating in the Seine.

"This isn't a land grab," she said slowly. "It's a coup."

Louis didn't argue. He'd reached the same conclusion.

"Eight hundred thousand hectares," Élise continued, tracing the numbers. "At current market rates, that's not just the royal treasury's annual income. It's the crown's entire capacity to borrow. Without that land as collateral, the monarchy can't fund the army, can't guarantee the currency, can't—

"Can't govern," Louis finished. "The treasury collapses. The King either abdicates or is forced to accept a new constitution. A republic, with a provisional government already waiting in the wings."

"And the men who bought the land at a fraction of its value become the new country's financial architects." Élise set down her pencil. "Duval as finance minister. Perrin's faction controlling the civil service. The Alliance Républicaine providing the political legitimacy."

"The Marquise," Louis said grimly. "She'd be positioned for the highest office. They'll make her president of the provisional assembly."

Élise looked at him. "You know these people. You've sat in councils with them."

"Not the Marquise. She keeps to the shadows." Louis ran a hand through his hair, a gesture she was beginning to recognize as his tell when he was wrestling with something unpleasant. "But I know the Alliance's parliamentary leader. Clément Marat. He dined at the palace twice a year. He always seemed—"

"Seemed what?"

"A true believer. He gave speeches about the dignity of common citizens, the weight of aristocratic privilege." Louis's voice turned bitter. "I thought he was earnest. I argued with my father when he wanted to curtail Marat's access to the state press."

"He may be earnest. That doesn't mean he isn't dangerous." Élise thought of the men she'd served in the security services, the ones who'd joined to protect the crown and ended up protecting the ministers who wore the crown's authority like a stolen coat. "The republicans want a republic. The financiers want the land. The politicians want the power. They all need each other to get what they want."

She began to gather the documents, folding them into the oiled canvas satchel she'd carried from Paris.

"What are you doing?" Louis asked.

"Marat attends the Salon de la Paix every Thursday. It's a public event for the party faithful—press, supporters, minor officials. He gives a short address and mingles." She slung the satchel over her shoulder. "If I can get close enough to follow him after, see who he meets, confirm his link to Duval directly—"

"No." Louis stepped between her and the door. "You're suspended. You're off-grid. If anyone recognizes you at the Salon—

"I've been working state security for eleven years. I know how to blend into a crowd." She met his gaze. "We don't have time for caution. The sale documents are prepared and undated. They're waiting for one signal—one political event that lets them justify the seizure. If they act before we have proof, the ledger won't matter. The land won't matter. They'll have won."

"And what am I supposed to do while you're walking into a nest of vipers?"

"Claire Delorme." Élise pulled the worn coat from the back of the chair. "The chambermaid. She's in protective custody in Rouen, but I can't reach her without burning my last contacts. You, however, are still Prince Louis. You can walk into a gendarmerie command post and request access to a witness in a case touching the crown."

Louis's expression flickered—surprise, then calculation, then a reluctant approval. "You want me to use my title to intimidate provincial officers."

"I want you to bring her somewhere safe. She's the only one besides you who can testify about the attack's true nature. If they find her before we do—"

She didn't finish the sentence. She didn't need to.

Louis studied her for a long moment. "You're asking me to trust you with my safety while you gamble yours."

" I'm asking you to act like the prince your country needs." Élise pulled open the door. Cold air rushed in. "The conspirators think they've silenced everyone who knows the truth. They haven't counted on us working together."

"Élise."

She paused on the threshold.

"If this goes wrong—"

"It won't." She met his eyes. "Because if it does, the next chapter of French history is written by a consortium of thieves in a boardroom, not by the people they're about to rob."

She stepped out into the grey afternoon, leaving Louis standing in the threshold of the farmhouse. Behind her, she heard him moving, gathering his own coat, preparing to do his part.

The wind carried the smell of rain from the west. By morning, her tracks would be washed clean. By morning, she had to be in Paris.

She had the cufflink in her pocket, the forged ledger in her satchel, and the shape of a conspiracy in her mind. It was enough to start with.

What she needed now was a thread to pull that would unravel it all.

The Salon de la Paix would give her that thread. Or it would be the last place she was ever seen alive.

Either way, she was done hiding.