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The Crown Prince of France - Chapter 230
🕑 Added 2025-05-29 19:10:01 +0000 UTCChapter 230: The Traitor
For a time, the streets were abuzz with outrage.
"Have you heard? A coppersmith's daughter in the Marais district was targeted by two nobles. Not only was she assaulted, but her entire family was murdered!"
"They say one of them is the son of the Minister of the Interior. That scoundrel didn’t want to share the girl with the other noble, so he had him burned alive."
"Such cruelty! But why would he kill the poor girl’s family too?"
"Don’t you understand? Killing a noble is a serious crime! If the girl revealed that the two were fighting over her, the police would surely investigate him. It’s called destroying evidence."
"These damned nobles don’t value human life at all!"
"They all deserve to rot in hell!"
...
Joseph frowned deeply as he read the newspaper report about the arson committed by the Minister of the Interior's son. Since the matter involved Morneau himself, the man didn’t dare blatantly suppress the press to prevent publication this time.
How had this information leaked? Joseph immediately summoned Fouché for answers.
Before long, the Bureau of Police presented their preliminary findings. Someone had directly revealed the circumstances of Antoine Morneau’s arson to both the police and the major newspapers.
Under the scrutiny of a swarm of reporters, the Bureau of Police had no choice but to summon Antoine for questioning. Though the evidence was insufficient and he was quickly released, the media frenzy had already turned him into a target of public outrage.
Yet, who had exposed this matter remained unclear.
Joseph reviewed the report in contemplation. Was it a relative of Viscount Ambour? Or someone secretly investigating the case?
At that moment, Eymond entered quickly and bowed low. "Your Highness, Count Morneau requests an audience."
Joseph frowned. Morneau’s visit at this time could only concern one thing, but the nature of the crime was so heinous that there was no way he would help cover it up.
He shook his head. "Send him away."
"Yes, Your Highness."
...
At the Palais-Royal, the Duke of Orléans' study was filled with an air of triumph.
The butler entered briskly, closing the door carefully behind him before bowing. "My lord, just as you predicted, the Minister of the Interior sought out the Queen, the Crown Prince, and the Prime Minister one after another, but it seems none of them agreed to see him."
"Naturally," the Duke of Orléans said smugly. "This matter has caused such an uproar that even the Queen can’t shield him."
He turned to the butler. "And the Malet brothers? They haven’t said anything, have they?"
The butler bowed deeply. "Our people in the Bastille are keeping watch. They wouldn’t dare speak recklessly."
"Excellent." A sly smile spread across the duke's face. "If that fool Morneau hadn’t slaughtered the coppersmith’s family, things might not have gone so smoothly."
Indeed, the so-called "Viscount Ambour Arson Case" was entirely his scheme.
When the duke learned his heir had contracted syphilis, he became consumed with rage and sought revenge against Joseph and the royal family.
A few months earlier, he had learned that Antoine Morneau and Viscount Ambour were vying for the attention of the same common girl.
In his mind, Morneau was a key political asset to the royal family. If used skillfully, this rivalry could reveal cracks within the royal power structure.
Thus, he identified targets within Antoine’s inner circle, ultimately settling on the Malet brothers—fallen nobles easily manipulated.
After gaining control over the two, the duke instructed them to exacerbate the conflict between Antoine and Viscount Ambour.
Antoine, who had spent over a decade as a bastard before being named Morneau’s heir six months ago, was drunk on his newfound status.
Roughly a fortnight ago, he had gone to a girl named Céline’s house after drinking, intending to amuse himself, only to discover she had been taken to Viscount Ambour’s villa.
Spurred on by the Malet brothers and emboldened by alcohol, he erupted in fury and ordered them to retrieve Céline.
The brothers, acting on the duke’s orders, immediately informed him of the development.
Recognizing this as a golden opportunity to implicate Morneau, the duke sent men to burn down Viscount Ambour’s estate.
The subsequent events unfolded almost as planned.
The Malet brothers took Céline to Antoine’s residence, gleefully reporting that Viscount Ambour had been burned alive.
Antoine sobered up partially in terror and fled home to confess everything to his father.
Morneau was equally horrified. He initially planned to help the Malet brothers escape but didn’t anticipate them being apprehended by the police—deliberately so, of course.
When Morneau visited the brothers in prison, they firmly maintained that Antoine had ordered the arson. Antoine, too drunk to remember much beyond instructing them to retrieve the girl, was left defenseless.
With no alternative, Morneau offered the brothers enormous benefits in exchange for taking the blame. He then bribed a high court judge to expedite their execution.
This, however, was precisely what the Duke of Orléans wanted.
And Morneau, in his guilty panic, went above and beyond by eliminating Céline’s entire family.
...
Late at night, a black carriage quietly entered the villa of the Minister of the Interior.
Morneau eyed the visitor suspiciously as he removed his hood, revealing the Duke of Orléans. His brow furrowed as he asked grimly, "What are you doing here?"
"I heard you’ve been facing some trouble recently," the duke said with a smile. "Won’t you invite me in for a chat?"
"There’s no need. This has nothing to do with you..." Morneau hadn’t forgotten that this man was his political rival.
"In that case, your son may soon find himself arrested by the Royal Guard," the duke remarked, smiling faintly. "And you’ll likely lose your position."
Morneau’s face darkened. "I’ll appeal to Her Majesty for clemency..."
The duke interrupted him immediately. "I’ve heard from my friends in the High Court that the Crown Prince visited there two days ago and had Judge Croay detained for investigation.
"Yesterday, your son’s case became the talk of the city. Don’t you think there’s a connection?"
Naturally, all these "coincidences" had been orchestrated by the duke. Upon learning that the Crown Prince had visited the High Court, he had immediately leaked details of the arson case to the Bureau of Police and the press.
Morneau was stunned, then quickly realized the significance of the royal family’s cold reception toward him over the past two days. Could this really be the Crown Prince’s doing?
He recalled the last time the Crown Prince had expressed dissatisfaction with him following a bank collapse. Since then, the Crown Prince had repeatedly curtailed the Ministry of the Interior's powers. The most recent blow came with the Tunisian immigration policy, which bypassed him entirely and was handed over to Count Mirabeau.
And now, there was the matter of his son.
Stunned and distraught, Morneau stood frozen, murmuring to himself, "It really is him..."
The Duke of Orléans leaned in at just the right moment, speaking softly into his ear: "Now, there’s only one person who can help you—and that’s me."
Startled, Morneau quickly dismissed all the servants, ushered the duke into his study, and shut the door. With mounting anxiety, he asked, "What can you do to save Antoine?"
The Duke of Orléans smiled faintly. "It’s simple. I’ll arrange for the two arsonists to be killed. With no witnesses left, I’ll influence the High Court, and the case won’t implicate your son."
Morneau’s eyes widened. "But they’re locked in the Bastille..."
Since Necker’s poisoning incident at the Bastille, Joseph had seized the opportunity to reprimand Marquis de Launay, the Bastille’s commander, ordering him to implement strict reforms. Now, it was nearly impossible to orchestrate a prisoner’s death, let alone leak internal information.
The Duke of Orléans, unfazed, replied, "Trust me—I have the means."
A glimmer of hope lit Morneau’s eyes. He stared intently at the duke but hesitated. "Why would you help me?"
The Duke of Orléans extended a single finger. "One million livres."
Morneau paused. Though he had embezzled substantial wealth over the years, such a sum would still strain his resources.
But his son’s life and his own political future were more important. Without hesitation, he nodded. "Fine. I’ll deliver the money to the Palais-Royal within a month. The rest will depend on you..."
The Duke of Orléans shook his head with a sly smile. "Oh, dear François, you misunderstand me.
"I mean, I’ll take care of this case—and I’ll also give you one million livres."
Morneau staggered back, alarmed. A seasoned political operator, he immediately sensed the implications.
Yet he gritted his teeth and asked the inevitable question: "What do you want me to do?"
The Duke of Orléans’ eyes gleamed coldly. "Simple. Join me in seizing the royal scepter."
He had no fear of Morneau exposing his words. The latter was already on the brink and would not risk ruining himself. Even if he did speak out, the duke could easily deny it.
In fact, many ambitious nobles in Versailles were aware of the Orléans faction’s designs, seeing the duke as a counterweight to royal authority.
Morneau wiped the sweat from his brow instinctively, his head bowed in silence.
The Duke of Orléans did not rush him, merely watching quietly.
Minutes passed. Weighing the risks, rewards, and calculations repeatedly, Morneau finally looked up. "What are the odds of success?"
The Duke of Orléans replied candidly, "You know how severe the food shortages are in the country right now."
"Yes, but it’s still manageable for the time being."
"That’s thanks to the ‘strategic grain reserves,’" the duke said coldly. "If those reserves were to disappear, France would plunge into chaos."
Cold sweat poured down Morneau’s back. He swallowed hard. "And then?"
"I will inject vast sums of money, leveraging the chaos to reshape the political landscape. You know as well as I do—there are plenty of people unwilling to stay idle. All they need is an opportunity.
"For instance, the military officers. They’ve been quite dissatisfied with the royal family’s actions recently."
Morneau fell into deep thought once again. After a long pause, a radiant smile spread across his face. "In addition to the military, there are also the great nobles."
"Pray, elaborate."
"Do you recall the Mill Tax Obligation Act?"
"I do."
"This winter has been particularly harsh. Over half the rivers in the country are frozen solid," Morneau said, speaking rapidly. "As a result, many mills have ceased functioning. Reports I received this month indicate that more than 60 mill owners have already lost their mill tax privileges under the act. As the winter deepens, this number will rise sharply."
At this time, most mills were powered by waterwheels. When rivers froze, the mills could no longer operate.
Historically, French rivers seldom froze for more than two consecutive months, but under this year’s extreme weather, many would remain frozen until March.
This inability to use the mills had contributed to the great famine of 1788. Proud French citizens insisted on grinding their wheat into flour to make bread. In major cities, bread shortages had led to numerous deaths from starvation.
Joseph had introduced the act to push the nobles into investing in steam-powered mill technology. Yet, shortsighted and miserly as they were, the nobles clung to old practices. Even with district banks offering loans, they refused to install steam engines.
Consequently, many lost their mill tax privileges when their mills were unusable for more than two months.
Morneau smiled. "I believe the nobles who’ve lost their mill taxes will be very interested in supporting a force that can humble the royal family."
The Duke of Orléans nodded in delight. "You truly are perceptive."
"That’s not all," Morneau continued. "The Crown Prince’s Tunisian immigration policy is overly ambitious, offering overly generous terms.
"Large swathes of fertile Tunisian land—practically free—are available to anyone willing to cultivate it for ten years.
"This has diverted many who had planned to purchase farmland in France, causing domestic land prices to drop. The decline isn’t significant yet, but you know—nobles who own hundreds or thousands of hectares will suffer substantial losses."
Even a small fluctuation in land prices, when multiplied by such vast holdings, amounted to staggering sums.
Seeing the duke’s approving expression, Morneau added, "There are many dissatisfied with royal policies, and I am well-versed in navigating such discontent."
Suddenly, he placed a hand on his chest and bowed deeply. "If your new cabinet includes a small position for me as Prime Minister, then you shall have my unwavering loyalty, esteemed Regent."
The Duke of Orléans nodded without hesitation. "Of course. No one is better suited for that role than you."
Morneau’s face lit up with joy. Bowing once more, he said, "Your great endeavor is destined for success!"
He knew he had no choice. His only son was on the brink of imprisonment—or worse, execution. His own political career was at risk of ruin. For a man accustomed to wielding power, such outcomes were unthinkable.
Joining the Duke of Orléans’ faction was his sole path to preserving his son’s life and his position.
And based on the duke’s plan, the odds of success seemed exceedingly high.
Indeed, as Morneau listened to the duke’s proposal, an ingenious idea struck him—one that could greatly enhance the chances of success.
He had originally intended to use this scheme to secure the position of Prime Minister. Unexpectedly, simply revealing a fraction of his capability had been enough to fulfill his wish.
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