The Only Thing to Do

Snow fell over Paris, the capital of the Kingdom of Gaul.

The glass and heavy crimson curtains kept the biting wind outside. Inside Little Louis's private salon, it was as warm as spring.

Six crystal chandeliers illuminated more than three hundred beeswax candles. Their light refracted through the crystal prisms and flowed across the gold leaf inset in the ceiling like a rippling river of light.

The air was rich with the scents of expensive perfume and incense.

A dozen or so noblemen and noblewomen lounged on velvet-lined couches and armchairs, chatting softly as ivory fans fluttered in their hands.

Little Louis, Crown Prince of the Kingdom of Gaul, reclined on a chaise longue draped with a velvet blanket and surveyed the guests.

Today's salon was not discussing paintings, sculpture, or music, but international politics.

Without a doubt, the hottest topic in international affairs lately was Frederick's public speech.

Little Louis was uncertain what to make of it, so he had invited several trusted advisers to discuss it.

Among today's guests was a rising star in the political world. He was not an official, but Baron Durgot, editor-in-chief of The Cider Times in Le Havre.

After the Battle of Red Waterwheel Village, people had begun paying attention to Baron Durgot's claim that the Duchy of Weissen was doomed.

When the Kingdom of Angland's fleet made a provocative visit to the Rhine Alliance and the Grand Duke of Weissen did not react in the slightest, Baron Durgot's reputation had grown steadily. He was known in the Parisian aristocratic social circles for his scathing—and sometimes excessively scathing—political commentary on the Duchy of Weissen.

At that moment, Baron Durgot was brimming with confidence. The official intelligence from the Kingdom of Angland that he had bought from an information broker at great expense had