Three days passed.
The reformation of the police force in the Saint Antoine District had begun to take root. Order returned to the streets in small but visible ways—complaint boxes filled, patrols walked with new purpose, and the common folk began to believe in the uniform once more.
But far from the narrow lanes of Saint Antoine, in the Commissioner's richly adorned office, a different conversation was unfolding.
Frouwa, the ever-watchful aide of the Duke of Orléans, leaned forward anxiously.
"Sir, have you seen the transformation?" he hissed. "The police force is revitalized. The Crown Prince—he's no longer the embarrassment the Duke hoped for. This could turn against us."
Levebelle, lounging at his wine cabinet, selected a deep violet vintage with casual ease. "Relax, Gaël," he said with a lazy smile, "someone will see to it."
Frouwa blinked. "Someone?"
The rotund mayor raised the bottle to the light, admiring the color like a jeweler appraising a gem. "Word of the Crown Prince's actions spread quickly. I dare say a few vested interests have already begun to stir."
Even as he spoke, there came a sharp knock at the door. Director Gizo, face taut, boots clacking sharply against the parquet, entered.
"Sir," he said, bowing stiffly, "we must… intervene. His Highness's reforms are causing disruption—"
"Disruption?" Levebelle echoed, tugging at the cork, feigning ignorance.
Gizo began pacing. "His Highness has altered the very structure of the force! Civilian patrolmen with no training, incorporated en masse—crossbows and muskets in the hands of farmers! And he's drawn over a hundred officers from other districts; we're stretched thin!"
Levebelle, with great theatricality, popped the cork and sniffed the aroma, letting the wine breathe.
"Well, Viscount, the Police Department is your domain. I shouldn't interfere."
"Interfere?" Gizo exclaimed. "We're at the brink of chaos! And to make matters worse, the Saint Antoine District now consumes nearly half our funding!"
"Indeed," Levebelle murmured, pouring a generous glass, "a most delicate matter. Especially considering how little support we receive from the Chamber of Commerce."
Gizo turned to him, eyes narrowing. "Then help me rein him in."
Levebelle swirled the glass and handed it to him. "Perhaps… if His Highness could be persuaded to adjust his approach, I would do my best to support you."
Gizo stared at him for a long moment. Then, swallowing the wine in a single draught, he nodded grimly and turned on his heel.
Once he'd gone, Frouwa turned toward Levebelle, wide-eyed. "You planned this?"
Levebelle smiled over the rim of his glass. "Young Joseph has passion—but he forgets that every change offends someone. Especially when you eliminate their income."
"You mean… the sale of police positions?"
"Precisely," Levebelle said. "The moment word spread that the Crown Prince was handing commissions to commoners, those waiting to purchase their way into the force began to hesitate. Who would spend five hundred livres for a post that might soon be worthless?"
Frouwa laughed quietly. "Then they'll want him stopped."
"They'll demand it," Levebelle said with a satisfied smirk. "And I shall simply step aside and let them work."
That evening, Gizo's carriage arrived at the Saint Antoine Police Station.
He disembarked with the air of a diplomat masking fury. Upon entering Joseph's office, he saluted crisply, donning the most obsequious of smiles.
"Your Highness," he said smoothly, "your reforms have truly invigorated the force. Remarkable work!"
Joseph, seated behind the broad oak desk, motioned politely for him to sit. He could see through the flattery, but chose to listen.
"But," Gizo added, lowering his voice, "the civilian patrolmen you've incorporated… many are unfamiliar with weapons. Crossbows, pistols—they're barely trained."
"They'll be ready in ten days," Joseph replied calmly. "I've devised a simplified training method. Officers from other districts will cover patrols until then."
"Ah… yes. Of course." Gizo's smile wavered. "But equipment is lacking. Helmets, weapons, uniforms—it's all in short supply…"
"I've already arranged for supplies," Joseph said firmly. "You need not concern yourself."
Gizo's mask slipped momentarily. Every issue he raised was calmly dismissed. Again and again he tried—logistics, discipline, training standards—but Joseph countered each one with precision and forethought.
By the time Gizo departed, his lips were tight, his brow low.
This child is no puppet.
Worse—he was reshaping the very nature of the force. And if he succeeded, there would be no room for Gizo's corruption, no posts left to sell, no bribes to collect. Something had to be done.
As the carriage rattled through the night, Gizo's thoughts turned cold. The Crown Prince must be removed from the police—before he upends the entire order.
Not long after, two elegant carriages arrived at the station gates.
From the first descended a man in gold-rimmed spectacles and a blue velvet coat—the personal attendant to King Louis XVI. Behind him, servants carried a delicate wooden chest.
The man approached Joseph with great formality, executing every detail of court etiquette before speaking.
"Your Highness," he said respectfully, "His Majesty the King sends you a letter, and Her Majesty the Queen has sent along some refreshment. She heard you brought no chef from court and feared you may not be eating well."
With a nod, he gestured to the box, which was opened to reveal a mountain of pastries—strawberry tarts, cream puffs, sugared fruits, and macarons in royal colors.
Joseph sighed, then smiled softly. So like her.
He took the letter, broke the seal, and unfolded the parchment. Inside, he recognized the ornate Italian script of his father:
*My dear Joseph,
I hope this letter brings you my warmest thoughts. I must tell you, I have finally completed the "Salamander Fountain"—a triumph of mechanism! When it was done, you were the first I wished to tell. Then I learned you had gone to work at the municipal hall. I had no idea—I truly was lost in the workshop for far too long.*
Your mother tells me you have already restructured the police. Unbelievable! You completed your college courses too? Joseph, you are the pride of our house! You must tell me how you did it. I swear, your intellect exceeds even the greatest minds at court.
Reform as you see fit. You have my support in all things. But if you grow tired, return at once—your mother frets over your health more than you know.
*No matter where you are, you will always be my dearest son.
A thousand kisses,
—Louis*
Joseph sat in silence for a long time.
The words, though filled with digressions and the whimsical affections of a king who preferred locks to law, held genuine warmth. In a world where betrayal and ambition crept through every corridor of power, this letter reminded him: he was not alone.
His breath caught for a moment. In his previous life, he had lost his parents while still a student. That wound—though buried beneath layers of time—throbbed now with unexpected tenderness.
But in this life, here in the swirling chaos of history and revolution, he had been given a second chance.
He folded the letter carefully, placed it on his desk, and whispered:
"This time, I will protect them."