Empire Games Series, Book 1(39)
“I’ll drink to that,” Prince John Frederick Charles of Hanover, by Grace of God heir to the Empire of the Americas, Protector of the Chrysanthemum Throne, and bearer of various other titles, responded laconically. He drained his shot glass of spiced vodka in a single gulp. In his mid-forties, he had gone somewhat to seed in the years of his exile. “Ahh.” He held out his glass and a footman stepped forward to refill it.
“I still maintain,” said the Dauphin, “that it is in France’s best interests that this treasonous uprising be dealt with harshly, to set an example for the ages, and that furthermore the British Crown is the closest of allies compared to the filthy usurpers and their degenerate ideology. So”—he briefly covered his mouth as he hiccuped—“I am at your confidence, cuz, should you choose to confide in me as to how I might best help a brother monarch.”
The current fashion in St. Petersburg was a collision of revival styles, the baroque competing with the classical. The two princes reclined on Romanesque couches in a modern and perhaps overelaborate re-creation of a triclinium, while their seven most-favored courtiers (and their mistresses) made elegant and humorous conversation for their edification. Swagged velvet drapes surrounded the gilt-framed floor-to-ceiling windows, beneath fans that twirled lazily overhead. At one side of the room, an imported Japanese stereoautogram played popular love ballads, recordings of a brass band with string accompaniment and drums. Perfumiers from old France used handheld fans to waft the lightest of scents toward their majesties. Belowstairs, in a refectory adjacent to the kitchen, young peasant girls sampled morsels beneath the gaze of gaunt-faced doctors before the courses were served upstairs; their vigilance came of knowing what would happen if a poisoned dish slipped through their guard.
“An uprising of serfs is best dealt with by the law of divide and rule,” Prince John Frederick said slowly. A surprisingly studious, scholarly fellow—for a crown prince—he was reputed to have read far more widely than his disengaged father, and it was whispered that while his father had tinkered with clockwork for a hobby, the son had a soul of spring steel and gears that powered a mind like a mantrap. “You pay your Army to crush the rebels using the rebels’ own property as fuel for the machine. But if the rebellion cements a new government in place, especially one that is popular, dislodging it becomes far harder. My father spent the last seven years of his life trying to convince hoi polloi that their so-called Revolution was a monstrous aberration that would eat them all in the end, but they didn’t heed his warnings.”
He raised his glass toward his lips, nostrils flaring as he sniffed the liquid. “But. But. It is the natural way of the world for men to seek a just and honest ruler. The ruler the revolutionaries chose was, by all accounts, austere and serious. But he is close to death. When he goes, there will be an opportunity to take advantage of the bickering among his followers. The most corrupt and untrustworthy of their number will seek to occupy his chair: they will discredit their own revolution, and I shall make use of the opportunity.”
“I suppose your spies keep you well-informed of the bickering among the peasant clique?”
John Frederick met the Dauphin’s gaze. “I couldn’t say.”
“Indeed not. Nor would you stoop to encourage disquiet among the usurpers by engineering acts of vandalism, either through your loyal supporters or by means of paid agents?”
“Of course not. What kind of monarch would I make if I were preparing a wave of civil unrest to follow the demise of the rabble’s leader? It would be unconscionable. I must be seen as a sympathetic and emollient king, one whose return heals all ills and settles all grievances after years of misrule. And of course I must be a peacemaker as well.”
“External as well as internal, I should hope?”
“Yes, cuz.” The prince lowered his glass and frowned at it thoughtfully. “The corpuscular era renders the prospect of war between sovereign empires unthinkable, does it not?” He met the Dauphin’s gaze steadily. “Tit for tat, they call their strategy. After the children’s game. But the usurping peasants’ strategic planners are not fools, however baseless their claim to power might be.”
“I would like to propose a treaty.” The French heir snapped his fingers. Deft hands stripped away the vodka glasses, then presented a silver platter and two goblets of fine pear brandy. “Once you are back on your rightful throne, our two great empires must take every possible step to make common cause, so that a war fought with corpuscular weapons becomes as unthinkable as the prospect of a revolution overturning the rightful reign of a monarch. Your daughter is going to be eighteen soon enough, isn’t she? And unless your lady wife provides you with a son late in the day, Elizabeth will be your heir.”
John Frederick’s eyes widened. “I say, that’s rather a big step!”
“Yes, but it would solve our dilemma, would it not? It would put an end to the persistent libelous rumor that you are my father’s unwilling prisoner. And it would give me good and sufficient reason to demand that my father grant me command of the Empire’s forces, to the extent necessary to assist you in retaking your throne.”
“To place you on her throne,” John Frederick retorted. “As Prince-Consort, as well as, in the due fullness of time—God save him!—your father’s seat. Louis, why now and not ten years ago? Where did this half-baked idea come from? What has turned your head in the past week? Please do not ask me to believe that you dreamed it up on your own without benefit of ministerial counsel. Or that Liz has fallen in love with you and offered to elope.”