Chapter XV: Political Capital

As the carriage rocked gently on its way back to Versailles, Joseph leaned against the armrest, watching the French countryside blur past the window. Though calm on the outside, his thoughts churned with unease.

The recent attempt on his reform efforts had left him more wary than triumphant. Whether from the bureaucracy, nobility, clergy, business elite, or even foreign powers, the changes he was pushing were bound to offend someone. It had only taken a single corrupt official—Gizo—to nearly turn his entire police reform upside down.

And that was just the beginning.

"If they could try this once," he thought grimly, "they'll try again. And next time, it might be far more subtle… or far more deadly."

He needed a way to foresee these threats—to sniff out conspiracies before they bloomed into crises.

What he needed… was intelligence. Real intelligence.

His mind wandered to the names of legends: CIA, MI6, KGB—modern agencies that shaped the world not through open power, but through quiet whispers and unseen hands. If he had something like that—a dedicated intelligence network loyal to him—he wouldn't be caught blindsided again.

France already had the Secret Police, but Joseph knew they were hardly more than petty spies—good at opening letters, bad at staying hidden. Their methods were clumsy and their loyalty questionable.

"I'll have to build my own," Joseph realized. "From scratch. Carefully. Quietly."

But to do that, he would need:

Trusted people

Funding

And, most critically, political capital

That last one was the most precious of all—and the rarest for someone so young and relatively isolated at court.

He coughed again, a rough, lingering rattle in his chest. The air in Saint Antoine had made his pneumonia flare up, and his body reminded him just how fragile it still was. He sighed. Getting stronger physically would also need to become a priority.

Just then, the carriage slowed unexpectedly.

Joseph looked to his aide. "Have we arrived?"

Eman leaned out and called to the guard. "What's happening?"

A soldier from the front carriage quickly approached and bowed. "Your Highness, Count Mono, the Minister of the Interior, is nearby. He wishes to greet you personally."

Joseph arched a brow.

"Coincidence?" he asked softly.

Eman leaned closer and murmured, "Your Highness, Count Mono and Gizo were quite close. This may be related."

Joseph nodded. He was just lamenting his lack of influence—perhaps the opportunity had arrived on its own.

"Invite him to my carriage."

Shortly after, Count Mono, a man in his fifties with wavy powdered hair and an overly made-up face, entered with an elegant bow.

"I didn't expect to encounter Your Highness here," he said with excessive warmth. "What a fortunate surprise!"

Joseph returned the bow politely and gestured for him to sit, sliding a tray of Queen Mary's pastries forward. "These are from my mother. Please, help yourself."

Mono accepted one with theatrical gratitude. "Ah, truly exquisite. You are too generous, Your Highness."

Then, as if remembering something, he motioned for his servant to bring forward a wooden case, smiling as he offered it. "A small token—this curved sabre reminded me of your noble spirit. I thought it might suit you."

Joseph opened the case and admired the weapon—a Chasseur curved sword, finely inlaid with jewels. "A generous gift indeed, Count Mono. I thank you."

The small talk didn't last long.

Mono gave a theatrical sigh. "There has been… much unrest in Paris lately. Very unfortunate, all of it."

"Yes," Joseph said calmly. "Quite unfortunate."

"Especially… the conduct of certain officials," Mono continued, trying to sound sympathetic. "Gizo, for instance. He always seemed such an upstanding man. I had no idea he was… capable of such things."

Joseph placed the curved sabre on the table, fixed Mono with a steady gaze, and said, "If you have something to say, speak plainly."

Mono's mask slipped slightly. "I only meant… I recommended him for his competence. If I had known… well, I assure you, Your Highness, I would have acted."

Joseph leaned back. "Of course."

The truth was, Gizo had been Mono's protégé, and this scandal threatened to stain his own name. Yet because Gizo was now in the hands of the Secret Police, Mono knew no details—and dared not ask Queen Mary directly.

Which explained why he had been waiting along the Crown Prince's route, hoping to fish for information.

"May I ask…" Mono said carefully, "what exactly is Gizo being charged with?"

Joseph flipped open a document on the table and replied casually, "I've heard... inciting a riot."

Mono went rigid. Inciting a riot was no minor matter—it bordered on sedition.

"He wouldn't dare…" Mono whispered.

Joseph pushed the document across the table. "This is Gizo's signed confession. He planned to have gang members attack the Saint Antoine police station. I was in the station when it happened."

Mono read only a few lines before color drained from his powdered cheeks. He cursed under his breath, then looked at Joseph with forced desperation.

"Your Highness… is there no way this matter could be… reinterpreted? Gizo was foolish, but surely not treasonous."

Joseph didn't respond right away. Instead, he picked up the sword again and turned it in his hands.

"Some say he incited a riot," he said slowly. "But I'm the one who witnessed the events. My word will shape the Queen's view on what happened."

Mono's eyes lit with sudden hope.

"Then… Your Highness, I implore you to clarify matters to Her Majesty. Gizo acted alone. He deceived us all."

Joseph looked thoughtful. Then, as if changing subjects entirely, he said:

"I've been working hard to prove I'm capable of something more. I think I'm ready to serve as Assistant to the Finance Minister."

Mono blinked.

It took him a moment to realize this was no detour—this was the point.

"Your Highness…" he said quickly, "No one in the Cabinet is more suitable! I will personally support your appointment at the meeting the day after tomorrow."

Joseph raised an eyebrow. "Can you convince Bishop Brienne as well?"

Brienne—the current Finance Minister and Chief Minister—was a difficult man to sway.

Mono didn't hesitate. "Leave that to me. I shall do everything in my power to gain his support."

Joseph finally smiled. "Then I will look forward to the Cabinet's decision."

As the carriage resumed its journey to Versailles, Joseph tapped the hilt of the curved sabre with a thoughtful rhythm.

He had just turned a dangerous enemy's ally into a valuable political backer—and all it cost him was a well-placed confession, a timely hint, and a sword.

This was political capital, and he now knew how to spend it.