The Last Gate

The wind over the Seine was cold and biting, slicing through coats and scarves as though to remind all present that this land—this capital—still belonged to a dying republic. But it was only a matter of time.

From a command platform erected atop a reinforced rail junction just outside Fontainebleau, Regent Lancelot looked northward toward Paris. Beyond the wooded horizon, behind layers of farms and crumbling outer villages, the final prize awaited. Alicia stood beside him, gloved hands steady despite the chill, her notebook folded against her chest. General Montiel, stern and sleepless, reviewed troop movements with a pocket compass and pencil-drawn maps.

"We've completed the encirclement," Montiel reported. "East bank to west, from Évry to Meaux. No rail leaves Paris. No carts. No couriers. Nothing but river barges, and even those are under watch."

"And inside?" Lancelot asked.