Critically Ill

Amboise Castle was shrouded in gloom, the atmosphere so oppressive it was suffocating.

Charles VII lay on his sickbed, his face sallow, eyes sunken, and limbs weak.

He felt a strong burning sensation spread from his stomach throughout his body, as if countless beasts were gnawing at his internal organs.

He struggled in agony, wanting to cry out, but found his throat as if choked by an invisible hand, unable to make a sound.

The servants noticed Charles VII's abnormality and quickly called for the imperial physicians.

However, no matter how these doctors diagnosed Charles VII, they could only reach one unfortunate conclusion: the King had contracted another illness, and it was likely to take his life.

Guillaume, also one of the King's imperial physicians, stood in the room and secretly breathed a sigh of relief, seeing that these doctors were completely unaware of the hidden conspiracy.

Even in a coma, the King often groaned in pain, and his breathing became increasingly difficult.

The Duke of Orléans, who was waiting by his side, anxiously watched his cousin, Charles VII, struggling in agony, wishing he could bear the pain for Charles VII.

The Duke turned to see the imperial physicians, who had collectively fallen silent, and, losing his temper, walked up to them and angrily rebuked, "Don't you usually receive salaries from the King? How is it that when you're actually needed to treat an illness, you can't even come up with a reliable treatment plan?"

"Your Grace, please calm your anger," the oldest of the imperial physicians stepped forward. "I have observed His Majesty the King's condition, and it is similar to a case I read about in a medical treatise. Perhaps there is a treatment method that could work."

"Speak quickly!" the Duke of Orléans asked eagerly.

"Bloodletting therapy. Bloodletting might rebalance the fluids within His Majesty the King's body."

The old imperial physician said, bracing himself, his hands trembling slightly, while his colleagues behind him looked at him with respect.

To dare propose bloodletting therapy under such circumstances, one could only say he was indeed an experienced old doctor.

"However," the old imperial physician added, "Your Grace might first need to inform those who have the right to know about the King's condition. The effectiveness of this treatment method still needs... still needs further observation."

The Duke of Orléans turned to look at the suffering Charles VII on the sickbed, and after a moment of hesitation, said, "His Majesty the King cannot wait much longer. You just need to know what you are doing; I will arrange the rest."

"Yes, Your Grace."

Guillaume, who was shrinking back, was secretly snickering. According to the dosage he had fed, His Majesty the King was already doomed to die.

Bloodletting would only hasten his death, and he could take the opportunity to shift blame, which was simply perfect.

Under the old imperial physician's instruction, the doctors began to get busy; some took small knives, others blood collection troughs, preparing to bleed the King.

The Duke of Orléans, meanwhile, walked out of the King's sickroom. He ordered the King's personal guards to keep a close eye on these doctors to prevent any mistakes.

He himself summoned a messenger and sent him to deliver the news of the King's critical condition to Paris.

When the news reached Paris, the court was in turmoil, people both grieved and shocked.

Queen Marie immediately rushed to Amboise Castle after receiving the news, accompanied by Charles, Duke of Berry-Normandy, and some nobles of the Armagnac faction.

After a fierce struggle, the Armagnac faction suffered a severe setback, and now the politics of the Kingdom of France were almost entirely controlled by the Anjou.

The Duke of Anjou and Louis remained in Paris to oversee the situation. In a secluded and hidden room in the Louvre, Louis paced back and forth, his expression tense with a hint of excitement, his footsteps echoing in the empty room.

The door was pushed open from outside, and Louis's gaze immediately turned to the doorway.

The people who opened the door were precisely those he trusted most—his two uncles, Rene, Duke of Anjou, and Charles, Count of Maine. They were both core figures of the Anjou faction and staunch supporters of Louis.

After confirming that no one had followed them, the two immediately entered the room, and the three sat around the table to begin their discussion.

"The news of my father's critical illness is beyond doubt," Louis's eyes were sharp, fixed intently on his two supporters. "My two uncles, do you know what the most urgent matter is now?"

Rene frowned slightly and tentatively asked, "Stabilize the situation and continue to expand our influence?"

"No!" Louis shook his head and answered decisively, "We must begin preparations for the coronation ceremony in Reims."

His words made Rene and Charles look at each other. Although the news of the King's critical illness was true, Louis's current behavior seemed too impatient, didn't it?

Rene stared intently at Louis, trying to discern something from his face, but Louis concealed it well; all Rene could see was a longing for the throne.

He couldn't help but remind him, "Your Royal Highness, the King is still alive. Perhaps you shouldn't be so eager..."

Louis reined himself in slightly and confidently replied, "That position will be mine sooner or later, and very soon! We merely need to make some preparations in advance."

Rene did not refute Louis's words, as, apart from Louis, he was the one who most hoped for Louis to inherit the throne of the Kingdom of France as soon as possible.

At that time, he could use the powerful national strength of France to return to Naples.

The two failures the Anjou family suffered in Naples still weighed heavily on him, which was also why he left his secluded retreat and returned to the political center of France.

"Reims is not far from Paris. What truly needs to be worried about is the attitude of various factions, especially Burgundy... they might take this opportunity to stir up trouble."

"What's there to fear!" Louis slammed his hands on the table, abruptly standing up, displaying a rare enthusiasm and excitement. "Now that we hold great power, as long as we can successfully reach Reims for the coronation, those rebellious traitors won't be able to cause any significant disturbance."

The Count of Maine, who had been silent, now spoke slowly, his voice low: "Your Royal Highness, regarding Prince Charles, how do you intend to handle him?"

Louis snorted coldly, a hint of ruthlessness flashing in his eyes, but he quickly concealed it: "We must control my dear younger brother. If he falls into the hands of evildoers, things could become troublesome."

"What should we do?"

"Everything must be handled with caution. I trouble my two uncles to quickly arrange manpower and make ample preparations to ensure we have absolute control over the Knights stationed in Paris. I also need to make some corresponding preparations here," Louis instructed the two. "I have eyes in Amboise Castle. Once news comes from my father's side, we must immediately control Charles and his followers, and then set off for Reims."

Rene still had some concerns: "Your Royal Highness, we should prepare for the worst. What if someone interferes?"

Louis's lips curled into a cold smile: "As long as we act fast enough, it won't come to that. If there truly is some fool who dares to stand in my way, I will crush them mercilessly!"

The atmosphere in the room grew heavier, and the three discussed in low voices for a long time until a very detailed plan was formulated, only then did the secret meeting conclude.