“Oh, Holy Mary! How could such a terrible thing happen…?”

Princess Maria of Two Sicilies covered her mouth with her hand, wanting to peek out the window but too terrified to do so. She shrank into the corner of her seat, sobbing uncontrollably. “The Prince got attacked because he came to greet me. It’s all my fault… It’s all my fault…”

The ambassador, Timothy, glanced warily out the window and quickly pulled the curtains shut. He handed the princess a handkerchief, his voice low and tense as he tried to calm her down, “Your Highness, please compose yourself. This has nothing to do with you.”

Now with the handkerchief to wipe her tears, Maria’s sobbing only grew louder. “What if something happens to the Prince? What will I do?”

“No, it won’t,” Timothy reassured her quickly. “From the sound of the gunshots, it seemed like they were far away. Even if the Prince was hit, it shouldn’t be fatal.”

“Really?” Maria nodded slightly, recalling the physics she had studied. Her sobs gradually turned into soft sniffles. “May God protect the Prince…”

But then another worry crept into her mind—she had only just arrived in Paris and already caused the Prince to be attacked. Would this give him a bad impression of her? Would the Queen be angry at her for this? What if she was sent back to Two Sicilies immediately…

As these thoughts swirled in her head, she began to sob again.

Meanwhile, around Joseph’s carriage, hundreds of people had gathered. The shouts of the crowd, the neighing of horses, and the occasional gunshots made the scene chaotic.

Since no one had anticipated the need for a doctor during a simple welcome ceremony, the royal physician had not come along. Instead, a French Guards surgeon was rushed over by an officer on horseback.

The officer practically threw the surgeon off the horse, pointing frantically at the Prince’s carriage. “There, quickly!”

The surgeon hurried to the carriage and asked Emond, “Where’s the wound?”

“I… I don’t know!” Emond stammered, playing his part as the panicked attendant.

The surgeon silently prayed, hoping that the Prince wouldn’t die under his care…

Outside the carriage, Bessonval arrived on horseback, seeing the chaotic scene and torn between ordering the Prince’s carriage to retreat for safety and the urgency of treating his wound. He was at a loss, not knowing what to do.

Inside the farmhouse, a French Guards lieutenant was the first to reach the attic, where he found only two bodies on the floor.

He immediately ordered his men to search the area.

The soldiers soon returned, reporting that they had found no one else.

The lieutenant checked again himself before reporting the situation to Adrien outside, who then quickly sent a message that the attackers had been neutralized.

As the distinctive sound of the trumpet rang out, the French Guards gradually ceased their blind firing and began to regroup under the officers’ commands.

When Bessonval heard that the attackers had been caught, he immediately ordered the Prince’s and Princess’s carriages to return to Versailles at once. He personally led over two hundred cavalrymen to escort them back.

…

At Versailles Palace, Queen Marie, dressed in her finest, was humming a tune and admiring her new wig in the mirror when Countess Debonynac came rushing in, pale-faced.

The Queen was about to scold her maid for such improper behavior but stopped as the countess urgently reported, “Your Majesty, the Prince’s convoy was attacked on the way! They say… His Highness was injured!”

Queen Marie’s eyes widened in shock for a moment before she fainted.

It took quite some time before the Queen was revived by the foul smell of smelling salts from the royal physician.

She pushed the doctor’s hand away and scanned the room for Debonynac. “Where is Joseph? How is he?”

The maid quickly supported her, speaking softly, “Your Majesty, the latest news says His Highness is not in danger. The army medic has already treated his wound. He should arrive at Versailles in about two hours.”

“You’re sure? He’s not in danger?” The Queen, oblivious to her disheveled wig, gripped the maid’s hand tightly, staring at her intently.

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

“Thank God! Amen!” The Queen crossed herself, taking deep breaths as she struggled to stand. With the help of her attendants, she weakly made her way towards the Versailles courtyard, shouting orders as she went, “Send Dr. Grusset to Paris immediately! Treat the Prince on the way back!”

“Your Majesty, the doctors have already gone,” the Countess informed her.

“Good, that’s good…”

Two hours later, the carriages, surrounded by cavalry, arrived at Versailles.

The nobles who had been waiting to greet the Princess were now more concerned about the Prince’s condition, with many young women dabbing at their eyes, worried for His Highness.

Queen Marie, having removed her wig, broke free from Countess Debonynac’s support and ran towards the carriage. King Louis XVI followed closely, his face grim.

The cavalry quickly made way. Through the gap between the soldiers, the Queen immediately spotted the bullet hole in the carriage door, her heart sinking.

When she pulled the door open, the sight inside made her feel dizzy—the carriage was a mess, wood splinters and blood everywhere. Her son was slumped in the seat, covered in blood, his right arm hastily bandaged but almost completely soaked through with blood.

Of course, she had no way of knowing that most of the blood was from a chicken.

“Jos…” Her lips trembled as she tried to speak, but tears immediately welled up in her eyes.

Behind her, Louis XVI stared at his son, his eyes also turning red.

Dr. Grusset got out of the carriage first, bowed to the King and Queen, and then reassured them, “Your Majesties, please don’t worry. The Prince is injured but not in danger. He seems to be in shock and needs rest as soon as possible.”

“Rest? Yes, yes,” the Queen nodded absently and instructed the Countess, “Quickly, take the Prince to rest.”

Joseph, feigning weakness, was helped out of the carriage and placed on a stretcher to be carried back to his quarters.

The King, the Queen, and all the nobles followed closely behind.

Lying in bed, Joseph pretended to be extremely weak, keeping his eyes closed as if he were asleep. The Queen sat by his side, gently stroking the thick bandages on his arm—he had insisted the medic wrap them ten layers thick.

She wiped away her tears, took a deep breath, and turned to the gathered nobles, her voice icy, “Can someone explain to me how this happened?”

Clossod immediately looked towards Bessonval, who was standing pale-faced at the door. The others, following Clossod’s lead, also turned their gaze to the commander of the French Guards.

Under the pressure of everyone’s stares, Bessonval slowly made his way to the center of the room, bowed to the King and Queen, and stammered, “Your Majesties, there… there was a shooting on the way…”

The Queen cast a cold glance at him. “How did the attacker get close?”

“That, I’m… I’m not sure…”

“Not sure?!” The Queen’s brow furrowed. “How many men from the French Guards were responsible for security?”

“Three thousand, Your Majesty.”

Queen Marie suddenly stood up, her eyes blazing with anger as she glared at Bessonval. “Three thousand men! What were you all doing that you didn’t notice an attack?!”

Bessonval’s head hung so low it nearly touched his chest as he stammered, “It was… my negligence…”

King Louis XVI stood up and gently patted his wife on the shoulder.

Queen Marie shot one last furious glance at Bessonval before turning back to the doctor to confirm her son’s condition. Then she addressed the officials who had come to visit. “Count Robert, Baron Vémerelle, I want you to start an investigation immediately. I need to know exactly what happened today!”

“Yes, Your Majesty!”

The head of the secret police and the second-in-command of the Queen’s personal guard bowed and took their leave to carry out the orders.

For the rest of the day, King Louis XVI and Queen Marie stayed by the Prince’s bedside, skipping even their midday meal.

It wasn’t until dusk that Joseph finally “woke up.”

The Queen immediately grabbed his left hand and softly asked, “My darling, you’re finally awake! How do you feel?”

“God be praised!” King Louis XVI also looked at his son with deep concern.

Joseph put on the appropriate display of confusion and vulnerability expected of a fourteen-year-old, looking pitifully at his parents. He frowned slightly and said, “I feel very weak, and the wound hurts so much…”

The Queen nearly burst into tears again from the pain she felt for her son. She quickly soothed him, “The Lord will protect you, my dear! You will be fine.”

Louis XVI, meanwhile, looked to the doctor for reassurance.

The doctor, a bit exasperated, leaned in and said, “Your Majesties, the Prince’s wound has been carefully treated. All he needs now is rest. As for the pain, perhaps we could give him some Dover’s powder.”

At the mention of “Dover’s powder,” Joseph’s eyelid twitched—this was a common painkiller at the time, made from opium, and not something he wanted to take.

He quickly changed the subject, feigning fear as he spoke to the Queen. “Mother, the bullet passed right between me and Count Emond. If it had been just a few inches closer, it would have hit my heart…”

Both the Queen and King were horrified, comforting their son repeatedly.

Emond, standing nearby, added his own contribution to the drama. “Your Majesties, while the bullet didn’t hit the Prince directly, the flying wood splinters were also dangerous. Look, the Prince’s wound was caused by one of those sharp splinters.

“Thank God for his protection, or if a splinter had struck His Highness’s eye, the consequences would have been unimaginable!”

Joseph and Emond exchanged a subtle glance, silently congratulating each other on their convincing performance.

It wasn’t until late at night that Queen Marie and King Louis XVI finally left the Prince’s quarters, still shaken by the day’s events.

The next morning at ten, the cabinet ministers were summoned to the meeting hall. They saw sketches laid out in front of the Queen as Count Robert explained the findings of the investigation into the previous day’s attack.

“It was a bullet from a British-made 1742 flintlock musket,” Robert said, pointing to a sketch of the inside of the carriage. “It entered through the door and was stopped by the pillar on the opposite side. Judging by the force of penetration, it was fired from a considerable distance.”

Anyone conducting the investigation would have reached this conclusion.

After all, the marks on the carriage were made by Clossod himself with a 1742 flintlock musket. He had carefully adjusted the gunpowder to achieve the right amount of force.

The wax seals that had been used to cover the damage on the carriage door and walls, which had been carefully painted over, made it difficult to detect any tampering. When the “assailant” fired, Joseph’s team removed the wax seals, placed the collected bullet and wood fragments back into position, and recreated the scene of the shooting.

“Who were the attackers?” Minister Briand asked, frowning.

“They were two gang members,” Robert pointed to a sketch of the attackers’ bodies. “From the Blood Knife Gang. They’ve been involved in several robberies recently and have killed seven or eight people.”

Baron Vémerelle, the Queen’s guard captain, added, “Your Majesty, we compared their appearances with wanted posters and brought in local police from Moret-sur-Loing to confirm their identities. There’s no doubt they were members of the gang.”

Justice Minister Breteuil was puzzled. “How did they get so close to the convoy?”

Robert pointed to a map. “They must have sneaked in from the fields to the east and took advantage of a lapse in the French Guards’ attention to hide in the farmhouse.”

He and Vémerelle had been perplexed by how the gang members could have approached the farmhouse, given that it was more than three hundred paces from the fields and at least ten French Guardsmen should have had a clear view of the area.

After much discussion, they could only conclude that Bessonval had been negligent in his duties, either in the way he organized the patrols or in failing to properly supervise the soldiers, who may have been slacking off or even asleep.

No one could have guessed that the attackers had been brought to the scene by the very person they were supposed to be targeting.

Robert continued his report, “After that, the two men killed the soldier guarding the farmhouse and hid in the attic. When the convoy passed by, they fired at the Prince.”

“When the French Guards heard the gunshots, they fired back at the attic, killing the attackers on the spot.”

Baron Vémerelle added, “We compared the bullets and everything matches perfectly.”

The Justice Minister mused aloud, “Why would these two try to assassinate the Prince?”

“Hmph, someone must have paid them a hefty sum,” Interior Minister Maunoir sneered. “There are plenty of conspirators who’d like to see France’s future cut short.”

Briand pondered, “Or maybe they were trying to assassinate Princess Maria, but the bullet missed due to the distance.”

If Briand was right, then the real aim was to provoke a war between the two nations. Either way, the consequences of this attack were extremely serious.

Queen Marie closed her eyes and took a deep breath before speaking. “It seems the sequence of events is clear. Count Robert, please continue to investigate who was behind this.”

She then turned to Breteuil. “Now I want to know what punishment will be given to the French Guards responsible for protecting the Prince, especially Bessonval.”

Breteuil considered this carefully before replying, “Your Majesty, I believe General Bessonval has committed a serious act of negligence. He should be dismissed and exiled.”

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Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep