The DAUPHIN DECEPTION
An Alex Hunt Adventure Thriller
Urcelia Teixeira
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Preface
On June 8, 1795, Louis Charles Bourbon, mysteriously died in a small, dark room in Paris, France—or so it is believed.
As the only living son of King Louis XVI and Marie Antoinette, the young Louis Charles was destined to take the French throne.
But, on July 3, 1793, with the outbreak of the French Revolution and at only eight years old, the young prince was separated from his mother when she was sentenced to death by guillotine.
The Dauphin—the title given to the heir apparent to the throne of France — was locked up in a dark room in the Temple fortress where he was ill-treated and neglected for two years.
Legend has it that the boy fell ill and died of scrofula, putting an end to the monarchy for good.
His body was never seen nor found, and the truth behind his supposed death still holds mystery… until now!
Prologue
Spring, 1792 — Three years into captivity
“Madame, did you hear?” her lady in waiting burst into her chambers. “They forced the King’s hand to declare war on Austria,” she continued.
Marie-Antoinette briefly looked up from the tapestry on her lap. Under any normal circumstances, the announcement would have been devastating. Instead, the news left the Queen elated.
“Madame, did you hear me?”
“Yes, Henriette.”
“This does not upset you?”
“Should it?”
“Austria is your homeland, isn’t it?”
The Queen didn’t answer and motioned for her stunned lady-in-waiting to leave.
In the days and months that followed, Marie Antoinette clung to the hope that her former countrymen would come to her rescue. From her rooms in the Tuileries Palace, she set about a bold scheme to bring down France. She secretly wrote to her nephew, the Emperor of Austria, leaking detailed accounts of French military plans.
As the war raged on and Marie Antoinette sat in the hope of their anticipated rescue, she turned for solace to her children. Young Louis Charles had just turned seven, and she anxiously watched over him, sternly reminding his governess that they were after all still raising the future King.
But outside the walls of the stately prison, the radicals who wanted to put an end to the monarchy, began taking control of the Revolution. They fought for liberty, equality, and freedom and, on one late afternoon, some twenty thousand armed men stormed the Tuileries palace and compelled the royal family to submit.
Forced into captivity in the Temple fortress, on September 21, 1792, King Louis XVI and Queen Marie Antoinette of France became nothing more than ordinary citizens of the new French Republic. The monarchy, which had endured for nearly one thousand years, was now no more.
From inside the fortress, Marie Antoinette stared across the Paris rooftops from the one small narrow window of their prison room. The light breeze carried a strong scent of lavender that had her inhale deeply. She longed to run her palms across the light purple bristles in her cherished palace garden in Versailles—a far cry from the Temple’s inner courtyard that never saw the sun. Confined to the gloomy medieval fortress in the middle of Paris, she had lost all hope of being freed. France was still at war against Austria, and now with Russia’s aid, defeat was imminent but nowhere in sight.
The heavy wooden door to the room flung open behind her.
“Sire, they’re coming for you!” one of the loyal staff warned the King.
Marie Antoinette watched as her husband remained seated in the wake of the attendant’s words. From the empty corridors, the loud thumping of the guards’ feet drew nearer and nearer. King Louis knew what was to come since his short trial had offered little chance of acquittal. Facing his fate, he gathered his two young children into a final embrace. Louis Charles’ big blue eyes filled with tears and his older sister clung desperately to her father’s arm.
“If this is the last time we see each other, God be with you. You reigned with honor and courage,” Marie Antoinette whispered.
“I regret that my lot has subjected you to this much grief, my Queen. It has afforded you a great injustice, and for that, I humbly seek your forgiveness.”
Moments later their solemn farewell was disrupted as six guards stormed into the room, their swords drawn. King Louis XVI had been found guilty of treason and sentenced to death by guillotine. Louis did not resist when they tied his hands behind his back. His eyes remained fixed on his wife’s until they swung him around and pushed him toward the exit.
At ten thirty in the morning, on January 21, 1793, the sound of rolling drums announced to the Queen that her husband was dead.
And just as she was once thrust into her reign, her eight-year-old son, to those who still believed in the monarchy, became the new heir to a throne he would never own.
July 3, 1793 - Six months later
“Mama! Don’t let them take me!”
Marie Antoinette stared into her young son’s big blue eyes. The sharp pain that lay across her chest threatened to break her heart in two.
“Leave him alone. Where are you taking him?” she cried.
But the four swordsman gave her no regard and pushed her to the floor.
“Mama! I don’t want to go!”her son yelled repeatedly as the men dragged him away.
Helpless and distraught Marie Antoinette covered her ears with her shawl in a futile attempt to block out her boy’s anguished screams that filled the empty passages in the Temple until they eventually faded in the distance.
The pain in her chest had become a dull heavy ache that left her body numb to the cold floor she still lay on. She didn’t care if she got ill or died. She had nothing more to live for. Not even her daughter’s soft cries at her side consoled her broken heart. Regret tormented her soul. It had been three years since they stormed the Palace and destroyed everything she once held dear. Filled with misery and despair, her thoughts trailed back to that fateful time that marked the day their lives changed forever.
October 1789, France - Three years earlier
As the large iron gates swung shut behind them, they turned and looked at Versailles for the last time. The horseman flicked the reins hard, slapping loudly against his horses' backs and bawled out a strident command for them to move faster. Marie Antoinette pulled her two young children closer to her side. Opposite her in the carriage, her husband stared blankly out in front of him displaying no emotion whatsoever.
Filled with anguish, the once loved Queen continued to search her husband's eyes. Fear and uncertainty flooded the pit of her stomach. For the first time since their elaborate wedding, desperate to escape their dire situation, she looked to him for guidance. But, as anticipated, his eyes revealed nothing. It came as no surprise to her that he showed no inclination to remedy the circumstances they now found themselves in. She had always been the instigator in their royal affairs—something her mother intentionally educated and prepared her for from a very young age.
Her husband of nearly two decades had never really been a man of much courage or strength even t
hough he was the King of France. She supposed it was to be expected since he had been thrust into the role at only nineteen years of age. As if he read her thoughts, King Louis XVI pushed his chin out and upwards, suddenly showing more grit than she had ever seen in him before. She knew at that moment that it was merely his desperate attempt to keep up appearances to his outraged subjects who lined the narrow road. Marie Antoinette forced down a wave of nausea. Once the revered King and Queen of France, their fate was now in the hands of the angry mob that flanked the carriage and forced them from their lavish palace home.
As they rode further along the road, a tall tree's auburn leaves wafted on the tailcoats of the cool autumn breeze and landed on the carriage floor beside her feet. She had a sudden urgency to savor the experience for fear of it being the last time she would ever have the privilege of breathing in her beloved fresh countryside air. The modest horse carriage rolled down the road, and in its pursuit, thousands of angry men and woman waved their pitchforks, broom handles and kitchen knives in the air.
"I'll have her heart displayed on my nightstand!" one of the women shouted in anger. "I'll take her head!" another added, cheered on by the rest of the mob.
Marie Antoinette pressed her young daughter's head against her chest, shielding her from the ferocious onslaught of unceasing insults that trailed behind them. At only eleven years of age, Marie Thérèse's terrified eyes took hold of her mother's. Filled with questions entwined with fear and lack of life experience, she silently begged her mother to tell her that it had all just been a horrible nightmare. But it wasn't, and instead, Marie Antoinette gently patted her daughter's arm in silent reply. For the moment Marie Antoinette found solace in the fact that at least her daughter's life ought not to be in danger. As a princess, she was exempt from inheriting the crown— unlike the destiny that befell her younger brother.
Marie Antoinette numbed her ears from the hateful women's slanderous threats and turned her attention to her four-year-old son who, unbeknownst to him yet, would bear the hate of the people for years to come. As the sole heir to the French throne, he would become the next king should death befall his father. She cursed his undeserved fate and brushed an auburn lock from his pale face. His rosy lips turned upward into a slight smile, and his big blue eyes declared his naivety of the situation at hand. Perhaps God will grant him compassion and spare his life, she thought.
The rider cracked his whip over his horses' heads and pushed them forward down the winding gravel road. As the carriage gained speed, the Palace of Versailles slowly disappeared behind the trees. Without knowledge of where they were taking them, fear overcame the Queen, and the thought of losing her children twisted her stomach in a knot. She knew all too well what it meant to lose a child. She had buried two already. It had only been two years since her infant daughter went on to meet her maker and a mere four months since tuberculosis claimed the life of their first-born son. She stared out into the autumn-kissed countryside. Louis Joseph was only eight years old when the sickness claimed his life. As the eldest son, he was to inherit the crown from his father when the time came. She brushed a solitary tear from her cheek and looked at her youngest son next to her. Fate had stepped in and forced its hand on him instead. Louis Charles would be next in line to the throne.
As the incensed mob's cries grew faint with the distance now increasing between them, the King's previous upright demeanor eventually changed and he dropped his head forward into his hands as his emotions finally got the better of him.
"I should have listened to you, my Queen. I'm so sorry. You were right. Now my foolishness has caused this family great distress."
"It's not your fault. You couldn't have known this would happen," the wretched King's wife consoled him, even though she deeply regretted not forcing him to go along with her plans to escape to Austria. It had been several months since the people of France attacked the Bastille. Now, their attention had turned on what they’d directed their hatred toward all along—the Queen of France.
Yes, Marie Antoinette knew she was mostly to blame for this unfortunate event. Her extravagant lifestyle, parties, and gambling addiction had blinded her from seeing the suffering of the poverty-stricken French people. Years of harbored resentment had them taking revenge on her foolishness and disinclination to rule as a Queen was supposed to. They hated her. She had seen the obscene pamphlets that falsely accused her of living a life indulging in sensual pleasures while secretly entertaining male suitors behind the palace walls. Neither of which was true, but they had convicted her and found her guilty without trial or debate. That she enjoyed getting dressed up in the most exquisite jewels and silks and hosted many lavish garden parties, that fact was true. But she had always been faithful to her husband even though he’d never loved her. If only her mother were alive to see what she had forced her daughter's hand into. Marie Antoinette had never wanted to leave Austria and be married off to a future king, much less at an age a mere two years older than her daughter currently was.
The twelve miles from Versailles to Paris felt like an eternity and for the most part, remained peaceful with only a few passing peasants attacking them with stones. But as they neared the Tuileries Palace, the crowds made it nearly impossible for the carriage to move freely. Once again, the people shouted angry abuse at the royal family, driving their pitchforks and pikes into the sides of the coach. A few of the noblemen who had turned against the crown urged the crowds to be patient.
"Let them through! They can rule over you no more! The time has come for them to feel your suffering. From now on, they will do as we dictate!"
The crowd roared in agreement, parting to allow the carriage to enter the gates to the once primary residence of the monarchy. Under heavy guard, King Louis XVI, Queen Marie Antoinette, and their two young children became the very thing the quisling noblemen had promised the Parisian people—a powerless King and Queen held prisoner by their once loyal subjects.
Held captive and under constant guard in the modest palace, their lifestyle had been reduced to one of simplicity. A far cry from the luxury and freedom they’d experienced in Versailles the royal family filled their days strolling through the small gardens or reading in their humble quarters. Beyond the palace walls, the people continued their fight to bring down the monarchy. Their once noble entourage’s heads, planted on pikes, decorated the city square and the fight for liberty and freedom grew more intense as the days passed.
Marie Antoinette became more anxious and fragile by the day. There were times her intense fear had her crying hysterically. She didn’t fear death for herself. Instead, the thought of her children facing the same fate, or worse being orphaned and left desolate to fend for themselves, was what had left her paralyzed. Desperate to distract her mind from their confinement, the Queen began to work on large pieces of tapestry. With her mind too much occupied with surrounding dangers, the needle was the only vocation that could divert her. The more awful her life became, the steelier she was and the harder she bravely fought back against their imprisonment. The sole topic of her discourse was the Revolution. She sought to discover the real opinions the Parisians had of her and wondered how she had lost the affection they once held for her.
With the King in a constant state of dormancy, the Queen was determined to win back the monarchy and set out to work against the Revolution. She secretly took council from ambassadors and advisors and learned to read and write in code to communicate with allies in other countries.
But even their near successful escape proved futile in changing the grim future that awaited the once Royal Family of France.
Chapter One
Present day— London
Alex gasped for air when they finally pulled her head out from underneath the water. It stung deep in the back of her nose where the cold liquid forced its way into her lungs. Several times she coughed hard in an anguished attempt to expel the water from her lungs, but it didn't help much. Desperate to gain control, she calmed her mind. She knew it wouldn't
take long before they shoved her head under the water again. With her mind racing against time, she fought to calm her breathing and restore oxygen to her lungs, all the while wriggling her wrists under the strain of the cable ties that had her hands restrained behind her back.
"Who are you?" She spoke in a strained voice.
"None of your concern. Now, do we make ourselves clear?" one of the men behind her answered.
Alex tried to agree, but her air pipe was still waterlogged, and instead, she coughed and turned her head sideways to loosen the grip they had on her hair. Something she instantly realized was a mistake when they misinterpreted her reaction as defiance. The force of the men's hands on the back of her head signaled for her to draw a quick deep breath a split second before they pushed her head under the water again. This time she decided to save her energy and not fight it. She shut her eyes tight and tried to remain calm. They weren't there to kill her, that much she knew. They could have easily done so already if they wanted to.
Her lungs hurt as they strained under the lack of oxygen she so sorely needed. She knew she was almost at capacity, and as if they read her mind, they pushed her head down even deeper under the water. Alex opened her eyes, instantly regretting when the water stung behind her eyeballs. They had added bath salt to aid the torture. It worked. She felt as if her lungs were going to explode. Liquid pushed in through her nostrils setting off the impulse to pull her head out of the water, only to again become aware of their forceful hands behind her head. Her body kicked into fight mode, and she pushed her knees down hard onto the floor. Her hips thrust forward into the side of the bath, and she forced her shoulders back against their strong hands. Her neck ached as she pushed her head back and sideways in a desperate attempt to get her mouth above the water level. The sudden defiance caught her attackers off guard, and one of the men's feet slipped on the wet floor, sending him flat onto the tiles behind her. The instant relief from her attacker's hand on the back of her head afforded her a brief chance to draw in a deep breath and push herself away from the bath. The floor was slippery beneath her tennis shoes, and with her hands tied behind her back, made it impossible for her to attempt an escape. The second man yanked back hard on her hair and dragged her sideways across her bathroom floor.
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