Chapter One, Prologue

"Yes," Mazaran said, and then he was comforted to see the young king leap out of bed, who did not even waste time waiting for the assistance of the chief attendant of the inner palace, but quickly dressed himself in heavy trousers and a velvet coat.

Who are they?" The little maid beside the Empress Dowager peered outside through the gap in the carriage curtain, asking curiously.

The king nodded, which was understandable. Although Mancini did not sound like a French name, nor did it resemble that of a noble, it was well known that Mazarin came from humble beginnings. However, he could not help but wonder whether Mazarin was particularly fond of this niece, after all, it was the first time he had seen Mazarin wield the power and trust granted to him by the queen mother for the sake of a minor figure

The other four-wheeled carriages followed closely, rushing out of the dark courtyard. Most of these carriages carried foreign guests, important courtiers, and those deemed worthy of protection by Bishop Mazarin. However, no matter how important they were, they could not compare to the two carriages among them, as one carried the King of France and the Queen Mother, while the other carried the King's brother and the actual ruler of the kingdom

He is with me," Mazaran replied

"You should take the time to refresh your understanding of etiquette, Miss Mancini," the King said

"My people," the king said, a sardonic smile playing on his lips. While there are indeed rebellious nobles hoarding soldiers and mercenaries bought with heavy gold, the majority are ordinary citizens of Paris, who, incited and misled, have taken to the streets against their prime minister and king, merely to gain a few trifling benefits. They neither love their king nor are loyal to him; now they even wish to do him harm.

Mali Mancini attempted to retort, but in the next moment, her voice was stifled in her throat by a violent jolt

The crimson light illuminated the small pieces of glass divided by black iron frames; it was neither the initial nor the final radiance cast upon humanity by the rising or setting sun, but rather the glow of torches and candles lit by people gathered in the courtyard. In the courtyard of the palace, there were no fewer than ten four-wheeled carriages, which appeared almost identical, each drawn by four horses of various colors, making it impossible to discern the status of the passengers inside. However, Mazaran could evidently recognize a certain signal, and he led the king directly to one of the carriages. The coachman immediately opened the door, revealing a beautiful woman dressed in a black long gown, along with a maid who was too young.

As soon as she saw the king, she immediately reached out her hand, and the king promptly took it. When he turned around while getting into the carriage, he asked, "Mr. Cardinal, where is my brother, the Duke of Anjou?"

The king immediately stood up alertly, pressing himself against the side of the carriage, looking out at the city. At that time, Paris was far from the prosperous and peaceful capital it would become centuries later, especially after enduring several wars between Catholics and Puritans. The city was scarred everywhere; one could see wild wolves on the streets at night, and foxes and rabbits were commonly found in the graveyards. The poorly maintained roads were riddled with potholes, resembling the skin of a leper.

Once everything was in order, Mazaran extended his hand and placed it on the king's shoulder. The king ascended to the throne at the age of five, and now he was merely a ten-year-old child. However, he was as strong as people expected, far surpassing his peers in every aspect. When Mazaran rested his arm on the boy's shoulder, it was effortless, and they walked briskly towards the door like a pair of close friends.

The royal guards in the guardhouse immediately leaped from their chairs to salute him, nearly toppling the small table among them, which was piled high with playing cards and brown liards (copper coins) mixed with silver egu (silver coins) — it seemed that these gentlemen had just been engaged in another kind of battle. However, at this moment, the bishop was in no mood to concern himself with their minor transgressions: "I must see His Majesty at once"

The king looked at the bold young maid and said, "You should not ask the king a question before he speaks, who are you?"

As his wardrobe steward brought him the cloak, Mazarin intervened. The bishop had a nondescript black overcoat draped over his arm, which he placed upon the young king's delicate shoulders, and then covered the king's strikingly light golden curls, which were exceedingly conspicuous in the darkness, with a hat adorned with a plain gray feather.

The king paused for a moment, then he realized that this action was precisely to ensure that the royal bloodline would not be completely wiped out in the uprising. He said nothing further. As soon as he boarded the carriage, the driver immediately closed the door. The wheels of the carriage rattled, and approximately thirty royal guards, dressed in short coats and ordinary cloaks (rather than the usual uniform cloaks), wearing wide-brimmed hats, equipped with long swords, sabers, and four firearms, urged their horses forward. Ten rode ahead, while twenty accompanied on either side, following in a protective formation.

The captain of the royal guards immediately went to report, taking less than a minute. The king's chamberlain, Banton, came to open the door for the Cardinal in his nightcap. Mazarin waved his hand, leaving his attendants outside, and entered alone. Without waiting for the king to ask, he said: "We must leave here at once, Your Majesty, it is no longer safe."

... ...

Soon, the carriage turned at a certain point and entered a wide path overgrown with wild grass. On what should have been an open muddy ground, a makeshift fortress had been erected. When they saw the carriage approaching at high speed, a group of thugs hiding behind the fortress hurled stones and burning projectiles. The royal guards immediately retaliated, causing these individuals to scatter in all directions, disregarding even the wounded who lay on the ground moaning incessantly

Racing along such a road, it is easy to imagine that the carriage is like a small boat in a storm, constantly jolting up and down. The Queen Mother looked at her eldest son, his face pale. She was a princess of Spain and later the queen of France. Although she was not loved by her husband, she had never endured such torment: "Your Majesty," she pleaded, "let them go a little slower."

"Have they finally arrived? Those traitors?" the king asked

Mali Mancini. The maid replied, "My uncle is Cardinal Mazarin"

He pulled back the curtain of the carriage, allowing those inside to see the situation outside—if they were to encounter any troublesome rebels or mobs, even the Queen Mother would not be surprised. However, closely following them were some grotesquely large demons, moving on all fours, racing through the thorns and woods with a speed that was not inferior to that of horses. The royal guards, with even the slightest negligence, would be dragged down from their mounts by the beasts pouncing upon them, their final cries of despair piercing like sharp needles. Moreover, although people could not hear it, they could well imagine the sounds of the beasts gnawing on bones and flesh, the wet crunching and cracking noises.

On a night in 1648, Cardinal Mazarin, the Prime Minister of France, the favored minister and lover of the regent queen, walked hurriedly through the gloomy grand arcade, followed by numerous attendants, his brow furrowed, as he passed through the half-deserted hall, the dilapidated corridors, and the spiraling staircases leading up and down, arriving at the king's suite.

Apologies, her son replied gently yet coldly: I cannot