Antoine took the glass, tilted his head back, and downed the spicy liquor in one gulp.
The strong spirits burned down his throat and into his stomach, finally bringing so sensation back to his frozen hands and feet.
He walked over to the fireplace, watched the leaping flas, and laid out everything that had happened in Vienna.
"This story has to start from when Isabella went behind our backs to Arica... So now, that Argyle has seen through our bottom line."
Antoine's low voice echoed in the room.
He described in detail the questions Echo had raised in the underground secret chamber.
About the stubbornness of the Legitimist leader Henry V, about that white fleur-de-lis flag that would never compromise, and about the dark psychology of a king without an heir who would rather destroy the throne than let the Orléanists benefit.
"Argyle refuses to invest even a single dollar in this dead end." Antoine turned around and looked at the Old Count.
"That fool Philippe is on the verge of a breakdown. Not only can he not co up with any solution, but he is even fantasizing about colluding with the Morgan Family in London to threaten Argyle. If we stay tied to his carriage, our whole family will suffer a terrible fate."
The Old Count walked behind the large desk, sat down, and picked up his pipe to slowly fill it with tobacco.
"So, you have abandoned your nephew."
The Old Count struck a match and took a puff.
"But that doesn't solve Argyle's doubts. You ran all the way to Spain to find ; how do you intend to break this deadlock?"
Antoine's eyes flashed, and he braced his hands on the edge of the desk.
"Here is my thought: since Philippe is a piece of trash who cannot be helped, and since the Legitimist Henry V hates him inheriting the throne, why not just bypass him?"
"Bypass him?"
The Old Count exhaled a cloud of blue smoke, his eyes narrowing slightly.
"Yes!" Antoine's speech beca extrely fast.
"I also carry the blood of the House of Bourbon! Since Philippe cannot make Henry V compromise, what if it were ? As the Duke of Montpensier, I could bypass Philippe and inherit the legitimacy of the Orléanists!"
Antoine beca more and more excited as he spoke, as if he could already see the crown beckoning to him.
"That is exactly why I ca to see you. You are an elder of the House of Anjou and possess extrely high prestige throughout the Bourbon system in Europe. As long as you are willing to step forward and represent the House of Anjou in giving Henry V a guarantee, as long as he is willing to ascend the throne, we Orléanists are willing to follow the endorsent of the Anjou branch. We will reshuffle the succession rights to the throne of France!"
The study fell silent, with only the sound of wind and rain howling outside the window.
The Old Count closed his eyes and did not reply.
He smoked his pipe quietly for a few monts, then opened his eyes again to look at his son-in-law, who had fallen into a state of madness due to despair and ambition.
After a long while.
"Foolish, simply foolish!"
The Old Count spat these two words out; his voice was not loud, but it left Antoine feeling flustered.
"Father..."
Louisa stood to the side, wanting to speak up anxiously.
"Don't speak, Louisa. This is a man's political ga; do not interrupt."
Although the Old Count loved his daughter, he still used a stern tone to stop her.
Then, he knocked the pipe heavily against the edge of the ashtray.
"My dear Antoine, do you think the throne of France is a cabbage at the market? Or do you think if you change the buyer, the business can continue?"
The Old Count stood up, walked around the desk, and stopped in front of Antoine.
"Did you not see through the core contradiction of Henry V's refusal to ascend the throne? Did you think he just disliked Philippe as a person? Or are you unwilling to admit it?"
The Old Count's gaze beca extrely cold, as if he were dissecting a corpse of history.
"What Henry V hates is your entire Orléanist faction. It is the July Revolution of 1830; it is your father, Louis-Philippe I, the so-called 'Citizen King' who usurped the throne of Charles X!"
The Old Count pointed a finger at Antoine's chest.
"In the eyes of the Legitimists, everyone in your Orléanist family carries the stain of regicide and usurpation! This is a hatred that runs deep into the bone. Even if you replace Philippe with yourself, what difference does it make in the eyes of Henry V? You are all the son and grandson of that usurper!"
Antoine's face turned pale, and he tried to defend himself.
"But... but in terms of seniority, we are cousins after all. If the House of Anjou is willing to guarantee..."
"Guarantee what?"
The Old Count interrupted him rcilessly.
"The succession law of France is an iron rule. The reason your Orléanist faction is currently in the line of succession is simply because the Legitimists truly have no other male heirs. But that does not an Henry V acknowledges your legitimacy in his heart. Do you think if I, an elder of the House of Anjou, ran to Paris and said a few nice words, he would willingly hand over the na of the Legitimists?"
The Old Count shook his head, disappointnt visible in his eyes.
"Antoine, you have lost your mind. Politics is not child's play. Even if Isabella II, who is currently in exile in Paris, gets along reasonably well with Henry V, that is rely out of courtesy between kinsn. When it cos to the legitimacy of the royal family, no one can make decisions for him. Your plan is ridiculously naive."
Antoine retreated two steps in defeat and collapsed into the armchair next to the fireplace.
His eyes lost focus.
"It won't work... even if you step in, it won't work..."
Antoine muttered to himself, as if all his strength had been drained.
If this path was a dead end, then what was the point of him traveling all the way to Spain?
Could it be that the Orléanist family had really lost the throne completely?
He knew very well that this was the only opportunity for the Orléanists!
If the Bourbon restoration failed this ti, then the Orléanist family would completely lose the French throne; after all, the republican sentint in France was already very strong.
The atmosphere in the study was suffocating.
Antoine looked as if his spine had been removed, slumped in the armchair.
He stared at the fading fire in the fireplace, his mind replaying the cold million-dollar check sent by Argyle and Echo's mocking questions.
Louisa looked at her husband in this state, her heart aching beyond asure. She walked to the Old Count's side and gently took her father's arm.
"Father, please don't bla Antoine anymore. We really didn't know what to do in Vienna, so we ca to seek advice from a wise man like you."
Louisa tried to shift the desperate political topic; she poured a cup of hot tea and handed it to her father.
"By the way, Father, we have been wandering around Europe and haven't asked about matters in Spain for a long ti. How is the situation with the House of Anjou here?"
Taking the teacup, the old Count sighed inwardly; the sternness on his face gradually faded, replaced by a gloomy shadow.
"Honestly, it's not very good."
The old Count walked to the window, looking out at the castle courtyard being washed by the rain.
"Ever since that damned revolution, that Amadeo I from the Italian House of Savoy has sat upon the throne of Madrid. Although he is an outsider, he has the support of the military. The first thing he did upon taking power was to guard against the restoration of our House of Anjou."
The old Count's tone carried a grinding, gnashing hatred.
"Our Anjou estates in the south have been heavily taxed, and those cousins of ours in the north who support the Carlists are constantly launching ard rebellions. All of Spain has beco a tangled ss. But neither we nor the Carlists currently have enough strength to drive that Italian off the throne. We can only linger on in this dilapidated castle."
Hearing this, Antoine, who had been slumped on the sofa, suddenly raised his head.
The light in his eyes, which had previously been extinguished, was like a sudden gust of evil wind blowing through, instantly flaring up violently once more.
The throne of France could not be obtained.
The throne of Spain was usurped by an outsider.
These two seemingly hopeless matters, in his brain which had been driven to anxiety by pressure, miraculously struck a spark of sothing extrely absurd.
Antoine jumped to his feet and paced back and forth in the study, muttering neurotically.
"Wait... wait... what if there is another way?"
The old Count and Louisa were both startled by his sudden action.
"Antoine, what are you doing again?" The old Count frowned, sowhat displeased.
A man of fifty, how could he still be so impatient.
Antoine stopped, turned abruptly, and stared at the old Count with expectation.
"Father, since I cannot persuade Henry V, what if we have Isabella II go talk to him directly?"
Antoine ntioned the forr Queen of Spain, the woman who had been exiled to Paris due to the revolution but still possessed extrely high political influence.
That was the woman who could have once been his wife, and was also Louisa's cousin.
"If Henry V is absolutely unwilling to pass the throne to us Orléanists, then let's take a step back! Perhaps we could propose passing the throne of France to Isabella II!"
The old Count was stunned. He looked at Antoine as if looking at soone who was not quite ntally sound.
"Oh, Antoine, what nonsense are you spouting? Have you forgotten that France strictly adheres to the Salic law of succession? Won have no right to inherit the French throne; have you forgotten even such common knowledge?"
"Er... then pass it to her son, Alfonso."
Antoine's thinking had completely run wild; he waved his arms and imdiately found a solution.
"Alfonso has the purest Bourbon blood flowing in him; he is the legitimate Spanish heir! If we let Alfonso inherit the throne of France, Henry V would absolutely not feel the humiliation of being usurped by a usurper; he might just agree!"
Louisa listened, dumbfounded.
"But, Antoine... if we give the throne of France to Alfonso, what about the Orléanists? Wouldn't we end up with nothing?"
"Don't be anxious, I have the next part of the plan."
Antoine clapped his hands together, a triumphant smile on his face, as if proud of his own wit.
"If Alfonso goes to Paris to be King, what about the throne of Spain? We can make a deal with Isabella II!"
"She helps us persuade Henry V to give the French throne to her son. In exchange, she must use all her royalist forces in Spain to support us Orléanists in overthrowing that Amadeo I of the House of Savoy!"
"We give them the throne of France, and they give us the throne of Spain!"
The more he thought about it, the more wonderful it seed, and Antoine trembled with excitent.
"This is simply perfect! As long as both families get a royal position, who cares if it's in Paris or Madrid? That Arican tycoon Argyle wants a stable European market. As long as we can take Spain, we can provide him with concessions and profits just the sa! He certainly won't refuse to send funds to us!"
The old Count stood where he was, forgetting to put down the teacup in his hand.
He stared dumbfounded at his son-in-law, who was spouting off with flying spittle.
No, is this a plan a normal brain could co up with?
Taking the thrones of two major European powers and swapping them like casino chips?
"Absurd! Simply completely ridiculous!"
The old Count slamd the teacup onto the carpet, scalding tea splashing everywhere.
He really couldn't hold it in anymore.
"Antoine! Has your brain been frozen by the cold winds of Vienna!"
The old Count walked up to him, pointed at his nose, and berated him.
"Who do you think you are? God? Can you just distribute countries on a map at will?"
"And... have you forgotten the Treaty of Utrecht? That was an ironclad law signed in 1713 after all of Europe fought a brutal war of succession! The treaty explicitly stipulates that the crowns of France and Spain can never be rged or inherited by the sa lineage, let alone allow such private swaps as you suggest!"
The old Count's chest heaved violently with anger.
"Do you think those royalists are hounds you raised? The Legitimist nobles of France, even if they starved to death, would never accept a little brat who speaks only Spanish as their King. And those proud grandees and knights of Spain, if they knew you intended to use the House of Orléans to rule them, they would raze this castle to the ground tomorrow!"
"You have no base of support in the other country. No army, no legal standing. And you actually want to play this ga of swapping hos. Antoine, stop dreaming! This idea of yours is dood to be impossible!"
The old Count's roar echoed in the study.
Antoine's face, which had just been flushed with fanaticism, instantly stiffened and drained of all color.
He stumbled back a few steps until his back hit the cold stone wall.
That's right. The Treaty of Utrecht, a base of support.
He had just been clutching at a straw that didn't exist in his desperation.
His ambition had blinded his common sense. This was simply impossible to achieve.
Antoine slowly slid down to the floor. Covering his face with his hands, he let out a few dry laughs that sounded worse than weeping.
It's completely over; this path is also blocked. Is the House of Bourbon really going to decline? Can the Orléanists never ascend to the throne again?
In the study, only Antoine's heavy breathing remained, intertwining fittingly with the sound of the storm outside.
The Old Count looked at his son-in-law slumped on the floor, a flicker of complex emotion flashing in his eyes.
Although he had just berated Antoine rcilessly, seeing Louisa silently sobbing nearby made his heart soften in the end.
They were family, after all.
Furthermore, if the Orléanists were truly finished, life for the House of Anjou in Spain would only beco more difficult.
The Old Count walked to the liquor cabinet, poured another glass of brandy, and walked over to Antoine to hand it to him.
"Get up, Antoine. Stand up like a man."
Antoine raised his head, looking at his father-in-law with hollow eyes.
He took the glass chanically but did not drink.
"Father, what else can we do? Nothing works, this doesn't work, that doesn't work. We can only wait to be abandoned by everyone and then die in so unknown gutter."
The Old Count turned back to his desk, sat into the wide leather chair, and rested his chin on his clasped hands.
At this mont, his eyes beca extrely profound.
As if piercing through the study before him, he saw the ever-changing political chessboard of Paris.
"Don't be anxious; although those whimsical plans of yours are foolish, that doesn't an this ga is truly a dead end."
The Old Count's voice regained that composure born of having experienced the ways of the world.
"I believe that as long as you are willing to pay the price, there is still a chance, but it requires you Orléanists to be willing to trample your proud heads deep into the mud."
Upon hearing there was a chance, Antoine raised his head and stood up, leaning against the wall.
"Father, what price? As long as the Orléanists can ascend the throne again, I think any price is negotiable!"
"Heh... Antoine, don't say such things too lightly. Because for so people, this price might be harder to bear than death."
The Old Count stared at Antoine and began to slowly lay out the political compromise plan he had carefully considered, which he deed relatively stable and effective.
"First, a historical confession."
The Old Count held up a finger.
"I think that unless you Orléanists can openly and formally apologize to Henry V and the entire Legitimists, admitting that the accession of Louis-Philippe in 1830 was an illegal usurpation, you must personally wipe away your legal stain and acknowledge that Henry V is the only absolute legitimate monarch of France."
Antoine's expression changed.
This was tantamount to making him announce to the whole world that his father was a shaless thief.
But this was only the beginning.
"Then, there is the political compromise."
Looking at him, The Old Count held up a second finger.
"You must know what the political foundation that you Orléanists rely on is. It is constitutional monarchy, parliantary separation of powers, and that tricolor flag which represents the revolution."
"And what does Henry V want? He wants the autocratic royal power from before the Great Revolution, the weakening of parliant, and a return to the absolute privileges of the Catholic Church. Most importantly, he wants that white fleur-de-lis flag which represents absolute royal power."
At this point, The Old Count took a deep breath.
"So you must go and negotiate with Henry V, then promise to abandon all your liberal constitutionalist positions. Then, fully accept his demands for a retro-monarchy. If he wants a white flag, you follow him and raise the white flag. If he wants autocracy, you surrender all parliantary power."
"No... this is impossible..."
Antoine subconsciously took a step back, shaking his head desperately.
If they really did this, what chance would the Orléanists have of returning to the throne?
"If we do this, the capitalists and liberal nobles who support us will imdiately abandon us. We would be completely betraying our own political beliefs! This is simply political suicide!"
"Then do you want your beliefs, or do you want the crown?" The Old Count asked coldly in return.
"Don't be anxious, listen to finish, Antoine."
A sagacity like an old fox appeared in The Old Count's eyes.
"Actually, this is just a political transaction. You use'satisfying all his political ideals while he is alive' to exchange for 'taking back the political system after he dies'."
"After all, Henry V is old and has no biological descendants. As long as you completely submit on the surface and satisfy all his vanity and obsessions, in exchange, you must require it to be written in the royal treaty: after he passes away, the French throne's succession law shall be modified so that your Orléans branch inherits it!"
"As long as you can endure until he dies and the Orléanists sit on the throne, you can completely change the tricolor flag back and restore the constitutional system. For the sake of future absolute power, you Orléanists must compromise now!"
Antoine was trembling all over.
This humiliating strategy, while completely feasible politically, was a cruel and inhuman death by a thousand cuts emotionally and in terms of dignity.
The Old Count ignored his pain and continued to set up this grand ga.
"Of course, if you rely solely on your own compromise, Henry V may not necessarily believe it. Therefore, a third party must be brought in to apply pressure."
"I will use the na of the House of Anjou to contact the exiled Isabella II, the Bourbon royal family of the Two Sicilies, and the Bourbon branch of Parma. We can then form a great pan-European Bourbon Alliance."
The Old Count tapped on the tabletop.
"We will collectively send people to Paris to diate, using the collective glory of the great Bourbon family to pressure him. He may hate you, but he cannot disregard the overall situation of the family's revival. At the sa ti, certain people among you Orléanists must cease association with the Carlists in Spain, using this as a bargaining chip to exchange for the full support of our Spanish Bourbon family."
"And one last point: binding a common enemy."
"At that ti, you can completely tell Henry V that the power of the Republicans is growing every day. Relying solely on his stubborn Legitimists, he will never be able to defeat Thiers and those thugs. Of course, neither can you Orléanists. If the House of Bourbon continues to have infighting, France will forever beco a republic!"
"This is the only way out to preserve the monarchy. rge, or die together."
The Old Count finished speaking in one breath this massive, rigorous, yet humiliating restoration plan.
This plan perfectly answered all of Felix's questions. It basically resolved the succession rights, as well as the flags and internal grievances.
However...
The price was that the Orléanists had to completely crush their own dignity.
Never mind the thod; just say, does this thod solve the problem or not?
The study was so quiet that only the sound of the firewood burning could be heard.
Louisa looked at her husband with an almost pleading gaze. She knew this was already their last chance.
Antoine stood there, his face as pale as a sheet of paper.
He felt as if he were standing on the edge of a cliff.
Looking down, there was a bottomless abyss; walking forward, there was a bloody path covered in thorns that he would have to crawl across on his knees.
His father's legitimacy, the family's honor, and half a lifeti of political advocacy were, at this mont, all placed on the scales by this plan.
And on the other end of the scales was that ethereal throne, and Argyle's check.
Antoine's Adam's apple bobbed with difficulty.
His lips trembled as he let out a weak, yet despairingly resistant voice.
"This... this is impossible..."
The echo of the words "This is impossible" still lingered in the air of the study.
Duke Antoine clutched his head with both hands, speaking with a tone of slight anguish.
"This is trampling the dignity of the Orléans family into the mud!"
"Admit that the July Revolution of 1830 was an illegal rebellion? Admit that my father was not a legitimate King of France at all, but a despicable usurper? Once such a historic confession is released, those liberal supporters of ours back ho will imdiately spit on us!"
The Old Count sat in his leather chair, holding his unfinished glass of brandy, looking at his son-in-law with indifference.
"So what if they spit on you? Your supporters can't afford to arm an army right now anyway," the voice of The Old Count drifted over slowly.
Antoine paced back and forth in the study in agony.
"But Henry V still has demands for autocracy."
"However, the people of France have long had enough of absolute monarchy. You know they have cut off the heads of kings! If we follow Henry V to restore that damned old system, to suppress the parliant and hoist that white flag, all of Paris might erupt in revolution again. By then, not only will we not be able to hold onto the throne, but we might even be sent to the guillotine!"
"And there's more!"
Antoine spoke faster and faster, his eyes filled with fear.
"If Henry V becos king and gains control of the army and the police, who can guarantee he won't purge us? By then, he only needs to find an excuse, claiming the Orléanists are conspiring, and he could throw us all into prison. This is voluntarily sticking our necks into his noose!"
The Old Count finished listening to all of Antoine's fears and worries.
Then, he slowly set down his glass, picked up his pipe, and struck a match to relight it.
"Antoine, I admit that all the risks you ntioned exist, but..."
The Old Count exhaled a cloud of thick smoke, his tone calm.
"There has never been a perfect plan in this world; every path to the throne is paved with poison."
Then The Old Count looked straight at Antoine.
"But you must ask yourself one question: if you don't swallow this poison, what do you have now?"
The Old Count extended his finger and tapped it in the air.
"You are just a bunch of people hiding in a dilapidated house in Vienna, surviving the winter on the handouts of that Arican nouveau riche. Your nephew is being driven mad, and the Orléans family is splitting apart. If you don't compromise, the House of Bourbon will lose France forever.
But if you compromise, at least this crown will return to the hands of the House of Bourbon. As long as you outlive that heirless Henry V, you can take everything back. As for whether he will purge you, that will depend on the strength of your Orléans faction by then."
Antoine leaned dejectedly against the bookshelf.
The words of The Old Count peeled away the cruelest layer of politics.
Either die in the current winter or kneel at the feet of the enemy to gamble on an ethereal future.
He closed his eyes powerlessly, and only the crackling of burning pine remained in the study.
Just as the old nobility of Europe struggled in a mire of humiliation for survival.
On the other side of the Atlantic Ocean, in New York.
Felix sat behind his desk with a cigar between his fingers, listening to the report from Witt ONeill, who had just returned from crossing the continent of Arica.
"Boss, O'Neill pays his highest respects to you."
Although there was fatigue from the long journey in O'Neill's eyes, he was in a state of high excitent.
Finally eting the big boss; it wasn't easy.
"The treasury of the Great Qing Empire is practically a leaking coin purse. Every bit of the three million dollars in gold cash is accounted for, and the customs escrow agreent has been signed. Those high officials with queues, as soon as they saw our machine guns fire, they couldn't even move their legs."
Felix exhaled a puff of smoke and nodded with satisfaction.
"Well done, Witt. You did a good job in San Francisco; you are a talent. Furthermore, the Asian market is huge, and this is just the beginning. Once the branch over there is built, the financial lifeline of the entire Far East will be open to the Argyle Family."
Felix patted O'Neill on the shoulder.
"Keep up the good work! I won't mistreat any talent."
Upon hearing this, O'Neill was so excited he nearly jumped up.
Wow~ The big boss praised .
"You will definitely not be disappointed, Boss. I am ready at any ti to move all the money in the world back to New York for you."
O'Neill grinned, then lowered his voice and gave a look that every man understands.
"Oh, right, Boss. Besides the gold, I also brought back another batch of 'cargo' for you."
"Prince Gong and his people sent them specifically to curry favor with you regarding the inland distribution rights. I brought them over personally; they are in the lounge next door."
I want to progress so much~
Felix raised an eyebrow, extinguished his cigar, and stood up.
"Oh? Then I must go and see."
In the lounge.
Seven won and a tall, sturdy man were standing there uneasily.
Seeing the door being pushed open, everyone instinctively looked toward the door and tensed up.
Because the person who entered was likely the one who would dictate their fate in this foreign land.
Seeing that the person was a young, handso foreigner with a mature and steady temperant, the won knew it was likely the person they were ant to serve.
After seeing his appearance clearly, the seven won let out a sigh of relief.
Felix's gaze also quickly swept over these eight people.
Batu stood at the very side like an iron tower.
Felix glanced at him.
This man's muscles were knotted, his eyes filled with an untad wildness; it was clear he was a good prospect.
Then, his gaze fell upon the seven won.
It must be said that Prince Gong and his group really spared no expense.
These seven won had different temperants, covering almost every extre of Eastern aesthetics.
There were ripe peaches, cold and orchid-like noble ladies, gentle and beautiful Jiangnan style, untad Western Region girls, and water-soft twin sisters.
"Boss, according to the interpreter, except for the two slightly older ones, the other five were specifically selected for you, and they have even learned so basic English."
O'Neill, who had followed, leaned into Felix's ear and whispered the introduction.
Felix nodded knowingly, then walked straight to the group.
He saw Hu i and Shen Yue standing at the very back.
Hu i's ripe charm and the gentleness Shen Yue acquired from the Jiangnan water towns stood out particularly in the crowd.
"Ladies, welco to New York."
After saying this with a smile, Felix turned his head to look at Frost.
"Notify the security team to prepare the car; we are going straight to Fifth Avenue."
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