Life of Being a Crown Prince in France

“What do you wish to discuss?” Magistrate Wezignia turned his head, looking at Dibor with surprise and suspicion, “As for this bill, not even remonstrance is necessary, the conclusion can only be non-registration!”

Dibor gestured toward the dense crowd of protesters outside the window, “Mr. President, please listen to their voices. Perhaps it’s time we made some changes in this matter.”

The judge sitting opposite him, with dark circles occupying half his face, rubbed his bloodshot eyes and yawned as he nodded, “I suppose, this matter must be settled one way or another… Adjusting the clauses of the bill could be negotiable.”

He had hardly slept last night, for every so often, someone had thrown stones at his villa, shattering several panes of glass, and frightening the women and children of his house into tears all night long.

And on his way to the High Court this morning, the rooftops lining the streets were filled with citizens who cursed and threw tiles at his carriage, injuring the coachman’s hands.

Now, he could not care less about any bills, he just hoped that the riotous crowd would disperse soon to bring peace to his household.

So, after Dibor initiated the discussion, he immediately had the mind to second the motion.

Another judge, short of stature, nodded subconsciously.

The judge with a hooked nose beside Wezignia frowned, “You want us to heed those lowlifes outside, and then make all decent people uncomfortable?”

“If the bill is beneficial, then decent people should not be put in a difficult position,” said the judge, who always had an expression of surprise, giving Dibor a knowing look.

The latter closed the bill in front of him and looked around at everyone, “If nobody wishes to discuss the clauses of the bill, then let’s vote on it directly.”

Wezignia’s gaze swept over the two men’s faces, and he said coldly, “Do you know what you are saying? Rejecting this bill is the consensus of all nobility, there’s no need for a vote!”

“It is not a consensus,” Dibor shook his head, “I ask that the sitting officials cast their votes.”

The so-called “sitting officials” are the core judges of the High Court’s internal legislative body, currently six in number, with a great deal of authority to decide most of the Court’s affairs in their meetings.

As Dibor spoke, he raised his hand first, “I believe the tax bill can be registered.”

The perpetually surprised judge followed suit, raising his hand, “I agree as well.”

The judge with dark circles hesitated, remembering how the High Court had almost become a symbol of sin and corruption, and when even the skillful women refused to serve him the day before, he too slowly raised his hand.

The defection of three sitting officials immediately changed the direction of the wind in the conference room.

The short judge, also plagued by the protesters, stole a glance around and was about to raise his hand when he saw Wezignia stand up abruptly, exclaiming loudly, “I will not allow this bill to go through registration!”

He pointed at the “dark circles,” “Count Vadier, who supported your becoming a magistrate? Are you going to betray them?!”

He then looked at the shortest judge, “Viscount Ollal, I must remind you of the Duke of Aiguillon’s stance on the bill!”

As President of the High Court, Wezignia held considerable sway; his few words frightened Judge Ollal so much that he trembled and hastily retracted his hand. Ɽ₳₦Ồ𐌱Ёȿ

Judge Vadier, on the other hand, found himself in a struggle, his right hand moving back and forth undecidedly.

Dibor also stood up, protesting, “I object! Count Wezignia, you are threatening voting freedom!”

Wezignia, finally seeing Vadier rest his raised hand back on the table, ignored Dibor and with a darkened face, waved his hand dismissively, “That’s it for today, the meeting is adjourned.”

…

The Royal Palace.

The Duke of Orleans frowned as he looked at the thin pamphlet in his hand, shaking his head, he said, “Viscount Lacroix, this is too little; you need to give me at least a 3,000-word manuscript to boost sales.”

Standing before him, Lacroix’s face was etched with distress, “Your Grace, I am truly incapable. This is already what I managed to produce without sleeping all night.”

He glanced sideways at the man who resembled an Italian, “Mr. Brisso didn’t even submit a draft …”

The Duke of Orleans grabbed a thick pamphlet nearby, his voice filled with anger, “But their stories exceed 7,000 words! At this rate, who will buy ours?!”

Lacroix and Brisso were also extremely frustrated; they were considered outstanding novelists of their time.

Especially Lacroix, who had once swept Paris with his book “Dangerous Liaisons,” prompting countless French writers to add “Danger” or “Relations” to their titles to ride on his popularity.

For the Duke of Orleans’s pamphlet series, he had prepared an exciting novel.

But his writing speed quickly fell behind, at his regular pace, writing 3,000 words of story was his limit in a week. And now the Duke of Orleans was asking him to complete this amount in just three days, which was simply impossible!

He couldn’t comprehend how someone under the pen name “Silkworm and Potato,” along with “Octopus in the Water,” could easily produce over 7,000 words every three days! Do they not need to conceive ideas?!

Over the past few days, Lacroix began to doubt his own writing talent for the first time.

As for Brisso, he had already given up struggling and was preparing to change careers …

The Duke of Orleans knew that he had lost control of public opinion; the ever-growing number of protesters outside the High Court was proof.

And he was utterly powerless to counteract.

Just as he was riddled with annoyance, the butler knocked on the door and reported, “My lord, Mr. Alexis has arrived, saying he has important matters.”

The Duke of Orleans was somewhat surprised; Alexis was Magistrate Vergniaud’s confidant. What could be the matter from the High Court?

After he listened to Alexis in the study, he was immediately shocked—someone had voted in favor of the tax law bill being registered! This was sheer madness!

The High Court, once seen as the bastion against royal power, had cracks appearing in it!

He hurriedly ordered the butler to invite the members of the Assembly of Notables to meet at the Royal Palace.

…

Palace of Versailles.

Joseph carefully read the unmarked letter he had opened.

The content of the letter was brief, detailing today’s voting process at the High Court on the tax law bill. Though it nearly passed, in the end, it was forcibly suppressed by Count Vergniaud leveraging his authority as the President of the Court.

The letter ended with their intentions to continue seeking a solution.

Joseph furrowed his brows, he had not expected that despite having the upper hand, the Nobility Group would no longer care about face, resorting to a president’s position to stubbornly stall the bill.

But with the presidential election still two years away, Joseph did not have that much time.

His fingers lightly tapped the desktop as he quickly pondered the situation; thus, it was essential to remove Vergniaud, this stumbling block.

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