King Louis XXIII
by Tom Greenwood
Genre: Humour
Swearwords: None.
Description: In an alternative history, King Louis' ancestors were banished to Louisiana, where they have reigned for over 150 years. But Republican France does not recognise Kings...
_____________________________________________________________________
“…and so I crown you King Louis XXIII of France, Louisiana, Normandie de la Sud, Novelle Corsica and Mysore, all their territories and dominions,” the Arch-Bishop of Bâton-Rouge finished.
King Louis XXIII stood up and dusted the soil from his trousers. Even though the crown had been on his head for a few seconds, it was heavy. King Louis lifted it off and handed to it Claude. Well that was short and sweet, not like the long and admittedly boring coronation held in Louisiana three years previously. Then Kings, Queens, Prime Ministers and Presidents had attended the coronation. Now there were only five witnesses, all sworn to secrecy.
“Sire, we should leave,” Claude said.
King Louis nodded; it would not be wise to be caught. He walked towards the waiting vehicles and climbed into the back passenger seat of one. Claude jumped into the driver’s seat.
“Disguise sire,” Claude said starting the engine.
King Louis put his hat and dark glasses on and slouched back in his seat wrapping a blanket around him. They drove over some bumpy ground and then onto a side road.
When the plan had been suggested a year previously, Louis considered the risks too high but the more he had thought about it and discussed it, the more appealing it became, an opportunity to gain one-up on the Republican government of France.
Once King Louis had come of age, the media had expected him to be profligate and he played to their expectations, spending nearly a quarter of his personal wealth in the last two years. This final trip to Monaco, that small piece of not-France, had been the extravagant icing on an extravagant cake. Nearly a million Francs had been spent in the casinos and restaurants of Monte Carlo. Then there was the hotel bill, a week for an entire floor in the Hotel Monaco, the Principality’s grandest hotel.
It was dark by the time Claude drove through the outskirts of Nice, slowing to a crawl. Louis allowed himself a couple of glances from underneath his blanket. They drove along the main highway away from Monaco towards the small town of Cannes and the waiting yacht belonging to a rich Hanoverian royalist who was a distant relation to King Edward IX of the United Kingdom.
King Louis XXIII looked tired, after all he had officially spent the last two days ill in his rooms of the Hotel Monaco. He was now officially feeling better.
“Would your highness like to see the wine list?” the ever-attentive waiter asked.
King Louis was tempted to reply yes, he wanted to celebrate, but he could not raise suspicions now. He stared at the mountains of France, a country he had now been crowned king of, on its own soil.
“No thank-you,” King Louis replied but then he changed his mind. “What Louisianan wines do you have?” So what if the French suspected he had been pretending to be ill. They couldn’t do anything. They had complained at the highest level when they had heard that Louis was planning to visit Monaco but of course this had backfired, as Prince Pierre had wanted to prove he wasn’t going to be bullied by his larger neighbour.
King Louis waited for the normal ritual of tasting and accepted a very expensive bottle of Louisianan Bordeaux. He waited for the waiter to leave before turning to Claude, his most trusted confident in the Louisianan, small but efficient Secret Service. “We got away with it.”
“We did sire, there were several Republican agents watching the hotel throughout your stay.”
“Were there?”
“Indeed, we did wonder if they suspect anything.”
“It was risky but now that we’ve got away with it, it was worth it.”
“I have to admit sire that I was against this plan from the start. If you had been caught you may have spent longer in gaol than Louis XVII.”
“Why did you not say anything?”
“Because you are my king.”
King Louis sipped on his wine. “Well in the future I insist that you tell me if you think I am doing something wrong.”
“Are you going to play the tables tonight?” Claude asked appearing to ignore the breach in protocol.
“No I think my recent illness has taught me responsibility. I think I might refrain for the rest of my stay. Do you think the French Government will allow me into France? I quite fancy visiting the Palace of Versailles, after all I still technically own it.”
Claude did not reply spearing a piece of beef with his fork.
“Do you think we should tell anyone?” King Louis asked.
“I think we should maintain a dignified silence. Of course if the information were ever to leak out, we would neither confirm nor deny it.”
“I like that plan, it will annoy those republicans even more than if we came out and admitted it.”
“I take it you are not planning any more foreign trips?”
“Not near any French territory. Denmark still has royalty. After I have paid my regards to Pé-pé.”
“Sire in my new role of telling you when you are doing something wrong, do not call the Monacan head of state Pé-pé.”
“I’d like to visit Copenhagen and The Børsen,” Louis continued, regretting allowing Claude to disagree with him. It was in Copenhagen that the treaty that exiled his ancestors to Louisiana in 1818 was signed. “I think I’ll make a speech.”
“I’m sure we can arrange that sire.”
King Louis was already planning his Republican-France baiting speech in his head.
Swearwords: None.
Description: In an alternative history, King Louis' ancestors were banished to Louisiana, where they have reigned for over 150 years. But Republican France does not recognise Kings...
_____________________________________________________________________
“…and so I crown you King Louis XXIII of France, Louisiana, Normandie de la Sud, Novelle Corsica and Mysore, all their territories and dominions,” the Arch-Bishop of Bâton-Rouge finished.
King Louis XXIII stood up and dusted the soil from his trousers. Even though the crown had been on his head for a few seconds, it was heavy. King Louis lifted it off and handed to it Claude. Well that was short and sweet, not like the long and admittedly boring coronation held in Louisiana three years previously. Then Kings, Queens, Prime Ministers and Presidents had attended the coronation. Now there were only five witnesses, all sworn to secrecy.
“Sire, we should leave,” Claude said.
King Louis nodded; it would not be wise to be caught. He walked towards the waiting vehicles and climbed into the back passenger seat of one. Claude jumped into the driver’s seat.
“Disguise sire,” Claude said starting the engine.
King Louis put his hat and dark glasses on and slouched back in his seat wrapping a blanket around him. They drove over some bumpy ground and then onto a side road.
When the plan had been suggested a year previously, Louis considered the risks too high but the more he had thought about it and discussed it, the more appealing it became, an opportunity to gain one-up on the Republican government of France.
Once King Louis had come of age, the media had expected him to be profligate and he played to their expectations, spending nearly a quarter of his personal wealth in the last two years. This final trip to Monaco, that small piece of not-France, had been the extravagant icing on an extravagant cake. Nearly a million Francs had been spent in the casinos and restaurants of Monte Carlo. Then there was the hotel bill, a week for an entire floor in the Hotel Monaco, the Principality’s grandest hotel.
It was dark by the time Claude drove through the outskirts of Nice, slowing to a crawl. Louis allowed himself a couple of glances from underneath his blanket. They drove along the main highway away from Monaco towards the small town of Cannes and the waiting yacht belonging to a rich Hanoverian royalist who was a distant relation to King Edward IX of the United Kingdom.
King Louis XXIII looked tired, after all he had officially spent the last two days ill in his rooms of the Hotel Monaco. He was now officially feeling better.
“Would your highness like to see the wine list?” the ever-attentive waiter asked.
King Louis was tempted to reply yes, he wanted to celebrate, but he could not raise suspicions now. He stared at the mountains of France, a country he had now been crowned king of, on its own soil.
“No thank-you,” King Louis replied but then he changed his mind. “What Louisianan wines do you have?” So what if the French suspected he had been pretending to be ill. They couldn’t do anything. They had complained at the highest level when they had heard that Louis was planning to visit Monaco but of course this had backfired, as Prince Pierre had wanted to prove he wasn’t going to be bullied by his larger neighbour.
King Louis waited for the normal ritual of tasting and accepted a very expensive bottle of Louisianan Bordeaux. He waited for the waiter to leave before turning to Claude, his most trusted confident in the Louisianan, small but efficient Secret Service. “We got away with it.”
“We did sire, there were several Republican agents watching the hotel throughout your stay.”
“Were there?”
“Indeed, we did wonder if they suspect anything.”
“It was risky but now that we’ve got away with it, it was worth it.”
“I have to admit sire that I was against this plan from the start. If you had been caught you may have spent longer in gaol than Louis XVII.”
“Why did you not say anything?”
“Because you are my king.”
King Louis sipped on his wine. “Well in the future I insist that you tell me if you think I am doing something wrong.”
“Are you going to play the tables tonight?” Claude asked appearing to ignore the breach in protocol.
“No I think my recent illness has taught me responsibility. I think I might refrain for the rest of my stay. Do you think the French Government will allow me into France? I quite fancy visiting the Palace of Versailles, after all I still technically own it.”
Claude did not reply spearing a piece of beef with his fork.
“Do you think we should tell anyone?” King Louis asked.
“I think we should maintain a dignified silence. Of course if the information were ever to leak out, we would neither confirm nor deny it.”
“I like that plan, it will annoy those republicans even more than if we came out and admitted it.”
“I take it you are not planning any more foreign trips?”
“Not near any French territory. Denmark still has royalty. After I have paid my regards to Pé-pé.”
“Sire in my new role of telling you when you are doing something wrong, do not call the Monacan head of state Pé-pé.”
“I’d like to visit Copenhagen and The Børsen,” Louis continued, regretting allowing Claude to disagree with him. It was in Copenhagen that the treaty that exiled his ancestors to Louisiana in 1818 was signed. “I think I’ll make a speech.”
“I’m sure we can arrange that sire.”
King Louis was already planning his Republican-France baiting speech in his head.
About the Author
Tom Greenwood was born in Bishopbriggs and now lives in Edinburgh with his wife, two daughters and a rabbit. If you like his stories, you might want to read his novel, which can be found by clicking on the image below.