The Rebirth: I Am Louis XIV

In the year 1648, on a fateful night, the Cardinal in crimson, Mazarin, the Prime Minister of France and the favored confidant and lover of the Dowager Regent, traversed a gloomy grand archway with a multitude of attendants trailing behind. His brow furrowed in concern, he hurried through desolate halls, dilapidated corridors, and winding stairs, reaching the outer chambers of the king.

The guards in the hall immediately rose from their seats, nearly toppling a small table laden with cards and a mixture of copper and silver coins. Apparently, these gentlemen had been engrossed in another kind of battle before the Cardinal's arrival. However, Mazarin paid no mind to their minor indiscretions, stating, "I must see His Majesty immediately."

The officer of the guards promptly went to relay the message. In less than a minute, Bontemps, the steward of the King's bedchamber, holding a nightcap, opened the door for Cardinal Mazarin. Waving his entourage aside, Mazarin entered alone. Without waiting for the King's inquiry, he declared, "We must depart at once, Your Majesty. It is no longer safe here."

"Have they finally come? The rebels?" the King inquired.

"Yes," Mazarin affirmed. Gratified to see the young king, who was but a child of ten, spring from his bed without waiting for the assistance of the First Valet, Mazarin spoke, "We need to leave immediately, Your Majesty."

The King paused for a moment. Then, realizing the necessity of preserving the royal bloodline amid the turmoil, he refrained from further inquiry. As he boarded the carriage, Mazarin intervened when the wardrobe steward attempted to offer him a cloak. In the bishop's arms lay an inconspicuous black overcoat, which he draped over the King's tender shoulders. A hat adorned with a simple gray feather, concealing the King's conspicuously golden curls in the darkness, completed the ensemble.

Once everything was in order, Mazarin extended his arm, encircling the King's shoulders. Ascending the throne at the age of five, the King, now a mere ten-year-old, exhibited robust strength surpassing his peers in every aspect. Mazarin effortlessly placed his arm on the King's shoulders, and together, they strode out like intimate friends.

The crimson glow illuminated glass fragments divided by black iron frames. It was not the radiance of the sun at its rise or descent, but rather the glow of torches and candles lit by people gathered in the courtyard. In the courtyards surrounding the palace, no fewer than ten four-wheeled carriages, nearly identical, each drawn by four horses of diverse colors, stood. The passengers' identities remained indistinguishable, yet Mazarin, seemingly privy to a certain signal, led the King directly to a specific carriage. The coachman promptly opened the door, revealing a lady in a black gown and a very young maid within.

At the sight of the King, the lady extended her hand. The King immediately grasped it. While boarding the carriage, he turned and asked, "Monsieur Cardinal, where is my brother, the Duke of Anjou?"

"He is with me," Mazarin replied.

The King hesitated for a moment, then realized that this move was essential to ensure the survival of the royal bloodline amidst the uprising. Without further words, he boarded the carriage, and the coachman promptly closed the door. The carriage wheels clinked, and about thirty guards, dressed in short coats and ordinary cloaks rather than their usual uniforms, wearing broad-brimmed hats and armed with long swords and four muskets each, immediately urged their horses forward. Ten leading the way, twenty surrounding, they followed in a protective formation.

The other carriages quickly followed suit, speeding out of the dark courtyard. Most of these carriages carried external guests, important courtiers, and individuals deemed worthy of Mazarin's protection. However, regardless of their importance, they paled in comparison to the two carriages carrying the French King and the de facto ruler of the kingdom, his younger brother.

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Soon, the carriage turned a corner, entering a grassy and desolate avenue. What should have been considered a spacious plot of land now housed rudimentary fortifications. As they approached, a group of rioters hidden behind the fortifications hurled stones and burning projectiles when they saw them coming. The guards retaliated immediately. These people scattered, even those who were groaning on the ground paid no attention.

"Who are they?" asked a curious young maid by the side of the Queen Mother, peering outside through a gap in the carriage curtain.

"My subjects," the King said, with a mocking smile on his lips. While there were indeed soldiers of rebellious nobles and hired thugs among them, the majority were ordinary Parisian citizens. Incited and deceived, they took to the streets against the Prime Minister and the King, solely seeking meager advantages for their participation. They harbored no loyalty to their King, and now, they even sought to harm him.

The King looked at the bold young maid. "You should not question the King before he speaks. Who are you?"

"Marie Mancini," the maid replied. "My uncle is Cardinal Mazarin."

The King nodded, understandable since the name Mancini did not sound like that of a Frenchwoman, nor did it resemble the surname of a noble family. Mazarin's humble origin was widely known. However, the King couldn't help but wonder if Mazarin cherished this niece dearly. After all, this was the first time he had seen Mazarin use the power and trust bestowed upon him by the Queen Mother for the sake of an insignificant individual.

"You should revisit the etiquette, Miss Mancini," the King said.

Marie Mancini attempted a retort, but in the next moment, her voice was abruptly cut off by a violent jolt.

Alert, the King stood up, pressing against the carriage wall, gazing outside. Paris at this time was not as prosperous and peaceful as it would be centuries later for the capital of a nation. Especially after several wars between Catholics and Huguenots, the city was in ruins. Wolves could be seen on the streets at night, and foxes and rabbits were ubiquitous in the cemeteries. The poorly maintained roads resembled the pockmarked skin of a leper.

Racing along such roads, the carriage was undoubtedly like a small boat in a storm, incessantly jolting up and down. The Queen Mother looked at her eldest son, her face pale. She was the Princess of Spain, later the Queen of France, although unloved by her husband, she had never suffered such torment before. "Your Majesty," she pleaded, "ask them to slow down a bit."

"Sorry," her son replied gently but coldly, "I can't."

He pulled back the curtain, and everyone in the carriage was able to see the situation outside. Although it was not surprising to encounter such tricky rebels or mobs, what followed

them closely were some grotesque and towering demons. They moved on all fours, running through the thorns and woods with a speed no less than that of horses. The guards, if a little careless, would be pulled off their horses by the beasts. The final tragic screams of the guards, akin to sharp needles, pierced the ears, and although unheard, the sounds of the beasts chewing bones and flesh could be vividly imagined.

The coachman rose from his seat, his countenance pallid, and beads of perspiration dotting his forehead. Urgently wielding the reins, he spurred the horses onward. Contrary to the Dowager Queen's anticipation, the carriage not only failed to decelerate but surged ahead, sparks flying between the carriage frame and wheel axles. The resilient suspension belt groaned under the strain, rendering the occupants unable to sit securely. Kneeling on the carriage floor, the Dowager Queen clutched her rosewood prayer beads fervently, murmuring prayers. Meanwhile, the King and Miss Mancini occupied opposite windows, the King inquired, "What is that?"

"That's a Werewolf," replied Marie.

Upon hearing this, the Dowager Queen fainted. However, her swoon proved opportune, for simultaneously, an enormous shadow leaped onto the carriage's roof from a tree leaning over the road. Its hind claws anchored firmly on the luggage rack encircling the car