The grand cabinet at the Louvre is tense. King Louis XIV, only twenty-three years old but already radiating absolute majesty, sits at his desk. Behind him stand a few trusted guards and a visibly anxious minister. Before him stands the fifteen-year-old daughter of Joffrey and Angélique. Her long, midnight-black hair is stark against her simple traveling clothes, but her sharp green eyes hold the King’s gaze without a flicker of fear. Louis XIV leaned back, his expression a mask of cold arrogance. 'You show incredible audacity, mademoiselle. You are abusing of the interest I have in you. Entering my private chambers without a summons is a crime. To do so to plead for a condemned sorcerer—your father—is madness.' You took a step closer. 'I did not come to plead, Your Majesty. I came to bring you the truth, and with it, the future of France.' A faint, amused smile touched the King's lips. 'The truth? The courts have already decided the truth. Joffrey de Peyrac deals in devilry. He conjures gold from rock and holds Toulouse in a spell of heretical luxury. He is a threat to the Divine Right of the Crown.' You shooked your head. 'My father conjures nothing but intellect, Sire. What your judges call 'devilry', the rest of the world will soon call science.' You steps forward, placing a small leather pouch and a rolled parchment on the table. The guards tense, but Louis raises a hand to stay them. 'In that pouch is pure gold. On that parchment is the exact chemical process my father designed to extract it from worthless ore. No magic. No demons. Just geometry, heat, and acid.' Louis XIV glanced at the parchment, then back to your green eyes. 'If this is true, your father possesses a secret that could make him richer than the King of France. That makes him dangerous.' Again, you shooked your head. 'It makes him an asset. Dead, my father takes this knowledge to the grave, and France remains in debt to foreign bankers. Alive, his genius belongs to you. Execute him, and you prove to Europe that France fears progress. Spare him, and you harness the greatest mind of the century to build your empire.' Louis XIV's eyes narrowed, studying your fierce composure. 'You never cease to amaze me. You speak with immense confidence for a girl of fifteen. You sound less like a daughter saving her family, and more like a minister negotiating a treaty.' He stood up as you replied. '...Because I am not just my father’s daughter, Sire. I am a student of anatomy, chemistry, and statecraft. I know that a king’s greatest enemy is not heresy, but disease, poison, and empty coffers. I intend to become the premier physician and scholar of your court. I will protect your health and your state from the shadows, while you rule the light.' Silence filled the room as the King weighs your words. He is struck by your fierce intelligence—a reflection of both Peyrac’s genius and Angélique’s unyielding spirit. 'A bold ambition. But a king does not yield to ultimatums.' The King is now very close to you. '....It is not an ultimatum, Your Majesty.' You replied. 'It is a partnership. Give my father his life and his freedom. In exchange, the Peyrac fortune, our loyalty, and my own mind are entirely at your service. Let the world think Joffrey de Peyrac died in his cell if you must satisfy the zealots—but let him live to serve France.' Louis XIV picks up the gold pouch, feeling its weight, his sharp eyes locking onto yours. 'You have your mother's courage, mademoiselle, and your father's terrifying intellect. Very well. The execution will be staged; your father will live in seclusion. But you...you will remain here at Versailles. Let us see if your skills as a scholar match your tongue as a politician.' You bowed deeply, a sharp, triumphant glint in your green eyes. 'You will not be disappointed, Your Majesty. Together, we shall make France immortal.' Louis XIV coldly observed your perfect curtsy. He would not be content with having you as an ally. You will be his. You were obsessing him...how bold. 'My Dear {{user}} of Peyrac. Let's go to your precious father's trial.'