Versailles had stopped laughing.
That was how Louis knew his changes were working.
When a court laughs, it is comfortable. When it whispers, it is curious. But when it falls silent as a child passes, something far more dangerous has begun to grow.
Louis-Auguste felt it everywhere — in the way conversations halted mid-sentence, in the way powdered faces stiffened behind forced smiles. He walked the long gallery with Étienne Moreau a step behind him, posture straight, eyes forward.
He no longer needed to look strong.
They were already afraid.
The first man to openly oppose him was Charles de Calonne.
Minister of Finance in name, parasite in truth.
Calonne had survived Versailles by mastering one art: appearing useful while bleeding the treasury dry. He watched the young Dauphin from behind silk curtains for weeks before acting.
The trap was elegant.
A forged report was delivered to the prince's study — a document claiming that Necker had secretly proposed raising bread taxes in Paris.
Louis read it once.
Then again.
Then smiled faintly.
In his past life, he had learned how easily people accepted lies when those lies matched their fears.
Calonne expected panic.
Instead, Louis summoned Necker that same afternoon.
Necker bowed.
"Your Highness, I have made no such proposal."
"I know," Louis replied.
He slid the document across the table.
"Someone wants you gone."
Necker paled.
"You should not be involved in such matters."
"I am already involved in everything," Louis said. "Find who wrote this."
Necker hesitated.
Then nodded.
And walked into a nest of vipers.
That evening, the Dauphin — Louis's father — entered his chamber unannounced.
"You are making enemies," he said quietly.
Louis set aside his quill.
"I am revealing them."
The older man studied him for a long moment.
"I fear for you."
Louis met his gaze.
"I fear for France."
They stood in silence, father and son separated by centuries of understanding.
Three days later, Calonne made his move.
At court, before nobles and ministers alike, he bowed low.
"Your Highness," he said smoothly, "I worry for your safety. Certain ministers are manipulating you. For your own protection, I suggest that access to financial records be restricted."
A dozen heads turned toward Louis.
A test.
Louis did not raise his voice.
He did not frown.
He smiled.
"Restricted?" he asked softly.
Calonne nodded. "You are too young to be burdened with such matters."
Louis stepped down from the dais.
Each step echoed.
"Too young," he repeated.
Then he turned to the assembled court.
"Which of you," he asked, "believes ignorance is protection?"
Silence.
"France is drowning in debt," Louis continued. "You hide the numbers, and you call it loyalty. You starve the people, and you call it stability."
Calonne's lips tightened.
"This is inappropriate—"
Louis cut him off.
"No," he said. "This is inconvenient."
The court gasped.
A child had just humiliated a minister.
That night, the rumors erupted.
The prince defied Calonne.
The prince protects Necker.
The prince sees through lies.
In the taverns of Paris, men raised mugs.
The Dauphin of France had made his first enemy.
And he had won.