Walking through the palace halls, Philippe chewed on his lower lip in thought. Several days had passed since Marie's 'escapade' with Foquet and he brimmed inwardly about it. He wished that he'd had Marie under closer surveillance so that the present situation could have been avoided. But he knew that what had happened could not be undone.

He needed to concentrate on trying to use his knowledge of her actions to his advantage. One way or another, Marie would make allowances for what she'd done. He had come to care for her and he would not let things go so lightly.

He came to a stop before Marie's chambers, his blue-green eyes narrowing as he debated on whether he should turn tail and run or simply push open the door and confront her. He was about to turn away, when the door to her chambers swung open. He came face to face with Marie as she exited her quarters.

"Sire!" she gasped as she closed the door behind her. "What brings you here?"

He let his gaze roam about her elegantly attired form, hearing himself suck in his breath as he felt his body tighten. He tried to form the words for a proper greeting, but his throat ceased to function. Instead, he raised his eyes to hers.

She let herself assess him, taking in the intricately woven brocade coat and the hessian pants. The sight of him before her sent her senses into a tailspin. He affected her unlike any other man ever had and she knew that no other would suit her as he did.

Taking a deep breath, she said, "Sire?"

Gathering ahold of his composure, he took a step forward and pulled her to him. Without uttering a word, he pressed his mouth against hers in an intensifying kiss. She felt her breath catch in her throat as she kissed him back, clinging tightly to him.

Unable to stop himself, he turned her about and pushed her up against the wall. He let his hands roam about her slender form, lost in the sensations he was feeling. He deepened the kiss, his body pressed tightly against hers.

Leaving her mouth, he made a trail of kisses towards her neck. Her scent assailed him, driving him into madness. He latched his mouth onto her neck, sucking gently upon it. They were both oblivious to the fact that a group of servants had gathered in the hall and were openly surveying them.

One of them dropped a candelabra that she'd been cleaning, jolting them apart. Philippe whirled about, his blue-green eyes wide with surprise. He shielded Molly with his body as he took a look about.

"What are all of you staring at?" he hissed, his face full of rage.

"I. . . we. . . ." stammered the servants as they dispersed into different directions.

He released a pent-up breath, turning to face a bewildered Molly. "Are you all right?" he inquired, running a shaking hand through his blonde hair.

"I. . .yes, Sire," she said. "I'm fine."

He curled a hand about her cheek, a guilty expression upon his face. "Forgive me," he replied. "I did not mean to place you amongst the gossips within the palace."

She placed her hand upon his own. "Do not fret, Sire," she returned. "All will be well, I assure you."

"Will it?" he wondered as images of Marie laying beneath Foquet ran through his head. "I beg to differ."

She raised a brow at him, wondering at what he was thinking. Could he know that I went out with Foquet? she wondered. If so, what will he do to me? He must think that I've betrayed him if he knows that I went out with another man the day before.

He would tell you if he knew, said her conscience.

Would he? nagged her libido.

I'm pretty sure he would.

I don't think he would. Most men would keep such things to himself.

He is not like most men. He is the King.

Yes, I know. He is royalty and I am but a member of his court. Well, Marie is, anyway. I am nothing but one of his servants.

He does not know that.

True, but if he did, I would be hanged for treason.

He will not know that you are not who you seem to be. As long as you keep up appearances, everything will be fine.

Yes, I know.

Be still, Molly. All will be well!

Philippe gazed back at Molly, a brow raised in question as he addressed her. When she did not respond to his query, he waved a hand before her face. Receiving no answer, he lay his hands upon her shoulders. She snapped out of her reverie, her face flaming with color.

"Are you all right?" he inquired.

"I. . .yes, I am," she returned lightly.

"Marie?" he prodded, his heart hammering against his chest.

"Yes, sire?"

Shaking his head, he refused to ask about her relationship with Foquet. He knew that the time would come when he could openly accuse her of her infidelity. When that moment was, he did not know. All he knew was that he would gauge his relationship with her wisely. He was beginning to suspect that she was somehow trying to sabotage him and he would not allow her to do so.

He began to think that perhaps she was one of Louis' protege's and that she was working for him somehow. He made a mental note to have her closely guarded, for he was curious to know what she was up to. Shaking his head, he gave her a lopsided smile.

"I am thinking of having a ball tonight. A masquerade. I want you to prepare for it," he said suddenly.

"A masquerade?" she asked.

"Yes. I am in need of having my spirits lifted. I think that a masquerade ball will suit me just fine."

"If that is what ye desire, Sire," she replied lightly.

Searching her eyes with his own, he nodded. "It is," he stated firmly.

"Is there anything that you want me to wear to the masquerade?"

"Wear whatever you wish. I care naught what you put on."

She bit her lower lip lightly, hating his cold, arrogant manner at times. "Very well," she said as she pushed herself away from the wall.

He caught her arm just as she was about to walk past him. "One thing, Marie," he said as she turned about to face him.

"Yes, Sire?"

"Be careful with what you do here at the palace. It would not do to anger me."

She raised her chin at him with defiance, realizing that there was something that he was not telling her. "What do you mean by that, Milord?" she wondered.

"Just that," he replied as he let go of her arm. "Be careful with what you do."

"I see," she breathed, crossing her arms about her chest. "Surely there is a reason for ye warning, Sire. Pray tell, what be that warning?"

He crossed his own arms about his chest, adopting an arrogant stance. "I have none," he coolly returned.

"Don't ye?"

"Aye."

"I see."

"Do you?"

"I believe so," she said, knowing that he was indeed keeping something from her. "I must take my leave of ye, Sire. I have a few things that I must do."

He waved a hand carelessly about, feeling his temper grow as she nonchalantly brushed past him. "Very well," he replied, "you may go."

"I am," she responded as she walked down the hall without a backward glance.

Philippe watched the inviting sway of her satin-covered hips, groaning with discontent. The woman had definitely gotten under skin. The mere sight of her was playing havoc with his senses and he knew naught what to do. The jealousy that raged through him at the thought of her being with another was so new to him. He knew naught how to control those kind of emotions.

He desired greatly to run after her and haul her back to her room. To have his way with her. Yet he knew that he had to curb his most inner desires. The fact that many had witnessed him kissing her made the situation unbearable.

Though he knew that many would view that kind of behavior as something that Louis would do. For he knew well that Louis was known for his scandalous behavior. Yet he knew that Louis always conducted such behavior in private, away from the servants speculation. He could only fathom as to what the servants would quibble about, for it would soon be known that he had ravenously devoured Marie's mouth.

He groaned with distaste as he walked down the hall in search of his royal visage. Once his mother caught wind of what had transpired between him and his lady-in-waiting, she would surely fire questions at him right and left. What he would say to her, he did now know.

He only knew that he would take matters into his own hands and assure himself that his place upon the throne would not be taken away. He did not want to go back to the Bastille. The thought of wearing the mask once more abhorred him and he would do all that he could to keep himself from falling into that fate once.

~

~

Sliding the man before him several francs, Foquet narrowed his eyes against the sun's glare. "Twenty francs," he said, absently chewing upon his lower lip.

Staring at the money as it lay upon the table, the man leered back at him. "Aye, ye have kept ye word. Should I fail, I require that ye reimburse me for any damage done," he stated bluntly.

Foquet raised an expertly made up brow at him. "Are you mad, man? I do not have the resources to do so," he gasped incredulously.

The man slid the francs back in Foquet's direction. "Then I will not help ye," he returned bluntly.

"You have too!"

"Have I?"

"Yes."

"It is not my fault that a man lies in an iron mask. I do not know this man. Yet ye has sought me out and have asked for my services and refuse to justly pay me. . . ." he stammered as Foquet cut him off.

"What you ask is ludicrous!"

"Reimbursing me for any damages done is lu-d-a-crus?"

"Yes!"

The man narrowed his grey eyes at him and said, "I see. Leave at once! I want no dealings with the likes of ye."

Foquet's eyes widened with surprise. "What!"

"Ye heard me."

"I am need of you. I must liberate my King."

The man threw back his head and laughed haughtily at him. "If ye thinks that I will fall for that, ye are mistaken. I was ready to aid ye with such plans in hopes of having the money, but nay for a moment did I believe ye story," he replied.

Foquet rose, overturning the table. "Very well," he growled. "I shall seek such services elsewhere."

"Ye will not find a man more fit for the job than I."

"Is that so?"

"Yes."

"Then assist me in this."

"For the right price I shall," the man replied, taking a swig of his ale.

Gritting his teeth together, Foquet realized that he had no choice but to bend to the man's demands. Louis' freedom depended on this man aiding in his escape and he would do all that he could to free his King. Taking a deep breath, he nodded his assent.

"Very well," said Foquet, "I shall meet your demands. Know this, should you double cross me, I will have your head for your treachery."

"Aye," agreed the man as he bent down to pick up the francs that had fallen when Foquet had overthrown the table. "Ye have a deal. When do ye need me?"

Foquet narrowed his eyes as he stared back at the man. "Tonight," he replied.

"T'night?"

"Aye, that is what I said."

"'Tis too soon. I need time to prepare."

"Time is something we do not have. There is a masquerade ball tonight and it is the only chance that we have to liberate my King."

"But. . . ." stammered the man.

"You have agreed. I expect you to be waiting for me by the gates of the Bastille. Do not be late!"

Foquet walked away, hoping that the man would not betray him. Although his plans had been boosted into action far too soon, he knew that Louis would grateful if they were to succeed in helping him escape. Louis was eager to exact his revenge on the impostor and he knew that he would aid Louis in anything that he required of him.

He only hoped that he lived long enough to see him exact that revenge. For he knew that the 'King's' guards were watching him closely, waiting for the right moment to do away with him. He vowed to keep his life at all costs, hoping that Louis would continue to help him once they made good on his escape.