"What's going on in here?" asked Philippe as he gazed at the hole within the tower wall that had once housed Louis' cell.

"Sire!" gasped one of the imbibed guards as he swayed to and fro before Philippe.

Staring down at the swaying man, Philippe could not help but feel disgust. The state in which his guards found themselves was appalling. Shaking his head, he waited with impatience for someone to tell him what had happened within the tower's walls. When he received no answer, he quickly repeated his question.

"What has happened here?" he grated harshly.

"The prisoner," said one of the imbibed guards, "he is no more."

Raising a brow at the guard, Philippe continued with his need to find out the truth. "What do you mean he is no more? How did he escape? How has this happened?" he demanded.

"We do not know, Sire. An explosion rocked this very cell and as you can see part of it is no more. The prisoner was still in here, we believe, and he has perished with the blast," said another of the guards as he leaned against the wall.

"How? How on earth could such a thing have happened?" he wondered with incredulity. "Why are all of you imbibed? Have you naught any sense of honor?"

They lowered their heads, each embarrassed at the fact that the King had caught them in such a sorry state. They could not figure out as to how they had become imbibed, for all of them had but taken one swig of the ale that had been offered them. They scratched their heads with bewilderment, trying to make a sense of things.

Philippe gazed upon the rubble of Louis' cell, wondering if he was indeed dead. He wondered at how his brother had gotten ahold of the materials to make such a blast possible. From what he knew, Louis had always been well guarded and such a thing was not possible.

Unless, someone is acting on my brother's behalf, he wondered. What if we have a spy amongst our midst? What if this has all been planned and Louis is in fact alive? I must not let any harm come to anyone within the palace. I must assume that Louis still lives, for until his body is found, I will not believe that he is dead.

But what if he did in fact perish within this blast? What then? Will all the precautions that I aim to take be for naught? Will I end up worrying my own if my brother is indeed dead?

What shall I do? How shall I go about this? What will happen now? I do not know for certain if Louis is dead and the uncertainty of not knowing if he is dead or alive is great. How will I ever be sure that he is gone?

He is my twin. My blood. If he were truly dead, I would know it, wouldn't I? Yet the ties between my brother and I are not so great. He and I are two different people. I know naught well the man that Louis had been. I may never really be sure if he lives.

Yet, for some unknown reason, I think that he indeed still lives. But how can I be sure? How will I know?

He ordered his men to clean up as much as they could of the rubble and ran off towards the palace in search of Aramis. He needed guidance and he knew that Aramis would be able to give him some. He only hoped that his life and those of his loved ones would be safe. For he could not help but continue to feel the sense of foreboding that filled his soul at the thought of Louis' still being alive.

~

~

"Where are we going?" wondered Louis as he and the man who had rescued him sat within a covered carriage.

He was happy to be free of the Bastille, but the feel of the cold metal that still sat upon his face sent chills of dread down his spine. He was grateful that he was free, but owed the man that sat before him nothing for what he had done to free him.

He was, after all, royalty and did not owe anyone a thing. The man before him was one of his subjects and he was only following orders. He supposed that he should thank Foquet for putting his plans into motion, but he doubted that he would voice his thanks to him.

Foquet was just a member of his employ and he knew that Foquet was well aware of his place amongst his court. The man would not question his King's reluctance at voicing his thanks.

Or would he? wondered Louis as the carriage sped along. Foquet has put up with me for so long, but who is to say that he will turn on me as well. Who is to say what he will do to me if his displeasure becomes great.

I must get rid of him. I must not let him undermine my actions. Once I am free of this wretched mask, I will take care of him. I will make sure that he and the man before me do not betray me. I must ensure my place among the throne once more and I cannot let them ruin me. I cannot!

The carriage came to a stop underneath a hidden grove. The door swung open to admit a breathless Foquet. Louis stared over Foquet's shoulder with distaste. He realized that they were to spend the night at one of Foquet's estates and the idea did not sit well with with him.

The estate was a tad run down, adding to Louis' displeasure. He was not used to such conditions and the idea of sleeping within such a manor sickened him. Foquet called to him, asking him to exit the carriage. Yet Louis could not make himself leave the comfort of the carriage's interior. The carriage suited his tastes and he preferred to spend the night within the carriage than to sleep within the walls of the estate.

Yet he knew that he had no choice but to enter the manor. He could stay within the carriage, for it would grow cold within the night and he would surely freeze to death. Yet, that too, proved a much better prospect than the estate.

Taking a deep breath, he angrily pushed himself out of the carriage. He gazed upon the gray structure before him and shook his head. He followed Foquet and the man that had shared the carriage with him inside. He kept his distance from them both, formulating a plan within his head as he did so. A sordid grin crossed his lips as the plan formed inside his head.

Soon, my brother, soon. I shall be King once more and you shall lie in a grave next to the man whom I once trusted with my very life. Soon, you shall be no more, he thought as he entered the manor with a backward glance.

 

Philippe took the hidden entrance on his way back towards the palace, dispatching one of his footman to go in search of Aramis. He strode about the palace in search of his mother, coming upon her within the parlor. Aramis stood beside her, a worried frown upon his face. Porthos stood beside the window, his right hand placed casually upon his saber. Athos was propped against the wall, his brown eyes focused upon Philippe.

The sight of the three of them together took Philippe by surprise as he walked into the parlor. "You are all assembled," he replied lightly as came to a stop beside his mother.

"Aye, Ph-my King, we are," stammered Porthos.

"You are all aware of the trouble that has ensued within the Bastille, then?" Philippe pondered lightly as he sat down beside his mother.

"We're aware that an explosion has occurred," said Anne as she gazed upon her youngest son, "but we have not been told as to what has happened to the prisoner."

Philippe gazed at his mother with a forlorn look upon his face. How shall I break this news to her? How shall I tell her that her eldest son has supposedly died within that blast? What shall I do? he asked himself.

He took her hand in his and said, "Right now, we are assuming that he has perished within the explosion."

A stricken look crossed Anne's face as she lay a hand at the base of her throat. "Are you sure?" she gasped as she tried to hold back her tears.

Philippe nodded, squeezing her hand within his own. He quickly dropped it and pushed himself to his feet as a group of servants came into the room. His face hardened as he assumed his role as Louis once more. They set about in offering Aramis and the other's drinks, keeping a safe distance away from Philippe. They hurried away, relieved to be out of the King's presence.

Athos could not help but laugh at the servants display as they ran out of the room. "Goodness, they are indeed afraid of you," he chided.

"Hmmmph," said Philippe as he turned around to gaze through the window at the luscious lawns that were so carefully groomed each day. "They fear 'Louis', not the man that I really am."

"Are you not Louis?" asked Marie Therese' as she strode into the room, catching Philippe's statement as she did so. "Are you not the man whom I have married? The man who makes my life hell every chance he gets? If you are not that man, then who the hell are you?"

Philippe's eyes narrowed as he stared back at his brother's wife. Good Lord! What am I to do? I had forgotten that she was still around. What else is set to happen tonight? he wondered as he raised his chin with defiance at Marie Therese'.

"I am the man you married, Marie Therese'," he proclaimed with a vicious hiss such as one that Louis would use.

"Are you?" she prodded as she slid herself onto one of the chaises that sat within the center of the room. "Assure me of this, dear husband, for I have just heard you say that your servants fear 'Louis' and not the man that you are."

Clenching his teeth together, Philippe felt like throttling the woman. He was not used to such behavior from a woman and was unsure of what to do. Sensing his distress, Aramis stepped forth and offered Marie Therese' an explanation.

"What he meant was that many fear the man that they think your husband is said to be. They see him as a cold and callous man, Marie Therese', when in fact he does have a heart," said Aramis as he bowed before her.

"Does he?" questioned Marie Therese', her blue eyes still placed upon Philippe as she rose from the chaise. "I think not. Louis has no heart. He is everything they say he is and more. I hate him and I wish naught to be his wife!"

Anne gasped at the woman's insolence, wondering if she and her late husband had made the wrong match for Louis. "How can you say that?" she asked as she pushed herself to her feet. "We have given you a home and everything that you could ever have asked for. Why must you be so ungrateful?"

Marie Therese' stood as well, turning about to face Anne. "Ungrateful? Is that how you see me? If it is, than so be it. Your son has given me nothing but heartache and provides me with little or naught attention! He seeks his pleasure within another's arms and I shall tolerate it no longer. I want to be free and I want my freedom now!"

"What makes you think that I shall let you leave freely, Marie Therese'?" prodded Philippe as he stared back at her with distaste.

"You'll have to. I have found someone who loves me and I want to find happiness with him. Far away from the likes of you!"

Crossing his arms about his chest, Philippe gave her a cold smile. "You may continue to find such pleasures, Marie Therese'. It matters to me naught! Though, I will not allow you to leave. You will remain here within the palace as my wife for the rest of our lives. I will not allow you to bring a scandal upon us," he replied smoothly.

"But. . . ." stammered Marie Therese'. "You cannot do this to me!"

"I can, and I shall. My wife, you shall remain. Take what pleasures you will, but always remember that you are my wife. Should you cross me greatly, dear wife, I will be forced to get rid of you. Is that understood?"

Marie Therese' stared back at him with surprise. Dear God, is he capable of such a thing? Is he capable of killing me just to prevent a scandal from ruining his family name? she wondered.

"Very well," she replied as she turned on the ball of her heel and walked away from him.

"Marie Therese'!" roared Philippe as she came to a stop before the parlor doors.

She turned, placing her glacial gaze upon the man that she thought she had once loved. "What?" she asked coldly.

"Heed well, my decree, for I shall not mourn life if I were to do away with you," he stated firmly, his mouth pressed into a thin line as he stared back at her.

Marie Therese' narrowed her blue eyes, walking out of the parlor without uttering another word. Philippe stared at the closed door with a livid expression upon his face. He felt Aramis' hand descend upon his shoulder as he came to stand beside him.

"You have your hands full in keeping that one in line, my dear, Philippe," he commented lightly, his role as priest coming into play.

"Hmmmmm," murmured Philippe as he pondered everything that had just taken place. "I wish that it weren't so, sometimes."

"I know," returned Aramis as he noted his distress, "but we cannot undo what has been done. All of this has occurred for a reason and all will turn out well."

"Will it?" wondered Philippe as he turned to face him.

"I believe so, yes."

"Can you assure me that all will turn out well?"

"I cannot."

"Why?"

"We all make out own destinies, Philippe. We must all find our own happiness. Behind every cloud, there is a silver lining."

Philippe's eyes narrowed as he considered Aramis' words. Where were all of you when I needed you the most? he wondered. How can there be a silver lining behind every cloud? For when behind the clouds that enveloped me so long ago, there was only darkness. How can they be so optimistic with all that is occurring? How can we go on, when even I am not sure that Louis is truly dead?

Shaking his head to clear his thoughts, he turned to face the group that had gathered around him. He calmly told them of all that he knew, trying to keep his fear at bay. He watched as they, too, realized the danger that they were all in. For if Louis was indeed alive, his revenge upon them would be exacted in a calculated and precise manner.

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