Chapter 20: Patience Is A Virtue

"You're not going back to the palace, are you, Molly?" asked little Etienne as walked along the cobbled streets of Le Mans with his sister.

"No, Etienne," said Molly, a slight frown marring her face. "I'm not going back there. Not now. Not ever!"

Etienne clutched her hand tightly as they walked, his keen gaze taking as much as it could. "It's not because of Mum being sick, is it?" he innocently continued.

"No, Etienne," replied Molly as her frown deepened. "Hurry up. We shall be late for my appointment if we tarry even further."

"Oh," he murmured as he tried to keep up with his sister's pace.

Molly's uneven gait increased as she mulled over the events that had taken place three weeks before. Marie's imminent return to the palace had caused her abrupt return home. This had sat heavily upon Molly's heart, for she had not wanted to part from her beloved.

She mused the rapid turn of events that had driven her away from Louis' arms. If only Marie hadn't returned to the palace, she thought. If only she had stayed awhile longer! I would still be within my King's arms. I would have found myself at ease within the palace's walls, instead of having to return to a life I had tried so hard to leave behind.

Shaking her head, Molly tried to quell the thoughts that were swiftly rising inside of her head. She tried to still the sudden rise of anger as she thought about Marie's spending her nights within the King's arms. Yet she knew well that she had no right to be angry. Marie had been the one to share the King's bed in the first place. She had only been a stand-in for Marie until she had fully recovered from her illness.

Yet I cannot help but to feel angry. For awhile, the King was mine. For awhile, it was I who pleasured him. To know that another now has that venture angers me greatly, she thought as she wiped away the tears that fell upon her cheek with her free hand.

He was never yours, Molly, her libido argued.

Yes, I know that. But for such a brief moment, I could say that he was.

You've always known that you could never keep him.

Yes, I realize that.

Then, why be angry about such a trivial matter?

Because I love him!

Do you?

Yes.

Marie loves him, too.

I know that. I have always known that!

She won't relinquish her hold on him should you try to make a claim on him. You know that, don't you?

Yes, but I can never claim him. He was never mine to begin with. Nor has he ever belonged to Marie.

Yet you find yourself in love with him!?

Yes, and I shall always love him.

You'll allow Marie to keep him, then?

She is of noble blood, after all. She's allowed to have him, whereas I am not.

You are a fool, then.

It is better to be a fool, sometimes, than to fight for something that you know you can never have.

You're still a fool!

Then so be it!

Shaking her head once more, Molly came to a sudden stop. She stared at the sign plastered upon the door before her, her brown eyes full of worry. She knew well that she needed the doctor to examine her so that he could set aside her worries, but she could not make herself move towards the door that lead to his offices.

Etienne tugged upon her hand, his mouth trembling as he tried to keep himself from crying aloud. Letting go of his hand, she knelt before him and pulled him into the safety of her arms. Closing her eyes, she allowed her tears to fall as she tried to accept the fact that her life had just taken a drastic turn for the worst.

~

~

Hearing a faint click, Jean raised his and grinned broadly at Foquet. He had finally figured out how to unlock the iron mask. Pulling the lock from its place, he set it aside and proceeded to peel the iron mask from Louis' face. He stepped back, his eyes widening as he gazed upon Louis. He realized that the man bore a striking resemblance to the King himself. He wondered as to how such a thing was possible, for it was widely known that Queen Anne had born only one child at the time of Louis' birth.

"Are you all right?" asked Foquet as he came to stand beside him.

"I. . .yes, I am," breathed Jean, albeit a tad unsteadily. "I'm fine."

Foquet nodded and turned to stare at Louis. His hair, once the symbol of his impeccable grooming, was now dull and brittle. It held no shine whatsoever. His face was severely lined with soot, giving him the look of a man gone mad. His eyes were sunk into their sockets and his cheekbones were prominently pronounced. He had lost a good amount of weight, as well, for his clothes hung loosely about his frame.

It was obvious that his ordeal had taken its toll on him. He could only guess at the horrors that he had had to go through at having to wear an iron mask upon his face. He was happy that the locksmith had been able to free him from the clutches of the iron mask. Louis would be able to regain his throne once more and behead the traitors that had imposed such a terrible fate upon him.

Yes, thought Foquet, I will have everything I so desire and more. Villas, women, jewelry! I'll have it all!

Flexing his jaw, Louis released a sigh of relief. I'm free! he rejoiced inwardly. At last, I am free. I'll be able to exact my vengeance upon my brother and the Musketeers. I'll be able to regain that which is rightfully mine!

He turned to face Foquet, a lopsided smile upon his lips. Extending his arms, he said, "I am free, at last!"

"Aye, Sire," Foquet agreed, "that you are. Any thoughts on what it is that you will do now?"

Louis' smile faltered, just then. He realized that he had no set plan as to how he would reclaim his throne. From what Foquet had told him, all was well within the palace. Those that knew who he was had no qualms whatsoever as to whether he was still alive.

Except for your brother, said his conscience. He must know by now that you're alive. He is, after all, your twin.

Be that it may, I doubt that he even realizes that I have survived the blast within the Bastille.

What if he has?

We'll cross that bridge when we get to it.

You must consider all of your options, Louis. Don't wait until the last minute to put your plan, if there is one, into action. Everything will backfire on you if you don't map out your strategy ahead of time.

Shaking his head, Louis turned his back on them. Taking a deep breath, he said, "I wish to be alone."

"I wish to have payment for my services," Jean nervously replied.

Louis whirled about, his blue-green eyes full of rage. "Payment!" he gasped. "Is it not enough that you have assisted your King in his time of need?"

"My King?" sputtered Jean. "You are not 'my' King. I admit that you have a strong resemblance to Louis, but you will never be him. Now, pay me my due!"

Louis' nostrils flared with anger as he stared back at Jean. "You are a fool!" he viciously replied.

"I may be a fool," said Jean, "but at least I shall always retain my common sense. You, sir, have none! All I ask is that you give me that which has been promised to me."

Foquet intervened, intertwining his hands together as tried to keep them from coming to blows. "I'll take care of this matter, Sire," he replied. "Why don't you take the time to freshen up a bit?"

Louis' eyes widened even further as he gazed back at Foquet with horror written upon his face. "Bathe?" he rasped. "How shall I do that? The bath has not yet been filled!"

"Surely you can do that yourself, can't you?" Foquet suggested.

"I most certainly will not! There are servants who can take care of that for me."

"I am afraid that there are no servants here. Except for Chalice, there is no one else available to be at your disposal."

"I order you to find someone to take care of that task, Foquet, for I will not lift a hand to do it. I am your King, after all, and it is you who should do my bidding whenever I ask it of you," he stated bluntly as he sat down upon the window sill.

Foquet's mouth dropped open as he stared back at Louis. He sat upon the window sill with a satisfied smile adorning his pale lips. The fact that he was full of soot and grime and was in dire need of a profound bath did not seem to bother him that much, just then. Instead, he seemed as if he were content with the fact that he no longer wore the iron mask. This fact seemed to please him more than anything else at that particular moment.

"I, too, would be pleased if an iron mask were to have been removed from my face, Louis, but such a thing is not something that one would gloat over," he said aloud.

Yes, you are the King, but it does not account for the way in which you are behaving, just now, thought Foquet.

He's acted this before and it never bothered you till now, his libido decreed.

He was the King, back then.

He still is.

Yes, but. . . .

No, buts, Foquet. You owe him your entire life. Be still and continue to aid him, for he is your only means of living.

Very well, he said to himself, I'll do all that I can to assist him.

"I want my money," Jean demanded, drawing Foquet's attention to him.

Louis raised his chin at Foquet, his mouth tilted slightly with amusement. "Give the man his money, Foquet," he softly replied, his blue-green eyes glistening with malice.

Meeting Louis' gaze, Foquet nodded his consent. He knew what it was that he had to do. Though he was not one to shed another man's blood, he knew that this was something that he had to retain his well-being and that of his King. It was not to his liking, but he knew that it had to be done.

"I shall give him his due, Your Majesty," he breathed as he turned to face Jean. "I shall send Chalice up so that she can prepare a bath for you."

"That sounds amenable," Louis returned, his arms firmly crossed about his chest. "I would like to have a word with you before you leave, Foquet."

"Y-yes, Sire," he stammered. "What about?"

"Alone!"

Jean took that as a sign of dismissal and said, "I shall wait for you in the lobby."

"Please do," Foquet agreed. "I will be with you as soon as I have finished here. Do shut the door on your way out."

"Aye," Jean replied as he hurried out of the room without backward glance.

The door clicked shut behind him, leaving them alone. Louis rose from his perch upon the window sill and centered his gaze upon Foquet. He walked around him, running the pad of his thumb along the edge of his lower lip as he did so. Turning towards him, he smiled.

"Are you afraid, Foquet?" asked Louis.

Foquet met his triumphant gaze with a worried one of his own. "I would be lying if I said that I was not," he admitted.

"Hmmmm," murmured Louis as he crossed his arms behind his back. "There is no need for you to be afraid. I still have some use for you."

Swallowing nervously, Foquet replied, "Sire, I. . . ."

Knowing what it was that Foquet was about to say, Louis cut him off and said, "Kill him."

"Sire. . . ."

"Do not question what it is that you must do, Foquet."

"But. . . ."

"Kill him!"

"Y-yes, Sire," he stammered as rushed out of the room.

Louis stared at the open door with a sardonic smile upon his face. It's only a matter of time, Philippe, he thought. It's only a matter of time. I intend to regain everything that belongs to me. Soon, dear brother, you will breathe you last breath and I will be King once more!

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