Philippe let go of Molly's mouth, glaring at her through narrowed eyes. "You have your wish, Marie. I shall let you be, for now. When I do summon you next, I expect you to respond," he replied and spun away on his heel.

He stormed out of Marie's chambers, the door slamming behind him. Molly stared at the door with bewilderment, wondering if she had done the right thing in refusing him. She had heard that Louis Dieudonne' was a formidable man and that he was never pleased with anything about him.

Yet the man who had stood before her did not seem like the cold and callous man that she had heard of. There was an underlying quality within him that bespoke of gentleness and love. How she sensed this, she did not know. Yet she knew that whoever he was, he was not the tyrant King that had ruled France.

Was the man in the iron mask telling me the truth when he told me that an impostor sat upon his throne? And if so, does he really expect me to help him get his throne back? wondered Molly as she pulled on the gown that had been laying on her bed.

She paced the floor of her room, many a time, her thoughts spiraling through her head. She could not make sense of all that had happened to her in such a short span of time. Shaking her head, she did her best to clear it. Taking a deep sigh, she decided that getting good night's sleep would do her good.

She turned off the lanterns and slid into Marie's bed. She stared into the darkness, the memory of the 'King's' mouth upon hers still fresh on her lips. Sleep claimed her within a matter of minutes, a satisfied smile upon her lips.




"What do you mean that you can't get me out of here?" hissed Louis as Nicolas Foquet sat upon the stool at the end of Louis' cot.

Foquet shrugged, tossing his head and sending his hair into a frenzy. "I mean just that, my King. I can't get you out of here. The new 'King' seeks to behead me if I should try and help you. I do not want him to do away with me," he replied.

"You are still Prime Minister, though?" questioned Louis as he leaned against the stone wall, it's cold humidity seeping into his skin.

Foquet shook his head, his mouth pursed with displeasure. "Nay, I am not. One of the 'King's' new counsel was named Prime Minister, though I canna say that I like the fellow."

Louis nodded, turning away from Foquet's intent scrutiny. The mask itched against his face and he dreaded the feel of it. The days had passed and still he had not heard from Molly. He wondered where she was and if she was well. He knew that he should not have been thinking about her, but he could not help himself.

Molly was the source of his affections and this did not sit well with him. No woman had ever penetrated his heart and the fact that she had left him feeling the way he was feeling left him with a sense of foreboding inside himself. He hated the fact that he had had to rely on woman to help him get out of his imprisonment.

Where the hell is she? he thought as he curled his hands into tight fists. Has she betrayed me? Has she forgotten about me? Damn her! This is so unjust!

"Have you found her?" he questioned suddenly.

"Have I found her?" repeated Foquet, his brow furrowed with confusion. "Of whom do you speak of, Your Majesty?"

Louis swung around to face him, his mouth pursed with irritation behind the mask. "I sent word to you with one of the guards here about a Molly Gautier. I had requested that you seek her out and install her within the palace somehow. Have you done so?" questioned Louis, his voice low and menacing.

Foquet's eyes widened as he heard the tone within Louis' voice. He bent his head and slowly replied, "I'm sorry, Sire, but I have not. I have no knowledge of this girl. She is nowhere to be found."

"Hmmmph," snorted Louis as he slid off of the cot. "I suggest you do your damned best to find her, Foquet. It will no do to anger me," he menaced.

"But, Sire! I have done all that I can to find her!"

"You have not done well enough, then, Foquet. She can be found. Do all that you can to find her. I must speak with Molly, and soon! Or I shall have your head if you do not do as I say!"

Foquet swallowed heavily, sensing Louis' anger as well as his distress. "Yes, Sire, I shall do that," he replied meekly.

Louis turned to face the former Prime Minister, his eyes shrewd and glittering behind the mask. "I want you to begin the search as soon as you leave the Bastille. Once you have her in your possession, you are to bring her to me. I have waited far too long to have news from her, and I cannot wait any longer," he grated.

"And if she can't be found?"

"You will do your utmost best, Foquet."

"I shall try, Your Majesty."

"You will!" demanded an adamant Louis.

"Yes, Sire," breathed Foquet as the door swung open to admit one of the guards.

"Your time is up, Monsieur. I must ask you to leave," the guard replied, waiting impatiently by the door.
Foquet nodded and bowed before Louis. "I shall return within the week, Your Majesty," he stated and turned to leave.

"Two days," said Louis as Foquet approached the door.

"What!" gasped Foquet as he whirled about to face Louis.

"You have two days in which to find Molly," Louis stated, his voice devoid of emotion.

"But, Sire!"

"You heard me well, Foquet. Two days. You may go now."

"But, Sire, i. . . . it is impossible for me to find her within two days!"

Louis snorted once more, eager to make a run for the open door. Yet he knew that for him to do so would be a futile effort. Instead, he crossed his arms about his chest and said, "You have your orders, Foquet. I expect you to follow them."

"Yes, Sire!"

"Hurry up, old man!" barked the guard. "I do not have all day."

Foquet nodded and ran out of Louis' cell. He heard the door slam shut behind him as he hurried down the corridor. He's mad! he thought. Louis' gone mad. Two days! He's given me two days to find a girl who is nowhere in sight. A girl who has literally fallen off of the face of this earth. I do not know where this girl is. We have tried so hard to find her and she does not seem to exist.

He ran out of the Bastille and hurried into the awaiting carriage. He would do his best to find the girl Louis had described to him, but he knew that his efforts were futile. Molly Gautier was nowhere to be found. I must try,, he said to himself, or else Louis will have my head if I do not.

He urged the driver on his way, the edge of a finely manicured nail caught between his teeth. His eyes were narrowed as he considered all of his options. Louis had mentioned that the girl had worked within the palace. He had not bothered to search amongst the servants before, but he would do so now. Yes, he grinned, that is what I shall do. She is probably amongst the servants.

A satisfied smile crossed his lips as the carriage sped towards the palace. He was sure that Louis would spare his life once he found the girl and presented her to him. Surely, Louis will take pity on me, he wondered, his thoughts circling about his head


 

Molly strolled into the diningroom, a black and gold gown wrapped about her slender form. The King had requested her presence at the dinner table and she knew that to decline his offer would only anger him. She had taken great care in dressing for the occasion and could only hope that he would find pleasure with her appearance.

She glided towards the table, nodding as one of the servants pulled out her chair. Louis sat at the other end of the table, his brooding gaze boring into her. She smiled tentatively at him, hoping to ease the tension between them. When his frown only deepened, she knew that he was severely irritated with her.

Philippe dismissed the servants, taking in the beautiful sight before him. Marie was more beautiful than ever. Her raven hair was tied loosely about her head, several loose curls falling about her face. Her almond-shaped brown eyes were faintly lined with kohl and her mouth had a faint shadow of color upon it. Her cheeks were naturally pink, he noticed, her colored deepening as she felt his intent scrutiny.

"You have been faring well, Marie?" he prodded, several moments later.

"Aye, Sire, I am," she breathed, her voice husky and breathless.

"I have allowed you the time you have requested, Marie, but I grow impatient with need of you. A month has gone by and you are more fit than ever. I fear that I cannot wait much longer for you. You are the first woman whom I have allowed such things with. Normally, I would seek that which I desire with any woman, but I know that you are young. I realize that you are insecure and that you seek to find your place in this world," he replied softly.

"Sire, I. . . ." she began only to have him cut her off.

He raised his hand at her and continued. "Not yet, Marie. Let me say what I have to say. I wish to please you, to give you anything that you desire, but you must understand that I am not a free man," he returned lightly.

That, Philippe, is such an understatement, he said to himself. You are very much a free man, but she will never know that. To her, you shall always be Louis, husband of Marie Therese' and son to Queen Anne of Austria.

Molly nodded. "Yes, Sire, I know that. I have been aware of that fact ever since you made me a lady-in-waiting. It does not bother me, I assure you," she replied.

Philippe's mouth thinned to a line. The conversation was not going as he had thought it would. The Marie that sat before him was not the one he had known before. Of this, he was sure of. Marie would never have refused him from her bed, nor would she have made light of the fact that he was 'wed' to another. She would have sharpened her nails and would have fought him with every ounce of her being.

Whoever she is, she is not Marie. But I shall find out. I shall go on with her charade until I know who she is. Come what may, I must know who the vixen before me is. She attracts me greatly. Much more so than Marie ever did, he thought, shifting in his chair as his body chose to remind him of his discomfort.

"I see. What is your view of my wife, Marie?" he asked a few moments later, hoping that she would give him the same exact answer that she had given him before.

Recalling Marie's account of her first conversation with the King, she said, "She means nothing to me, my Lord. She seems like a cold, shallow woman and does nothing to make me like her. I have no idea why you married her. She makes you so unhappy and I cannot bear to see you so."

Philippe's eyes widened with surprise. My God! he gasped inwardly. It is Marie! But it does not seem like her. But. . . .can she be an impostor? Just as I am Louis'? Can she know everything about Marie, just as I know just about all I need to know about Louis?

Molly saw the King's surprise and smiled inwardly. I am playing my role as Marie quite perfectly, she surmised. Her smile threatened to cross her lips, yet she stilled the urge to do so. It would further disturb the King if her smile were to break through upon her lips.

"Why must you play games with me, Marie?" he wondered aloud.

She raised her chin at him with determination, and said, "I am not playing games with you, Sire. I seek only to have my freedom about the palace. Surely, you can understand that."

He pushed his chair away and promptly rose to his feet. He skirted the table and pulled her chair back as well. He grabbed her arm and yanked her to him, his gaze hard and unrelenting. Without uttering a word, he crushed his mouth against hers in hopes of gaining her acquiesce.

He molded her to him, eager to quell the desire that had been building inside him for such a long while. A sigh escaped Molly's lips, adding to Philippe's euphoria. He was tempted to make her his, yet he knew that it was not the time, nor the place for him to do so.

Letting her go, he ran a shaky hand through his blonde hair. "Take your seat," he ordered gruffly.

"Sire," she gasped, her mouth swollen from his kiss.

"Take a seat, Marie," he hissed. "Do not tempt me to do something over which I shall have no control over."

She did as she was told, placing her hands upon her lap. Her head was bent, the loose curls about her head covering a part of her face. Philippe stared at her with guilt written all over his face. The last thing he had wanted was to make her feel ill at ease with him.

He regarded all women with respect, and hated playing his role of Louis. Louis' treatment of women did not suit him, and he, at times, wished that he could just set everything aside and be who he was born to be. His role as King was not to his liking and he found it restricting at times.

He was adjusting as best as he could to his role, but it would be a long while yet before he could be fully capable of his role as King. The eminent threat of Louis' escaping the Bastille was forever in the air and he knew that only time would tell whether his brother would be worthy of release from the prison he himself had made.

Shaking his head, he tried to clear his thoughts. They were taking the wrong turn and he did not want to embarrass himself before his 'mistress'. Pursing his lips, he whirled about and took his seat once more.

"I hope that all of this is satisfactory for you," he replied as he intertwined his fingers together.

"Yes, Sire, it is."

She was about to say something further, but the dining room door swung open to admit the servants and the trays they carried. They set about in placing their meals before them, making everything as pleasant as they could. They sauntered away, leaving Philippe and Molly alone.

"We shall take that up at another time, Marie," he stated bluntly. "Know this, though. I will not accept your refusal this time around. I shall take my fill of you as I see fit."

"Yes, Sire," she nodded.

"Enjoy your dinner, Marie, for I have a great deal of things in store for you tonight," murmured Philippe as a playful smile played about his lips.

"Will I enjoy it?" she wondered aloud.

"I believe so, Marie," he sighed. "I know I will."

She blushed, her cheeks suffused with color. "Sire!" she gasped as she took a drink of her wine.

He smiled, then, amusement shining within his blue-green eyes. "Say my name, Marie," he said softly.

"Sire?" she questioned, her breath catching in her throat.

"My name, Marie," he prodded further. "Say it!"

Her heart raced as she gazed into the crystalline depths of his eyes. "Louis," she whispered.

His mouth tilted even more as he gazed back at her. "Remember that when the time comes, Marie," he stated firmly.

"Why is that, S. . . .Louis?" she asked as she placed her glass upon the table.

"Because my name will be the only thing that will spout from your lips when the time comes," he replied haughtily as he picked up his glass and tossed back his drink.