Philippe slammed his glass upon the table, his blue-green eyes dark and unwavering. He watched Molly eat, barely touching his own plate. He was not really hungry for food and did not care if he ate or not. When she was finished, she pushed back her plate, took a sip of her drink, and waited for him to address her.

He chose not to offer her a comment. Instead, he simply pushed back his chair and walked out of the dining room. He did not bother to look back, for he cared naught if she had followed him.

Instead, he walked down the hallway towards his chambers. Deciding that he did not want to go bed just yet, he took a left and ran down a hidden staircase that he had come upon one day while exploring the palace. He ran into the courtyard, shifting into the shadows as a few guards made their way past his hiding place.

He was tempted to go back into the palace and seek out Marie but fought the urge to do so. He knew that until he took care of a small piece of business, he could not seek her out. Pushing himself away from the wall, he ran towards a worn path that led to the Bastille.

Swinging the heavy door open, he slid inside and carefully pulled the door back into place. Though he was supposedly Louis, it was known that Louis did not visit the Bastille often. In fact, most knew that he abhorred being within the walls of the Bastille and many would find his presence there alarming.

Yet he knew that he had to confront Louis sooner or later in order to go on with his life and now was as good a time as any. Bending his head, he walked forth, trying to be as inconspicuous as he could. He looked about the darkened corridor, wondering which cell belonged to Louis. Unable to decipher where he was hidden, Philippe knew that he no choice but to ask for assistance.

He came across one of the guards, and quickly assumed his role as the formidable Louis. He held his head high as he came to a stop before the guard, wishing suddenly that he had not made the decision to seek out Louis.

The man before him emitted such a strong stench that it rolled his stomach and made him want to retch. He wondered as to why the man did not bathe often, for the smell that permeated from him was horrendous.

Stepping back, he pinched his nose and said, "Where is the cell belonging to the man in the iron mask located?"

The guards eyes widened as he stared upon the King's fashionable presence. "Surely, ye knows that, Milord," he stumbled, showing a row of crooked, blackened teeth.

"Nay," said Philippe, his unease growing, as he waited for the guard to show him the way, "I do not. Take me there, and be quick about it. I do not have all day."

"I. . . yes, Sire. This way," said the guard as he brushed past Philippe.

Philippe shivered as the guard pushed past him, for the stench that lay upon the man was even stronger as he walked by. He turned his face and tried to take a deep breath, only to have the man's stench assail his senses even more. He could not help but gag at the smell.

"Are ye coming, Milord?" asked the guard as he watched the King's shoulders shake.

Clearing his throat, he said, "Yes, yes, lead on, old man. I'll catch up with you."

"Very well," the guard replied and turned towards a staircase. "This way, Milord."

Philippe followed him, keeping quite a distant between himself and the guard. They climbed the staircase, nearing one of the towers. The guard jammed a key into a door at the end of the hall and hurriedly unlocked it. Pulling it open, he turned to face the King.

"This is it, Milord," he rasped, pointing into the cell. "The prisoner is in there."

Staring at the open doorway, Philippe wondered if he were actually able to walk inside. He remembered clearly his days within the very same cell. Fear clawed anxiously within his chest as he slowing approached the door. He knew that if he wanted to go on, he had to vanquish his fears. The only way for him to do so was to confront Louis. Taking a deep breath, he walked into the darkened cell.

Turning to face the guard, he curtly replied, "Close and lock this door behind me. I shall summon you when I am through."

"Yes, Milord," the guard replied and threw to the door back into place. He threw the lock and walked away without a backward glance.

"Louis?" he prodded gently, careful not to make it known that he was trembling deep inside from both fear and anticipation. "Are you awake?"

From where he lay, Louis stared at the man who had taken his place. He hated Philippe with his entire being. He hated the fact that he possessed his very face. The same aquiline nose, the same sensuous lips, the vivid blue-green eyes, and the same shoulder-length blonde hair. He wondered why God had given his mother two children, instead of one, for he would have been content to have been an only child.

Instead, the palace had been gifted with two identical children and the youngest of the two was the one that sat upon the throne. My throne, thought Louis, hatred invading the depths of his blue-green eyes. He has everything that belongs to me. Including the woman I so desire.

"What is that you seek?" he hissed, not bothering to slide off of his cot, for he did not want to face the man who had taken everything from him.

"I came to see how you were," said Philippe, his voice soft and worried as he gazed upon the shadowed form that lay upon the cot.

"You have seen me," rasped Louis. "Now, leave!"

Shaking his head, Philippe unsettled the golden curls that lay about his shoulders. "I cannot leave just yet, Louis. You and I have many things to speak of."

"Do we?" growled Louis, curling his hands into tight fists as he fought to rein in his growing temper. "I think not, Philippe."

"We do, Louis," he continued easily, his unease dissipating as he sensed his brother's growing fury.

"What of?" hissed Louis as he turned onto his side to face the stone wall.

"We must discuss all that has happened, Louis. We must set things straight."

Louis closed his eyes behind the mask, wishing that Philippe would just disappear into thin air. He did not feel like talking to Philippe. What he wanted to do was to curl his hands around his brother's neck and tighten his hold until no air could seep through his lips. He felt no remorse at wishing his brother dead. For then, and only then, would all of his troubles be solved.

"I do not want to talk to you," he said through clenched teeth.

"You shall, nonetheless, Louis," stated Philippe, as he stared at his brother's taut back.

Whirling about to face Philippe, Louis' lips curled into a snarl behind the iron mask. "I refuse to utter another word to you!" he grated. "I want nothing else to do with you. The sight of you sickens me."

Crossing his arms about his chest, Philippe undertook a casual stance. "I am sorry that you feel that way, Louis, but it is about time that you and I have things out in the open. Several months have passed and it is time to wipe the slate clean," he replied smoothly.

"What do you know about wiping a slate clean?" said Louis. "Not too long ago, you were in this very cell rotting the time away!"

"Aye," returned Philippe, "I was, but it was because of you that I lay in this God forsaken cell in the first place!"

"Because you deserved it!" Louis shot back as he bolted off of the cot.

"Did I?" asked Philippe, his eyes narrowing into half slits as he gazed back at his twin brother.

"Yes," breathed Louis, his breath coming in short spurts as he fought for control.

"Why?" prodded Philippe, his voice low and controlled. "Why did I deserve such fate?"

"There could only be one King, Philippe," he replied. "I was named the King and I was not going to let you have my throne."

"Why would I have wanted such a throne, Louis? I would have been content with just living within the palace. I would have been content knowing that I was both near you and our parents."

"No, you wouldn't have been," Louis reiterated as he turned away to face the wall which housed the iron bars and a small, makeshift window. "You would have wanted more. You would have insisted that you be let upon the throne. I could never allow you to make that demand."

"And so you hid me?"

"Yes."

"And you thought that by doing so, you would rid yourself of me."

"Yes."

"Then why didn't you kill me?" pondered Philippe, his voice barely a whisper.

Louis whirled about to face him, searching the depths of his brother's eyes. There was no ill will or animosity within Philippe's eyes. Instead, he saw fear, pain, and pity in them. Pity? wondered Louis. Why should he feel pity for me?

Minutes passed and Louis refused to give Philippe an answer. He had no desire to continue their conversation and he knew that if he refused to say another word, that Philippe would grow impatient and that he would leave. He turned back to gaze through the iron bars, his thoughts in a turmoil.

"I'm waiting for an answer, Louis," breathed Philippe, "and I will not leave till you give me one."

Curling each of his hands around an iron bar, Louis seethed inwardly at his brother's insistence. He detested the fact that in some ways Philippe was very much like himself. Taking a deep breath, he turned around once more to face Philippe.

"I could not kill you because you were and are my brother. You are my blood, Philippe. I had you placed behind the mask because it allowed me to place the thought of your existence to the back of my mind. To me, you didn't exist," he admitted, his voice devoid of emotion.

"That still doesn't answer my question, Louis. Why didn't you kill me?"

"I couldn't kill you, then, but if I so chose to do so now, I would," Louis replied haughtily.

"Then why don't you?"

Louis' eyes narrowed with hatred behind the mask. "I have no desire to kill you just yet, Philippe. I shall do that when I am rid of the Bastille and this horrid mask," he said in a calculating tone.

"You will never leave this place, Louis. I shall never allow it," Philippe returned lightly, his arms tightly crossed about his chest.

Louis' hands balled into fists once more as his temper took ahold of him once more. "That will remain to be seen, Philippe. You won't remain on my throne for long!" he stated firmly.

"I'll hunt you down if you try and escape," Philippe returned.

"You won't know where it is that I shall be, dear brother," he hissed.

"I can find you, nonetheless. There are those at the palace who will do my bidding."

"You're bidding?" laughed Louis. "Ha! You amuse me with such talk."

"I am glad that you find this amusing, brother! But I fear that I do not jest. I have been learning well the ways of a King, and I shall do all that is in my power to keep you from harming me and anyone else."

Louis' brows lifted sardonically behind the mask. "Hmmmm," he breathed. "Very interesting. We shall see who is the victor in this sordid battle, brother. I shall gladly say that it shan't be you, though. I shall give this all that I am and all that I can."

Philippe snorted with derision, his mouth curled into a wry smirk. "I shall relish this battle of wills with you, Louis. I want you to know that I am no longer the meek soul that I was before. I have grown a bit since my release from my captivity and I hold dear my freedom."

"Your freedom won't lost long."

"If you say so."

"I do."

Philippe dropped his arms from his chest and walked gracefully towards the door to summon the guard. Louis was tempted to run towards him and render him unconscious. He wanted badly to take back his place upon the throne, but he knew that it would not serve his purpose if he were to dispose of his brother just yet.

He wanted to bring about Philippe's downfall by having him fall under Molly's charms. Though he hated the thought of his brother bedding her, he knew that only she could make him fall for her. Molly was a beautiful wench and she was sure to catch his fancy.

He was eager to know whether Foquet had found her. He'd given Foquet an ultimatum and he expected him to bring him news on the morrow. He needed to know quite clearly if Molly was installed and safe within the palace. Shaking his head, he watched as the door to his cell swung open.
"Watch your back, Philippe," he said softly.

Turning to look at his brother, he smiled sadly at him. "I pity you, Louis," he sighed. "Had you learned well the lessons that Mother and Father tried to teach you, you would have grown to be quite a man!"

"Ha!" snarled Louis as Philippe walked out of the cell without a backward glance. "I'm fine just the way I am!"

In answer, the door swung closed. Darkness invaded his surroundings, momentarily adding to his unease. Running towards the door, he flung himself against it.

"Damn you, Philippe! Damn you!" he cried heatedly, hot tears coursing down his cheeks as he realized that no matter how hard he tried to make things better, they always got worse when he did not expect them to be.