The morning loomed bright and clear, jolting Molly out of her slumber. She opened one eye and groaned inwardly as one of her attendants pushed open the curtains and let the sunshine into the room. She was dreading the fact that she had to go to the Bastille. She had hoped that the events of the night before had been a dream, but she knew that they indeed had not been.

"Your bath has been prepared, Miss," said one of the attendants as she pulled back the bed curtains and pushed back the bedcovers.

Molly sat up and swung her legs over the side of the bed. "Thank you," she replied and slid her feet into a pair of waiting slippers.

"Your welcome, Miss," said the attendant, pleasure illuminating her face as she helped Molly out of her nightclothes.

She helped Molly into her bathing robe and watched as the young girl slid behind the screen to bathe. She set about in putting her morning attire together and waited patiently for her to complete her toiletries. Once Molly was finished with her bathing, she allowed the attendants to help her into her clothes. They dressed her hair in the ton's most recent fashion and walked out of her rooms with an air of satisfaction about them.

Nervously, Molly exited her chambers and strode towards the main hall of the palace. Philippe, who had been on his way to see her, strode after her. He maintained a safe distance away from her, for he was eager to know where it was that she was headed. He watched her walk out of the palace and enter a waiting carriage. His eyes narrowed as he recognized Nicolas Foquet's face just before the door closed behind Marie.

What is that you are planning, Marie? he thought irritably as he stalked into the parlor. Why are you consorting with Nicolas Fouquet? I'll have her beheaded should she be finding her own pleasures within Foquet's bed. To think that I have lain my trust at her feet and she sees fit to repay me this way! We shall see which one of us comes out this battle the victor, Marie. For I will not allow you to make a fool out of me.

"Your Majesty?" pondered Aramis, as he strode into the parlor.

"Yes?" balked Philippe, his temper rising as he thought about Marie's involvement with Foquet.

Aramis' eyes widened, taken aback by Philippe's sudden rise of temper. "I can come back if you wish me to you, Your Majesty," he said as he came to a stop several feet away from Philippe.

Philippe turned to face Aramis, his cheeks flaming with color. Great! he thought. First, I'm a tad too harsh in speaking to Mother, and now, I've done the same with Aramis. Just great! What's next, I wonder?

"It's all right, Aramis. I've just had something on my mind and I fear that I let my emotions run away. Something I've never done before, I confess," he apologized.

Aramis smiled, his blue eyes full of mirth as he stared back at the young King. "Something?" wondered Aramis. "Or is it someone?"

Color filled Philippe's entire face at Aramis' words. "Why would there be someone on my mind?" he said nonchalantly.

"Come now, Phi-Your Majesty," laughed Aramis. "Surely, you cannot deny that you have a woman within your bed. The news is all over the palace."

Philippe raised a brow at him and shook his head. "And you listen to such gossip?" he queried, a laugh escaping his lips.

"Gossip?" commented Aramis. "Your Majesty, you should know that whatever it is that you do is known all over."

"Hmmmph," snorted Philippe as he slid into a brocade-covered chair. "What brings you here?"

Aramis took a seat upon the chair facing Philippe, laying his gloves and hat upon the table sitting to his left. "Your. . . the prisoner," he said, watching Philippe's face carefully.

"What about him?"

"What shall be done with him? Will he be kept for the remainder of his life within the Bastille?"

"For now, yes. He is not worthy to be pardoned just yet. He must learn humility, Aramis, and by God, he shall learn it."

Aramis nodded, his blue eyes narrowing as he gazed upon him. "What bothers you, Your Majesty?" he questioned lightly.

"Nothing bothers me," he returned a tad too suddenly.

"If you say so, Your Majesty."

"Is this all that you have come to see me about?"

"For now, yes. Your Mother. . . ."

Philippe gazed back at Aramis, interest filling his blue-green eyes. "What about my mother?" he asked cautiously.

"Your mother thinks that it would be best to have the prisoner transferred to a more tranquil location. One that is not so encroaching as the Bastille," said Aramis.

"She has mentioned this to me, but I will not relent in releasing him just yet. I aim to have him learn his humility and no amount of cajoling will deter me from my decision."

Aramis smiled, just then, proud to have witnessed Philippe's determination at keeping Louis hidden within the Bastille. "I am proud of you," he whispered softly.

Searching Aramis' gaze, Philippe kept his features impassive. Smiling inwardly, he nodded. Since most of the Royal Court was about, he had to retain his facade as Louis. Aramis returned his nod and swiftly rose to his feet. He pulled his hat and gloves on once more, his blue gaze looking about the room.

"He would have been proud of you, as well," he replied in low voice.

"Would he have been?"

"Yes."

"He loved your mother and Louis. And upon learning of your existence, he would have given anything to spare you of all the heartache and despair that you went through. We shall speak of this another time, Your Majesty. It seems that the rest of your Royal Court seek your attention. Good day, Your Majesty," he replied and walked away without a backward glance.

Philippe watched him walk away and shook his head. Taking a deep breath, he turned to face his Royal Court as they began to fill the parlor. All thoughts about Marie fled from his mind as he concentrated upon the tasks at hand that were lain before him.




Taking a look at the Bastille, Molly released a pent-up breath. The moment had come for her to confront the man in the iron mask. She was not fully prepared for this meeting, for the fact that he was truly the King disturbed her greatly. She did not what it was that she would say to him.

Foquet helped her out of the carriage and escorted her into the dungeons. They made their way towards Louis' cell, taking a moment to reflect upon things as they waited for one of the guards to open the cell. Molly fidgeted nervously beside Foquet, swallowing now and again with apprehension.

"You needn't be nervous, Molly. Louis will not hurt you," he soothed.

"Won't he?" she pondered, keeping her gaze upon the cell door.

"No," he reassured, "he is intrigued by you and he will never hurt you."

She turned her head slightly to look at him, her mouth curled into a wry smile. "Forgive me, Monsieur, but it is quite known around the palace that the King is a heartbreaker. If, he is indeed the King," she replied.

Before Foquet could offer her an answer, the guard opened up Louis' cell. He nodded at her and watched her walk into the cell. He ordered the guard to shut the door behind her and leaned against the wait until it was time for him to meet with Louis.

She hugged her reticule against her chest as she walked into the cell. "H-hello?" she prodded gently as she stood in the center of the cell.

Gazing at her from where he stood, Louis took in her beautifully attired body and could not help but smile behind the mask. She looked very much like one of his ladies-in-waiting. My God, is she beautiful! he said to himself. And to think that my brother is making good use of her. Damn Philippe to hell! Shaking his head, he pushed himself out of the shadows and stepped forth to face her.

"Molly," he replied huskily, feeling his body react to the sight of her before him.

"Si. . .hello," she returned, her fingers tightening even further around her reticule.

"I have a name, Molly. Surely, you know it," he returned haughtily.

"I do not know what it is that I know anymore," she stated bluntly as she gazed back at him.

He came to stand before her, curving one of his hands about her cheek. "Don't you?" he asked. "I have not lied to you, mon cheri. I am who I have said who I am."

She gazed into the eyes that were slightly hidden behind the mask. "The man that brought me said that ye were indeed King Louis," she breathed nervously.

"I am," he said, caressing the softness of her cheek within his hand. He would have given anything, just then, to have had the mask removed from his face so that he could have pressed his mouth against her own.

"How can this be?" she questioned, her eyes full of unanswered questions. "The man upon the throne is the King."

Louis dropped his hand from her cheek and grated his teeth together. "No, Molly, he is not. He is an impostor. He may look like me, but he will never be me," he rasped.

"I do not know what ye look like," she said.

"My face is the same as the man who sits on my throne. The same eyes, hair, mouth. . . everything about me is the same as his. Though he does not have that much experience with the woman," he laughed wryly. "I excel at that much more than he."

"Why does he look like ye?" she asked, her eyes narrowed as she stared up at him.

Louis shrugged, not wanting to tell her that Philippe was his brother. It's best that she not know about that right now, he thought. Who knows which one of us she would aid if she were to know that Philippe is my brother. No, I shall not tell her that just yet. Not until I am sure that her loyalty truly lies with me.

"His having my own face is just a coincidence, Molly. It is said that one always has a twin somewhere," he replied. Mine just happens to be my real twin unfortunately, he said to himself. "Tell me have you been able to infiltrate yourself into his bed?"

Molly gazed back at him with astonishment written across her face. He is very blunt a person, she thought. I was not expecting him to ask that of me just yet. She tried to work the words through her lips, but they would not come. Try as she might, she could not tell him that she was indeed the King's lover.

He stared down at her, waiting for her answer. His eyes narrowed as he searched the depths of her brown eyes. It was then that he knew that she was sharing Philippe's bed. Her silence said it all. Turning away from her, he curled his hands into fists and pressed them against his hips. "Leave," he commanded. "Have Foquet come in to see on your way out."

She stared at his taut back, wanting to soothe him somehow. The urge to do so weighed greatly inside her, yet she resisted it as best as she could. He was cold and callous and he would not appreciate her trying to comfort him. She turned about to face the door only to have him pull her against him.

"Does he pleasure you?" he grated, his breath coming out in short spurts through the minute openings of the mask. "Does he succeed in sating your desires?"

She stiffened within his grasp, his anger at her being the King's mistress disturbing her. "Why are ye angry? Did ye not want me to entice him?" she asked, her voice trembling as she spoke the words.

He tightened his hold about her shoulders, aching to touch her as any man would touch a woman. Yet he could not do so, for the mask prevented him from fully pleasing her. He wanted Molly with his entire being and he cursed the day that he had suggested that she share Philippe's bed. The thought of her laying beneath his brother sent a wave of bile to his throat and he pushed her away with more force than that which he had intended. She fell upon her knees, her hair pulling itself free of the pins that had held it together. It cascaded about her shoulders in tremulous waves.

"You enjoy his lovemaking, don't you?" he demanded brusquely.

"He is pleasing, yes," she admitted.

His eyes narrowed as he stared down at her with growing vehemence. "The thought of you within his arms sickens me," he stated irritably.

"But it was ye that. . . "

"Yes," he breathed, "I know. I suggested that you entice him with your charms. The thoughts of you being with him revolts me greatly, but I am merely a man, Molly. I have needs, as well, and want nothing more than embed myself in you. This hideous mask prevents me from doing so, unfortunately."

"Ye. . .ye want me?" she prodded.

"Yes, I fear, I do," he admitted.

She tried to make a sense of what it was that he was telling her, but her mind refused to do so. She could not deal with his wanting her just yet. Instead, she pulled her onto her feet once more and dusted off her clothes as best as she could. She raised her chin with determination at him and said, "I must go."

He nodded, his lips pressed firmly together behind the mask. "When I summon you, I expect you to come to my aid," he said in a monotone voice.

She nodded, and turned away to face the door. "I know ye do," she returned bluntly.

"Should you not heed my summons, you will be sorry," he admonished.

"I know that as well," she replied as she rapped her knuckles upon the door.

"I am a formidable man, Molly. Do not anger me."

"I'm aware of that."

"I will escape from this place and you are my ticket out of here. Send Foquet in to me. He will give you your orders once I am finished with him."

"Very well," she said as the door swung open.

She made a hasty departure, jumping as the door swung shut behind her. She felt a pressure within her head and pressed a hand against her temple. Closing her eyes, she took a deep breath and tried to quell her frazzled nerves.

"Molly?" prodded Foquet as he stared upon her pale face. "Are you all right?"

She opened her troubled eyes to gaze at him, giving him a wan smile. "Yes," she breathed, "I am. He. . . he wishes to see ye."

He stepped forth in her directions, stopping abruptly when she took a step back from him. "Will you be all right while you wait here for me?" he asked lightly. "I won't be long, I promise."

She nodded, swallowing over the lump that had begun to form within her throat. "Yes, I'll be fine," she assured nervously.

He returned her nod and signaled the guard to open the door for him. "I shan't be long," he repeated as he strode into the cell.

Molly watched him walk inside, her heart hammering within her chest. The door closed with one loud thud, causing her to jump with apprehension. Her meeting with the man in the iron mask had not gone as she had thought it would. It had left very unsettled and she was unsure of what to do.

She could not think of him as the King, for she was losing her heart to the man that shared her bed. The thought of that man being an impostor further unsettled her, for she knew naught who he was. The thought of his being someone other than the man she thought he was unnerved her. She needed to know who he was and she was determined to find out.

The question at hand was at how she would do so. The man she called Louis was also a formidable man and to anger him would cause him to throw his wrath upon her. No matter! I will find a way to find out who he is. I have to! My very life depends on it. I have to know who he is, she thought as she leaned against the cold stone wall and closed her eyes in hopes of steadying her racing heart.

Whatever the outcome of her predicament, she knew deep in heart that she had already chosen the man she loved. She would do her best to keep that love, for it was one that she wanted so very much and she knew that she would never let it go.
 

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