"Foquet," said Louis as he watched him walk into his cell.

"Sire," greeted Foquet, "all is well?"

Louis' eyes narrowed behind the mask as he stared back at
Foquet. "That is the most asinine question that I have ever heard,"
he hissed as he turned around and walked towards his cot. Taking a
seat upon it, he regarded Foquet with silent inquiry. "How did you
find her?"

"Find who?" prodded Foquet, feigning innocence. "The girl?"

"Of course," returned Louis, crossing his arms about his chest. "Who
else would I be inquiring about? How was it that you found her? I'm
curious to know how it was that you came about that. For if my memory
fails me, you had trouble in doing so before."

Swallowing nervously, he said, "I inquired about her within the
servants hall. I was able to get information about her from a woman
named Madame. Of course, it took me a good deal of cajoling to get
the information out of her."

Louis nodded and pointed to the stool that lay propped against the
wall at the end of his cot. "Pull that near so that we may converse,"
he stated irritably.

Foquet did as he was told, picking up the stool and placing it a feet
or so away from Louis. Taking a seat upon it, he said, "You seem
almost amicable, Sire."

"Hmmph," snorted Louis, feeling his anger rise slightly at Foquet's
comment. "I am not an amicable man, Foquet. The only reason I am
outright talking to you is because you are my only means of gaining
information about the going-on's within the palace. Other than that,
I doubt that I would be addressing you."

Foquet's mouth fell open at Louis' blunt reply. The nerve of him! he
thought. The man should be grateful that I am assisting him with his
perils. By God, how can he be so heartless?

"I have no heart, Foquet," said Louis, further off-setting the man as
he voiced the answer to the question he'd been pondering. "I care
naught about anyone. I do not care at all about the sufferings of
others. I care only about myself and nothing more."

Foquet raised an inquiring brow at him as softly replied, "Not even
about your mother?"

Louis met his intent scrutiny, his eyes becoming twins shards of
glass behind the mask. "No," he returned a tad too sharply, feeling
the hurt of his mother's betrayal deep within his chest.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes," he growled through clenched teeth. "She betrayed me the day
she chose Philippe over me. It's obvious which one of us she favors
more. I could care less as to how she is."

She doesn't love me. She never did! The day Philippe first tried to
take my throne, she'd gone straight to him after I'd swung my hand
across his face. It's obvious who she loves the most. I should have
had him killed in the first place, instead of placing him behind this
horrid mask, he thought vehemently as he gazed upon the stone floor
with a frown upon his face.

"She cares very much about you, Louis. She always has."

"Enough!" he stated bluntly. "Keep an eye on Molly. Report back to me
within a few weeks and let me know how things are. I must find a way
out of this place. The sooner, the better!"

Foquet stared at Louis' taut frame, his blue-green eyes two slits of
cold anger peering through the mask. Louis potent hatred for his
brother was apparent in his defiant stance. He shook his head to
clear the thoughts of pity that were going through his head as he
gazed back at him.

Carefully, he said, "I shall do as you ask, Sire. I shall keep on her
for you. Be forewarned, Milord. I shall not be held accountable for
any of her follies."

Louis hissed behind the mask and hopped off of the cot to turn his
back upon Foquet. "Leave!" he demanded. "I have no further need of
you at the moment."

"But. . ." stammered Foquet.

Whirling about, Louis took a few steps towards Foquet and pushed the
mask against his face. "What part of leave don't you understand?" he
growled. "You and that wench try my patience. Leave at once!"

Foquet opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out. Instead, he
nodded, turned upon the ball of his heel and walked towards the cell
door. He rapped his knuckles against the door, grateful that the
guard had not been that far away. Once he unlocked and opened the
door, he hurried out of Louis' cell without a backward glance or a
word of parting.

Staring at a frazzled Molly as she leaned against the wall, he nodded
at her and waited for her to stand beside him. He wrapped a hand
around her arm and led her out of the Bastille. They made their way
towards the carriage, both enveloped within their own thoughts.

The trip to the palace was one of silence between them. Neither knew
what to say to the other, for Louis' presence lay between them even
though he was imprisoned within the Bastille. The carriage came to a
stop before the palace entrance, jolting them both out of their
reveries.

The footman opened the carriage door and helped Molly out of it. She
walked into the palace without a backward glance. Foquet stared after
her for a moment, shaking his head at her retreating form. He rapped
upon the roof of the carriage, signaling the driver that he was
ready to go. The carriage sped away from the palace with a forlorn
Foquet within it.

 

Walking into her chambers, Molly kicked the door to the room shut and
strode over to her bed into a helpless rage. She tossed her reticule
upon it, shrugging out of the shawl she wore upon her shoulders.
Sitting upon the edge of the bed, she slid her feet out of her shoes
and kicked them aside.

She was lazily rubbing the soles of her feet when the sound of
someone clearing their throat alerted her to the person's presence
within the room. She jumped off of the bed and whirled about. She
looked about her surroundings, her brown gaze falling upon a livid
Philippe as he lounged against the window sill.

His blonde hair was thrown casually over his left shoulder as he
stared back at her. His blue-green eyes were narrowed to half slits
as he assessed her disheveled appearance. His arms were crossed
firmly upon his chest.

The sight of him sitting so regally upon the window sill sent her
blood aboiling. Her heart hammered against her chest as she stared
back at him.

"S-sire," she stammered, "what are you doing here?"

Philippe's gaze grew darker as a turmoil of thoughts ran through his
head. Although he did not want to think about it, the thought of her
being with another man brought a wave of bile to his throat. He had
thought her to have been a faithful woman. Yet he realized that he
had been wrong.

Her appearing at the palace in the state that she was in bespoke
volumes of what it was that she had been doing. She had been with
another, regardless of the fact that he had made it clear of the
consequences of her committing such an act. Pushing himself to his
feet, he stared down at her with a face devoid of emotion.

"Where have you been?" he demanded as he let his arms fall to his
side.

Swallowing over the lump in her throat, she said, "I was visiting a
family member."

He raised a brow at her, his mouth thinning to a line. "Is that so?"
he inquired further as his temper began to rise.

"Y-yes," she stammered, her heart racing even faster within her chest.

"And what is the cause for your disheveled appearance?" he prodded,
trying to curb his anger.

"My brothers were a little feisty with me," she breathed as she
looked back at him.

He approached her, his hands falling upon her shoulders. "You lie,"
he hissed.

"Nay," she said slowly, "I do not."

"Aye, you do. You have no family, Marie. You told me so yourself when
I made you a lady-in-waiting. Who were you with?"

Molly's eyes widened as she remembered Marie's telling her such
details. Yet she also remembered that Marie had told her that her
family was of poor relation and that it was why she had told the King
that she had no one to go home to. Swiftly, she concocted a story to
save herself from falling into disgrace before the King's eyes.

"I do have family, Sire. They are not of noble birth and that is why
I did not tell ye about them."

"I see," he said as he released his hold on her and turned to stare
out of the window. "Where do they reside?"

"Why does that matter, Milord?" she wondered as she gazed at his
tense form.

He faced her once more, his eyes dull. "I would like to meet them,"
he replied, knowing that such a request was not customary of the old
Louis.

"Milord!" she gasped. "It is not necessary."

"Where do they reside?" he demanded once more, curling his hands into
tight fists to keep himself from pulling her to him and kissing her
senseless.

Searching within her mind for Marie's words on where her family
lived, she said, "Le Mans."

"Is that so?"

"Yes."

"You do not lie to me?"

"Nay, Sire, I do not."

He knew well that she was, for she was not divulging the fact that
she had gone out with Foquet earlier. Yet he would not force that
fact out of her just yet. He realized that knowing who she had been
with gave him leverage over her and he would use that bit of
information well. In due time, he would make her see the folly of her
ways.

"I would like to meet them soon," he murmured offhandedly.

"Y-ye would?" she asked, knowing that what lay in Le Mans was not
Marie's family, but her own.

"Aye, I would," he stated bluntly. "We shall arrange that in time.
You must be tired. I shall take my leave of you and have your
attendants assist you."

She nodded, releasing the pent-up breath that she held. She met his
thunderous gaze with a cool one of her own, hoping that he would not
ask anymore questions about Marie's past. She realized that she
needed to seek Marie out and inquire as much about herself as
possible.

Her role as Marie depended on her knowing as much as possible about
Marie's past. She did not know how much of her past Marie had
divulged to the King, but she knew that it was evident that she
acquaint herself with Marie as best as she could.

"Thank ye, Sire," she said as she waited for him to take his leave of
her.

He walked towards her, catching her chin between his thumb and
forefinger. "Have a good afternoon, Marie," he said, his blue-green
eyes searching.

"Aye, Sire," she returned huskily. "I bid ye the same as well."

Unable to hold himself back, he leaned forward and caught her mouth
with his own. He kissed her hungrily, his body aching to make her
his. Yet he refrained from doing so. The thought of her having lain
with Foquet was still fresh in his mind and it doused the fire that
had begun to grow within him. Pulling away, he narrowed his eyes at
her and bid her goodbye.

She watched him exit her room with a pang of regret building within
her chest. He ignited the fire within her and he was the only one who
could sate it, she knew. Although she did not want to admit it, she
knew that she loved him. She always would.

Knowing this, placed a crimp upon her loyalty to the man in the iron
mask. For she knew that she would rather risk her life for the man
who was now King, than for the one that had sat upon the throne not
so long ago.