In the Court of the Sun King

Chapitre V: Mon Coeur Crie Pour Vous

Paris, 1656 ~ Le Palais des Tuileries

Marie ran, winded, through the palace halls, her sisters just behind her. Marie simply prayed that they were not too late.

Philippe was waiting outside the doors, his hands clasped tightly behind his back, pacing up and down the marble floor. When he saw his sisters approaching, he dropped his hands and met Marie's eyes with his own sorrow-filled ones.

"Is she alive?" Olympe panted from behind.

Philippe hesitated, then nodded his head. Marie could tell that he was having trouble forming words. Since the death of Paul and Alphonse, Philippe had become a stoic, silent man for his mere fifteen years. Marie often felt that he was the elder sibling rather than herself, likely only because with the death of Paul, he had become the sole male inheritor of the family estate. Marie knew that he would give it all up in a moment to gain back his brothers.

Marie swept around him and grasped the brass handle. A hand pressed the door closed before it could open, and she looked up to meet Philippe's eyes. "You don't want to go in there, bella."

Marie noticed that he had switched into Italian, a reflex that only occurred when stress overtook him. But his eyes were dark and steady.

Marie knew her dark eyes had the same fire. "Philippe, she may not have long. I want to see her."

Philippe looked away, almost as if he wanted to be anywhere else, the words "Do not enter there" escaping his pursed lips. He then retracted his warm hand from hers and stepped back, allowing his sister to crack the door open just enough to peer inside and catch wind of the conversation.

Soft voices, ones that at first were too low to hear, reached Marie's ears. Two voices. She leaned closer. 

"You cannot trust this witchcraft, Geronima." Marie could see her uncle, the Cardinal, seated at the bedside of her mother. He was speaking to her sternly.

Her mother stared defiantly back at the older man, her jaw set and the vein in her forehead throbbing in frustration despite her illness. Marie had often been told that she did not resemble her mother except in moments of determination. The daughter had the same hard look; the ones that said nothing would change her mind.  "I don't care what you say, Giulio. It is my dying wish. You must honor it."

"The Prince is in love with her." The Cardinal's eyes were pleading as his hands fretfully traced the embossed crucifix around his neck. 

"My horoscope was clear." My mother gripped his hand tightly. "Lock her up in a convent and keep her there. If you don't, she will cause no end of trouble in France."

"His Highness wants to marry her."

"He will find a more advantageous bride." 

"He will protest greatly at my interference."

"It is for his own good." Mother leaned back against her pillows. "Marie must never be allowed to see him again."

The harsh, unyielding tone of her mother's voice made Marie step back from the door, horrified. She felt two warm hands upon her shoulders.

"I tried to warn you, sister." Philippe's voice was low and stern. 

Marie held in the tears, letting her brother's hand's fall from her shoulders,  and ran from the room of the mother she had believed loved her. She knew nothing of what to do except what her heart told her. But then her heart only ever told her one thing. 

She ran to find Louis. 

  *****⚜️*****

Versailles, 1685 ~ Le Palais de Versailles

Marie awoke in the morning with no recollection of where she was or how she got there. All she remembered was the horror of her dream; the re-living of the moment when she knew that everything in her perfect world was about to be ripped away from under her feet.

Tiny slits of sunlight spilled across the floor from around the heavy drawn drapes, confirming that she had somehow slept all night. Whether from the exhaustion of the evening in general or from the sheer shock of seeing his Majesty again so soon, Marie's body had taken over and thrown her into deep, inescapable sleep. She rose and selected a more modest gown from the wardrobe, dressing herself. As unconventional as it was, Marie was not in the mood to deal with any other human beings. Not even maids. 

She slipped silently into out into the hallway, hoping for some air and perhaps a walk through the magnificent palace to clear her head. She was thankful that there had been a simple set of satin slippers in the back of the closet. The clicking of heeled shoes would have echoed horribly in these halls; the ceilings rising upward at an incredible height. As it was, the acoustics of the arches picked up her quiet breaths and amplifying them to seem like a panting crowd.

It was not until Marie crossed the threshold into the Hall of Mirrors that she realized that the amplified breathing was not only hers. Along the sides of the massive gallery stood a chattering throng of people. Most looked to be courtiers, chins raised and elbows straightened behind their backs in order to look as pompous as possible. The rest were visibly ecstatic onlookers, their faces alight with excitement as the main procession down the center of the hall neared them. Marie lifted herself up on her toes to see what all the fuss and din was about. The answer chilled her to the bone.

His most royal majesty, Louis the Great, stepped with purpose and elegance down the aisle way. Important-looking courtiers followed him closely. He looked worlds different from the night before. A cloak of heavy furs was draped about his broad shoulders, the curls of his wig cascading flawlessly over them. His chest was graced with his traditional velvet of Fleur-de-lis and pinned in it were countless medals of valor. He nodded in acknowledgement to those he passed, until he came to the place where Marie stood, frozen in the ceremonial scene.

His blue eyes met her dark ones and lingered. Marie found herself equally lost in his eyes as she had been twenty years ago. Her lip trembling with a mixture of fear and regret, Marie turned from the scene and fled back the direction that she had come.