Hey guys! I know this is another relatively short installment from me, but I feel like it needed to happen at this point to really help things along and fill in a hole or two. Hopefully it's still enjoyable! Let me know what you think after you've finished reading, and remember that the more feedback I get, the easier it actually is for me to continue writing!

Chapter XIII

"Something troubles you, my son."

Queen Anne sat quietly in her armchair by the roaring fire as the last of her servants left the room and quietly closed the door behind them, her dark eyes downcast to pay attention to the needlework she held in her hands. In and out the needle went through the fabric, leaving behind a trail of brightly coloured thread that was slowly beginning to form a picture upon the otherwise blank canvas, her nimble fingers making it look almost effortless. Her hair had been released from the netting and endless pins that she used during the day and now hung loosely around her shoulders in dark waves, while her elaborate gown had also been removed. In its place rested a nightgown of silk and a robe of deep crimson and gold that covered her body modestly from the eyes of anyone else who might be in her presence that night.

Philippe was leaning against the mantle, his eyes staring distantly into the flames that danced merrily in the hearth as his chin rested against a closed hand. Only at the sound of his mother's voice did he finally snap out of the trance that he had placed himself in and turn his head, looking at her for just a moment before he moved slowly to her side. "Mother?"

Despite the time that the two had now had to become acquainted with one another after their long years of separation, Philippe was still adjusting to the use of the word. He had spent endless nights in his prison cell wondering about the woman who have been his mother before he was removed to the Bastille, his crimes unknown. Had she been fair as he was? Had she been tall and slender or short and plump? Was she rich or poor, had she loved him or not? These questions and a million more had come to mind each night as he stared longingly at the moon through the bars of his cell, hoping one day to be freed and allowed to walk through the streets in the evening air so that he could better look at the moon. And yet, now that he was standing in the very same room as that woman, he couldn't help but feel a small sense of uncertainty loom about him. She did love him, of this Philippe was sure. But his lack of interaction with such a woman meant that he could not even begin to understand the little things about her, always wondering what that small smile of hers meant, or what the sparkle in her eyes indicated. She was about as mysterious to him as the young woman who had become involved in his rescue from the Bastille, the very same young woman who had plagued Philippe's mind until the moment his mother had spoken.

Anne's lips perked just a little more as she lifted her eyes and watched her son sink down onto the cushioned stool that sat at her side, her dark orbs patiently waiting to see if another question might first come from him before she spoke. "You are too silent."

Philippe sighed softly to himself as he ran a hand along his face, holding his chin for a moment before he allowed his hand to drop and join the second against his knees. "I am not sure that I can explain," he told her gently, a small laugh in the end of his sentence. "I feel so strange, Mother."

Hands stilled as the Queen Mother laid her stitching down in her lap and gazed upon the face of her son, seeing the uncertainty dance about in the bright blue of his eyes. Many times before had he been this way when the two of them were alone together at the end of the day, sharing his fear of not being able to successfully pass as his brother, of not being able to slowly make the necessary changes in his demeanor in order to slowly convert from Louis into Philippe in a way that might prove to be acceptable for the court. Philippe had never asked for the life that he had been thrust into, nor properly prepared for the type of work that now lay ahead of him. But in this instance, Anne was sure that it was not matters of state that plagued his mind and thus created the emotions she saw in his face. No, it was not France that troubled him now. It was something far more personal, something that Anne had dealt with herself in the past as she combated the issues of heart over duty. And much like herself, she knew that there would eventually be a worry of what was to be done about the issue itself, once it had been acknowledged.

"She is beautiful, isn't she?"

She had seen the way in which Philippe had gazed upon the young woman who had come into the room on that very first day with D'Artagnan's weight supported on her smaller frame. Anne had seen right away that there was a spark of fire in the eyes of that young woman, something that set her apart from many of the other women she had seen come and go from the court while Louis had sat on the throne. At first she had been rather startled to learn that she had taken part in the siege on the Bastille and helped to free her innocent son, for she knew that a situation like that was perilous for those involved and certainly no place for a woman to be. And yet she had gone, with no prior knowledge of what her adoptive father and uncles had been planning. All that Katherine had known was that they were heading into danger when she had run into Aramis that night, and she had refused to let them go alone.

The wide-eyed look that she received from her son was enough to tell Anne that she had been right in her assumption. Philippe had come to care for the girl in the way that Louis had never truly cared for any of his love affairs. Even Christine, the young woman who had been tricked into his bed through the death of Athos' son had never really meant that much to Louis. Colour had risen in Philippe's cheeks a little at his mother's bold statement, his throat clearing a little.

"You have taken notice."

It wasn't a question, she thought to herself, but a statement. "It would surprise you to know all that I have seen from my place," she said to him slowly, an air of mystery in her tone. "You forget that I sat as Queen for many years before I took my place beside your brother. And when a woman is not expected to speak, she must make good use of her time."

Another sigh escaped his lips and a hand moved through his light brown locks, eyes turned away for a moment to collect his thoughts. He'd never experienced this kind of feeling before, where a simple word or touch was enough to make his heart leap violently in his chest and his stomach churn in anticipation. The very idea of her was enough to make him feel almost queasy, and Philippe was not accustomed to feeling such a way. After all, the only contact he had previously had with a woman had been in the older lady who had cared for him while he had been in the country. Not even then had he been allowed contact with others outside of the old woman and the priest, having been raised and served by them for sixteen years before being thrown into the dark dungeon of the Bastille. Women were still very much a foreign concept to the young King.

"What do I do?" he asked her softly with a look that told of just how lost he had become. "Can I even do anything?" he added as an afterthought, eyes returning to gaze into the flickering flames of the hearth.

Very slowly, Anne reached out her hand to her son and placed it on both of his, brushing her thumb reassuringly along the smooth skin she found there. Philippe's eyes immediately returned to his mother as he waited for the response that she would give him, his heart fluttering madly in his chest in anticipation. There were so many variables that he needed to consider, so many questions that came to mind and threatened to confuse him further if no guidance was given. He did not want to hurt the relationship he shared with the musketeers, having seen how protective they were of Katherine when she had come to aid in his rescue. But neither did he want to be forced into silent agony, keeping those feelings to himself. If he had to do that, Philippe was sure that he would burst.

"You are the King of France," came his mother's gentle reminder, a small smile appearing on her lips. "Your advisers will expect you to make a political alliance with your marriage."

His heart sank a little, knowing her words to be true. Her own marriage had been one forged for that reason, not out of love as it had been with D'Artagnan. And to know that he might indeed be forced into marrying another that he had never before met until their wedding day already gave him a sense of loss. He would certainly not be permitted to court Katherine.

"However," Anne began again, causing her son's eyes to spring back to her face. "You are the King. If your heart yearns for this young woman, you would be foolish to ignore it."

Philippe's eyes brightened considerably and his face lit up into a smile. This was Anne's blessing, he knew it in his heart. As a woman who had been through an unhappy marriage of her own, would it not make sense that she would wish to see her son find the happiness that she had long been denied? And here she was before him, telling him in not so many words that he needed to go and seek the happiness that was right in front of him without worry. Oh, if only he could earn the same blessing from the others! As the men who served as his advisers at the present time, he hoped and prayed that they would be just as understanding as his mother had now been, even if Katherine was not a woman who could bring another country into alliance with France. She was one of the common people, and that would make the country accept her all the more, of this he was certain.

"Thank you! Oh, thank you Mother!" he cried, leaping to his feet and pressing a kiss to her hand. "You have lifted a heavy weight from my chest and given me hope! Thank you, thank you!"

With a smile so bright that it alone could have possibly lit the room, Philippe kissed the top of Anne's head as well before he hurried for the door, pulling it aside and removing himself from the room so quickly that the Dowager Queen could do nothing but laugh softly at his childish antics. No doubt there would be talk among the servants in the morning of what it was that had prompted the King to leave her presence in such a state of mind, but she would pay it no heed. All that mattered now was that her son was going to go forth and try to speak with the young woman who had captured his heart, allowing himself a chance at eternal happiness. All there was left to do now was pray that it would work out for the best and not be destroyed by outsiders the way that her own had been. Dangers still lurked around every corner for herself and D'Artagnan, whom she had seen only once in passing since the night that she had dared to venture to his quarters.

"Sleep well, my son," she smiled lightly. "And may God be with you."