Name=Lissette E. Manning (LizzieBeth)

email=LizzieD10@hotmail.com

type=other

Title: For The Love Of A King (Excerpt From My Book)

This story that I've sent is an excerpt from a book I've written with this title. I wrote it one night after watching The Man In The Iron Mask, so this little excerpt is a tribute in itself to Leo. He made the movie possible and it is to him that I molded the character in my story. Hope you like it. If not, do let me know. I don't know if I'm that good a writer, but at least I try to be and I write from the heart!! Take care and talk to you later!!

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Melissa La Fontaine arranged the delicious food upon the tray and summoned one of the servants to deliver it to the tower dungeon at the Bastille. The tray was to be taken to the ma in the iron mask. The King had ordered that the captive be well fed and she aimed to follow through his orders. It would not do to go against the King’s commands

.

She signed her orders to the young deaf-mute that had entered the kitchens and sent him on his way. She then set about to give the kitchen a thorough scrub. Madame Helga had left her in charge of things until her return and she had not the heart to disappoint her. She would make sure that everything was as it should be.

She was in the process of putting away the dishes when the King himself strode into the kitchen. She turned around to grab the last of the dishes when she caught sight of him. She gasped aloud with surprise, her gray eyes wide.

“Sire!” she stated. “What brings you to the kitchens? Only the servants are allowed here.”

Phillippe let his blue-green gaze travel over the petite young woman and allowed himself to smile. Never had he encountered such an outspoken young woman. She was so unlike the cold, sophisticated women of the ton. Yet, oddly enough, she intrigued him.

“Is that so?” he quipped, his tone cold as he tried to keep up with his facade.

Melissa paled upon receiving the brunt of his cold demeanor. She had known that he was cold and callous, but never this arrogant. “Y-yes, S-sire,” she stammered.

“I believe that being the King allows me the right to wander whenever and wherever I please, Miss. That, I fear, would include the royal kitchens,” he retorted.

“But, Sire!” she proclaimed. “There is no need for you to come down here. We are your servants, my Lord. We are at your disposal whenever you deem it so. We are here to tend to your every whim.”

Phillippe chewed upon his lower lip, holding back the smile that threatened to break forth. Pity, he thought, that she knows naught who I am. She would appreciate me more if I were to be myself. Yet she would have a broken heart if she did. It is best that she knows naught who I am. I must maintain this farce and have everyone believe that I am Louis. “In a way, Miss, I agree. On another level, I don’t. I can make or break any rules that I wish to,” he stated bluntly. “I am your King, after all.”

She nodded and turned away to resume her previous task. She was trying to come to grips with the fact the she was standing in the middle of the royal kitchens having a conversation with the King. If someone had told that she’d be having such a conversation with him, she would never have believed it.

She found it unnerving to be so very close to him. She had never imagined him to be so handsome and so very masculine. The mere sight of him set her blood to boil. She was wrapped up in her thoughts that she was not aware of his Majesty addressing her.

He placed a hand upon her shoulder, startling her. She whirled about, her chestnut mane flying about her face. He smiled then, curling his left hand about her cheek. She stepped back, afraid of his intentions.

“Sire, you go against all protocol,” she blurted out rather suddenly.

He raised a curving brow at her and cockily replied, “Yes, well, I am protocol. As I’ve told you, I can do as I wish when I wish to do so. Now, I wish for bit of a snack.”

Melissa felt her heart hammer against her chest as she stared up at him. He overpowered her senses and made her breath catch with an unknown emotion. She found herself wishing that he were hers. Yet she knew that her wish could never be. He was Louis Dieudonne’, son of Louis the XIII and Anne of Austria. He was also husband to Marie-Therese’, heir to the Spanish throne.

Though husband and wife did not get along, Melissa was aware of the fact the Louis was unobtainable to her. He was out of her league and she had to accept that. Gathering ahold of herself, she nodded and took a deep breath to calm her frayed nerves.

“What is it that you would prefer, Sire?” she prodded.

“Enlighten me, Miss,” he said softly, curbing his wayward desires.

She turned away and began to rummage through the cupboard for a morsel to entice the King’s tastebuds. She was unsure of what to give him, though, for she knew not his preferences. She pulled out a box of tarts and placed it upon the counter. Taking a plate from the ones she had placed upon the counter, she set a couple of the tarts upon it and filled a glass with warm milk. She placed them upon a tray and turned to face the King once more.

“Will this do?” she prodded gently.

He nodded with approval and cautiously approached her. He pushed her against the counter and placed his hands upon her waist. He searched her eyes long and hard before he caught her lips with his. He wanted badly to taste her and found that this was the only way to do so. The feel of her womanly curves against his felt so heavenly to him.

She stiffened, caught unaware by his sudden action. She had not expected this of him. One would think that he would try to romance a woman of good birth than a lowly servant. She was aware of his having had many mistresses and had no desire to become one of the many who had shared his bed. She struggled against him, wanting to erase the feelings that he had begun to evoke in her. No man had ever made her feel such things before.

“No!” she denied as she pulled her lips from his. “I canna allow you to do this. I am but a servant. You, sir, are the King!”

He stepped back to gaze down into her eyes. Never once did his gaze waver. “And that fact, young lady, means nothing to me,” he taunted.

“Well, it should,” she hissed. “You canna go around seducing young ladies whenever you wish.”

“I can do as I please,” he countered. “I’ve had many a women, you know.”

“And that means what to me?” she returned just as thoroughly. “I have no desire to become a part of your sordid group. I was not raised to be the whore of a king.”

“I would your tongue if I were you,” he threatened, enjoying their heated exchange.

“Well, you aren’t me,” she quipped, her gray eyes blazing. “I can say whatever I please. It matters not to me that you are the King.”

Phillippe crossed his arms about his chest, adopting a pertinent stance. “You are a very insolent wench,” he mused. “What would you do if I were to throw you into the Bastille? Hmmmmm? I’ve thrown many into jail, as you well know.”

Melissa’s chin tilted in defiance at him. She was not afraid of him or of any other man. “You may do so, if you wish. I am not afraid of you,” she said.

“You should be.”

“I am not.”

“And, pray tell, why is that?”

Her gray eyes narrowed as she coarsely replied, “I have siblings that are just as haughty as you, sir. Never once have I let them walk all over me. I will not allow you to do the same. My mother has raised me a lady and that is how I shall remain.”

“Is that so?” he quipped, his blue-green gaze shining with mischief.

“Yes, it is.”

“I find it hard to believe that you were raised a lady.”

“Do you?” she prodded, her chin raised even further.

“Yes, Miss, I do.”

“Well, it’s true. I was raised a lady. My mother told me so.”

His gaze narrowed with suspicion as he cockily replied, “Then why are you in my employ?”

Melissa’s lips ceased to function just then. She could not confide in him the reasons that had led to her being in his employ. Her father’s loss of income had forced her to seek out a means of supporting her family and she was determined to protect them at all costs. If she were to reveal that she was, in fact, a lady of breeding, a scandal would then ensue. She could not let that happen. Swiftly, she concocted a story to cover her tracks.

Taking a deep breath, she said, “My parents died from the sickness of the lungs, Sire. Madame Helga offered me a position here in your castle when we met one day in the market.”

“Have you any siblings?” he questioned sharply, his blue-green narrowed with intent scrutiny.

“You have not been listening, Sire. I have a brother by the name of Henry and another by the name of Michel,” she stated bluntly, wanting to avoid the confrontation that was sure to come.

“I see,” he sighed. “How did you become so educated? Are you a lady in disguise? Is that why you claim that you were bred a lady?”

Her eyes widened as her heart constricted with pain. He’s found me out, she thought miserably. “I am a lady. My mother told me so. She said that all women are born ladies. It

just depends on how you raise them. As to my education, well, my mother was a governess in a Lord’s mansion when I was but a child. I was taught alongside the Lord’s children. My mother found nothing wrong in educating, and frankly, neither did I,” she replied softly, hoping to ease his curiosity.

“I would have loved to have met your mother,” he mused.

“She’s dead,” she responded a tad too quickly.

“You told me as much, remember?”

“Yes.”

He bent forth, pinching her chin between his thumb and forefinger. “I may have you if I so desire it, Miss,” he whispered, wanting to catch her lips with his own.

Melissa swallowed nervously as she anticipated the outcome of her present predicament. “I’m aware of that, Sire,” she replied through gritted teeth, “but I canna allow such dishonesty from you. I am a mere servant, ready to attend to your every wish. That is all. I canna be your mistress, for I was not meant to fill that roll.”

Phillippe thought upon her words for just a moment and promptly took the tray between his hands. “Weren’t you?” he prodded. “I happen to think that you were. You were meant for me, Miss, and I shall have you. It does not matter to me that you are unwilling. It is your compliance that I am after.”

“A woman’s compliance does not actually admit to defeat,” she retorted.

“Yours will,” he shot back heatedly, clutching the tray tightly between his hands.

“I don’t think so.”

“Well, I do. You will bend to my every command once you are in my possession. I will see to that.”

“You are cold and callous, King Louis the XIV, and I want nothing to do with you! No man shall ever bend me to his will. Not even you!”

Phillippe’s gaze narrowed to half slits as he stared back at her. “Very well, Miss. So be it! But mark my words, you shall be my woman in every way possible,” he said fiercely, and walked away without a backward glance.