Maybe {Versailles - Monchevy} ENG VER

Maybe

Philippe really wanted to run away. If he was in better circumstances, if he wasn't wearing a gown, if he wasn't in heels, he would probably go back to Saint Germain in a hurry.

Running, possibly.

The prince of France sighed, checking on his hair in the mirror, braided by his mother just a few hours earlier.

She always liked to dress him up, since he was a child. After all, he was her "little princess".

When he was little, everything about this dress-up thing was normal to him. The first time his mother braided his hair, he was ten and it was finally long enough for her to do it properly. He remembered the moment he saw himself in the mirror, a boy in a lilac dress, long dark hair up in a simple braid and just one, single lock left free to settle on the boy's naked shoulder, too short to reach the dress' neckline. Now, almost six years later, the strand of black hair reached that neckline and rested on the fabric of the green gown he wore, at chest high.

Philippe caressed that lock of hair, fear of messing it all up. He felt like he was watching someone else, someone he couldn't recognize.

He was still looking in the mirror when he felt a hand at his lower back. Philippe raised his eyes in the glass, and a spontaneous smile formed on his thin lips. His mother smiled back at him, standing still behind his back.

"Philippe... ma petite princesse." the Queen of France kept smiling, making her second son turn around so he would face her. She took his hands in hers, both of Philippe's wrapped in light green gloves, long enough to reach his elbows. The queen cared so much for his gloves, in fact, he wore them all the time, a shorter version was made for his male clothing, but she went more uncompromising during court events. Tonight was no exception.

"Thank you, mother," Philippe said in a whisper, still smiling at her. She checked one more time at his dress, then his gloves and his hairstyle, smiling, satisfied that everything was perfectly settled. As she seemed to say something else, someone cleared their throat and distracted them. Mother and son turned, seeing Bontemps waiting for a sign to speak. Queen Anne smiled, nodding to allow him to talk.

"My Queen, Your Highness, it's time. The King is waiting for you to make your entrance."

"Of course he is," Philippe whispered, only for his mother to listen. She smiled again at him, releasing his hands from her gentle grasp, and began to cross the room, through the door that connected them to the Gran Salon. The prince followed, hearing Bontemps doing the same behind him.

"Tell me, Bontemps," Philippe waited for the young man, letting his mother make her own entrance before him. The Prince put his right, gloved, hand on the valet arm, allowing him to lead the short way through the salon. "How much my dressing for tonight is the Queen's idea?"

"I sincerely don't know what you are talking about, Your Highness," Bontemps said politely, as he always were.

"Oh, you know what I'm talking about. He's announcing his marriage and now I can dress as I please. Something must be up tonight, and I know him too well to ignore it."

"Monsieur, I really don't understand what you're trying to tell me," the valet said and smiled, but Philippe knew from his voice tone that he knew it very well indeed. "But, if I can tell you with all due respect... I will take off my gloves for tonight's event if I was in your shoes."

"Luckily, you are not. Plus, listen to my mother rumble again and again about all that soulmates stuff? Please, spare me."
His mother loved to tell him stories about soulmates when he was a child. Every night she was ready with a new story, written in an old journal she took with her everywhere. When the King died, she took away that book, and Philippe never saw it again. Every story was so different from one another, one time it talked about a shiny prince and a farmer daughter, another one was about a princess of a foreign kingdom and a king, already married to someone else. But his favorite was about a couple of valets, separated by their king at the end of the tale. It was sad but Philippe had always seen himself in one of them, who found out who their soulmates were, then got their mark for never seeing each other ever again.