“Stop!” shouted Chevalier. “I think you’ve made your point.” Philippe reluctantly lowered his weapon, brushed himself off, and stared at the crowd hard enough to send them back to the business they’d been about in the first place.

Alone in the King’s apartment, Louis and Philippe circled each other. Fury flashed in the King’s eyes and it was matched by the rage in his brother’s.

“You can choose who I marry and where I live and how much money I spend,” said Philippe, “but you do not get to choose what I wear and who I fuck.”

Louis angled his head; a wolf challenged in his forest. “Everything you do reflects on me.”

“I’ve been dressed like this since I was three months old,” said Philippe. “It’s been my duty to be less than you. You think it’s hard to be King? Try being a king’s brother for a day. You could never trick me. I know what you are planning here. And what you are hiding.”

“I’ve given you nothing but my love and respect, brother.”

“Is that what you tell yourself when you’re fucking my wife?”

Louis snorted. “Someone has to.”

“Everything I have I share with you. But you will not share the truth. How can I have your back if you won’t tell me the truth?”

Louis stopped circling and studied his brother. “Some things only a king can know.”

“What happened to the baby?”

“It did not survive.”

“Don’t you understand how rumors start? Your silence fuels the fire. Let me help you. I’ve never uttered an ill word against you, my brother.”

Louis’ smile was sour. “It’s not your words that worry me.”

The King gathered his generals and ministers in the War Cabinet room. The model battlefield sat upon the table. Men upon ladders held up large maps of the Spanish Netherlands with the enemies’ positions highlighted in red.

Louvois marched about, vigorously pointing out Spanish positions. “The Spanish have fortified the towns of Charleroi, Tournai, Douai, and Lille. General d’Aumont has troops in the north. Turenne’s battalions lie east of Cambrai.”

Philippe was announced and he entered, no longer dressed in feminine garb but as a man with fresh wounds who would be a warrior. He bowed and asked the King for permission to speak, which surprised the ministers in the room. Permission was granted.

“Cut off all of Flanders, from the large Spanish bases to the east,” said Philippe, stepping up to the table. “Bruges. Ghent. Brussels and Namur.”

Louvois shook his head. “To achieve your goal we would have to cut the Spanish off from Tournai and Douay. Who could lead our men? Every man is accounted for.”

“There is one, perhaps,” said the King.

Philippe looked hopefully at his brother.

“But in truth, he may not be ready.”