Chapter II

The five riders departed from the Garrison less than an hour later. Darkness was settling in the city, even though the streets were still busy and crowded with people. The five galloping horses made such an impression that it was enough for a path to easily clear in front of them. The Queen was not used to riding. Obviously, she had received some education when she was younger, but it was not a recreation she particularly enjoyed. The fear of falling off and being trampled by the animal was added to all the other problems she had to deal with today. The four Musketeers escorting her would be more than capable of saving her, yet, looking like a fool was the last thing she wanted to do.

She kept her head down as much as she could while they were within Paris. Spies were everywhere, and she did not wish to be recognized so fast. No matter how difficult it was for her to leave her son behind, she had to admit that she would somehow be a little relieved as soon as she would be far away from Rochefort. The simple thought of his name made her heart clench. It hurt physically. Queen Anne forced herself to breathe steadily, focusing on the reins in her hands and on the movements of the horse under the saddle.

Porthos and d'Artagnan were flanking her sides, and it amazed her to notice that they hardly watched where they were leading their mounts. Instead, they were constantly casting glances at her, probably to make sure that she had not suffered any fall. The metallic noises of all their weapons invaded her ears once they were outside the capital city. She was used to being surrounded by armed men carrying muskets and swords, most of the time doing so to prevent any attack on her life. This time was different. There really was danger looming above her, far greater than assassins wanting to kill her. Having to face the King and the Council if her secret happened to be unveiled and the shame that would ensue, the Queen did not believe she would be strong enough to take it.

There must have been an unspoken agreement she had not been informed of that their pace would slow after a few leagues. The change was welcome, as she could breathe a little more easily. Her hands were growing stiff from clutching the reins so tight. At least she was wearing gloves. There was a gush of wind, and her hood fell on her shoulders. The cool air on her face was a relief, locks of her hair brushing her cheeks, her earrings tapping against the sides of her face. She should have taken them off when she had the chance. Now, though, reaching up to relieve her ears of the pearls' weight sounded too frightening to be attempted.

Queen Anne lost track of time, her mind focused of following Captain Tréville in front of her. They must have ridden for hours when her head jerked up suddenly, and she realized she had closed her eyes for a few seconds. Events of the day were slowly beginning to take a hold on her. Despite her best efforts, strength was leaving her. Nobody was speaking, and the eerily silence of the countryside was closing in like prison walls. Gazing to her right to catch the attention of one of her Musketeers, she felt light-headed. The reins started to fall from her grasp, and there was nothing she could do to stop herself from sliding down the saddle.

"Porthos!" The shout broke out the peace of nature surrounding them. One strong arm caught her roughly before she could hurt herself. When her vision had cleared enough to take in her surroundings, the Musketeer was still holding her on her horse. He was so close to her, it reassured her.

"I am fine."

"I'm afraid I must disagree, your Majesty. You need to rest."

"Rest will have to wait until our destination, Captain. I am putting you and your men in unnecessary danger already without having to stop in the middle of nowhere."

The Queen straightened up on the horse, the four men assessing her words. Aramis had appeared near his friends. It was too dark for her to see his face clearly, but his words conveyed his emotions for him.

"Let us at least halt to eat. You have not eaten anything in hours. You must be famished." The Queen blushed as the proposition was followed by a growl of her stomach. It was an undignified sound, especially from someone of her rank, so she was grateful when none of her companions acted as if they had heard it.

"Some food sounds appealing, indeed. I wish to ease the ache in my legs as well."

The feel of soft grass under her feet was comforting, along with the strong grip Porthos had on her arm. He could not chance her Majesty falling inelegantly. Her skirt shuffled with each step she took, the garment obviously out of place. It was more a hindrance than anything else. There was nowhere to sit on the edge of the forest close by. D'Artagnan took off his blue cape and spread it on the ground so she could sit on it.

She was offered some fruit and bread. It was quite a frugal dinner, yet, she was on the run, and it was more than could be expected. It was a difficult task to process the idea that she was running away from the Parisian Palace and its intrigues. It was unlike her to do so. She thought of Constance who had stayed behind, with the Dauphin and Marguerite. She hoped everything was fine for them and that no one had realized the Queen was not in her Appartments anymore.

Nibbling on a piece of apple, Queen Anne smiled as she remembered the last time she had sat in the woods with these three Musketeers and Athos. How happy she had been in spite of the situation, to be able to help and cook dinner. How foolish of her to not have realized her cooking skills were disastrous. Aramis could not lie to her the night after, and he had confessed that burnt fish was not his favourite. This precise night what the very reason she was back on the road. Her sins were great and probably unforgivable. It was wrong of her to look back on them so fondly.

The soldier was looking at her, leaning against a tree. He should have been scanning their surroundings instead, but she looked like she could faint at any moment so it was safer to watch her. His friends despised his actions and the silent stares were all the rebukes he needed, yet, he could not gather the strength to stop. There were so few times when they could be somewhat alone; the last time had been when he had joined Emily's camp, only to have her Majesty join him. Sometimes, at night, if he closed his eyes and thought hard enough, he could feel her lingering lips against his. It was wrong, and he should try harder to avoid this feeling. He had brought this mess upon himself, upon her, and upon his friends now. Aramis would certainly die if something should befall the Queen, but he would not be able to carry on if his friends were to suffer because of him.

They were only going to the convent because of him. Of course, they were protecting the Queen from a dangerous enemy. Nevertheless, they knew his own life was at stake as well. Everything had crashed down on him so quickly after Constance told him that Rochefort knew. It seemed that it was ages ago when it had only happened in the morning. His heartbeat quickened imagining how he would be sentenced to death. There was no alternative. All his hopes rested with Athos.

"You're staring," Porthos muttered, blocking his view of the Queen. His friend adverted his eyes to look at him.

"So I am."

"Is your memory so quick to forget conversations that displease you? What happened to denying there was even something between the two of you?"

"There's no one to deceive here, Porthos."

The two men glared for a long moment, the misery in Aramis' eyes too much for the other. He had wanted to sound threatening and unshaken, but the future was too uncertain for him to be confident.

"Still, keep practicing deceiving people as you have done these past months. Athos will find evidence incriminating Rochefort and we will be back in Paris in no time."

"One of us should have stayed with him," d'Artagnan stated, joining the conversation. "There are too many Red Guards."

"He's not by himself. They will be fine."

"Are you talking about Milady? You and I both know she will betray us as soon as she has the opportunity to do so."

"Perhaps. However, so long as it serves her interest, she will protect him. She's the best assassin in Paris after all."

"I feel so much better knowing that our lives depend on this despicable woman, thank you very much." d'Artagnan rolled his eyes.

"Constance will be all right, d'Artagnan," Aramis mumbled, tearing his eyes from the Queen to look at his young friend. "She has proved to be a very capable and brave woman in the past. She will handle herself just fine."

"This man is insane. Look at what he's done to the Queen!"

"Control yourself," Tréville hissed. "Do you wish to frighten her Majesty more than she already is?"

The Musketeer sighed heavily, throwing his hands in the air. Despite his duty, it was torture to know that the woman he loved was within reach of a man who could do whatever he desired with her if he so wished.

"Look to the horses, it will clear your head. I will go the other way to make sure the place is still safe. Make her eat as much as you can. We don't want her to lose her balance another time." Porthos nodded to acknowledge the order. Aramis received only a blank look that told him to keep his distance or it was highly probable that unfortunate things would happen to him.

The Queen watched the Musketeers scatter around. So lost in her concern, she had hardly heard their heated conversation. Porthos knelt by her side, offering some water and another apple.

"I thank you, but I certainly could not eat more."

"Keep it, your Majesty. The journey is long and you might need it."

"What about you? Surely, Musketeers must eat."

"Do not fret about us. We are more than able to travel without sustenance for some time."

He saw kindness in her eyes when they met his. His friend had been right when he had praised her courage in the afternoon. An ordinary woman would have collapsed from this disaster by now. Yet, there she was, holding herself up like a monarch, her face strained yet dignified.

There was movement behind him as Aramis approached, ignoring their Captain's unspoken order. Porthos was about to remark on it, but his friend merely sat down against a tree, his pistol in his hand, and food in the other.

"How far are we from the convent?"

"Three hours, I would say. We know it is a long ride, but the further away, the safer."

"Very well. Thank you."

She held out her hand so the soldier would help her stand up. One of her strongest desires was to be rid of this dress. Perhaps the nuns would have something else for her to wear. It would not matter if it was one of their own garments. The Queen deserved nothing more to repent. Her earrings dangled once again at the sudden move, and she took them off swiftly.

"Will you put them in my bag?"

The earrings fell into Porthos' extended hand and he disappeared into the darkness.

"If it was not so cold out here, I could almost believe today was only an ugly nightmare." Aramis raised his head at her voice. She had walked close to where he sat. He braced himself on his hands to stand up. She looked exhausted.

"It will soon be that. Only an ugly nightmare, and everything will be set right."

"If events should take a turn for the worse, Aramis...Please, say that..."

"Nothing will make me leave your side. This is my fault. What kind of man would I be if I left you alone to deal with the aftermath?"

"A wise man respecting his Queen's wishes."

"Then it will be the first order I'll happily disregard."

"Aramis..." His tone was firm, so was his stance, hands on his hips, dark eyes looking straight at her. She would lie if she did not say that she had longed to have the leisure to gaze at such eyes without fearing that someone would notice how improper it was.

She stared back, hands on her hips to mirror his. It upset her that he was so willing to jeopardize his life for the sake of hers.

"It is my fault as well," the Queen eventually conceded. "Although I am not sorry for it."

His shoulders slumped at her words. They were words he had wanted to hear, but they came at a dire time, when everything seemed lost. Aramis was merely fighting to remain above the water and not drown in the depth of his hopeless predicament.

"Whatever happens, I will never regret what happened that night." It was important for the Queen that he realized he was not risking his life and the ones of his friends for nothing; that she was not ungrateful. Her feelings had been bottled up for too long, they had eaten at her soul during all these months when she had to see him at the Palace or when he was escorting her. See him without never really seeing him was a torture worse than watching the King strut about with his mistress.

His hand shot up quickly only to fall back by his side. It would not do. His fellow Musketeers were too crossed with him, there was no need to add oil to this fire. The Queen's statement warmed his heart a little, though. His life may be over soon, he could always rest peacefully knowing they thought alike about the few hours they had spent together.

Aramis attempted to smile, yet it lost itself somewhere and his lips displayed a miserable smirk in its stead. His shoulders were heavy with the weight of their ordeals, he worried about the Dauphin, about Athos breaking in Rochefort's office to save him. He did not deserve such brothers-in-arms.

Small fingers covered by silken gloves wrapped around his own. Queen Anne could not stand idly by and see him hurt. He looked as if he had aged ten years in the last hours.

"I will never regret what happened because of that night." Despite his best judgment, he squeezed her hand. Death terrified him, especially the type of death reserved to traitors, but he was more scared by what would befall the Dauphin. Surely, the King would not kill an innocent baby? Perhaps the King would not, but what about Rochefort?

"We are ready to start again as soon as her Majesty desires it." Tréville's voice startled the Queen. Reluctantly, she let go of Aramis' hand, composing her face before turning around. The older man was trying to hide how angry he was at his soldier, but he was failing quite plainly. She would never thank them enough for taking care of her, but it was rather unnecessary at this precise moment. Holding her head up as it was expected of a Queen, she walked past him and toward the horses.

"I am quite ready."