A.N. VERY IMPORTANT MESSAGE - PLEASE READ
Welcome to the final chapter of this story. I can't begin to say how grateful I am to all of the support my readers have given me; from the reviews to the simple click of a follow button.
I'm going to get a bit mushy now, so bear with me because there's something important coming at the end of this note. Firstly, to Books-and-Cleverness-394, I'd like to apologise for never getting back to your message but I'm going to say right here, right now that I am going to get back to you with something far lengthier than this because your word meant a hell of a lot to me. Secondly, Jay Legion, I'm sorry I lied and said this chapter would be ready and posted by July (though at the time I did plan for that deadline). So this one is for you two; for writing such beautiful words in private messages and for never failing to review every update - you guys make this all worthwhile.
Right, onto the 'important' stuff. I won't be writing Season 3. I just don't have the time to sit and plan each episode and then spend 20+ hours writing out each one. I have some ideas and the plan is to scribble some stuff down in my spare time and someday post them all. Trust me when I say that the story doesn't end here. SO, for anyone who has followed this series since Chapter 1 of LMF way back in 2014, please just give this story or myself a quick follow for a notification of future updates. When I do get around to writing/posting Series 3, I'll add another chapter to this story as a sort of notification with the title and information.
So there we have it; series 2 done. I hope you guys like it and just so you know, a review always makes my day even if it's just three words.
Thanks for the memories guys - it's been a hell of a ride.
MissPiggy97 xxx
As her eyes began to flutter open a lazy grin stretched out over her lips. It was perfection; the gauzy curtains were blowing in a light breeze as sunlight began to fill the room and the pillow under her cheek was the softest she'd ever slept upon. She'd slept like a new-born babe last night and the irony of her experiencing her most restful night in years on the eve of her best friend's execution, wasn't lost on her.
…She's gone; the one who was happy to lay awake for you…
She blew out a breath and turned onto her back, her eyes fixing on the ceiling above as the words she had said last night repeated over and over in her mind. She probably shouldn't have been as blunt about it, she mused. Perhaps she should have eased him into it a little more rather than just trying to explain it all in the relatively short time it takes to get from one end of the palace's tunnels to the other.
Maybe getting it all off her chest had been good though. She realised now just how exhausted she'd been at playing the role of someone she wasn't, someone she hasn't been for a long time.
…I tried to be this person who you could remember; someone still a little bit frail...
She winced as memories of sweet little Anna started to swim in her mind. God, why had she done it to herself? Why had she denied herself so much? Blaming Athos wasn't even an option; he hadn't asked for her to be his dutiful little maid but she'd all but insisted after he'd seemed so shocked at her brazenness when she'd first arrived back in Paris.
You were always going to join him. That was the plan; you were always going to make him think he'd turned you…to get close enough.
She pushed the covers off her as Athos' voice began to mingle with her own. She wasn't going to lay here lamenting her actions when not twelve hours earlier she'd vowed to not let him consume her thoughts anymore.
The plan had gone off almost without a hitch; Rochefort believed her intentions matched his and assumed she knew nothing about who he was actually working for, though she doubted Vargas would be so enthusiastic about his methods.
The attempted rape of the Queen and poisoning of the King were the exceptions though; she hadn't seen them coming and wasn't going to forgive herself for Lemay's death anytime soon. She should have been thinking two steps ahead like she had been since Rochefort gunned down Alvaraz on that hillside. But she'd let herself become distracted; worried too much about how the Musketeers were going to react and had planted that dammed note to try and clear her name before they strung her up for treason. The very thing she'd promised to not do had gotten an innocent man killed.
Her fingers ghosted over the ruby red of her uniform tunic at the thought and let her fists ball in the material.
She would not let Constance follow him to the grave. She just hoped that the Musketeers had a plan, because otherwise, she was going to have to blow her cover completely and all but throw herself fin front of the executioner's blade.
She'd expected her last night on this Earth to be long and drawn out as she was forced to sit in her dingy cell, waiting for dawn to break and her fate to be sealed…but it hadn't been. In fact, it had gone quite fast and that made it all the more worse.
Aramis had filled the hours for her, keeping her mind as free of the looming sentence as possible when they were both sat in their cells; it had started with the clanging of chains as she imagined him pacing his own cell before an almighty shout had left the man and his fists had pounded against the stone imprisoning them. When he'd calmed down they'd spoken to each other – the one benefit of being the only two prisoners in the dungeons was that they hadn't had to limit themselves to whispers.
She'd told him about the cloth and the scribble words and Aramis had simply laughed; his feelings of betrayal clear.
"You must be her weak spot then Constance, because she didn't seem very much in the 'all for one' mood when she arrested me and dragged me down here."
She hadn't been able to argue with him on that one and then they'd fallen into a short silence as they contemplated their fates.
"Is my son safe?" The question had almost broken her. "Constance, have you seen him? Is he safe?"
She'd lied. Of course, she'd lied. She'd promised that when she'd last seen him he was happy and gurgling and that the King wouldn't let anything happen to him, regardless of Rochefort. She'd promised him that the King would choose to keep face and the worst-case scenario would be that the boy would be sent to some estate and educated and left to live his life.
She'd sworn that the King was a good man…even though she had no proof.
And then they'd talked about love; all of it. She'd told him how she'd struggled with Bonacieux's death and how she felt she was betraying his memory to love so easily when he was barely cold in the ground. He'd told her about Anne and how even the smallest of her smiles made him feel warm, how even though he knew there was no future, he loved her and what she stood for.
She told him how she'd longed for a baby for so long but was now glad she didn't have to leave one behind; how having to watch D'Artagnan being dragged away from her yesterday was more than enough for her to endure. He'd told her about Porthos and how he wished he'd never kept this secret from him, from any of them, maybe then they'd have been better prepared.
She told him that Lemay had offered her a fresh start and that she would always love the good doctor for his pure heart and modern mindset. He'd said that his only regret was not saying goodbye to his brothers – how he wished they could all share one last drink and laugh before he was executed.
And then they'd both admitted that despite it all, they loved Her too; the one that had betrayed them the most. Constance had clutched that cloth to her chest and told him how she wanted desperately to believe her but struggled to. Aramis had sighed and said that all he could picture was a woman who had fitted so neatly under his arm as he teased her.
"Did she say nothing to you?" She'd asked, bordering on desperate as the strip of sky visible from her cell began to lighten. "Offer a whisper of hope?"
There had been a pause before he'd replied. A pause that had sparked the tiniest flame of hope. "No." Her hands had been like ice against her skin as she held her head in her hands.
And then dawn had broken; the colours so beautiful even as she blinked through blurry, sleep-deprived eyes. She was glad today was beautiful; that her last sight of this world wouldn't be blurred by fog or rain, only by Rochefort as the man stood stoically on the balcony overlooking the executioner's stage.
Treville was with him, the man a picture of regret as he watched her stumble out into the sunshine and she was glad; glad that at least one friendly face would be here to tell D'Artagnan that she went in peace, that she didn't cry and faced death head on. For she refused to bring any semblance of joy to Rochefort as he took yet another step closer to the throne.
And then her eyes rested on the figure at the bottom of the balcony's steps and she fought a snarl. Anna was as stoic as Rochefort; hand on rapier hilt as she waited for the morning's big event to be over with. She wondered now if that cloth had been a dream; if she'd conjured the words in an attempt to bring herself some comfort in her final hours, for she knew this Anna would not be saving her today.
She reached the stage quickly; time passing her swiftly again and refusing her last request of being able to take it all in; to breath full lung-fulls of air and stare head on into the sun above.
There were too many people here for her liking; too many people wearing masks and waiting for her to die. She'd never imagined that her last steps would be such a spectacle; that she, a lowly woman who'd never thought she'd near the palace let alone be close enough to its inhabitants to be embroiled in their doings.
A blindfold was offered to her and she shook her head, hands still clasping her skirts to keep the soft blues and white from muddying any further. She would see this; she would look Rochefort in the eye and hope the sight haunted him for all eternity.
No one offered her a hand as she reached the centre of the platform; no one stood near enough to help as she lifted her skirts and lowered herself to her knees trying in vain to ignore the red stains on the wood; the red that yesterday had been flowing inside Lemay.
One hand on her neck, fingers touching the raised outline of the fleur-de-lis that hung there, she made let her mind float to the one thing that could steady her in these last minutes. D'Artagnan's face filled her mind and she held back a sob at the thought of all they could have done together if they had more time. She wished dearly they hadn't wasted so long hiding their love or even arguing over it. She wished she could hold him one more time and tell him that she loved him, that it was only him and would only ever be him.
She didn't need to see Rochefort to know he was nodding to the executioner; she could already feel the sword lingering a hair away from her neck. She had stared down the barrel of a gun and run through explosions but this; this heavy weight that wasn't even yet upon her; this was how she would say goodbye.
She took a breath and looked down; exposing her neck more in an attempt to give him a cleaner cut – to get this over with in one blow and not force her to linger between life and death as they hacked away at her. She wanted to cry as her imagination tricked her in a final cruel gift from the Lord above; for her love was staring up at her from between the gaps in the wood, a promise in his eyes but she knew he wasn't real; knew that he wasn't here.
The guns had knocked all air from her throat and then she was gasping for it as she watched, from the corner of her eye, the executioner fall; his sword still in hand.
"Musketeers!"
And then she was sobbing. Sobbing as D'Artagnan moved and reappeared beside the platform. Sobbed as she realised he was real and this was real and she wasn't going to die here.
Everything was a flurry of movement then; Red Guards fell and bullets pinged off their armour but still she sobbed. She heard Rochefort and Treville battling on the balcony as the blonde man fought desperately to get down into the courtyard.
"Close the gate!" Anna's voice was surprised as she shouted orders. Constance was glad, glad that she hadn't foreseen this; glad that they'd gotten one over them again. "Guards!"
More gunshots and then D'Artagnan was in front of her, the soft leather of his gloves cupping her face as she threw her arms around him.
The masked men jumped into action next; their faces revealed to be those of the people she loved dearly. Athos was swift as he disposed of two guards before hoisting himself up onto the horse she'd assumed was waiting to carry her dead body away. She didn't know where the other steed came from but in seconds she was letting D'Artagnan pull her onto it, her arms clasping around his waist as he both manoeuvred the beast and fired at their assailants.
"Athos!" D'Artagnan and Athos were still firing at Red Guards as the Musketeer Lieutenant neared the balcony and Treville leapt from the wooden frame onto the horse with an ease that a man of his age shouldn't have.
She flinched as the courtyard gates burst open in a blaze of fire but as the smoke from the explosion started to settle, she threw Rochefort one victorious look as the horses bolted through the open gates and into the safety of Paris.
The Bonacieux house had stood empty since she'd put her husband in the ground but it had been much longer since she herself had set foot in here. It was cold and dusty and there was a smell that made her nose wrinkle but underneath it all, it was still home.
She couldn't stop letting her hands linger on things; the small notch missing from the bedroom door that made the whole thing rattle when winter winds got into the house, the creak of her dresser as she opened its doors and the plain, dark clothes that had symbolised her life in those years before Anna had returned a bolt of dropped fabric and that night insisted Madame Bonacieux have a dress made in the light colour.
"We should just end this now." D'Artagnan's voice flitted up the few steps separating the kitchen rom the home's main bedroom. "One shot is all I'll need."
"Killing Rochefort would solve nothing." Treville chimed in as she forced herself from the seat she'd taken on her mattress and smoothed out the dress he'd changed into; the muddy blue and white gown having turned her stomach every time she caught sight of it.
"You've seen what he's capable of." D'Artagnan insisted. "And Aramis is not just at his mercy; we have no idea what things his new Lieutenant can do."
"Aramis is a prisoner of the crown; if he's to stand up in court he'll be left alone." Athos' voice mingled with theirs and Constance let out a sigh; she could only imagine what the steely man was feeling about this whole situation. She and Bonacieux hadn't been on the best of terms but his death had still left her grieving, to be betrayed by the one you love must be even worse. "Besides, he's a Musketeer; he can handle himself."
"None of us are Musketeers now." She moved from the bedroom and down into the kitchen the small fire burning in the forgotten hearth doing little to warm the home. "We're outlaws. If they find us, they'll shoot on sight."
"It's not the man we have to destroy. It's his lies." She said, appearing from the doorway. She forced a smile as D'Artagnan jumped up to hand her a bowl of stew; the murky liquid likely some battlefield recipe consisting of whatever preserved foods were still here.
"You want to let him live? The man was seconds away from killing you!"
"I know." She sighed, taking the lone stool in front of the fire. "But kill him now and the King might not ever discover the truth: Aramis and the Queen would still be in mortal danger based on his accusations alone."
"We need to trust that Anna knows what she's doing."
"You still believe her?" D'Artagnan asked, his eyes blazing as they settled on Treville. "She was willing to let Constance die this morning!"
"You don't know that."
"Neither do you!" He seethed, one hand on his beloved's shoulder. "Even if she did have a plan to stop it she didn't leave much time to enact it, did she? We have no actual proof she's on our side."
"Everything depends upon getting Vargas to the King." Athos said, effectively cutting across D'Artagnan. "He is the only one who can discredit Rochefort's claims and clear Anna's name…" He shared a look with D'Artagnan. "…or confirm her betrayal."
"And if Porthos fails to capture him, hmm? Or he refuses to speak? What then?" D'Artagnan continued forcing a sigh from Constance; she understood his desire for justice but she was with Athos on this one – they needed to do this properly or they'd all lose their heads. "And what about Aramis? Milady is the only one who can still get into the palace: we have to trust her, of all people, to help him."
Constance watched as Athos' shoulders sagged at D'Artagnan's words and she was relieved that despite his belief in Anna, he still refused to trust Milady.
"Get some rest." He told them, choosing to move the conversation on and not linger on who they could or couldn't trust. "We leave to help Porthos as soon as night falls."
"I'm coming with you."
"No, you're not." He stopped at the doorway, meeting her eyes as she watched him over her shoulder.
"Rochefort murdered Lemay in front of my eyes. Anna dragged me from the Queen's rooms and locked me in a cell. They both watched me walk onto that platform." She reminded him, turning to face him full on. "They're my enemies as much as anybody's: I want the truth and I want to be there when it's revealed."
She rolled her eyes as the Lieutenant flicked his eyes to D'Artagnan, a clear message of 'it's your call'.
"Very well." D'Artagnan agreed. "But when the time comes, Rochefort's mine."
"When the time comes; Rochefort has an enemy who's been working much harder for much longer to take him down." All eyes turned to Treville as he pushed off the fireplace. "Regardless of what he did to you…" He turned to face her. "…I wouldn't get in her way."
Her head hit the wall with a gut-wrenching thud as her hands fought to gain some leverage over the one slowly crushing her airway. Her fingernails were of no use against the soft but thick leather of the glove at her throat and all she could do was choke out an incoherent string of words.
"I...I…"
"Did. You. Know." The question had stopped being a question some time ago, right around the time she refused to meet his eyes. "I will not ask again."
"N…No…" She choked out. "Of course…not."
The hand loosened slightly and she took a deep gasp for air as Rochefort continued to glare at her, their faces mere inches apart.
"I would have shot her…in the cells…if I'd known." She told him. "You know that." She met his stare and with a reluctant sigh he let her go completely.
Her own hands came up to her throat as he stepped away and she let them linger there as she took deep breaths of air. She could feel his eyes still on her as she steadied herself and her mind worked quickly to come up with some cover that would appease him.
She hadn't lied to him – she truly hadn't known that the Musketeers would stage a rescue of Constance. She'd guessed they would, hoped they would. But she hadn't known.
"If I'd wanted her free, don't you think I would have done it myself?" She asked him. "If I wanted her free, I would have done it far more subtlety than blowing up the damned courtyard gates!"
"Forgive me for not fully believing you." He drawled, pulling his gloves from his hands.
"You're not convinced that I'm on your side?" She asked, straightening from the crouch she'd fallen into as he released her. "Still?" She took a step closer to him.
"I'm not convinced that your heart is fully in this." He corrected. "That you don't still have some foolish loyalty to them."
"I suggested Constance's arrest." She reminded him, closing the gap between them. "I personally chained Aramis to a wall in the dirtiest cell I could find. I had D'Artagnan dragged kicking and screaming from the palace as his beloved sobbed." Her hands slid up the front of his jerkin and came to a rest on his chest. "And I've handpicked their executioners." She leant in. "How much more convincing do you need?"
"And the Musketeer Athos?" She blew out a sigh at his question. "How loyal are you to him?"
Truthfully, she didn't know. She'd hoped that she'd convinced him but the look in his eyes as Aramis had been dragged away told her otherwise. She didn't blame him. Didn't blame any of them really. She'd known this would be a dangerous, and perhaps deadly, game to play when she'd started and now she was too far in to waste any more time on reasoning with them.
And so, she did what she knew she'd have to do to placate Rochefort for hopefully the last time: she closed the gap and pressed her lips to his and tried to forget exactly who he was and what he planned.
It was torture. Absolute torture. To be so close to her son to be able to hear his cries but so far away that she could nothing to soothe him, was tearing her heart apart. She had no doubt that the leaving open of doors to ensure the Dauphin's sobs could be heard through the many corridors that separated her from her husband, was Rochefort's idea…and she hated him for it more than she hated him for trying to force himself upon her.
The palace was otherwise deathly silent. It was completely devoid of members of the court and only the King's council was present in the huge building, though they were nowhere near her. Even the guards were sporadic, with none stationed directly within her wing leaving her free to bang her fists against the locked doors of her suite and scream herself hoarse without anyone knowing.
Her window was her only source of solace; it's views allowed her to forget that she was a prisoner in her own home by a man she had once trusted more than any. It had also elicited her first true smile in hours when a fleet of Red Guards had flooded through the gardens coming from all areas of the palace to converge on the furthermost courtyard from her rooms following a blast that though loud in sound had merely made her chandelier rock slightly.
She was her window now, trying to lose herself in lush greens and not let the Dauphin's increasing cries split her already fragile heart further, when her door unlocked.
She didn't need to turn to know who would be entering; the same five women had brought her food every few hours since the locked had first clicked into place yesterday and she was sick of them; four were women of the court, people she had chosen to trust long ago but who now, under the orders of the Comte de Rochefort, were her jailers. And the fifth was a maid, here only to ensure the women weren't too burdened with the task of bringing her food. Poor them.
But today there was an additional set of footsteps; that was new. She turned and at the first glimpse of a black skirt she now associated with the devil himself simply said:
"I want to see my son."
"We are taking care of him, Majesty." Anne's eyes fixed on the key in Marguerites hands as the woman rose from her curtsey without instruction. The governess-turned-toy for Rochefort nodded to the women behind her and Anne rolled her eyes as tray after tray of food was deposited onto her table.
"What riches has Rochefort promised you?" She asked, taking in the sallow skin and dark eyes of the woman she once trusted. "What is the price for betraying those you should have held so dear?"
Her gaze held firm as Marguerite dared to meet her eyes and she felt a victorious tug on her broken heart as she glanced away again quickly at the hatred she found in the face of her queen.
That moment of weakness was all Anne needed as the diverted eyes of not just Marguerite but the whole group of women gave her the only chance she needed. she didn't dwell on the thought a moment longer before pushing herself into a run as she barrelled down the corridor away from the open door to her rooms.
Fools.
"The disease of conspiracy spreads quickly. It can only be stopped at its source."
"Her own husband." Louis breathed, eyes fixed on the breakfast table before him as he continued to digest his wife's arrest. "Father of her child. It is...unthinkable."
"I know this is painful, but poison is..."
"You DO NOT know, Rochefort!" The King's eyes snapped from the heavily laid table to his own. "You do not know. You cannot know!" He exclaimed and Rochefort repressed an eye-roll; this man must be the only one in France, no; the world, who placed his wife on a pedestal so high the mere thought of betrayal was ludicrous.
"We must face the truth, however terrible." He pressed on, ignoring the nagging inside him that suggested something wasn't quite right. "The Queen is guilty."
The throwing open of the door snatched away what he wanted to add next and he felt his fists curl as the woman in question came running through it before throwing herself onto her knees at the King's side.
"I beg Your Majesty to listen to me..." She gripped his hand as Louis refused to meet her eye. "I would NEVER harm you: I am your queen, your loving wife."
"You shouldn't be here." Louis whispered as she lifted herself slightly to brush away the hair that was stopping him from seeing her tear stained face.
"Look into my eyes: tell me I'm guilty." She urged and Rochefort felt another bubble of anger rise as only then Marguerite and a guard came rushing into the room; that bloody woman couldn't even be trusted with transporting food. "You have been deceived by that man." She nodded to Rochefort, her eyes never leaving the King's and though he wanted nothing more than to have her dragged from his side, he knew letting the guard set one hand on her at this point could be the end of everything; he had to wait for the seeds he'd planted in the King's mind to overcome his urge to believe her.
"We must consider the evidence in the proper manner." Louis said, brushing her hand away to stand. He wanted to shoot her a victorious smirk as Louis moved away from her to the window, leaving her kneeling alone, but the sight of her; utterly crushed, was something he wanted to remember in its full glory.
He would look back on this day in years to come and say to himself that this this was the moment when their victory began.
"I am falsely accused!" She protested, pushing Marguerite away as the governess tried to help her stand. She shot Rochefort one last hate filled look before allowing the woman to lead her away.
And then they were alone; the servants following the Queen out as he stared them down.
"Perhaps we should hear what she has to say."
"There is another matter." Rochefort said, ignoring the utterance that could undo all his good work. "Something so shocking, I can hardly bring myself to say it."
"What is it, Rochefort?" The King asked, his voice weary as he turned from the window to watch his First Minister. "Tell me."
"During my investigations into the Queen's conduct, I discovered the Cardinal himself harboured suspicions about her loyalty." He said, recalling the handful of hastily scribbled notes that he'd found throughout the Cardinal's papers, as he moved to stand beside the King. "He believed Her Majesty consorted...intimately...with the Musketeer Aramis, some nine months before the birth of the Dauphin. Naturally, the Musketeer has been arrested. I hope to establish the truth in due cour-"
"No, Rochefort!" Louis cried, his hands balling in his hair as silent sobs wracked through him. "We must have the truth now! Do you hear me? Everything." He took a deep breath as tears filled his eyes. "Everything, do you hear?"
"Of course…" He bowed low. "…as you wish, Your Majesty." He couldn't help the small smirk as Louis turned back to the window, bracing himself on the sill as he cried.
She wasn't sure if the cells were colder today, or if she was. She supposed there was some great message in that one fact; how when they had been full of so-called traitors who she had a shot, however slim, at saving; she could have been warm here. But now, with Lemay dead and Constance on the run, only Aramis remained, and the thought of him - the only one who actually had something to be guilty of - facing death, made her feel sick.
There were no guards down here, she'd ordered them to stay inside the palace and not accompany her down here under the guise of royal prisoners suddenly being able to run around with no-one to stop them. But truly, she just wanted to talk to him; make sure he was still relatively fine. And with Rochefort now fully believing not just in her loyalty but their future together, she shivered at the thought, she was free to do what she pleased.
"Are you going to torture me?"
"With a lantern and a pair of gloves?" She asked, setting the first down and unlocking the cell all while trying not to feel sad as he moved away from her to lean against the opposite wall; or as much of it as he could with those chains on. "I'm good, but even I'm not that creative."
"I doubt that."
"Oh come on, Aramis; what've you got to be sullen about?" She tried to joke as she stepped inside the cell.
"Might have something to do with being about to go on trial for treason." He bit back and she frowned.
"Yes." She sighed, leaning against her own wall. "I wish I could say that I'm sorry about that but it really was necessary." She told him. "You were the one thing I couldn't entirely plan for."
"Plan for?"
"You don't think any of this happened by chance do you?" She asked. "Did no one tell you what I am?"
"You're a cold-blooded Judas."
"Harsh." She drawled. "I'm not going to lie to you, Aramis: there's a good chance your life cannot be saved. Even if they find you innocent, Rochefort will kill you."
It killed her to say it but it was true. She'd done her best to keep the whole Anne-Aramis-Dauphin thing a secret but she hadn't planned on the governess to fall under Rochefort's control and start to do his bidding. So even now, with things falling perfectly into place; she couldn't guarantee Aramis' safety if he testified.
"But there is still hope for the Queen?"
"I hope so." She told him, running a gloved hand through her hair. "I'm doing my best Aramis." She said, letting the façade drop to show him her true feelings on the matter. "If I can stop you from losing your head I will; I'd walk onto that platform myself if I had to because none of this was supposed to happen! Rochefort wasn't supposed to get so powerful; I thought he'd just be a thorn in my side, but now, everything is happening so quickly and he plans I laid down so many months ago are obsolete."
She took a breath.
"I'm supposed to tell you that in exchange for a full confession from you, the King will divorce Her Majesty, disown the Dauphin, and allow both to live in exile." She said. "But we both know that's a load of horseshit." She felt her spirits raise at the small laugh he let out. "You can save her, Aramis." She promised. "Just speak the truth."
She shot him one last hard look, hoping he understood her before turning and stepping from the cell.
"Vargas." He muttered as she pulled the barred door closed.
"What?"
"Vargas." He repeated, his voice a little louder. "They've gone to find Vargas and bring him here."
"Vargas?" She breathed. "Vargas the Spanish Spymaster?" He nodded. "If I get you out can you get him?" He frowned at her question forcing her to take a breath and slow her speech. "I'm assuming they don't have a plan to get him in here. If I get you out, can you lead him back into the palace?"
"Probably?"
"That'll have to be good enough I suppose." She sighed. "Just remember; tell the truth."
She slid the key into the lock, turned it and stepped away, her mind filling with plans on how to help them do this properly; they had the right idea – get Vargas here and he can reveal Rochefort's lies. But get him here too early and there was the risk of ridding themselves of Rochefort before things start to unfurl and get him here too late and they'll all die.
She just hoped they knew what they were doing.
He pretty much had no idea what he was doing.
He knew that he had to draw Vargas as close to the French border as possible and get rid of all the spymaster's men before he could capture the Spaniard. But they were a resilient bunch it seemed and he was running out of ammunition.
Weapons laid out on the small patch of bare land he was watching the valley from, Porthos sighed; four pistols and a musket weren't going to much if they held out for much longer. He'd been here all night and his adrenaline was starting to fade.
There was only one thing that would give him the final push he needed to do this and as he slipped his pauldron back onto his arm, he knew he was ready.
For France. He told himself. For the King. He nodded as he holstered his weapons. For the Queen. He stood, a pistol in each hand and with a direct line of sight to the searching group of Spaniards he made his position known with a single, well-placed shot to the spymaster's main bodyguard' chest.
"You are a fine shot for a lowly servant, monsieur." Vargas called up to him. "But how long do you think you can hold out? If you come down, we will make it quick. You have my word."
"All right then!" He shouted back as he fell into a crouch behind a rock with another perfect view. "Let's make it quick!" He fired again.
For his brothers.
The court had assembled in one of the palace's smaller council rooms and for that Aramis was slightly glad; smaller rooms meant no crowds could assemble to gossip about everything he stood accused of. As it stood, the lack of a crowd was no less intimidating and he forced himself to stand tall even as he was led into the room where every eye suddenly turned to him.
The court was comprised of mainly older men, all sat comfortably with reams of paper around them no doubt listing every charge and every scrap of evidence Rochefort had managed to either collect or create. The man at the heart of all this was reclined rather comfortably a little away from the head of the main table and Aramis felt his spine stiffen under his sneering gaze.
The room silenced as soon as he took his spot in front of them and with one glance to the Bible in the approaching man's hands, he felt his heart sink slightly before reminding himself of Anna's words. He had to do this. Not a soul believed that the child would be saved if Anne's adultery was revealed and if there was one thing Aramis knew about being a father, it was that he'd do anything to save his son.
"We are here to establish the facts of the Queen's infidelity." Rochefort drawled from his chair. "You are accused of seducing the Queen at the convent in Bourbon-les-Eaux. And of fathering her child." The Bible was held out in front of him. "Do you swear to give us the truth of this sordid encounter?"
'There are six things the LORD hates, seven that are detestable to him: haughty eyes, a lying tongue, hands that shed innocent blood, a heart that devises wicked schemes, feet that are quick to rush into evil, a false witness who pours out lies and a person who stirs up conflict in the community.'
Proverbs 6:16-20
Aramis swallowed down the teaching, one that he knew so well and focused on the moving of his hand to rest upon the cover of the holiest book. He took one breath and forcing his eyes to meet Rochefort's he sealed his fate.
"I do."
"To lie after swearing such a sacred oath is to damn your immortal soul for eternity." Rochefort reminded him as the book was taken away. "Do you understand?"
"I understand that God is with us now, in this room. We will all be judged for what is in our hearts."
"Very true." Rochefort smiled and Aramis felt his insides turn. "Do you love the Queen, Aramis? Will you confess?"
"I will." He took another breath before plastering a calm look on his face as he held eye contact with the Comte. "I confess to knowing that you are a liar, whose promises can never be trusted: you could never afford to leave the Queen alive, Rochefort - she knows you are a Spanish spy, she knows you are a murderer. You assaulted Her Majesty without invitation or provocation, and now, you intend to conceal your lies by accusing the innocent? It is Rochefort who is the traitor! Rochefort who is the enemy! And Rochefort who should BE ON TRIAL!"
The court of men broke out into a chorus of murmurs as papers were rattled and his testimony dissected. But his only concern was of the man before him. He had considered what he would say very carefully after Anna had left – he could only say so much here and with no evidence in hand his truth would no doubt be overlooked but he hoped that wherever the King was concealed, wherever he was listening from, he would hear the truth in his words.
"So, you deny the charges?"
"I do."
Rochefort pushed himself from his chair and strolled around it to clasp its back in his fists as he glared at Aramis.
"A confession might have kept some small part of your honour intact. Instead, you disgrace yourself with these outrageous lies." He gestured to the Red Guard stationed on the council chamber door as the sound of it opening filled the space.
The soft clicking of heels on the palace's floors broke the silence and Aramis let his eyes drift from his feet to the open doorway.
"Mademoiselle Beauchamp." Rochefort crooned as a woman stepped into the chamber, the door sealing behind her.
"My Lords." She dropped into a curtsey as she reached the empty space not far from his side letting Aramis' eyes wander over her as she rose. Hair pulled back and piled atop her head in some intricate hairstyle, she was a complete stranger to the woman he'd known for so many years.
He could see Rochefort in everything she wore; from the leather breeches and boots she now apparently favoured over everything else, to the ruby red dress she wore over them.
"Do you swear your testimony to be the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth?"
"I do."
"Mademoiselle, can you confirm that you were actually present at the convent in Bourbon-les-Eaux at the same time as The Queen?"
"I can." She smiled to Rochefort as Aramis struggled to find the crack in her mask where the real Anna was hiding. Where she promised them she still was. "We fled to the convent following an attempt on Her Majesty's life during her visit to the waters there. It was the only place of safety for Her Majesty while we investigated."
"Who remained at the convent with The Queen during this time."
"Myself, the Musketeer Lieutenant Athos and the accused." She spared him a look as she spoke.
"You have since left the Musketeer regiment, Mademoiselle. Can you elaborate as to why?" Aramis shifted slightly as she took a moment to meet the eyes of each member of the court.
"I fail to see why that is relevant to this trial." She said smoothly. "What I can elaborate on is the loyalty of the regiment both during my time as a part of it and now: it's members have worked tirelessly to prove the Queen's innocence."
Her eyes met Rochefort's again and Aramis watched a flash of annoyance spark in the Comte's. he understood her game now; she was going to try and de-rail this as best she could. She'd worked to get herself into a position of trust so she would be summoned to this very trial only to bring it down around Rochefort's ears.
"While at the convent in Bourbon-les-Eaux, did anything…sordid occur?"
He watched as she took a moment to wet her lips before answering.
"It did, my Lord." Rochefort fought to keep the pull of his lips from blooming into a full-on victorious smile as Anna fidgeted slightly. "I must confess that while seeking the sanctuary of the Holy ordinance, I shared a bed with a man I am not wed nor betrothed too: May God forgive me."
The room was deathly silent as Anna hung her head in mock shame while Rochefort's hands tightened around the chair back. Aramis himself was trying not to laugh at her testimony; she was playing with them and succeeding.
"I'm sure he will, Mademoiselle." Rochefort bit out. "But that is not the sordid relation I meant."
"If your question was; did anything occur between Aramis and Her Majesty the Queen, then I'm afraid I cannot comment." She told him, her head now up as she stared at him, one eyebrow slightly raised in challenge. "For I was not near Her Majesty that night."
"So, something could-"
"But I can say that when I rose in the night to collect a glass of water, Aramis was still in place outside Her Majesty's assigned room." She offered him a sweet smile. "And from what I myself have heard about the Musketeer Aramis, he does tend to utilise the whole night when he shares a woman's bed." Rochefort continued to simply glare at her as she stood. "Any further questions, my Lord? I was present at the Dauphin's birth if that is of any help? I am more than qualified to attest to his nature as a baby; he shares nothing of the battle-worn characteristics my former colleague possesses. In fact, I would say that he is a prime example of the Bourbon dynasty and a true Fils de France."
"Thank you for your testimony, Mademoiselle." Rochefort ground out. "That is all."
"Of course, my Lord." She dropped into another curtsey, meeting Aramis' eye fleetingly as she did. He wished he could thank her; wished he could apologise for ever doubting her. He swore to himself that as soon as he reunited with his brothers, he would tell them everything. Antoinette Beauchamp was indeed a spy but her loyalty was to them, unquestionably. "I hope I have been of service."
Rochefort said nothing as she rose and turned to leave the room. Aramis watched her leave, the hem of her dress dragging slightly behind her, before he turned back to Rochefort. The man was the picture of rage, though he was trying hard to not show it.
It was then he understood the true sacrifice she had just made for him; not only had she completely blown her cover to save his neck, but she'd knowingly made herself Rochefort's number one enemy. She wasn't getting out of this. Her look to him had been more than proof of her innocence. It had been her goodbye.
"Bring in the next witness."
He wanted to curse. He wanted to curse them all to hell but especially her: Anna was going to die for her words because she hadn't banked on a second witness, she was a fool. He wanted to make a break for it; to run after her and scream for her to run. Because the woman who stepped into the room now would undo all she had said.
He had trusted Lady Marguerite, as foolish as that sounded and he'd hoped she was too dull to piece it together but apparently anyone can become aware if they're under Rochefort's tutelage.
"Lady Marguerite, you saw the Queen and Aramis in private together." Rochefort addressed her as she stumbled into the room, his voice significantly cooler than when he'd welcomed Anna. He wondered how far her hold over the Comte had grown, how much she could get away with and how much her testimony had wounded him. "How would you describe their behaviour?" She glanced to Aramis as she came to a stop a mere handful of steps from him. "Look at me. Not him."
"They were intimate." She said, tears rolling down her cheeks; at least she knew what she was doing was wrong. "Like lovers."
"But you yourself were also the Musketeer's lover?" She flinched as the secret became public before nodding once. "We must hear you."
"I was."
"Did that affair begin when you first came to court?"
"Soon after: when I was appointed Royal Governess to the Dauphin."
"His romantic interest in you only coincided with your appointment?" He asked, feigning innocence as he verbally pushed and prodded her into a corner.
"I...I…Yes."
"When he sought your company, were you always alone?"
"Alone, but for the Dauphin."
"So, was it you he really wanted to see..." He asked, turning his attention back to Aramis. "…or was it the boy?"
Aramis felt his jaw clench at the question. For all his faults Rochefort was no fool, he had learnt very quickly not to ask such vague questions, not to count on the witness providing the testimony he wanted. He would lead Marguerite to the confession he so desperately wanted.
"His first thought was always with the child."
"Why did he care for him so much?"
"Because he…because he loved him…" She stammered out. Aramis watched from the corner of his eye as she glanced to him, her eyes pleading as he refused to meet them. "…because he is his son."
The court erupted at her words and he let his eyes close in defeat. The court would only remember those five words and all Anna had done would be for nothing: she would die, he would die, his son would die.
He turned to Marguerite as she reached the doorway and knowing it was the right thing to do, he offered her a soft blink of his eyes and the inclination of his head and hoped she knew that he forgave her, that he understood how she'd been forced to do this.
"You have deceived the court." Rochefort spoke over the murmurs as they settled around him. "But worse, you have betrayed the King, the man you are sworn to serve, in the foulest possible way. No doubt you hoped to save your lover, the Queen, but you have only condemned her and damned your own soul." He moved from the chair to stand right in front of him, his eyes gleaming with joy as he delivered his last line. "You are to be taken from here to await execution in a manner...appropriate to your heinous crimes."
He'd waited until the councillors had left to let it all really sink in; he'd won. Aramis would die for his treason and the Queen would now face whatever consequence he saw fit because the idiot had chosen to try and save his own skin instead of hers. The child would be dealt with swiftly, he decided; he'd allow Anne to go to her death believing he would be safe before disposing of him after. He would allow her that one comfort.
But his joy was short lived as flashes of a red dress decorated ornately with gold all along its back and down its arms came into his mind. His fist curled as her words replayed in his mind. He felt as though she'd struck him; as though she'd driven a dagger into his ribs. He had allowed himself to be blinded once again by his love for a woman who he now knew would never love him back.
She had played him. From the very start no doubt. How had he fallen for it? He soothed himself with memories of the Cardinal's notes on her time in Spain. An intriguing ability to acclimatise; valuable is not the word for this asset. She may be our best yet. Of course, she'd fooled him, he reasoned, trying to heal the wounds, it was her job to.
But she had forgotten one thing it seemed; it was his job to punish those who betrayed. The thought had him pushing from his chair and stalking from the room towards the small set of steps that would take him to the hidden balcony from which The King had been listening.
He found him still clad in his pyjamas with a pale face and clenched hands. At last he'd stopped crying.
"The Musketeer will be executed immediately." He said as means of a greeting. He had no time now to bow and scrape to the broken King and knew he would face little objection. "As will the false witness." He couldn't bring himself to say her name but felt relieved when Louis gave a short nod. "There is the matter of the Queen's future..."
"Not now, Rochefort." He croaked out.
"Sire, we must-"
"I have lost more than a queen today." His voice rose, growing strong with rage as the truth began to settle inside him. "I have lost my son: my only son." He took a breath. "Leave me."
He felt his lips purse in frustration as the King refused to turn to face him, but forcing himself to continue to play this infernal game, he turned and left. The Queen would have to wait it seemed; he had more pressing things to do anyway.
He'd waited hours for this; hours of running between trees and rocks and luring them closer and closer to the border until they'd eventually crossed into the country. Then it had been a case of keeping them occupied; too busy to realise that they were no longer within the boundary of Spain. That was the beauty of this rocky valley; it's location was deceptive and one wrong turn could see you arrested with ease.
He'd genuinely though it was all over when a pistol was cocked in his face by the last bodyguard Vargas had brought with him. But he should have known better than to think they would leave him here for dead.
With more gunshots ringing out all around him, he knew they would end the chase and lure he'd been playing at all night and day and he was relieved.
And so here they were; four Musketeers and Constance surrounding Vargas as he knelt in enemy territory. Finally.
"You are a poor interrogator." The Spaniard ground out as Porthos continued to hold his arm at a twisted angle behind his back. "Mere pain is nothing." He spat, his words turning into groans as Porthos took immense pleasure in pushing the limb even further. "I will never betray my country." He promised as Athos begrudgingly pulled his away from the man, his arm only a few more poorly chosen comments away from breaking.
"You already have." Athos drawled as he kept one hand on Porthos.
"What do you mean?"
"Does King Philip want to see his own sister murdered?" Vargas' eyes snapped from him to is their side where Treville, D'Artagnan and Constance stood.
"Rochefort intends to kill her." D'Artagnan told him. "She may only be hours away from her execution."
"The King loves his sister. If she dies, he'll want revenge." Athos released him as he spoke and with a nod from Porthos as a promise not to break the man's arm, he strolled back to their Captain. "And he'll come to you first."
"Rochefort was never told to harm the Queen." Vargas told them.
"He's a monster of your making."
"He is no monster." The Spaniard sighed. "But he is mine."
"Give evidence against Rochefort and you save the Queen." Athos offered. "If you run, she dies…and so do you."
"Rochefort's capacity for suffering was remarkable. When I turned him, I had great hopes for him. But even I could not imagine he would climb so far."
"He has an ally." Porthos said, regaining the man's attention. He glanced around at them, his eyes landing on Athos as he broached the subject none of them seemed willing to. "A woman also working for your country."
"We have no female assets in France." No one said anything as Vargas spoke. "If there is a woman assisting Rochefort, she is either under his spell or deceiving you all." He laughed at their torn looks and Porthos felt the urge to wipe that smile off his face using his fist. He wouldn't believe that everything she'd been lying about was part of a ruse; it had gone on for too long to be part of some bigger plan – no one was that good. "But if you were to share her name I could double-check."
"Enough about her." Treville said, silencing the Spaniard but focusing on Porthos. "Her truth will come out." He assured him. "But Rochefort is too dangerous to leave any longer: you created him. Now you must destroy him."
The palace corridors were silent as he stalked down them; the remaining few courtiers hushing each other as he passed. News had flooded the palace already it seemed; he wasn't sure what they were whispering about more though; the suicide of the Dauphin's governess or the imprisonment of his former right-hand woman.
He hadn't expected it to elicit an emotion from him; seeing her lying there motionless, but he had felt something tug at his heart and it disgusted him. She'd taken the interrogation very well, he'd almost applauded her as she withstood another punch to the ribs from his guard, her beautiful gown masking the bruises so well.
But her sickeningly sweet smile as his eyes had zeroed in on the actual shape of the gilded decoration on each bicep.
"Te sientes estúpido?"
The fact that she'd asked in Spanish had enraged him further that he thought possible but her laughter as his own hand closed in around her throat had seen him give it only one tight squeeze before storming away from the cell she'd been chained into with the guard and his reddening knuckles following.
He shook all thoughts of her and the fleur-de-lis' on her shoulders from his mind as he pushed open the double doors to the Queen's suite.
"The truth about your liaison with Aramis has been established." He announced as he entered to find her stood and glaring at him. He offered her a false smile. "But I may yet be able to plead with the King on your behalf."
"I am the Queen. Sister to the King of Spain. I do not plead for anything."
He laughed lightly, turning to gathered trio of ladies-in-waiting stood behind him and with a simple raise of his eyebrow, had them scurrying from the room, the door closing swiftly behind them.
"You need a friend."
"I have many friends. And they will come for me as they did for Constance."
"Oh, they will not come." He allowed a small smile to play on his lips. "There is only you and I now."
"Where is your new lapdog?" She asked, glancing to the doorway. "Is she too ashamed to show her face to me? To face the people she has betrayed?"
"Will it bring you comfort if I tell you that she never betrayed you?" He asked, stepping forward. "That she defended you and your Musketeer in open court? That she…played me?"
"Anna?" She breathed. "She…"
"I admit, it was difficult to have her chained up and beaten, but torture is good for the soul; it makes you stronger." He told her moving closer, watching as she flinched at the image he painted and the look of realisation that played across her features before they hardened again. "In Spain, there was a man who led my torture: every day, Vargas and I would cross new thresholds of torment together. Do you know why it took so long for him to break me?" He paused. "You. The mere thought of you was a refuge from my agony."
"Know this, Rochefort..." She took her own step closer. "In all that time...I did not think of you once."
He felt his features harden at her words; at the honesty in her voice and the fact that twice now he had been deceived in love.
"Very soon, your lover Aramis will be broken upon the wheel. That body you found so precious will be torn limb from limb. Still you love him."
"You understand nothing about love."
"It is pain!" He told her, his mind filling with Anna's choked laugh. "Suffering!"
"It is neither!"
"No? His arms will be shattered…then his legs…then his back. He will beg for death." She let out a broken sob and stumbled back into her chair. "There it is: Love." He sneered, crouching before her. "You understand how his suffering will be nothing compared to what you feel inside right now? Now you know something of the agony I endure every minute of every day."
The guards here only walked past his cell when there was something to gloat about. It was how he'd heard of Marguerite's death and Rochefort's lack of mercy when he'd found Anna waiting for him in his office.
He hadn't needed them to tell him what 'lack of mercy' meant. He'd heard it himself; heard the grunt of the guards as they'd taken turns to beat her. but she had stayed quiet, had taken it all and never screamed or begged for mercy. She wouldn't die down here though, he was sure of that. even if they couldn't get her out, Rochefort wouldn't let her waste away down here; she'd be a spectacle for him when he eventually gained all the power he wanted.
The prospect alone had had him pulling and twisting at his manacles and the long lengths of chain they used to keep the most important prisoners restrained to the brick walls.
He gave one last tug on them before allowing his legs to buckle as he slid down the wall. There was no way he was getting out of here on his own. He took a breath and did the only thing he could think of.
"God, if you spare them and by some miracle, I'm allowed to live, I vow to devote all my remaining days to your grace. I will renounce all worldly temptations. I will...even my duty..." He trailed off as footsteps sounded. He couldn't make out which way they were travelling but he knew that the steady pace meant only one thing; an executioner walked these dungeons. "I am not worthy of your mercy: I didn't believe in my friend and I didn't save the mother of my child…" He gritted his teeth as the steps became louder as they headed for him. "My soul is prepared I-"
He cut himself off at the sound of someone falling to the floor with a thump. He turned his head slightly, not believing that his prayers had been answered but…
"God works in mysterious ways, does he not?"
Of all the people he'd imagined would stage a rescue, Milady de Winter with a dagger in one hand and a set of stolen keys in another, had not been one.
She wasted no time in unlocking his cell and manacles before leading the way out into the main corridors of the dungeons.
"The Queen?" He asked, rubbing his wrists as they walked.
"Alive: no thanks to you."
"And the others?"
"Gone to help Porthos."
"Then Rochefort's allegations will soon be disproved." He said, heaving a sigh of relief.
"Even those that are true?" She asked, throwing a wink over her shoulder as they continued to move towards a corner.
"It won't be long before they discover my escape." He said, ignoring her bait and increasing his pace.
"It was not an escape, it was a rescue." She corrected as they reached the corner. "For which you are very welcome."
"It's not a rescue yet…"
They turned the corner and he felt himself frown at the number of horses waiting for them. He opened his mouth to query but felt it snap shut as a Red Guard came barrelling towards him. Using his momentum against him, Aramis swung him into the nearest piece of wall.
"No!" he shouted as quietly as possible as a dagger appeared at the guard's throat ending his struggle. "We don't need to kill him."
"Why not?"
He answered by simply using the guard's stillness to slam his head into the bricks and render him unconscious.
"You shouldn't treat death so lightly." He told her, letting the man drop as he turned back to the two horses. "Where's Anna?"
"She's not coming."
"We have to get her." He said, pushing past her to re-enter the depths of the dungeon. "I could hear her so she wasn't far from me and-"
"She's not coming." Milady stopped him with a hand on his arm.
"I'm not leaving her; she's only down here because-"
"Because if she's down here then that's where all the guards will be congregated. More on her means less on you." She told him. "You don't think she gave herself up on a whim, do you?" She tugged on his jerkin and strode to the horses, forcing him to follow.
"She knew."
"Of course she knew." She pulled herself up into a saddle. "When are you men going to realise that women are smarter than we seem?"
Athos hadn't expected Vargas to come so easily. A few well-placed reminders of who their Queen was and who would be responsible for her death had him mounting a horse in no time and now they were back in Paris with the renowned spymaster sitting quietly amongst four Musketeers as they readied their weaponry.
Their plan revolved entirely on him continuing to be this agreeable otherwise…well they'd die.
The heavy bangs on the safe-house door were not a part of the plan. Letting his pistol slip into his grip, he nodded once to Treville and Porthos as they stood with their own ready, he wrenched open the door.
Hand slipping around Aramis' shoulders, he pressed a kiss to the man's cheek and murmured a quick 'welcome back' as Porthos' laugh filled the room.
"You just won't die, will you?" He smiled at D'Artagnan's welcome as he was embraced by each of the assembled group, but felt it drop slightly as another figure stepped into the doorway.
"She rescued me." Aramis said as all eyes turned to Milady.
"Then you can come in." He held the door open wider for her and let her slip into the space. "Thank you."
She nodded to him once before moving through the room, past the embracing Treville and Aramis to lean against the opposite door frame. He watched her slow figure with a frown, swiping a decanter of wine and a glass from the side as he moved back to the weapons table.
"How did you do it?" He asked, turning all their attention back to her as he poured a drink.
"A distraction." She said. "Rochefort has a new prisoner; one of far more value than the already condemned Aramis – all his guards were on her."
"Her?" He asked, hand stilling and eyes moving Aramis as the man scratched the back of his head with a sigh. "Who?"
"You need to decide whether or not you believe her." Helene's words were sharp. "Stop switching sides and decide; all of you."
"Anna blew her cover during my trial." Aramis explained, taking the drink from Athos' outstretched hand. "She knew that I'd be found guilty but if she was in a cell too…"
"So you need to decide." Helene repeated. "Do you believe her?"
"Now isn't the time." Treville began, glancing to Vargas with a grim look. "We can-"
"I'm giving you the keys to get back into the palace until you tell me if you believe her."
"And when did you two become so close?" D'Artagnan sneered.
"When she told me that if I got Aramis out of prison, she'd get me out of the country; let me start a new life" She told them. "Or maybe when she believed me." She met his eyes.
"She was willing to let Constance die." D'Artagnan argued. "And she could have defended Aramis before it ever got as far as court."
"She told me to give you all time." Helene said, cutting across him. "She told me that when it was all over you'd come to see the truth but I'm not letting you loiter that long. I cheat and lie and kill without conscience and you've trusted me these past days." She reminded them. "Why is she so different?"
"I believe her." Aramis said, breaking the silence that had fallen between them as her words lingered in the air. "Anyone who willingly undergoes Rochefort's torture; things that he probably learnt from him…" He nodded to Vargas as the man watched them closely. "…is clearly on my side."
"I've never doubted her." Treville reminded them.
"And you four?" Helene looked to him, Porthos, D'Artagnan and Constance in turn. "Where do you stand?"
"She defended the Queen?" Constance asked Aramis who nodded. "Then I believe her."
"I trust Aramis." Porthos declared. "So I guess that means I trust her."
"You don't have a female asset in France?" D'Artagnan asked Vargas. "Truly?"
"You don't trust my word?" The Spaniard laughed. "Women are of little use as spies; if you have one in the palace here then she is one-of-a-kind."
"Fine." The youngest Musketeer took Constance's hand. "But I don't forgive her."
"And now you." Helene turned to face him directly. "I wish I could say I'm glad you're taking longer than five minutes to condemn someone these days." His eyes narrowed as her fingers lifted to play with the green band around her neck.
He glanced around the room, takin gin their faces as they watched him in return. It would be a lie to say he was still conflicted over her. He'd made his decision and now he was just trying to figure out how it would change them. He took a breath and admitted his truth out loud for the first time.
"I trust her."
"Aramis has escaped." The words hung in the air as Rochefort strolled from the window to face the King directly as the young fool sat atop his bed. "The conspirators will most likely come for the Queen next. If she were to escape, who knows how many would rally to her cause? It would mean rebellion: civil strife."
"What can we do?" He asked, shoulders slumped in defeat as everything he'd held dear for so long began to crumble around him.
"Perhaps a more permanent solution? Exile for Her Majesty? New France?"
"From where this treachery can continue?!" Louis pushed himself from the mattress to stand, his voice hard with emotion.
"Forgive my foolishness." He said, his own voice dead as the final piece of the puzzle inched closer and closer. "Your Majesty is wise."
"You're not foolish, Rochefort." He fought the recoil as the King's hand came to rest atop his shoulder, his eyes full of pity. "You are a dear friend: the only one who gives me the truth. Even though it's harmful to your own cause." He wanted to laugh at the irony of his words.
"Then I must, in all humility, do so again, Majesty." He reached inside his jacket and withdrew a single piece of folded paper.
"What is that?"
"The only certain way of defeating her enemies." Louis' face fell again as he realised what it was. "You must sign it. Only then can you be safe." He moved to the King's desk, unfolded the sheet and placed it atop the ornate table. "You must sign the Queen's death warrant."
Louis' eyes remained fixed on the paper as he too approached the desk. Reaching for a quill, he all but fell into the waiting chair. He let the inked feather hover over the sheet, his hands perfectly still as Rochefort watched him contemplate what he was truly doing.
"I cannot kill my own..." He cried, dropping the quill and standing abruptly to face him.
"You must do it, Sire."
"I cannot!" He sobbed. "I will be alone in the world."
"Would you rather raise the son of two traitors as your own?!"
"No."
"Endure a lifetime of humiliation?"
"Do not speak to your king in this way!" He protested weakly but Rochefort continued, knowing he was pressing every weak spot the pathetic King had.
"Leave behind a false legacy?"
"Enough!" He knew that would be the one that got him. "Enough..." Louis took a breath, his chest heaving, before turning back to the desk. He slid into the chair, picked up the quill and with quick strokes, signed his name. "It must be quiet..." He insisted as Rochefort wasted no time in snatching it away from him. "…and swift." Rochefort ignored him and stalked o the door, hands itching to finish this. "It must be swift." Louis insisted and with a sigh Rochefort turned, playing his part again but hopefully for the last time.
"Your Majesty is most merciful."
"Let me out." She pushed all of her strength into those three words as she clung onto the bars of her cell, desperately hoping her legs didn't give out from under her as she extended her chains as far as they could. "I said; let me out."
"You're a prisoner of the First Minister of France; accused of treason, espionage and perjury." The guard stationed outside her cell drawled, his back still to her. "You're going nowhere."
"I know you think what you're doing is right, but people will die if you keep me here." She insisted, willing him to just turn around.
He ignored her.
"Maybe we can come to some sort of…agreement?" She asked, dropping her voice and hoping the bruised outline of Rochefort's fingers around her neck was offset by the splendour of her dress that had somehow sustained her beating.
"Agreement?" He turned his head slightly. "What sort of agreement?"
"Whatever you want." She crooned, batting her eyelashes at him and smiling slowly as he fully turned to her.
"Hmmm." His smile matched hers as her arms snaked between the bars for her hands to rest on his waist. "And what makes you think I'd want anything to do with you?" He sneered and she let the rejection show on her face. "Fine clothes and a sweet voice don't hide what you are...whore."
He laughed at her blank face and made to turn back around but she was faster. Laughter died on his lips as the dagger she'd slipped from his belt was now embedded in his ribs.
"Don't call me a whore." She whispered, her jaw tight as he fell, his body colliding with the floor with a thud. She sneered at him before falling into a crouch to rifle through his pockets for the keys to her cell.
Nobody stopped them as they entered the palace through the tunnelled entrance. There wasn't a single guard roaming the corridors as they stepped out into them and the usual sounds of courtiers moving about was gone.
They said nothing to each other as they made their way slowly through the palace, sharing only the briefest of glances as they stopped to check around corridors, but the confusion was etched on each of their faces as they closed ranks around their Spanish captive as he scrutinised the palace.
"Where are all the guards?" He voiced their question, ignoring the sharp nudge to his back as his voice echoed through the main staircase. "With such poor protection, no wonder France falters."
"There are no servants…no courtiers." Constance mumbled as she brought up the rear of the group.
"I must go to the Queen!" Aramis said as they reached the landing separating the staircase. Athos gave a short nod, he and Porthos moving to keep a hold of Vargas as Constance rushed after Aramis.
"Musketeers!"
It was just their luck that at the exact moment their group parted, guards appeared. Rapiers now in hand, Vargas was pushed aside and their battle to the King began.
She was weak and sore and every step alerted her to some new bruise forming under her clothes. She should be thankful to the guards though, she thought miserably as she caught a glimpse of her reflection in a mirror hanging over a side table lining one of the corridors she now stumbled down; they'd left her face fairly free of marks and the only visible sign of her torture was her unkempt and matted hair, hanging free down her back and the slightly wild look in her eyes.
Using the table edge to stabilise her for a moment she let one hand tentatively prod around her throat and winced as her fingers made contact with the darkening bruise there.
She took a breath and wondered if she could spare just a few minutes to sit and take a breath. The sudden burst of gunshots resonating from deep within the palace gave her her answer and with one last glance at her wild appearance, she pushed off the table and continued to stagger down the corridor, one hand on the wall and the other clutching the pistol she'd stolen from her now-dead guard.
This ended now.
"Holy Mary, Mother of God…" He watched as she clutched her rosary in both hands; head bowed as she did what any God-fearing woman who knew she deserved punishment would do; beg for forgiveness. "…pray for us sinners…now and at the hour of our death."
"Amen." He finished for her, his voice carrying from his place in the doorway of her bedroom.
The palace had emptied with remarkable speed and his journey to this very room with so many doors locking behind him had been swift with no one to stop him as the silver garrotte dangled from his fingertips. The ornate chain work of the implement would be perfect for a Queen; it's pattern would pass for the imprint of a necklace and when her body would be displayed in Notre Dame, nothing would be untoward.
And when it was all over, when Her Majesty was properly dealt with and the bastard child removed from this place, he would be King in all but name. this small stretch of chain work was all that stood between him and ultimate power.
She didn't move from her altar and that was fine by him; having her back to him and neck exposed would make this considerably easier on both of them. She turned only when he stopped directly behind her, her head inclining to the chain between his fingers as he dropped one handle to properly swing it.
She looked away again, sniffing back the small tears that were rolling down her cheeks. He was glad she didn't sob; didn't beg for mercy. He couldn't stand it when people cried out a last request. He saw now why he had been so easily fooled by the Beauchamp girl; she shared so many qualities with her Queen – strength, resilience and a plethora of other characteristics that had no doubt been honed to appeal directly to him
"How much do you love the Queen, Rochefort?"
He could still hear her question; the one that had started all of this. If she'd just kept her nose out of his business he would have left her alone until she needed to be dealt with. But her and her questions had forced his hand and now they were here; all of them in the same palace but facing very different futures.
He let his gloved hand rest on the side of her neck, forcing away all thoughts of the witch who had ensnared him and almost thwarted everything and focusing on the task at hand.
"You will never touch me again, Rochefort."
She told him, her voice surprisingly strong as he cupped the back of her neck, questioning if it would be more satisfying to do this by hand. His mind flashed with images of the think bruise that had started to bloom around his prisoner's throat almost immediately after releasing her and reminded himself of the simplicity of the chain. How easily it would be hidden afterwards.
He rested one knee on the raised platform on which she herself knelt and heard the jangle of the chain as he lifted in to hold between his hands.
"Don't you dare." His hands stilled as the chain lifted above Anne's head and he felt his fists curl around the small handles at the low warning coming from behind him.
"How?" He asked, his mind whirring to try and figure out exactly how she'd escaped and entered this room unheard.
"Does it matter?" She replied, a pistol cocking as she took another step forward. "All you need to know is: I'm here and you've lost."
"You sound so confident, Mademoiselle Beauchamp." He said, his hands still holding the raised chain as the Queen took shallow breaths in front of him. "If not a little sore; did the walk take it out of you?" He refused to turn to her. refused. Because that would mean giving up his chance of revenge.
"I've experienced worse." His jaw tightened as the pistol barrel hit the bac of his head and ground into the skin there. "Now; get up." He let the chain drop from one hand, holding them apart in silent surrender as he rose, the pistol remaining at his skull. "Your Majesty…" The blonde in front of him slumped slightly, more silent tears likely rolling down her cheeks. "…I'm going to have to ask you to move but don't leave your rooms; the guards orders are likely to shoot you on sight."
The Queen nodded once, Rochefort's eyes still trained on her as she too rose and slipped away, her heels echoing furiously as she ran into the antechamber of her suites.
"Does it feel good to be wearing your true face again?" He asked, hands still raised. "To be back on the side of 'good'?" He sneered at the word.
"I was never on any other side, Rochefort." She said, the pistol moving back slightly to allow him to turn to her. "Or are you still clinging to some shred of hope that I actually loved you and believed in you?"
"I wondered why they chose you, you know." He told her as he faced her, the garrotte chain dangling just to the side of her face. "Why of all people they trusted you with Madrid? You were far too meek and mild when we met, far too easy to manipulate; too scared your secret would come out." He half-smiled at her. "How wrong I was."
"We all have apart to play."
"Indeed." He drawled. "So, what's the plan now?" He asked. "It's just you, me and Her Majesty; like it was always meant to be."
"The plan now is to wait for the King to burst in with a full pardon…and if you more before that; I'm going to shoot you in the face."
"And what makes you think His Majesty-"
"Vargas is here." She said, and he felt his breath stop suddenly at the name. "It was a challenge to stagger through the palace without him seeing me; can't have him knowing my face now can we? But I managed it. And now he's with the King – a full Musketeer guard at his back, and he's telling him everything."
He paused.
"Well played, Mademoiselle."
"I wish I could take the credit." She smirked. "But it's entirely down to your favourite band of Musketeers; I genuinely couldn't have planned it better."
"And when the Queen is pardoned what happens to you? Who will confirm your innocence? Who will stop me from implicating you in everything?"
"I don't care if I die." She told him as he watched her for any sign of lying. "I haven't since I first entered the Royal Palace of Madrid."
"Good to know."
He let the statement hang in the air for a mere second before knocking the pistol from her hands and swinging the garrotte up and around her neck. With both her hands scrabbling to prise away the thin chain, he forced her to her knees with ease smirking to the now openly crying Queen as he dragged the female spy to the doorway separating the bedroom from the antechamber.
He crossed the end of the chain, keeping a firm pull on it as it began to choke her and smiled.
"I-"
The chain fell from his hand immediately, Anna's gasps for air all he could hear as a searing pain tore through his shoulder.
"Get away from her!" Aramis' voice rang out and he let a growl escape his throat as he saw Constance Bonacieux move to kneel beside the shaking monarch.
"Vargas?" Anna croaked as Aramis faced him, rapier in hand.
"With the King."
"Then kill him." She said, her voice low as his eyes met hers. He wanted to laugh at the fury and lust for vengeance her found there but his hand was working of its own accord to free his own rapier from its hilt.
His now useless left arm clutched to his side he gave one almighty growl before lunging at the Musketeer who he hated above the rest.
He wasn't going down without a fight.
"You think you can save them?" He cried as he ricocheted off the wall he'd been thrown into and stared at Aramis. "You don't have the best record of saving sluts."
Aramis lunged at him again but he was ready for it; matching every blow as they moved from the bedroom into the antechamber. Wrist flicking in a practiced move his blade screeched along Aramis' until the Musketeer was close enough for him to pull into a choke hold. All he had to do was incapacitate the man and he'd dispose of his two blonde sirens with a pistol. But the Musketeer was crafty and a roar left Rochefort as a finger pressed down onto his protected eye.
He released him and spun away, not bothering to spare glances to the three women surrounding them, as he pulled a dagger from the back of his belt.
"The Cardinal's mistress, Lady Marguerite…" He began to list off the names, watching as each one riled him up further. "…now it's the Queen and your former friend." He laughed darkly. "You can save one." He waved the dagger. "The other will have this embedded in their throat."
Aramis lunged again, their rapiers meeting with ease. He smiled as he saw that the Musketeer had unintentionally made his choice as they moved with his back always staying to the Queen. Idiot. Regardless of what happened here today; Aramis rushing to her bedroom to save her would only reinforce the King's mistrust of them. He could die and she'd still hang. Now, he just had to find the Beauchamp girl to really hammer this home.
"Where-"
Once again he found himself cut off as a yell left him; another wave of pain flooding through him.
"I'd like to see you try." He could picture her ruby lips whispering menacingly into his ear as he fell to one knee, the dagger Anna had twisted from his grasp and imbedded in his shoulder blade pushing deeper.
The room was suddenly silent as Aramis dropped his rapier and spared him no look as he and Anna rushed to the Queen.
"Are you alright?" "I'm so sorry it got that close." "Thank God."
The rushed words reached him as he forced his strength into his buckled leg and pushed himself back up onto his feet. Staggering to the doorway, his heavy breaths broke into muted laughs as even more Musketeers greeted him: stood in a perfect line with rapiers outstretched and hands on their holstered pistols were Porthos, D'Artagnan and Athos.
He sneered at the sight of them and reached behind to pull free the dagger with a hiss: the squelching sound of steel dragging through sinew filling the air.
"It is finished." His eyes darted from the Musketeers to the figure in black strolling through the doorway. "The French King knows everything."
"You have betrayed me?" The words left him in a rush as he stared at Vargas.
"You left me no choice." He told him simply. "Spain thanks you for your service."
"None of this was for Spain!" He ground out, his hand shaking in rage as the man simply shrugged before turning and leaving them with Treville as his escort. "None of it!" He cried.
"Surrender." The order was clear as the Musketeers dropped their rapiers, Aramis moving to stand beside them.
"I will never surrender to any of you." He told them as Vargas disappeared from view. "You…" He turned to the group of women stood away from the Musketeers. "You and I will finish this." He tossed the bloody dagger to her feet.
"I bet you never expected a literal knife to the back." Anna mused as she crouched to the pick up the dagger. "But you never have been very good at seeing past what's right in front of you." She gestured to the intact fleur-de-lis' on her biceps. "Have you, señor?"
She watched as he loosed another roar before lunging for her. She sidestepped the blow with ease, a quick flick of her wrist sending him flying into the line of Musketeers where he was met with a swift punch from Athos.
"Surrender." He repeated, their rapiers re-raised as Rochefort sank to his hands and knees.
"I couldn't have been clearer Rochefort…" She crouched in front of him, the dagger hanging loosely from her hands. "I told you I was coming for you." He pushed himself back up and she had to give it to him; he was determined. "But you called it an empty threat." She shouted over the clang of steel on steel as he tried to fight all four Musketeers at once.
Porthos' punch threw him to the floor again as she pushed herself to her feet with a sigh. He should be dead from the dagger alone but he was still going; this time duelling D'Artagnan as Porthos stepped back – the one hit seeming to be enough for the man.
She did wince as D'Artagnan's quick flicks of the steel elicited a gasp of pain from the Comte; the quick slash across his stomach stopping him momentarily.
She stepped forward and waved them all away; she'd be dammed if anyone but her ended this.
"You blackmailed me." She bit out, lazily swiping away his sword. "You ostracised me." She twirled away from a particularly powerful lunge. "You made me lie to my family." She gestured to the assembled group. "And then…" She grabbed the collar of her dress and pulled it aside to show the black marks on her skin. "…You almost killed me."
They were battling properly now as she listed all his deeds; the words empowering them both.
"Twice!" She cried as they continued to parry. "But I can live with all of that…" She blew a strand of hair from her eyes and released her collar as they battled. "…but I will never forgive you for harming them." She pierced his chest with a single lunge, the sword sliding through him easily. "Never." She repeated, pulling the steel free and watching him fall backwards into the wall; sheer exhaustion pulling him downwards to sit on the floor as he bled out.
"When you get to hell and the devil asks who sent you there…" She said, sword clattering to the floor. "…tell him it was Anita Abaroa." She watched as a steam of blood bubbled up from his throat to dribble from his lips. "Tú pierdes, Rochefort."
An aura of calm had swept over the palace almost immediately after Rochefort took his last breath. Vargas had been bundled into a carriage and deposited on the other side of the France-Spain border and the King and Queen had all but fallen into each other's arms as they rushed at each other when they met in the reception room separating their wings.
Naturally, a full pardon had been issued to both Her Majesty and Aramis and Athos was glad that all of this seemed to finally be over.
They were out in the sunshine now with the full royal court returning in droves. His Majesty had used the time they had spent removing Rochefort's body, and all evidence of the bloodshed in the Queen's chambers, to scourge all traces of Rochefort from his own life – gone were the pyjamas and pale complexion and now they all stood, hours later; with the royal household in full regalia and them in official uniform (he didn't know where the powder blue cloaks had come from) with the King addressing them.
"Rochefort wrapped my mind in such terrible lies." He said, his gaze flicking between them all as Treville stood before them. "It is as if I have woken from a nightmare."
"He deceived many wise men, Your Majesty." He said, knowing the words to be too true as his own gaze flickered over to the woman in red embracing the Queen. "But you were the last."
Louis offered them a tight but grateful smile as he turned to his approaching wife; the Dauphin gurgling happily in her arms.
"He has grown stronger since we last held each other." She said, her grin only growing as Louis took her hand.
"And so have we." He kissed it. "You are a good and loyal wife." They shared a soft smile and Athos felt one of his own pull at his lips as the gurgling of the Dauphin interrupted the moment. "Oh, look at him! Course he's my son!" Louis declared, happily taking him from his mother to grin at him. "I'd need a mirror to find a better likeness!"
The soft laugh that left the group of Musketeers encouraged one of the King's own and Athos hoped to God that the man never discovered the truth; for all their sakes.
"You have been grievously wronged, Aramis." Louis said, handing the child to the waiting Constance and turning back to the Musketeers. "And I'm sorry for it."
"You have no cause to apologise, Sire. I am your humble servant."
"Spoken like a true soldier of France." The King smiled. "Speaking of which…" His voice changed dramatically; an uncommon sternness replaced the lightness. "…where is she?" He glanced to the Musketeers before turning and settling his gaze on the only person not in the usual pastel colours of the court. "Step forward, Mademoiselle Beauchamp."
Athos swallowed hard as he watched her step out from the assembled crowd of courtiers. She'd used the hour well too it seemed; the ruby paint that had adorned her lips had been wiped clean and her bedraggled hair had been pulled back into a low bun with only the smallest traces of dirt lining the back of her dress' skirt.
"Sire." She dropped to one knee before him. "I can only apologise for-"
"You put every member of this household in danger the day you decided not to tell anyone of your suspicions." She kept her head bowed as Louis spoke. "Your actions were deplorable though intentions good." He sighed. "I will never be able to repay you for your work." Her head snapped up at his unexpected praise and the tug at Athos' lips returned at the shocked expression on her face. "You, and you alone, saved us all." He took his wife's hand. "You are a hero."
"I was just doing my job, Sire." She insisted, rising as he gestured for her to do so. "The job you instructed me to do all those years ago."
"Consider this mission complete, Mademoiselle." He nodded to the woman. "You may return to your regiment."
And return she had.
Riding through the archway of the Garrison had almost brought tears to her eyes; she was finally able to open that part of herself that she had locked away when she had been dragged away from the Garrison on the charge of treason – fear.
There had been moments over these past few days (had it only been days?) when she had genuinely feared that her plan would not work; that Rochefort would somehow figure it out and she'd be unable to stop him from beheading everyone around her as they got in his way.
She wasn't sure what she was going to do next, she realised as she brought her horse to a stop in the training yard and everyone else dis-mounted and made their way to the picnic table already laden with wine and cups.
Constance was the first to notice she hadn't followed them and turned back to her with a frown.
"What's the matter?"
"I…" She trailed off as the four Musketeers also turned to her. "You…"
"Do you really think we're going to make you leave?" D'Artagnan asked, sliding into his place at the table.
"I betrayed each and every one of you." She reminded them, her reigns clasped tightly in her hands as she remained atop the horse in case she needed to make a quick getaway. "You hate me."
"We hate that you didn't tell us." Porthos said, taking a full cup from Athos as the man claimed the role of bartender. "Even when you could have."
"I thought-"
"You thought we wouldn't understand." Aramis finished for her. "Thought we'd judge you for your past life." He took a drink. "Because none of us have ever done anything remotely shameful."
"But-"
"But you're a woman so it's different?" Constance asked, hands on hips. "That's not what my Anna would say or think." She raised an eyebrow. "Unless you've been lying to us since day one and you're not the strong, confident woman who helped me realise that I don't have to live my life according to what men think is right?"
"Of course not but-"
"Are you going to lie to us again?" Porthos asked. "Are you going to keep something of this scale from us?"
"No."
"Then take a seat." Athos said, pouring out a drink into the only cup that hadn't been claimed and holding it out to her. "And start at the beginning."
Twenty-four hours later and they were back at that very table with equally full drinks but a much lighter mood in the air.
"I can't believe you proposed." Aramis laughed as he brushed a speck of dirt off his hat.
"I can't believe it's taken him this long." Porthos said, happily refilling his cup as D'Artagnan fiddled with his uniform. "You've been together how long?"
"It's the right time."
"Couldn't wait another day?" Aramis asked, his voice light as he continued to tease the nervous groom. "Had to get us all up early on our first day of leave?"
"With everything that's happened…" He said. "…everything that could have happened…" He sighed. "I didn't see the point in wasting anymore time."
"Smart lad." Athos said, his voice full of pride as he clapped the youngest Musketeer on the shoulder. "I'm happy for you."
"Clearly…" D'Artagnan smiled, finally done fidgeting with the cape over his shoulder. "…considering you bought me the ring."
Athos felt his smile harden slightly at the mention of the silver band he'd slipped into the boy's hand late last night before ushering him towards Constance with the simple advice of: "Don't wait until it's too late to realise what you want."
"You bought the ring?" Porthos asked, eyes narrowing. "I didn't see you go off anywhere."
Athos simply ignored him, reaching for the decanter of wine.
"Ah, ah." Aramis tsked, pulling it away from him. "Where did you get the ring from?"
"It's not important."
"Don't wait until it's too late to realise what you want." D'Artagnan repeated his words back to him with a glimpse of realisation in his eyes. "Ath-"
"Are you four coming or what?" A female voice cut across him forcing their attention from Athos, much to his relief, and to the blonde making her way through the arch. "There's a bride waiting for her groom."
"Just giving him some last-minute advice." Aramis lied smoothly, throwing Athos a look that promised this wouldn't be forgotten soon, as he stood and placed him hat on his head.
"Oh Dear Lord." Anna groaned as they made their way towards her. "Please tell me you've ignored it?"
"Absolutely." D'Artagnan assured her.
"Right then." She reached out to tidy the collar of his shirt under his jerkin. "Ready?"
Walking Constance down the aisle had been an…experience; one he wasn't likely to forget soon. It had started out well; with the woman's nervous laugh making him laugh as they waited for the doors to the church to open and her question of "Do I look okay?" eliciting another chuckle as he assured she looked beautiful in the cream dress with rosebuds on the bodice.
That had all been fine. Even taking her arm as the doors opened and they began to walk down the aisle had been fine. But his heart had jolted at the sight that met him as they reached the lines of pews in the small church; for he couldn't see D'Artagnan, couldn't see the gathered Musketeers as they grinned at the beautiful bride on his arm. No, all he could see was the woman in a soft pink dress with rosebuds woven into her own hair.
He could almost fool himself into thinking nothing had changed between them if he lingered on that image; could almost believe that they didn't have a long road ahead of them to figure out what they wanted now.
But then the memory moves on and while her soft smile was the same as usual, the marks marring her uncovered neck were clear signs of all that had happened. He wished he'd had the chance to get his hands on Rochefort at the end, but he was glad that she had delivered the final blow; she'd put up with him and his mind games for much longer than the rest of them. It's why he'd held D'Artagnan back when the moment had come.
He cared for the boy, he truly did, it's why he'd been more than proud to play such a huge role in his wedding. But even though Rochefort had almost killed his new bride, Anna deserved to dole out justice herself.
But he was choosing not to dwell on any of that, not tonight.
Tonight was reserved entirely for celebration and that was why he'd elected to step outside, into the cool night air, to let his more sombre thoughts play out.
"Thought we'd find you out here." He sighed at Porthos' voice but knew their discovery of him was meant with the best of intentions.
"Not in the mood for dancing?" He asked, as the two men settled opposite him at the table.
"I don't dance." Porthos reminded him as he retrieved a bottle of wine from inside his jerkin. "But I do drink."
"Conversely, I do dance." Aramis said, placing three cups beside the bottle. "But our little D'Artagnan looks so happy…it'd be wrong to upstage him."
"So considerate." He drawled, reaching out for the bottle and pulling its cork free.
"Ready to talk about it yet?"
"Talk about what?" He asked, letting the wine slosh into the cup. He met their eyes and sighed knowing what they were alluding to. "No."
"That's why we brought the wine." Aramis said, taking the bottle and filling Athos' cup to the brim. "Drink up."
"There's nothing to talk about." He told them, taking a mouthful of the ruby liquid.
"Porthos my friend…" Aramis began, ignoring Athos' eyeroll as he used a sentence starter very familiar to them all. "…do you find it intriguing that our dear friend Athos drinks like a fish only when he's having relationship problems?"
"I do." The darker man grinned, enjoying this game.
"First it was when she was absent from his life." Aramis continued as Athos reached out for the bottle. "And now it is because he wishes he were the groom dancing happily in there." He nodded to the Garrison behind them and the music that was pouring out of its main hall and into the training yard where they sat.
"Are you finished?"
"Are you willing to talk about it?" He shook his head. "Then no."
"You're exhausting." He sighed, taking another drink.
"Look…" Porthos said, clearing his throat and looking wholly uncomfortable about what he was about to say. "…we just want you to be happy."
"Thanks." He mumbled, but he did mean it; he knew they only had his best interests at heart.
"No need to run away." Aramis suddenly called out. Athos raised an eyebrow at the unexpected comment and glanced behind him to the shadows underneath the Captain's office. "You're more than welcome to join us."
"I wasn't expecting it to be so busy out here." A figure said as they stepped out from the shadows.
"You mean you weren't searching for a dance partner?" Aramis asked in mock shock as Anna stopped at the head of the table; a thin shawl around her sleeved arms to ward away the night air.
"If I was, I'd only have eyes for you Aramis." She assured him. "They look so happy in there." She sighed, glancing back to the party.
The men nodded to her statement before silence fell over them. Despite clearing the air yesterday they were all still a little wary of each other and none were sure if falling back into their old routine of playful banter was going to work.
"I should get back in there." Aramis suddenly announced, standing. "If the ladies are left without something pleasant to look at for too long, there'll be riots." He slid a hand under Porthos' arm as the big man reached for the bottle again. "Come on, I'll show you some steps."
He wanted to laugh at their poor attempt at subtlety when trying to give him and Anna some time alone. Porthos' fading voice brought a smile to both their faces as he complained loudly over being forced back in while Aramis whispered furiously to "Shut up and just go in."
"Cold?" He asked, noting her shiver as a light breeze swirled around them. "Sit down." He instructed, wishing that wine had the same effect on him as it did Aramis and loosen his tongue to allow out more than a few syllables each time.
She slid in beside him and accepted the wine he slid towards her.
"It's hard, isn't it?" She asked, fingers toying with the brim of the cup. "Trying to figure out what we can talk about after all that?" She glanced to him. "It's one of the reasons I didn't tell you."
"That and we'd both have been executed."
"Exactly." She laughed. "Though it is nice to be able to talk about it now."
They fell silent again, letting the faded music of the party fill the space until she mumbled something under her breath.
"Pardon?"
"I can't pretend to be her anymore." She said louder as he recognised the line as what she'd told him in the palace tunnels. "She would have tiptoed around the subject like I'm doing now and…" She trailed off, placing her hands flat on the table top. "I still love you." She told him, meeting his eyes. "In fact, I never stopped. But I understand if you-"
He didn't give her any chance to concoct some reason as to why she wasn't worthy of his love or why she was suddenly less to him. He refused to let her demean herself by talking herself down; by telling the world she wasn't worth love because she wasn't willing to sit around playing at being the perfect lady.
He pushed all of that into his kiss with the need they had first experienced in a tight spaced, secret cupboard while fearing for their lives, returning as her hands cupped his jaw.
They broke apart as a loud cheer erupted from the party; their eyes snapping to the entrance to ensure they weren't becoming a spectacle on their best friend's big day.
"I thought…" He cut himself off with a laugh as she moved her hand to rub tiredly down her face as she too chuckled. "What are the chances of that timing?" He asked with a smile, one finger lifting her chin to recapture her gaze. "I love you." He promised, pushing everything he could into his voice.
"I love you." She repeated, leaning forward to brush their lips together in a chaste kiss before letting him snake an arm around her shoulders and pull her into his side, the awkwardness of sitting side-by-side doing nothing to stop them just enjoying the night's sky above and the feel of being close.
With the moon high in the sky now, the party was starting to break up with wives dragging Musketeers home to bed as children began to fall asleep in their parent's arms.
"I'm going to be honest…" Porthos began as he fell down onto the bench of the picnic table, capturing the small group's attention. "…I'm probably going to slip up and call you Madame Bonacieux in the morning."
"It's fine." The bride waved away his apologetic smile. "It's going to take some getting used to myself."
"Madame D'Artagnan." The groom grinned, dropping a kiss onto his wife's head. "I'll never stop saying it."
"If I'd known you were going to be this disgustingly happy I'd never have supported the relationship." Anna told them with a false glare.
"Says the woman with a doting man at her own side."
"Touché, Madame D'Artagnan; touché."
"I need to tell you all something." Aramis cut across the laughter of the group. All eyes turned to the man as he sat clutching his cup and glancing between them all. "I'm resigning my commission and retiring at the monastery in Douai."
There was a beat of silence as he searched their faces for their reactions before his own fell at the same time the laughter returned.
"You're going to become a monk?" Porthos asked, laughing at the thought. "Pull the other one."
"I made a vow to God and I have to honour it." Aramis continued, pushing himself up from the seat and away from the table as one by one they stopped laughing and realised his seriousness. "If I'd told you before the wedding you'd have spent all day trying to talk me out of it." He told them, offering Constance and D'Artagnan a small smile. "But I…I'm leaving tonight."
"Is this what you really want?" Anna asked, breaking the silence.
"With all my heart."
"Then who are we to deny you it?" She rose, feeling Athos stand too and moved to him. "Don't forget us." She joked, hoping that the tears that were threatening to form.
"You lot are imprinted on my brain." He replied, his voice as tight as hers as she reached up and looped her arms around his neck as his own held her close. "There's no getting rid of you."
"Farewell, old friend." Athos pulled him into an embrace as she pressed a kiss to his cheek and stepped away.
"Are we just going to let him go? Seriously?" Porthos asked in disbelief as they both stepped back from the man.
"No." Athos told him as Constance too pressed a kiss to the Musketeer's cheek. "He's letting us go."
D'Artagnan said nothing, just stepped forward and with none of the restrain Athos had showed, pulled Aramis into what could only be described as a bear-hug.
"Look after him." Aramis said to Constance over the lad's shoulder. "I know he can be a handful; but he means well."
Porthos was slower to react. Waiting until everyone was clear of his best friend before stepping up to him. The moment seemed like it should have been private with so much being said in the silence between them before they both reached out at the same time to embrace. The muffled words they exchanged were unheard by everyone except them and Anna would argue till she was blue in the face with anyone who said that the reaction left her teary, even as she wiped a single one from her face.
"So this is it then?" The big man asked as they pulled apart. "You're off now?" He nodded to the saddled horse waiting at the stables.
"Not quite." Aramis forced a smile as he held his hand out flat "All for one…"
The group exchanged soft smiles before one by one placing their own atop it, with even Constance joining following the declaration that she was one of them whether she liked it or not.
"One for all."
As their hands dropped the former Musketeer stepped away and without looking back mounted his horse and pushed it into a trot out through the archway and away from the Garrison.
"I can't believe he made me cry on my wedding day." Constance sniffed, hands coming up to wipe at her cheeks.
Murmurs of agreement filled the space as the group of five began to turn back to their table.
"Oh God, please don't tell me it was a joke." Anna sighed as they all suddenly turned back to the arch at the sound of hoofs making their way across the cobbles and into the Garrison. "Because I will not be forgiv-"
"What's wrong?"
She wasn't sure who asked it but one look at Treville's pale face and white-knuckle hold on his reigns was enough to know he brought bad news with him.
"War has been declared on Spain." He told them. "All leave is hereby cancelled." Curses filled the air as he dismounted his saddle and strode over to them, eyes on his Lieutenant. "Let your men know they have to report here first thing."
"My men?"
"As Minister for War, I'm appointing you Captain of the Musketeers."
"Me?" Athos asked, his arm dropping from her waist in shock. "I'm not fit to lead anyone."
"I don't think that's true." Treville half-smiled nodding to the group beside him and how not a single person had protested it. "The men look up to you; you can't let them down."
"Yes, Sir." He breathed, the man clapping a hand on his shoulder in pride.
"Anna." She turned to the man as he called her name and frowned at the sealed letter he withdrew from his jerkin. "These are your orders."
"My orders?" She asked, her mind clearly working as slowly as Athos' had as she took the note from him. "Orders for what?"
"You're going back to Spain."
Sleep hadn't come until the early hours of the morning. He'd ordered his men home first, with the implication that anyone who failed to show up the next day would have their commission revoked. By the time the Garrison had emptied he was up to his neck in equipment with Porthos and D'Artagnan lugging everything they could find out into the training yard.
He'd practically pushed the boy towards his room in the Garrison once he'd learnt what he was doing and with the mutter of "Wedding night – don't make me carry you in there" he'd eventually left them to bid his wife a proper goodbye.
Porthos had retired not long after and then it had been just him in the empty yard. He'd had to remind himself of his new title and all that it promised when his feet had automatically turned to exit the Garrison. Instead, he'd forced them up the steps towards Treville's, no, his office.
He'd found her at the Captain's desk with papers strewn everywhere and her head in her hands. Between the maps and notes she'd scribbled to herself, he'd spotted equipment lists and regiment registers and his heart had warmed at the sight of her; legs crossed in the desk chair as she tried to juggle the needs of the regiment as the readied to march into war, with the demands of her mission.
They weren't talking about it. That much had been clear from the very moment Treville's words had sealed her fate. She'd bunched the letter between her hands and calmly asked for the accompanying package (the contents of which now littered his desk) before disappearing.
"Come on." He'd pried the quill from her hand and pulled her from the seat, tugging her behind him as he led her back into the main hallway of the Captain's floor and into its living quarters.
She'd insisted that she was fine; that she was expecting it and hey, why shouldn't their moment of happiness be interrupted by a war? It's only fair after all they'd been through. But he'd seen the hollowness in her eyes and as she tugged at the strings of her dress he'd placed two hands on her shoulders and trued to join her as they began to shake with sobs.
She was scared of going back. He'd realised that quickly as the words Vargas and execution poured from her. She'd told him of how she'd circumvented every main corridor and staircase of the palace, as she'd fought through the pain of her beating until she could stand without support and fight Rochefort, just to ensure the Spanish spymaster never saw her face; how she'd hidden it from him when he'd entered the Queen's rooms – grateful that her hair was loose around her shoulders at the time; how she wasn't sure where she'd find the bravery needed to step back into that viper's nest knowing that any wrong information she passed on could lead to them all never seeing Paris again.
And so they'd filled the time by whispering aloud the things they'd kept from each other for so long. Dreams of a small house with rolling hills and a small staff (just to give them some rest bite, she'd insisted with a laugh) when they were too haggard from defending Paris to even hold a pistol anymore. How their table would always be full and their friends would just drop by when they were in the area. How they would always remember Pinon but never go back – letting the ghosts there rest now.
And when she'd pressed a kiss to his neck with a whisper of "Someday" he'd rolled them and kissed her and shown her his love in every way possible until they were both too exhausted for anything but sleep.
Now the Garrison was full of life; he hadn't gone down there yet but he knew every single Musketeer would be hard at work despite their thumping heads from the night before. He could hear the clang of the forge as horses were shoed and wagons loaded with the first supplies they'd need at the front.
The parcel from the palace had arrived as they'd forced themselves from the bed and Anna had dutifully exchanged the gown and slippers inside for the papers she'd received the night before. He wondered exactly how she'd managed to absorb so much information; travel plans and backstories and all the information she'd need to ensure no one suspected her of being out of the loop whilst away from court had been returned to the palace and as she sighed at the small note from Her Majesty – I hope you will accept this by way of apology – he'd watched her shed Antoinette Beauchamp and become Anita Abaroa.
Porthos and D'Artagnan met him at the bottom of the staircase with matching greetings of "Captain", to which he'd simply sighed.
Powder ratios and pistols and food supplies all passed through his hands as he stalked through the training yard feeling strangely at home in his new role; all those months of being a Captain in all but name had served him well, until every wagon was full and every man armed.
He saw Constance first, the woman having offered to help with the intricate lacings of the royal gift, as she stepped down the staircase towards her husband. But she wasn't far behind and he felt his breath leave him as she turned the corner of the steps to face the entire Garrison. The clanging stopped as the men took her in and he knew they saw exactly what he saw; a Musketeer heading into a war none of them could imagine.
The powder blue – Musketeer blue – of the gown would be the colour he forever associated with her from now one as the colour wrapped around her body from the skirts to the corset. There were flashes of silver in there too; her underskirt was rippled with I, the metallic thread catching the light with every step she took.
He met her at the foot of the steps, hand ready for her own as the noise around them continued and she smiled softly.
"You look beautiful."
"Her Majesty has excellent taste." She replied squeezing his hand once before letting it slip away as she stepped towards Treville.
"Are you ready?"
"Yes, Minister." They both smiled at the title. "I'm to wait at the crossroads for the prisoner handover and I know my correspondence address for when I arrive in Spain. I'm ready."
"I don't doubt it." They fell quiet as they simply stood in front of each other, neither knowing what to say. "I'm sorry it had to be this way." He said, one hand reaching out to her shoulder. "If there was any other-"
"No one is as good as me." She reminded him. He nodded and took her hand, leading her to the waiting carriage that was taking up most of the room at the Garrison's entrance. "Good luck."
"I don't need luck." She told him, pressing a kiss to his cheek. "I was trained by the best."
"Stay safe." Porthos ordered, as Treville stepped back. "I'm not going to fight this war if you're going to blow your cover again." She laughed at his version of a goodbye before pulling him to her as she had with Aramis.
"Write if you can." Constance insisted as she took Porthos' place. "But if you can't…"
"I know." Anna squeezed her, no doubt re-promising something they had already spoken about upstairs, before repeating the goodbye with D'Artagnan.
They all stepped back, moving to give them some space as Athos stepped forward to help her into the carriage. Their eyes met as she took her seat and she reached out to him once more. He pressed a kiss to the back of her hand, their goodbyes already said and with a sharp nod to the driver she moved away from him, her eyes moving from his only when the shadows of the archway hid her from view.
Calling it a prison handover had been crude; her guest in the unmarked carriage had arrived without any guard or shackles and had merely slipped from her own carriage into this one as her own rolled back to Paris.
It had been effortless; all she'd had to do was help them into the raised vehicle and that was it. So she had no real reason for still waiting here, on this small patch of grass at the crossroads out of Paris, an hour later.
But her mind kept replaying what he'd promised her when he'd thought she were asleep: "I'll come to you; get Treville to abort your mission and return to us." There was absolutely no way it would happen of course; she couldn't go to war and she'd spent the last week insisting that she'd not spend her life waiting around for him. But she still clung to the shred of hope regardless.
"Are we waiting on someone else?" The voice opposite her asked. "Because I don't think we've enough room for another body in here – couldn't they spring for a bigger one?"
"No." She sighed. "We're not."
"Trying to prolong your time here before you re-enter Spain?"
"I told you; we're going to Brittany to put you on a ship to England, as promised."
"While it warms my heart to think that our deal means so much to you…" Helene began with a smirk. "We both know that escorting me to a ship is a cover…you're going to Spain."
"I can assure you that I am not set to board a ship to Spain."
"You and I both know that there are other ways into Spain, dearest Anna."
They exchanged a look as Anna toyed with the bloom between her fingers before sighing at the empty road leading from Paris. Of course he wasn't coming. She let the bloom fall and with a knock on the carriage shell they pulled off the grass and onto the North road.
As Paris began to grow small in the distance she let worries over Musketeer safety be replaced by Spanish gossip and court rituals in her mind. It was better this way, she reasoned; to have nothing marring her exit. After all, nothing could stop her from achieving what Treville had sent her to do; she'd infiltrated the Spanish court once, a second time couldn't be much harder.
He'd ridden hard and fast from the Garrison from the second Treville had taken one look at him and sighed.
"One hour." He'd warned as Athos hauled himself up into his saddle. "You've got one hour and you need to be back here."
It's all he'd need; one hour was enough to kiss her senseless and whisper his love one last time. The people of Paris had parted for him as though re-enacting a biblical scene and he'd clearly the labyrinth of streets in record time. He could see the crossroads where her carriage would be waiting for Helene; the woman was never on time, and he'd have plenty of time to spare.
A grin broke out onto his features as his horse climbed the slope to the grassy bank and his mind filled with all the different ways he would pledge his love to her and promise to fulfil their dreams the moment they returned from war. Because they would both return; of course they would. Nothing would keep them apart, not now when they had finally reached that point in their lives where they knew it all and were still willing to give it a go.
His smile dropped as he cleared the slope and found the bank empty; his horse falling into a light trot. His head whipped around, trying to figure out if this was the right bank, if maybe she was hidden behind a tree or…
He saw the bloom.
He wasn't wrong; this was the spot.
Sliding from his saddle, he searched the North road for any signs of the carriage she'd left in before crouching to pick up the flower.
He wanted to laugh; she'd known he'd come. Worse: she knew he'd be too late and had left a parting message.
He pocketed the flower and climbed back atop the horse, deciding to use his hour to take the scenic route through Paris as he tried to piece together his broken heart.
Forget-me-not
As if he ever could.