A/N: Thank you SnidgetHex, beeblegirl, and Musketball1 for reviewing! Also, I'm not going to kill Treville. ;)
Chapter 2
Anne meandered idly down the palace hall, Constance by her side. It was the only way she could walk off her restlessness without needing an entire guard watching her every move outside. She'd dismissed her ladies-in-waiting as well, wanting only the companionship of a true friend right now.
"I offered to go with him," she told Constance. She knew visiting the royal mausoleum would be difficult for Louis and she had only wanted to offer her support. "But he refused." Anne shook her head. "I don't know what to do anymore."
"Perhaps he just needed the privacy," Constance replied. "He only had one musketeer accompany him."
"Aramis," Anne said, her heart twinging in a strange way at the thought of him. He had been a kind friend to her in recent months, more kind and warm than her husband had been in a long time. It was a traitorous thought, but she couldn't help it. She was lonely and yearned for a loving touch, however fleeting.
She wrenched her mind away from such things lest Constance notice her distraction at the mention of the musketeer's name. This was one secret Anne couldn't tell even her, couldn't breathe into life by granting it utterance out loud.
"The King's anger won't last forever," Constance went on sympathetically. "Just like when he was angry you went to see Emilie, he'll see with the letter to your brother that you were just trying to help."
"He's been pushing me out since long before the letter. I fear he sees me as others do—a Spanish pretender to the throne."
"You're the mother of his son," Constance pressed.
Anne's face pinched with sadness. "I wish that meant something."
The muffled echo of a gunshot sounded against the walls, causing them to pull up short. Anne frowned in alarm; had that come from inside the palace? Down the corridor, she saw servants go running.
A guard came sprinting through an adjoining hallway. "Your Majesty, this way," he urged.
"What's happening?" she asked as he ushered her into a nearby room. Constance hurried to keep up.
"Are we under attack?" Constance asked.
The guard quickly closed the door behind him and slipped a dagger through the handles to barricade it.
"What's happening?" Anne demanded, her pulse throbbing with fear.
The guard didn't answer. Instead, he slowly turned around and drew his sword, gaze hard as he fixed it on the Queen.
Her eyes blew wide in fright. "What are you doing?"
He stormed toward her.
Anne screamed and scrambled backward, bumping into a piece of furniture and almost tripping.
Constance ran for the fireplace and snatched up an iron poker from the rack. She then spun around and charged at the guard just as he raised his blade against Anne. Constance swung the poker and deflected his strike. His nostrils flared with fury and he wrenched his blade free to swipe at her. She wielded the poker with deft agility, parrying each blow and even managing to drive him back a few steps away from Anne.
"Guards!" Anne screamed.
But the poker was more defensive than offensive against a sword, and it wasn't long before the guard was bearing down on Constance with relentless rage until she could barely keep him at bay. Anne heard shouts outside the doors and saw them judder against the dagger keeping them closed.
Constance grunted as she blocked another blow, staggering under the force of it. He body slammed her, knocking her to the floor.
Anne's heart felt fit to burst right out of her chest, but she forced herself to move, grabbing a flower vase off a nearby stand and rushing forward. She smashed it over the guard's head and he dropped to his knees, stunned amidst a shower of broken glass. Constance flipped over, kicking him in the head now that it was within striking range. He pitched to the side, and Constance scrabbled to snatch his sword away. She lurched to her feet and had the tip pointed at his throat just as the doors burst inward and a handful of palace guards poured in.
Anne was momentarily terrified that they'd all turned on her and she backed up reflexively. But three immediately went for the man on the floor and seized him.
"Are you all right, Your Majesty?" one of the guards asked urgently.
She gave a shaky nod. "What happened? We heard a shot."
"Minister Treville was attacked as well," he informed her.
Anne shot a hand up to her throat.
"Is he all right?" Constance asked.
The guard's expression was grim. "He was shot. Doctor Delacroix has been sent for."
"Shot by another guard?" Anne asked, voice slightly quavering.
"By someone dressed as an attendant. The Minister managed to shoot and kill him." The guard glanced at the man being dragged away. "He is not one of ours, Your Majesty. The assassins must have gotten their hands on some clothing to blend in."
"Where's my son?" she exclaimed, terror lancing through her anew.
"I'll send some men to fetch him," the guard replied. "But we should get you to a more secure location."
"Treville, where is he?"
"He's being seen to."
"Take us to him," Constance ordered. "And send someone to alert the Musketeers."
The guard waved off two of his men, then turned and gestured for Anne and Constance to follow him. Anne couldn't draw enough air as she hurried down the halls, her corset feeling as though it were tightening on its own with each stuttered breath. She needed to see her son, needed to know he was all right.
They reached Treville's apartments where they found he had already been brought in and laid on his bed on top of several towels to catch the blood. His pallor was ashen, hair damp with sweat and blue garments splashed with dark purple. Doctor Delacroix was there and cutting the coat and shirt off to expose the wounds.
"Wipe that blood away," he barked at the servants hovering in the corner.
Constance made a soft sound of horror at the two gunshot wounds in Treville's chest. Anne reached out and took her friend's hand, squeezing hard.
"Both shots went all the way through," the physician reported. "But he's lost a lot of blood. I'm afraid there's no time to suture; I must cauterize."
Anne blanched in horror. Constance clung to her in equal measure as Delacroix snapped orders to the servants to get a fire started.
"Your Majesty," a new voice said as Marguerite came hurrying in, carrying the Dauphin.
Anne cried out in desperate relief at the sight of her son and quickly took him in her arms. He was all right; thank God he was all right.
"Your Majesty should step outside for this," Doctor Delacroix spoke up, holding a knife blade over the fire.
Anne swallowed hard and turned to leave the room. There were plenty of guards outside, though she silently admitted she wouldn't feel completely safe until the Musketeers arrived. Although, Constance was still holding that sword and seemed intent on keeping it for the time being.
Anne flashed back to that horrible night she had stood outside Rochefort's room as he'd been subjected to similar treatment in an effort to save his life. She had been so worried for him then. Now the memory made her shudder.
Treville didn't scream, though. And Anne didn't know if that made it worse or not.
Harried footsteps alerted them to the Musketeers' arrival. D'Artagnan's eyes immediately went to Constance.
"Are you all right?"
She nodded. "We weren't hurt."
"Constance saved me," Anne said, finally finding her voice. Adjusting her son in her arms, she reached out to squeeze her friend's hand with a grateful smile.
Athos's gaze flicked to the closed door. "Treville?"
"Doctor Delacroix is doing everything he can," Anne assured them.
"There were two assassins?" Porthos put in.
"At least two," Constance replied. "One in Treville's office dressed as an aide and another dressed as a palace guard who attacked the Queen."
"Then there might be a third who was meant for the King," Porthos said, turning to the guards. "Have you locked down the palace?"
The guards exchanged uncertain looks at that idea.
Athos huffed in clear vexation. "Do it now. I want everyone inside the palace accounted for, and anyone who can't be vouched for by a longtime guard or servant is to be detained."
The guards shifted uncomfortably before hurrying off to carry out Athos's orders.
"I advise Your Majesty to stay here for now so we can keep both you and Treville under close guard until we can be sure there are no more assassins on the premises."
Anne nodded. "It is fortunate the King wasn't here today."
"Yeah, but if assassins could get this close once, they could do it again," d'Artagnan said grimly.
"We'll increase the guards around the palace," Athos said. "Restrict access to certain areas except to those who have been in service the longest."
The door to Treville's bedchamber opened and a servant stuck her head out. "The doctor is finished," she said, face pale and drawn.
They all quickly filed inside.
"How is he?" Porthos asked worriedly.
Doctor Delacroix was wiping his hands on a towel. "I've closed the wounds, but I make no guarantees with trauma as severe as this. He lost a lot of blood, and I'm afraid the cauterization carries its own risks."
"You burned him?" d'Artagnan blurted.
"It was the only way to prevent him from bleeding out," Delacroix responded tightly.
"Thank you, Doctor," Anne put in.
Delacroix nodded and went back to cleaning his instruments.
"We should have Aramis look at 'im when he gets back," Porthos said under his breath.
"We should send a dragon to escort them home," Athos added. "The King's visit will have to be cut short."
"Who do you think is behind this?" Anne asked quietly, then added hesitantly, "Spain?" She didn't want to think her brother would do something like that, but his ambassador had been killed after she'd reached out for a meeting. Perhaps he thought she had betrayed him first.
"The man dressed as a guard did not sound Spanish," Constance put in. "I'd say he was French."
"Was he taken alive?" Athos asked.
Constance nodded. "He was taken to the dungeons."
"We'll see what answers he has, then." With a concerned glance at Treville, Athos and the other two musketeers left to question the prisoner.
Constance stayed with Anne, sword still in hand should the need arise.
Anne held tight to her son and silently prayed.
.o.0.o.
Athos strode down to the dungeon, Porthos and d'Artagnan following behind.
"Where's the assassin?" he asked the lone guard stationed down there and was directed to a cell across the aisle.
The man inside was wearing a palace guard uniform, the perfect way to gain admittance to anywhere within the Louvre.
"What is your name?" Athos asked.
The man glared up at him from where he sat on the floor.
"You're facing treason. You will hang for attacking the Queen."
"You don't want to lie in an unmarked grave, do you?" d'Artagnan put in.
Still the man didn't answer.
"Who sent you?" Athos asked next, not that he was expecting much. He wasn't disappointed when the man continued to hold his silence.
"Forget hanging," Porthos growled. "He should be thrown to the dragons. Let them rip him apart, limb from limb."
"You musketeers always use that threat," the man finally said blandly.
D'Artagnan arched a brow. "He does speak."
"Who hired you?" Athos repeated.
The assassin remained silent again.
"Speak, and perhaps you will be granted leniency with a quick death."
He shrugged. "We'll see who dies today."
"You failed to kill the Queen," d'Artagnan pointed out. "And your accomplice failed to kill Treville. The King isn't even in the palace. Your entire purpose here failed."
The assassin's mouth ticked upward slightly, and he shrugged again.
Athos suddenly felt cold at the casual response to the news, as though the man wasn't surprised to hear the King wasn't here…
He spun on his heel and strode out. D'Artagnan and Porthos jogged to catch up, shooting him confused looks.
"Athos?" Porthos queried.
"What if the assassins knew the King wasn't here?" he said, picking up his pace. They burst out of the stairwell and onto the first level of the palace. "Has the King returned yet?" he barked at the first person he saw.
"N-no," the servant stammered.
Athos cursed under his breath. Louis and Aramis were alone out there, unprotected. "We need to get to Saint-Denis."