Looks like 3rd time is indeed a charm! Happy reading... I'm posting three chapters tonight.
Treville sat behind his desk and looked at his four best soldiers. He shook his head and rolled his eyes. They were honorable men, admired by their peers, cursed by their enemies, and rejoiced by their queen. Treville paused a moment, ran his thumb over the closed corner pages of a book, and then rested his elbows on the desktop. He ran a hand over his face and raised his eyebrows as his silence continued to unhinge their nerves. It was the least he could do. He tapped the heel of his boot on the floor in an even, consistent, and taunting cadence. Not unlike the church bell that gave warning of intruders.
Sunlight entered the room, highlighted the stillness of the air, and brought with it broken promises of warmth. Dust particles danced within the beams as they streamed toward the floor. Despite the quiet, Treville could hear the men in the yard as the early morning duties began, and it brought a smile to his face. Hard work always provided focus when distractions overrode reasoning.
Treville flared his nostrils, looked at Porthos who sported a bruised jaw and black left eye. Though not swollen shut, the whites of his eyes were bloodshot. He stood with his shoulders back, feet apart, right hand on the hilt of his sword. Porthos glanced from Treville and then looked side-eyed at Aramis, who stood at Porthos' right.
Aramis tried to hide the pink-welted scratches on his neck, and the red love bite that was partially hidden by the collar of his shirt. He smelled like lilacs, sweat, and sex. He cleared his throat, shifted his feet, and tried to maintain a steady grasp on the hilt of his sword, but he tapped the tips of his fingers along the leather covered handle.
D'Artagnan stood strong, feet shoulder width apart, and hands clasped before him. He flexed his jaw muscles and tried to shift to hide the long cut to the right flank of his doublet. The cut was clean, smooth, and undeniably created with scissors and not the fine blade of a sword.
Athos shifted uncomfortably, his hat pulled low to hide his eyes, and he worked to control his breathing. His complexion hinted of green. His stance was more uncomfortable than attentive as Treville's critical eyes continued to glance from each of them.
Treville stood suddenly and sent the chair back toward the wall. The claw shaped feet scraped harshly against the floorboards. He slapped the surface of his desk with both hands and held the position: arms forward, hands flat on the desk, head lowered.
Athos winced, pursed his lips, and closed his eyes as his stomach, and head protested.
"You!" Treville looked up and pointed toward Athos. "You are one of the finest soldiers I've ever had the privilege of working alongside — and you show up for duty barely able to walk in a straight line — I have turned a blind eye to your indulgences, Athos," he slammed his right palm on the desk, and then squeezed his hand into a fist as the pain radiated, "but I will not have you disgrace this company or the king!"
Athos swallowed and flexed his jaw muscles.
Aramis snickered and then his eyes grew wide when Treville pointed toward him.
"None of you are without fault!"
"Must… you yell?" Athos exhaled slowly.
Treville picked up a book and slammed it onto the desk. Athos inhaled sharply and took a step back. Aramis cleared his throat and shifted uncomfortably. Porthos cocked an eyebrow, tried to hold as still as humanly possible, and silently cursed his parents for blessing him with his size. D'Artagnan shifted his feet slightly to his left to hide his jacket from Treville's line of sight.
"You have dipped your wick in the wrong maiden, Aramis — If her father finds out a king's musketeer soiled his only daughter — and heaven forbid she end up with child!"
"Captain," Aramis shook his head, and raised his hand in a calming manner. "I'm careful and would never —"
Porthos snickered.
"That's not the point!" Treville said as his face continued its transition to red, and the vein on his brow pulsed wildly. He rested his fists on the desktop and looked toward Porthos. "And you!"
Porthos' eyes grew wide, and he suddenly sobered.
"Gambling is not becoming a king's musketeer — I have ignored it and allowed it to continue, but cheating?" Treville slapped the desk again. He watched Athos turn suddenly and exit the office. Treville bowed his head in disappointment and then looked at d'Artagnan. "The next time you need your attire altered…" he raised his eyebrows, "make sure you're not wearing it!"
"We… she just…" d'Artagnan said and then shook his head. "Yes, captain." He looked toward the floor and rocked on the balls of his feet.
"She's a married woman, d'Artagnan — and you're a musketeer. At least be discreet!"
Aramis leaned back and turned his head slightly toward d'Artagnan. "I thought you two had —"
D'Artagnan exhaled and said, "It's complicated." He shook his head and scratched behind his ear.
Aramis raised his eyebrows and nodded. All three winced when they heard Athos' vomit outside the door.
"I'm really hopin' he spews over the balcony," Porthos said, and looked up.
"He'll retch at most," Aramis said, with a shrug, "bile and stomach acid." He immediately stopped talking when Treville looked at him with pursed lips and questioning eyes. Aramis swallowed, widened his eyes, and nodded.
Porthos winced in sympathy.
"Am I wasting my time with you?" Treville asked, pushed himself from his desk, and squared his shoulders. "You're the best of the best and acting like fools." He placed his arms over his chest. "Richelieu is looking for any excuse to disband the musketeers and your behavior is not complicating his efforts — with or without the support of the queen, the cardinal's influence should not be underestimated — by any of you regardless of his past indiscretions."
"Sorry, cap'n," Porthos said, and quickly followed in unison with d'Artagnan's and Aramis' reply.
"I cannot manage the king, and his safety, without your support…" Treville met their eyes, and took a deep breath. "Get Athos sobered up, repair your uniform, d'Artagnan, and disguise your indiscretions, Aramis — perhaps a scarf?" Treville exhaled slowly. "And Porthos, monitor your habit." He waved his hand toward the door. "Do not give the cardinal the ammunition he needs to discredit the work you have done to achieve what you have." He watched them nod and turn to leave.