A/N: Thank you pallysAramisRios, Musketball1, Minnie, and SnidgetHex for reviewing!
Chapter 3
"I can't thank you enough for all this," Ninon said as Constance paid the mill owner they'd just signed a supply agreement with to provide the paper to Ninon's printing press.
"It's the Queen who deserves the thanks," Constance replied.
"Of course," Ninon quickly amended. "I just meant you acting as a go-between to avoid certain…conversations. It's very kind of you."
They finished conducting their business and then headed out into the street.
"I'm happy to do it," Constance said. "And I'm happy it's something that will benefit everyone." The Queen included.
Ninon made a soft scoffing sound. "I wish Athos shared your optimism. He expects disaster at every turn."
"He's just concerned. Past experiences have presented him with a lot of disasters."
"That may be, but he also likes to be right."
Constance bit back a smile; he wasn't the only one.
As they made their way through the streets, Constance couldn't help but notice the handfuls of people clustered together and tittering over something that had caught their attention. She spotted several people passing around what looked like pamphlets, which was odd. Snickers echoed around them, along with disparaging remarks at whatever had them so preoccupied.
Constance shared a confused look with Ninon.
A few blocks later, they reached the printing press, only to find it filled with city guards ransacking the few items inside the building.
"What do you think you are doing?" Ninon demanded, storming inside.
Captain Lahaye was there and turned toward her. "Are you responsible for this?" he asked sharply, thrusting a set of papers at her.
Ninon took them and started reading the top sheet with a frown. Constance barely got a look at the words themselves, though she recognized the Queen's signature at the bottom. Then Ninon removed the bottom sheet to look at it, and Constance gasped in horror. The second pamphlet was a grossly exaggerated caricature of the Queen engaged in beastly relations with a dog draped in a cloak with the Spanish crest. The caption read "Spanish Bitch."
Constance's stomach churned abruptly with sickening realization as she twisted to look out the window at all the people in the streets holding similar pamphlets.
"I have absolutely nothing to do with this filth," Ninon declared, tossing the papers away like the garbage they were.
"Captain!" a guard called, striding out from behind the printing press machine. He passed another letter to Lahaye, this one with the Queen's seal affixed to it.
"No?" Lahaye asked Ninon, holding up the original letter. "The Queen recently sponsored you, didn't she? And this is how you repay her?"
Ninon sputtered in dismay. "I don't know where that came from!"
"Arrest her," Lahaye ordered. "The penalty for such sedition is thirty lashes."
"No!" Ninon screamed as the guards seized her and began dragging her away.
"She couldn't possibly be behind this!" Constance protested.
Lahaye stepped close to her and lowered his voice menacingly. "Be careful, Madame d'Artagnan, lest you find yourself accused as a co-conspirator."
Constance's mouth moved soundlessly in outrage as he strode out. He didn't care about the Queen's reputation in all this, only that it was an excuse to silence Ninon. Constance picked up her skirts and broke into a run for the garrison. She had to get Athos.
She completely ignored Luca's surprised splutter as she barreled past him on watch at the gate, yelling at the top of her lungs. "Athos!"
"Constance?" D'Artagnan emerged from the tack room first and jogged toward her. "What's wrong?"
Athos and Porthos were out at the dragon dens and hurried across the yard at her raucous entrance.
"It's Ninon!" Constance sucked in a ragged gasp, trying to catch her breath enough to speak in full sentences. "There's these…horrible…things…" She couldn't even say it.
D'Artagnan grabbed her by the arms. "Constance, slow down. What's going on?"
She gave herself a sharp shake. "Someone printed these vile pamphlets about the Queen and distributed them throughout the city. The guards have arrested Ninon for it. She's to be flogged!"
Athos blanched at the news, and he immediately pushed past the rest of them and marched toward the gate. "Savron!" he shouted over his shoulder, waving his arm urgently.
The silverback shuffled out of his den and immediately took flight to follow overhead. Constance, d'Artagnan, and Porthos hurried after them.
"Why do they think Ninon's behind it?" Porthos asked.
"They found the original letter with the Queen's seal at the printing press Ninon just opened. But it wasn't her. We were out making purchase orders." Constance shook her head. "Someone must have broken in and used the place while we were out, though I don't know how they could have printed so many without leaving a trace…"
D'Artagnan reached out to squeeze her arm as they hurried along. "We'll worry about that later."
As they rushed through the streets toward the square used for public punishments, Athos quickened his pace until he was full out running. By the time they reached the platform, a crowd had already gathered and Ninon was on her knees, wrists tied above her head to a post. Lahaye bent down and ripped the back of her dress open. She bit her lip in an effort not to scream in terror.
"Move!" Athos bellowed, shoving his way through the throng.
Constance tried to stick close behind d'Artagnan and Porthos, who were better able to carve a path through the crowd. Over the spectators' heads, she saw Lahaye pick up a whip.
"No!" Athos sprinted up the steps and shoved Lahaye so hard he almost pitched off the side of the platform.
The other city guards responded by drawing their swords, but d'Artagnan and Porthos did the same.
"This is the law!" Lahaye raged at them.
"To hell with the law!" Athos turned and immediately began working at the leather knot around Ninon's wrists.
Savron swooped around and landed on the nearest roof, startling several people into flinching in response.
"Back off," d'Artagnan warned the guards, who cast wary looks between the musketeers and their dragon.
"The King will hear of this!" Lahaye spat.
Athos ignored him, freeing Ninon and gathering her up in his arms as she let out a choked sob of relief. Constance pressed her way forward to hem her in on the other side as they descended the steps. D'Artagnan and Porthos followed behind, and Savron remained perched on the rooftop until they were across the square, then he launched back into the air to provide an aerial escort.
They made their way back to the garrison where Athos immediately guided Ninon up to his office and seated her in the chair nearest the door. "Are you all right?" he asked tightly.
Ninon gave a shaky nod, pulling the torn sleeves of her dress up over her shoulders before they slipped too low in the front. Athos went into his room and returned with a blanket, which he draped over her exposed back.
Constance sat in the chair next to Ninon and reached out to squeeze her hands.
"What exactly happened?" d'Artagnan finally asked.
Ninon shook her head. "I don't know."
"Captain?" a hesitant voice queried from the open door.
Constance looked up as Luca poked his head in.
"These are all over the city…"
She looked away as Porthos took the pamphlets, face burning in mortification for the Queen. But of course the musketeers needed to know what was happening.
The sounds of shock and disgust echoed throughout the room loudly.
"Have every cadet report for duty," Athos said tersely. "I want every single one of these collected and burned."
Luca nodded and quickly retreated.
"The Queen is going to be devastated," Constance said, heart breaking for her friend.
Athos nodded. "We need to go to the palace." He cast a reluctant look toward Ninon.
"I'll stay here," Constance said, more for him than anything.
His eyes swam with gratitude as he met hers, and then he, d'Artagnan, and Porthos left.
Constance gave Ninon's hand another comforting squeeze. That had been too close.
.o.0.o.
Anne stood before her husband and Treville, hands clenched in front of her as she tried to maintain her composure. Louis was holding a copy of the pamphlet that had been distributed throughout the city, including her letter to her brother. She knew what it looked like—treason. Even though she hadn't written anything that was actually betraying France. But coupled with that revolting drawing…her face burned with humiliation.
Louis's fingers were white, crinkling the parchment under the force of his grip. "What were you thinking?" he shouted.
Anne flinched. "I was only trying to help. This war has taken so much of a toll; I thought if we could make peace—"
"Behind my back! Consorting with the enemy, that's what everyone is saying. Along with this- this filth!" He threw the papers on the floor.
Anne swallowed hard. "I'm sorry," she said quietly.
Louis whirled toward her. "I can't protect you if you insist on doing things behind my back!"
"I don't want your protection," she rejoined. "I want your trust. You don't confide in me anymore. What else was I supposed to do when you've been shutting me out?" Anne hesitated, mouth going dry. "Do you doubt my loyalty as everyone else seems to?"
His expression cracked with some fraught emotion she couldn't quite identify. "That isn't it at all," he said tautly.
She took a step toward him, but he recoiled, and she stopped cold, folding her hands into her skirts.
Louis gazed back at her, distraught, then glanced at the appalling drawing on the floor, and that fury entered his eyes again. "Fix this, Treville," he snapped and stormed out of the room.
Anne staggered backwards the few steps to the settee under the window and sank down onto it. She had never felt so mortified and spurned by everyone around her. Even Treville was looking at her with something akin to disappointment. She couldn't bring herself to look at him directly, not with that horrible caricature mere feet from him on the floor.
Heavy footsteps entered the room, and she flicked a quick look over at the musketeers. Three of them. Aramis's absence hit her with dawning horror. Not once in this disaster had she thought he would have been careless with her letter, but in her mortification, she'd failed to put together what it meant that it had somehow gotten out.
"I see you've been informed of the situation," Athos said quietly.
Treville made a disparaging sound and bent down to pick up the papers.
"The cadets are rounding up all the pamphlets as we speak," Athos reported.
"I understand the refugee woman who started up a printing press is responsible."
"She is not," Athos said quickly and with a touch of sternness that drew an arched brow from Treville. "Either the press was commandeered while she was out or she was framed."
Treville considered him for a split second before turning back to Anne. "I want to know how this letter got out in the first place. Who else knew about it?"
Athos blinked in surprise. "It's real? Not a forgery?"
"Aramis," Anne said, voice laden with guilt. "I sent him to meet with the Spanish ambassador to begin peace talks with my brother."
"That was the errand?" Porthos blurted.
She grimaced. So Aramis had not kept it as secret as she had hoped, though clearly none of them knew the nature of his mission. "I take it he has not returned?"
Athos's eyes were uncharacteristically cold as he gazed back at her, though she couldn't be sure whom the steely anger was for. "No."
Treville scowled and pivoted to start pacing, only to abort it and whirl back toward her. "You realize your actions may have cost Aramis his life?"
A spiky lump constricted her throat. This wasn't how things were supposed to go.
"No one else knew…"
"Someone found out," Athos interjected unnecessarily.
"Aramis didn't tell us where he was going," d'Artagnan put in, raising his brows at her in question.
She swallowed hard. "The ruins outside of Bourges."
"He could be anywhere between Paris and there," Porthos half growled. "Left in a shallow grave for all we know."
"We'll find him," Athos said firmly, turning to give Porthos a look.
Anne felt like crumpling in on herself. She couldn't bear the thought that Aramis had died for this foolish mission she'd naively pushed him into taking for her. And now any hopes for negotiating peace were lost. She had lost all respect, all dignity, from her people, from her husband…
"The King will want answers," Treville told the musketeers pointedly.
"Let's hope Aramis has them," Athos replied and turned on his heel to stride out of the room, Porthos and d'Artagnan right behind him.
Anne finally bowed her head and prayed they'd find Aramis, that she hadn't gotten him killed and made things worse than they already were.