A/N: Thank you Anonymous, SnidgetHex, Undertheoaktrees, Suzy Apple, Greenlips24, pallysAramisRios, and Musketball1 for reviewing!
Chapter 3
Athos grunted as the dragon finally lifted its paw off his chest so the invading soldiers could step in and haul him to his feet. He was roughly divested of his weapons and his arms wrenched behind his back as rope was lashed around his wrists. Aramis and d'Artagnan were similarly restrained. The Musketeer dragons, unconscious from that blue alchemical powder, were swiftly chained and fettered where they lay. Once the enemy had the area secured, Magnier finally turned to enter the palace. His men dragged the captive musketeers along behind him and into the empty throne room where they then forced their prisoners to their knees. Magnier circled the throne once before seating himself in the King's chair.
"The people will never accept this," d'Artagnan spat. "You are not the rightful ruler of France."
"A Spanish bitch isn't the rightful ruler of France," Magnier retorted. "And the King is a little small for the throne right now." The governor wiggled in the seat, getting comfortable. "France will be better off under my stewardship."
Athos could feel d'Artagnan seething beside him, but while the young Gascon's anger was fire and brimstone, Athos regarded the governor with a glacial glower. The man thought he had won, but he would soon find out that the key prize in his little coup was no longer within his reach. And while that was enough consolation for Athos, that the King was safe with Porthos somewhere far away, it didn't change the fact that the rest of them would likely suffer grievously for the small victory. They were vastly outnumbered by the enemy that now had a foothold in the palace. Escape wasn't looking feasible.
The side doors opened and Boudier brought the Queen in. Athos really wished she had left with Porthos. Of all the times to be recklessly brave, this was the worst.
Her expression was taut with a mixture of fear, outrage, and that regal bearing she always managed to summon up under the most strenuous of circumstances. "How dare you!" she exclaimed at Magnier.
Magnier regarded her smugly from where he reclined on the throne. "I do dare. And I've won. Thanks to the Duke de Lourraine's army, the throne is now mine, as it should be."
The Queen shot a scathing look at the silent Duke standing off to the side. "This is treason."
The man appeared unperturbed. He had, after all, been a part of Marie de Medici's plot to take the throne, so insurrection was in his wheelhouse. No doubt Magnier had promised to restore his independence if he helped in this coup.
Footsteps marching across the marble floor had Athos flicking a look out his peripheral vision. It was Captain Lahaye.
"All of the Musketeer cadets have been captured and contained in the garrison," he reported. "So they won't be causing any problems. The two remaining dragons at the royal compound have also been secured, and the palace guard has submitted to my authority."
D'Artagnan shot a vexed look at Athos. Yes, they'd known Lahaye was in league with the governor, but arresting him earlier wouldn't have prevented this.
"Good," Magnier said, pleased.
"Where is the fourth musketeer?" Boudier asked.
Lahaye shrugged. "He wasn't at the garrison."
Magnier's smug attitude abruptly evaporated. "What?"
"Even one musketeer can cause a lot of damage," Boudier added, equally incensed. "Send your men out and find him!"
"Someone bring me the infant King!" Magnier bellowed at the remaining soldiers.
Athos shared a look with the Queen, who held herself as stoically as the musketeers while they waited, knowing Magnier's men wouldn't find anything. Her eyes kept flitting to Aramis, who was gazing back at her unwaveringly as though in silent encouragement.
Nobody said anything in the interim. Magnier was fidgeting impatiently on the throne and Boudier looked agitated. Their careful planning was about to fall apart.
Finally, the soldiers returned and reported that the infant King was nowhere to be found.
Magnier surged out of the chair and stormed down the dais to where the musketeers were kneeling on the floor. "Where is he?" he raged, spittle flying from his mouth.
Athos lifted his gaze calmly. "Far away from Paris where you will never find him."
Magnier's cheeks puffed out, turning puce colored. "Where?"
Athos didn't reply.
Boudier spun toward the Duke. "Send the dragons out! They probably escaped on the green Musketeer dragon. Find it!"
Magnier seized Athos by the lapels of his coat and gave him a crazed shake. "Tell me where he is!"
Athos merely cast a bland look up at the governor.
Magnier shoved away from him. "You will tell me," he said darkly.
Athos pulled himself upright again and stared straight ahead. He didn't even have to look to his left at d'Artagnan and Aramis to know the musketeers wouldn't be telling him anything, no matter what came next.
.o.0.o.
Porthos kept his arms wrapped firmly around Constance and the infant King in her arms as Vrita soared across the sky. They had gotten clear of Paris before he'd had the chance to see what became of the others against the incoming army, though he could guess.
"What are we going to do?" Constance asked.
Porthos gritted his teeth. He didn't know. Their first priority was the King's safety, but they also couldn't abandon the Queen Regent, their friends, or all of France for that matter. They were sorely outnumbered, though. Unless…
"Vrita," he called over the wind. "The sanctuary."
His dragon immediately adjusted their course, heading for the mountains where Clara had settled her clan of rescued dragons. It was the safest place Porthos could think of on the fly like this. And a place only he knew about.
Constance didn't ask questions, too busy trying to calm the fussy baby in her arms.
They flew for another couple of hours before the mountain valley came into view. The glade next to the pool and waterfall had a handful of dragons sun bathing in the grass, but they all perked up in alert at Vrita's arrival. Porthos could see a few of them getting poised for an attack, but then he spotted Issa and Nurim, who barked at the other dragons to stand down. He'd been hoping they remembered him fondly.
The dragons backed up to make room for Vrita to land among them. Porthos swept his gaze around in search of Clara and spotted her coming out from the forest. He jumped down from the saddle and reached up to help Constance down.
Clara slowed her pace at the sight of them, expression shifting between surprise and stiff guardedness.
"I'm sorry for bargin' in like this," Porthos said. "But we had nowhere else to go and we need help."
Clara flicked a look over Constance and the baby. "Is this your wife?" she asked somewhat curtly.
Porthos's brows shot upward. "No!" he blurted, wrong-footed by the assumption. "This is Constance, d'Artagnan's wife."
"Oh," Clara said, suddenly looking embarrassed.
"It's nice to meet you," Constance said.
"And the baby is the King of France," Porthos added.
Clara blinked at him blankly for a moment before his statement registered, and then her eyes widened. "Excuse me?"
"Yeah, you probably haven't heard, Louis the Thirteenth jus' died. And now his son," Porthos nodded to the infant, "is King."
"And you've brought him here because…?"
Porthos's expression turned grim. "Because the governor of Paris marshaled an army to take the throne from the Queen Regent. We had to get the King out. Without him, Magnier's plot is just a treasonous coup, and there's a chance we can still take back the throne."
Clara nodded along slowly as she processed the tale. "Of course, you may have shelter here."
"Thank you," Porthos said sincerely, then took a breath, knowing his next request wasn't going to be taken lightly. "But I came to ask for more—the governor has an army and dragons, and the only chance we have of retaking the palace is with an army of our own." He cast a meaningful gaze around Clara's clan.
"No," she instantly refused. "These dragons are not weapons to be used in a human war."
He clenched his teeth in frustration. He knew Clara felt that way; he'd just been hoping she'd understand the direness of the situation and be sympathetic. But she did have a point—these dragons weren't tools to be used. So Porthos turned to address them directly.
"I know you've all been through hell. I spent two years on the front; I lived it too. But this isn't about two sides in a human war. It's about the rightful heir of France. It's about that boy growin' up under the loving care of his mother and not as a pawn for power-hungry men." Porthos pointed to the baby in Constance's arms. "You all know about being pawns, and you know about chosen family, about being kin." He pressed a fist over his heart. "My brothers are back in Paris, fighting, possibly giving their lives, to defend the Queen, and not just because that's our duty, but because it's the right thing to do, for the good of France and everyone who lives here, including dragons. I'm going back to help them, and I'm asking for someone to make that stand with me. Please."
Vrita made a trilling sound, and Porthos liked to think it was in echo of his plea. The other dragons exchanged considering looks, and Clara was watching them with furrowed brow. Constance had tears in her eyes as she looked at Porthos and smiled.
Then there was shuffling in the back, and the young wild dragon, Sven, stepped forward and lifted his head high. Porthos blinked in surprise, then nodded in respect and gratitude.
Issa and Nurim stepped forward next, followed by a handful of others, including Vrost formerly of the French infantry. Clara gaped at them, stunned. She gave herself a small shake and turned to Porthos.
"All right, we will help."
"You don't have to—" he immediately started.
Clara stepped closer, cutting him off. "I came to you for help once and you did not turn me away. I am ashamed I did not readily return the favor."
Porthos smiled softly. "Better late than never." He glanced at the dragons hanging back in the glade, particularly the ones who were crippled. "Constance and His Majesty will need protection while we're gone. Can I ask that of you who will remain behind?"
The infirm dragons shared a look among themselves, then inclined their heads.
Porthos nodded back. "Thank you." He turned to Constance.
"Be careful," she said.
He reached out to squeeze her arms, giving her a sage look in return.
As the other dragons led her past the waterfall to shelter, Porthos picked up a branch and began to etch an outline of the palace in the dirt to prepare their cohort for what they would face when they made their counter assault.
.o.0.o.
Aramis tried not to flinch at the sound of flesh hitting flesh as Boudier punched d'Artagnan repeatedly beside him. The young Gascon let out only the barest grunts as he endured the beating. Aramis and Athos had already received theirs. Their doublets had been taken and their hands rebound in front of them for the "interrogation." Magnier was furious that he'd failed to capture the infant King, and he'd sicced Boudier on the musketeers to learn where Porthos had taken him. None of them said a word, though. They'd taken the punches stoically, one by one in front of each other, which in some ways made it more difficult to bear but in others bolstered their shared resolve.
Boudier swung a heavy punch at d'Artagnan's jaw that sent him pitching sideways into Athos's lap. Aramis clenched his jaw but otherwise didn't react. Neither did Athos as d'Artagnan pushed himself upright with a sway and spat a glob of blood on the floor at Boudier's feet. The mercenary sneered and roughly grasped a handful of the young Gascon's hair, wrenching his head back to hold it still for another blow.
Anne, standing across from them, let out a muffled cry as the fist fell hard into d'Artagnan's cheek.
Magnier turned toward her. "If you value your musketeers' lives, you will tell me where the other one took your son."
She shook her head, distraught. "I don't know! It all happened so fast. They didn't say where they were going!"
"But you could guess," Boudier said, attention still on the musketeers. "Where would your compatriot go?"
They all kept their silence.
"Fine." Boudier drew a dagger from his belt and angled it over all three of them before coming back around to settle on Aramis. His lips curved upward into a malicious grin.
Anne's eyes widened in horror, and Aramis immediately snapped his gaze to hers, silently urging her to be strong. He would die for her and her son, without hesitation.
As the blade sliced across his chest with the first cut, he kept his eyes fixed on the woman he loved, finding strength in her.
Anne covered her mouth with a choked sob and tried not to look away.