Only a few candles lit up the dauphin's chambers. King Louis XIII sat down at his son's bedside. No, actually at his son's bedside. Today he had made the musketeer Aramis confess what he had known in his heart for a long time. This wonderful little boy he was watching slumbering blissfully was not the son of a noble king and his queen, but the son of a mere musketeer and his whore.
Louis took a deep breath. The two of them deserved to die for this. They should have to die for it. What they did was treason to France, to the crown and to him personally. Four years ago he had almost let it happen. He still remembered the irrepressible pain when he thought he was losing his son and how relieved he had been when it was revealed to him that Rochefort had been a Spanish spy all along. It meant that his son was really his. He had grown more or less indifferent to Anne by then, but this child...
From the moment of his birth, the little boy had captured the king's heart and nothing since had been able to change that. Losing him would not only have meant losing the heir of France, but the person who meant more to him then anything in the world. But happy as he had been at first, Rochefort's accusations had sown a small seed of doubt and as little Louis grew up the king couldn't help but keep asking himself questions. The older the dauphin grew, the more resemblance to that wretched musketeer he seemed to develop and the more credible the statements seemed the hapless governess Marguerite had made during the trial.
Louis had chosen to ignore the doubts. Aramis had been far away in a monastery and with each passing day little Louis gladdened his heart more. The little boy had everything in him to make a father proud. He grew splendidly, was clever and kind. In fact, it seemed to Louis that little Louis was the only person in the world who had ever loved and admired him unconditionally. His own family had proven time and again that all that mattered to any of them was personal power. Except for his sisters and Feron, perhaps. But for his mother and Gaston... And Anne. He had once liked and appreciated his wife, but she... Louis banned the thought of this unfaithful woman from his mind.
And admiration? Louis knew that no matter how hard he tried to be a good king, those around him would always shake their heads behind his back and secretly think him stupid and weak. Even Richelieu had been like that. And Treville too... Sometimes he was just tired of it. Time and again he was tempted to just let them do as they please and live a nice quiet life, doing the things that mattered to him personally. But he wasn't allowed. He was the king. They wouldn't let him. As soon as he let one of them have his way, the others came and tugged at him. They all tugged at him.
Except for little Louis, little Louis thought him to be the greatest.
On the bedside table, Louis discovered a half-finished picture with a small person, a taller person with a crown and something that, with a good will, could be taken for a horse. The king smiled, apparently Louis had painted them both and the pony. Satisfied, he noted that he had obviously made an impression on the little boy with this idea, no matter how much Anne and Terville might have raised their eyebrows. Carefully, he put the picture back. He hoped Louis would give it to him when he was finished.
Little Louis stirred in his sleep and opened his eyes briefly. "Papa," he said with a happy smile, and went straight back to sleep. Louis' heart tightened. That was the reason Anne and the musketeer were still allowed to live. Because no matter who had lain with the Queen at the time of conception, the little boy was his son. He called him Papa. He loved him with all his heart. The musketeer was nothing to him. Louis would remember him, his gifts, their time together and his love. He did everything in his power to ensure that Louis would keep him in his memory and heart forever. That was to be his legacy. Beyond death.
His death. He would not be granted many more evenings at his son's bedside. Louis stroked the sleeping child's head tenderly. His impending death was another reason why Louis' parents were still alive. Anne and the musketeer were allowed to live because he was dying. How long did he have left? More like weeks than months. And if he was no more? Feron was dead, he wouldn't be able to protect Louis. Gaston? His brother had proved more than once that he was not to be trusted. Gaston had had the audacity to rise up against him, his older brother, what would he do to little Louis?
"I will do everything to protect you", he told the sleeping child and kissed him on the forehead.
That was why Anne was still alive. That was why Aramis was still alive. As much as the two of them were unfaithful traitors, Louis was sure of one thing by now: they both loved this child at least as much as he did. Both would do anything to protect his little boy. Keeping them alive and even enabling Anne to rule France with Treville after his death would be his final gift to the only person he had ever loved unconditionally.
„Goodbye, my son", he whispered as he left the room, tears in his eyes. „Papa loves you."