Athos stood a short distance from the long mahogany table that was surrounded with seated members of the king's cabinet, Minister Treville, and at the head of the table sat the king, who leaned forward, palms pressed to the map that outlined France and the surrounding countries. Across from Athos stood the captain of the Red Guards, Millard Oriol, a tall man with black hair tied with a leather string, a heavy beard and mustache graying around his mouth, and dark brown eyes. He was older, wiser, and more agreeable than his predecessors. He was a man who had taken some time to learn about the regiment, who was in charge, and who was who within the king's inner circle.

Everyone looked stressed as the rains hit the windows and the gray sky prevented the sun from making an appearance. Not that the king wasn't concerned about the flooding happening within his streets, a serious but manageable problem with a myriad of solutions, it was the more serious issue of war breathing down his neck and the fear of losing Paris and France to the Spanish, who were slowly and aggressively encroaching on his lands.

Spain held territories to the west and the east. While the Dutch had done a marvelous job of defense by beating the Spanish back, they too were feeling the effects of too many years at war and not enough resources or allies to support them as the fighting continued. War had been a way of life for decades, and the people had learned to live with it and make the best of their livelihoods regardless of the threats that surrounded them. If it wasn't the weather, then it was battles, arguments, and feuds between families and nobility. It was no longer a question as to if, but when.

King Louis shoved the map forward and leaned back in his seat. He looked at those around him, but focused on Treville. "Why Fredrick Henry needs to arrive in Paris during our most unusual weather is questionable to his state of mind, Treville," he said and shook his head.

"He is one of Europe's most successful military commanders, Your Majesty," Treville said, "If he feels the need to arrive here and discuss matters of state, my assumption would be that he has growing concerns regarding Spain — he is not someone who would allow his allies to suffer an unfortunate fate."

Louis raised his eyebrows in skepticism and said, "My concern, Treville, is that the Prince may meet an unfortunate end should he disembark from his carriage and drown."

"He is a little man," Monsieur Reau said with a chuckle. "He's not much bigger than me." Round red cheeks grew brighter, and he took a sip of wine to curtail his amusement. The shortest of all the men in the room, the toes of his shoes barely touched the floor while seated — if and when — he pointed them downward.

King Louis chuckled, but quickly grew serious.

Athos shifted his booted feet and looked at the floor. He took a deep breath and then looked up again as King Louis stood, grabbed the map, and took another look. Positioning his armies was a detail he wanted to discuss with his generals, but he wanted to know more details before he met with them. Louis was not a fool, and he understood something of strategic military operations. He was, after all, well groomed for such a task. During his youth, his father had educated him with games of strategy and military achievement. As a boy he had excelled at it, so much that his discussions with Richelieu had left the cardinal contemplating his own military training. King Louis had a gift, and in combination with his love of France and its people, he was not about to lose to a Spanish horde.

"How soon, Captain," Louis looked over his left arm toward Athos, "will the newest recruits be ready for commissioning? How many men do you currently have — including the recruits?"

"212, Majesty, and they're ready to serve."

Louis inhaled deeply and tapped his fingers on the table's surface. "How soon before you have a full regiment of 300 men?"

"Just a few weeks, Sire. Recruits are still arriving by the day."

"It would appear, Captain, that your skill with finding and training soldiers is a skill worth exploring." He looked toward his cabinet members. "Since a couple of my generals — one in particular — have had little success in the endeavor — despite being told nearly a year ago to prepare for such a time as this." He rubbed his temple as a headache began. "Remind me, Treville, what are the numbers of our military?"

"Ninety thousand, Sire, and the majority are to the West and South of us." Treville ran his hand along the edge of the table and shifted his shoulders as he looked at the king.

"Where is the threat from Spain is the lowest," Louis said with a long groan.

"Recruiting a few Musketeers is a much simpler task, Your Majesty, than for an entire military," Monsieur Rebert said. Short white hairs spiked upward and shifted with the subtlest of breezes. Large bags hung beneath his gray eyes, and a long scar ran across his face and caused the bridge of his nose to twist to the left. He was broad shouldered, tall and slender, with a large hands familiar with hard work and labor. His nobility was not something he was born to, but something he had earned.

"Recruiting Musketeers, Monsieur," Treville said with a stern face and unwavering voice, "are perhaps the most difficult men to recruit. The king's elite guard are men of character and duty driven… if France had 90 thousand men equal in character to them, we would find ourselves well protected and discussing the flooding of Paris' streets rather than recruiting more men for France's armies."

Monsieur Rebert shifted uncomfortably and swallowed. He glanced at Athos, tipped his head, and leaned back against his seat. He would say no more.

"One has to wonder," another cabinet members spoke. Monsieur Purifoy was the newest member of the king's inner circle. He was younger than the others, but well bred and educated. Short brown hair was cut around his large ears and helped hide his receding hairline. Hazel eyes flashed toward the king and Treville. "Why are our generals having such difficulties recruiting for their armies?" He raised his hands in question and shrugged. "Perhaps it's time we implement the blood tax?"

Athos clenched his jaw and listened as Treville cleared his throat and rested his elbow on the table and looked at the king.

"I despise the idea of forcing the children of nobility to fight in a war." Louis thought of his own son and the sons of those he knew, a few he even liked. "My father believed that those who fought willingly were to be preferred to those under compulsion."

"As a last resort, Sire," Treville said. "I — we, all understand your feelings on the matter, but we must put France first. Perhaps we should evaluate our generals and their current use of recruitment strategies to discover who is able to increase their forces and why, and look at those more closely who have failed to do so?"

King Louis frowned, bit his bottom lip, and then nodded. "Send a rider to each of the generals… I want them all here in the next few weeks to discuss strategy and military tactics — they will need to be fully informed of what awaits us and when if we are to be successful when the time comes for France to engage in war. I will not have the people of Paris suffering the fate of the Spanish invasion while I sit on this throne.

"The Spanish military force is two hundred and seventy-five thousand strong, Minister Treville, substantially larger than our own… even if we are fortunate enough to increase our forces, should the Spanish position their armies to the east of us and strike we will be without sufficient men, horses, or supplies to resist an attack of any kind — much less a full-fledge battle." Monsieur Purifoy pulled his brows together in question and concern. "Three hundred musketeers will do us no good against an attack by the Spanish… no matter how brave or skilled those men might be."

"This isn't a discussion of how the musketeers will assist in the war, Monsieur," Treville said and turned toward Purifoy. "This is, however, a discussion regarding our military force and where those men will be needed as war continues to encroach closer to our lands."

"Frederick Henry will be here in the days to come," King Louis said. "I anticipate his request will be that we align our forces and I will not deny his request. My Musketeers, Monsieur Purifoy, are not large in number," he stood and watched the others do so and bow, "but they are great in spirit and heart." He turned suddenly and walked toward the door.

"Spirit and heart will not save the people of Paris from the waters flooding their homes, much less when cannon balls start falling onto our streets and homes," Purifoy said and suddenly stopped himself from speaking more when King Louis paused in his steps and looked over his shoulder.

"Your lands are where, Monsieur Purifoy?" Louis asked.

"North East, Sire."

Louis nodded. "It would be wise to keep your own council when speaking of my soldiers… I tend to send them where they are most needed, knowing that they will do their best to protect what I value." He resumed his walk and exited the room, with the palace guards following close behind.

Purifoy twisted his mouth and bit the inside of his cheek to stifle a response. He looked at the others in the room and clenched his jaw when they suddenly looked away.

Treville rolled the map and then tapped the table with the tip and motioned for Athos to join him. Members of the council remained at the table and whispered amongst themselves, and Captain Millard Oriol, nodded respectfully at Treville before he left the room.

"I could have accomplished more by pushing water off the roadways than what I accomplished in that room," Treville said with a hint of disdain as the doors closed behind him. "There are too many men who think their opinions are more important than others and their own self interests play key parts in the decisions they try to make." He pushed the door to his office open and tossed the map to his desk. Treville ignored the sound of the door slamming against the wall and Athos' quick grasp of the handle to close it behind him as he followed. Treville looked out the window as the gray clouds continued and shook his head. He rubbed his face with his hand and tapped his temple twice before lowering his hand to his waist. He was not a politician, he hated it. He hated everything about it. The lying, manipulating, and the pride of those in position who used their power to oppress those who had none.

Athos took a deep breath and relaxed his stance as he stepped toward the desk. "Politics is an ugly game, Capt… Minister. You knew that when you accepted the position."

Treville raised his eyebrows and nodded as he looked toward Athos. "Better suited for a man of your talents, I believe."

Athos winced at the remark, but quickly recovered. "I can play the game… but I do not enjoy it."

"Is that how you enlisted 87 men from Marquis Monnot's lands and a substantial more from his neighbors?" Treville scratched his jaw and watched Athos shift uncomfortably, having used his familiarity with Monnot and the king's relationship. "I meant nothing by it, Athos. Do not take offense," he said with a long exhale. He paused for a long moment and then looked up from his desk. "General Raboin has filed a complaint with the king regarding the shortage of men in the Northeast region of France. He has claimed that the captain of the Musketeers has denied him the opportunity to earn the trust of the nobility within that region."

Athos cocked an eyebrow and Treville shook his head and waved him off. "General Raboin is the king's cousin and was promoted at too young an age by the king's mother, who should never had assigned Raboin to his position."

"He has destroyed his reputation and the nobility will not support him… they will defend themselves, even if that means fighting against the general," Athos said bluntly.

Treville took a deep breath and then exhaled slowly with a groan. He took a seat, leaned forward, and rested his elbows on his knees. "The king is hesitant to remove him from position given his affiliation with foreign diplomats — many of whom seem to enjoy Raboin's less than respectable behavior."

"We're headed to war," Athos said with a frown. He looked toward the window as the clouds parted and the sun cast its light through the break. "If the king cannot make decisions of a personal nature regarding his military before the war begins, how will he make those decisions when time is of the essence? Raboin's incompetence or his inability to lead an army will have an effect, particularly since he's the general assigned to protect one of our most vulnerable borders?"

"I don't disagree with you, Athos, but I can only advise the king. I cannot make the decisions for him. The decision must be his regarding his military." He placed his hand on his desk and shifted loose papers into a pile. "I am hopeful that in the coming weeks when the generals arrive to assess the needs of France and our vulnerabilities that we can better evaluate who will serve where. Moving Raboin to the south would be preferable —"

"From what I am gathering, Minister Treville, the man needs to be removed before he needlessly risks the lives of his men." Athos shifted, ran his fingers through his hair, and then placed his hand on his belt. "Monnot was very clear about Raboin's inability to lead and his willingness to sacrifice his men — if the locals know this — he will never be able to build an army unless one is assigned to him." He raised his eyebrows and looked at Treville. "Is that what the king is planning… all because he's devoted to choices his mother — a mother he banished — made?"

Treville nodded. "I cannot be certain as yet, but my assumption is the king will not decide until it can be proven that Raboin is unable to lead —"

"Based upon whose recommendation?" Athos shifted uncomfortably again. His face was drawn, brow furrowed in question as he tried to understand the king's reasoning for keeping a general in place.

Treville looked up and met Athos' eyes. "Yours."

Athos opened his mouth to speak, but turned suddenly when the door to Treville's office burst open.

Aramis entered, took a deep breath, and raised his hands to his sides. "The rainfall has caused the waterways to rise and the quays are breaking apart. The Seine is flooding in the lower levels because of it — there are families trapped —"

"Go," Treville said and waved his hand toward the door. "We'll finish this conversation later."

Athos turned and followed Aramis at a run.