I'm not sure how well you guys think this story is progressing, but thank you to those of you who continue to read through these chapters. There really isn't much of a point to writing if there is no one to share it with, and if even one of you actually likes to read this then it's all worth it. I'm really hoping that the chapter to follow this will tug at some of your heart strings, because I'm working up to the more interesting parts that will show new sides to characters we previously never saw. Please leave me a little review when you finish reading! I'd really like to hear what some of you think! Thank you!

Chapter XXIII

"Then we all agree."

The various people who stood inside the room all nodded their heads in agreement as D'Artagnan's stern gaze flickering over each and every single one of them before it finally came to rest on the King. Philippe was the last to nod his consent before the others were dismissed back to their posts, the guard doubling around the palace to ensure that their monarch would be kept safe from harm. These new rumours were providing quite an upset to their normal routine, and while there wasn't a single man among them who would complain openly about the task that lay ahead, he could only pity them for the toll it would surely take on them. Doubling the guard at this time meant that there would be less time to rest and recuperate between rounds, forcing them all to take up extra duties that were initially intended for more men to handle. Unfortunately, there hadn't been too many young men jumping at the chance to join the musketeers due to the unpopularity of their King, and that meant that Philippe was in even more danger than originally thought.

One by one the men in blue uniforms shuffled their way out the door until at last only their small circle of friends remained. Aramis had not been present for their meeting as he was still hovering by Katherine's bedside, but they would be able to fill him in on the details later on when they all returned to her room. The deadline set by the physician was fast approaching, something they were all painfully aware of as they watched the others leave and found themselves in a heavy silence. Andre had been permitted to stay this time as D'Artagnan had decided that it was best to include him in everything now. They were down one man while Aramis prayed for his daughter's health, and they needed the extra set of eyes to watch the palace at all times for signs of treachery.

By the time it was all over, these men were sure to be exhausted.

As soon as the heavy doors were closed behind the last man, D'Artagnan's shoulders slumped forward a little with a sigh displaying his own tired state of being. There was still an air of authority about him though that did not go unnoticed, but from where he stood within the four walls of that room Philippe wondered how much of it was a façade that he put on for the benefit of everyone else. The others were noticeably uneasy, their bodies filled with tension. And while he wished there was something that he could say that might help to defuse that tension, Philippe was at a loss of what those words might be.

"One of us must accompany Philippe at all times," D'Artagnan spoke softly, looking between his friends. "Until we learn where this threat has come from and can put an end to it, he cannot be left alone."

"Someone knows," Andre said, his voice matching the same tone and volume as his captain. "Someone knows that Philippe is not Louis. That is the only explanation that makes any sense."

Porthos shook his head. "How is that possible? We were the only ones who were present when the switch was made. Us, Aramis and Katherine."

It was a combination of the frightening truth and Katherine's name that seemed to bring about the silence between those who remained in the room, each one leaning up against some piece of furniture or staring intently at one as they came to comprehend what they could. They now understood that there were no longer as far away from the past dangers as they had once thought themselves to be, and the reality of the situation had hit them firmly. Actions had to be taken immediately to neutralize it before things got out of hand, but how did you combat a threat that was thus far only spoken word? Had there been some kind of physical treason against the King then perhaps they might have had something to work with. But thus far there was nothing, nothing but hearsay.

Athos shifted slightly, allowing his weight to move from leg to leg so that neither one had the opportunity to seize up on him. "All we can do is keep our eyes on Philippe," he offered gruffly. "They will know that we are the ones looking out for him, so they might try to break us apart or pull us from Philippe's side. No matter what situations may arise…we cannot leave him."

His dark eyes lifted away from the window to look at D'Artagnan with the same sternness that had once been directed against him upon learning of his son's death. But this time his eyes were not set in anger against his friend. Instead there was an understanding, a small show of mutual love that displayed how both men had come to feel about the young man who sat upon the throne of France. He was not Raoul, both men knew that he would never be. And yet, much as Athos had come to feel when he was around Katherine, the kindness and gentle nature that he saw in Philippe reminded him greatly of the life that he had once wanted for his son, helping to heal the gaping wound that still sat fresh upon his heart.

"I will do whatever I can to find the source of these threats," Andre spoke up, addressing them all. "You have my word."

Philippe smiled softly, grateful that he had such loyal and brave companions on whom he could rely in this worrying time. "Just be safe," said the King. "I do not wish for any of you to place your lives in danger for me, no matter the oaths you took."

There was no light-hearted laughter. There was no smirk of amusement that crossed their lips. There was but a curt nod from Andre before he bowed low to Philippe and turned to leave the room as well, leaving only Porthos, Athos and D'Artagnan near him. No doubt he would be seeing the delegation of men who would first begin patrolling the palace with instructions to be delivered before they began their rounds. Andre was a good man, he had come to learn that quickly after the chaos that had unfolded at the Bastille that night. He had taken an oath to protect his King with his life but had willingly handed him over to the guards of that hellish prison instead of Philippe. Had he too begun to lose faith in his monarch before then? Or had he just been willing enough to go along with what his captain had wanted to question anything further? Granted, there had been no instruction from D'Artagnan as he fought for his life on that cold and dirty floor, held gingerly by his friends as both his son and his niece hovered nearby. Lord, how he wished that memory could be removed from his mind forever.

More than once had had found himself remembering that moment, feeling the terror grip him once again as if someone had clamped their hand around his heart and began to squeeze with all their might. Everything around him had become ice cold and his hands had begun to shake uncontrollably as he first watched the dagger plunged into D'Artagnan's back and then the slow motion fall of the now broken body. And even now that his father stood before him, clearly very much alive, Philippe couldn't shake the lagging feeling of fear that he had felt that night. To have had the knowledge that your family still wanted you after all those years almost ripped away in a single action…it was terrifying. The only reason he could breathe easy was because his life had been spared, and now the girl who had saved his father's life had now taken his place in a sick bed.

"We will keep you safe, Philippe," Porthos told him, moving forward to touch the young man's arm. "You need not worry about that."

But the young King only shook his head. "It is not my safety that I am concerned with right now."

There were too many other people who were now wrapped up in this game of politics and strategy, too many people who could be hurt simply because they wanted to give France her best chance at survival on a world stage while also sparing an innocent young man from an undeserved fate. Each of them had a reason for becoming this involved, whether it was a matter of personal nature or not. And yet none of them seemed to truly register the risks that they were taking upon themselves as they embarked on this journey together, almost ignoring the warnings that had already reared their ugly heads for all to see. The people of Paris were already whispering about this new attack on the palace. How far would those whispers go? Even if it was only someone attempting to frighten him into making a mistake from which he could not recover, Philippe had his reservations about everything they had to combat. The very thought of losing one of them made his stomach churn.

D'Artagnan turned to look at his son, his brow knit together in a tight frown as he watched the ever changing expressions and stances of the boy. Over the last week, which was truly all the time that he had had to study the boy, he had come to notice the smaller things that Philippe did out of habit. His eyes would drop toward the floor not only when he was uncomfortable but when he was thinking of something that he didn't necessarily wish to share outright. His eyes grew a little wider when D'Artagnan addressed him directly, as if he were almost afraid of what he might find when he looked up at the older man. But he had also taken careful note of the way that his body seemed to relax when he was around Katherine, how gentle his gaze was and how soft his voice became when he spoke to her. There had been only a few occasions for him to see this happen, but after watch the pair at the ball that night he could no longer deny the truth that hovered right before his eyes. His son had become a man even before D'Artagnan had known him to be a boy. And this man had opened his heart to one of the only other creatures he had dared to love on this earth.

But would his heart be broken before it was truly whole?

"Everything will be alright," he murmured lightly, nodding to Philippe as the boy lifted his eyes to meet D'Artagnan's gaze. "It will all be alright in the end."

And he truly believed that; he had to. Otherwise everything around him was going to look so dismal that he might not have the will to continue pushing on as he was. Things were slowly beginning to wear down on him already, and his latest injury had only made it harder to keep up with the tasks that were required of him. No longer was he the youngest of their little group, the one who could still settle himself into a saddle and ride for days without experiencing too much discomfort in his limbs. Gone were the moments when he could pursue those who did wrong on foot and overtake them in a matter of minutes. He may still be the captain of the musketeers, but even that road would soon come to an end. Whether he liked it or not, he knew that he would not be up to the task for much longer.

A hurried knock on the door startled them all from their thoughts and brought their attentions to the servant who pushed it aside without waiting for a response. They all tensed to see him appear so suddenly, each one moving a step or two forward until they came to realize that there was no danger from the nervous looking man who stepped inside. Still, Porthos had moved to place himself in front of Philippe and looked upon the servant with a heavy gaze that took note of his every move, from the low bow that he quickly executed to the wide set eyes that looked upward at the King.

"Your Majesty, please forgive my intrusion," he spoke quickly, clearly fearing the temper that Louis was famous for having. "But you asked for any and all immediate updates on the young woman-"

He was never given the chance to finish, for Philippe immediately moved around Porthos' larger frame and signalled for the man to stand himself upright. "Yes, what is it? Is something wrong?"

The poor man shook his head so quickly that his wig had begun to shift slightly until it no longer sat straight. "No sire! One of the musketeers standing guard outside her room just came with the news! She is-"

But Philippe was already halfway out the door. He heard nothing further from the servant, nor did he register the shouts of his friends as they tried to call him back. Fear had gripped his heart as tightly as the mask that he once wore upon his face at the idea that something might have happened to Katherine in his absence, something that might have been preventable if she hadn't put her own life at risk to save his. Thoughts of all the possible things that could have happened flooded his mind, none of them with the positive outcome that he had been praying for. But if he could ask for one thing, just one thing in the whole world at that moment, he would have asked that it wasn't too late.