Sorry for the wait on this chapter, everyone! The end of the school year kinda hit us all by surprise and now I'm back to work making lots of money. I promise that there will continue to be updates throughout the summer! But thank you so much to those of you who have been reading this story and posting reviews. Please know that I take all of your comments into consideration when I'm writing new chapters, and I'm really looking forward to hearing what you guys think of this one as well.

Chapter XXIX

"She rejected me, Mother. There is little else to discuss on the matter."

It felt like an all too familiar scene to Anne as she sat quietly on the edge of the bed, watching her son pace back and forth across the room with a heavy frown etched into his features. Her dark eyes were filled with concern when she turned her head to look over at D'Artagnan, praying that there was perhaps something that could be said that might soothe his heart over this recent upset. Had she not been the one to council her son into sharing his thoughts and feelings with the girl? With what she had witnessed between the two of them Anne had never dreamed that Katherine would come to rebuff her son's affections for her, and yet the dowager queen could not shake the feeling that there was something more going on behind the curtain than she currently knew. She had witnessed the initial meeting between the two when they had strolled in the garden the night before, having watched with observant eyes as the joy seemed to spread across both faces when they had seated themselves together on the bench and out of earshot from herself, Porthos and D'Artagnan.

But after a few moments of speaking there had been a change, one that had rather startled the woman as she saw the darkness overtake Philippe's eyes. He had risen quickly from Katherine's side and excused himself faster than she had ever seen before, and the fragility that she had heard when the girl had called out to Porthos was unfamiliar as well. Perhaps it was all just a misunderstanding, she thought to herself. Perhaps one of them had spoken a little hastily and the other had reacted poorly. And while Anne wanted to believe that with all her heart, she could not ignore the terrible proof that paced back and forth across the room with evident anxiety.

Her dark eyes turned toward D'Artagnan, who stood quietly by the large window of the bedroom and simply observed his son as he had done countless times in the last few days. Fatherhood was something that was entirely new to the man, for he knew that he could not speak to Philippe the way that he had once spoken to Louis or his own men. The situation before him was different from any other that he had faced before when Louis had sat on the throne, despite the high number of lovers who passed in and out of his bedchamber. It was different in that not only were the two people involved very dear to him, but they were young and very clearly bonded by more than lust and a crown. Philippe had known nothing but isolation and loneliness in his lifetime, especially in the last nine years that he had spent hidden away behind the mask. And Katherine…while she had known the love that he and his friends had shown her throughout her twenty years of life, she had known nothing of the affections and powerful draws that could come in that form of love. Wasn't it only right that the two of them have an opportunity at happiness together after all that had happened?

"Have you tried to speak with her since then?" D'Artagnan asked his son slowly, lifting his bright orbs so that he might briefly share a glance with Anne. "There may perhaps have been a misunderstanding between you."

"There was no misunderstanding," Philippe said rather harshly, his eyes averted so that he wouldn't have to look at either of them completely. "She made it perfectly clear to me that she does not return my affections for her. I do not wish to discuss the matter any further."

There was such a finality to his tone that neither Anne nor D'Artagnan dared to argue further with him, for both were strongly reminded of the rage that Louis had exhibited when his orders had not been followed. Though they were sure that they were not in near the danger as they had once been, it seemed rather foolish to try and persuade the boy that his heart had not been broken out of spite, as he seemed inclined to believe. Instead they simply shared another glance and slowly dropped their eyes, each struggling to understand what it was that had brought them into this situation when they had thought that things had been progressing so well between the young couple. Perhaps there would be room later for a conversation with Katherine, D'Artagnan thought to himself. She wouldn't just leave Philippe to nurse his broken heart without a reason, for he knew her not to be a cruel person, and though she was not seasoned in the ways of courting she wouldn't reject him unfairly.

Still, the question of what happened between the two of them in the garden continued to nag at D'Artagnan's mind.

Things had been different for them ever since the night at the Bastille, when they had saved Philippe from his prison and D'Artagnan had nearly given his life in the process. That was when the changes in Katherine had certainly begun to shine through. But it was the differences in his son that now had the old musketeer concerned, for in the short time that he had known Philippe he had never seen the boy so downtrodden and hard. Perhaps he had fallen harder for his young niece than he had originally thought, for what else could explain the way in which he took her dismissal?

His eyes snapped toward the opening door, where Porthos slid his way into the room with a troubled look upon his face. Immediately the warning bells began to sound for D'Artagnan as he took in the look that his friend shared with those who noticed his arrival, for he could tell that there was something else that now required his attention. Porthos was not known for his capacity to worry about things, and so when he entered a room with a sullen expression upon his face, it was almost guaranteed that something was wrong.

"The talk in the streets has grown worse," he said quietly, coming quickly to stand beside D'Artagnan so that he might confide in his friend without startling the whole room. "The people are now divided in their feelings for the King, but there is still talk of a rising that would displace him. He is being called a 'usurper,' a pretend king."

D'Artagnan turned his head and looked at Porthos with wide eyes, his heart thumping almost painfully against the inner walls of his chest. Those were dangerous words for anyone to utter in regards to the reigning monarch of France, but in this instance there was more truth to them than the common people were likely to realize. Words such as that could only come from those who knew the truth of what had happened that night in the Bastille, those who had been present at the moment that he had uttered the word "brother" with what he had believed to be his dying breath. Andre had quickly sent the men out of the corridor and into the courtyard, barking that they were sworn to silence for what they might have heard. But the only people who had been present during the actual switch were Porthos, Athos, Aramis, Andre and the two boys themselves. Who else could possibly know what had occurred that night that might use those words against Philippe?

The very same thoughts seemed to be moving through Porthos as well as he shared a firm gaze with D'Artagnan. Amongst them lay a traitor who was plotting to overthrow everything they had struggled to put right since that night, a traitor who did not yet have a face or a name. And that meant that the dangers were not in the streets as they had first thought, but standing boldly on their doorstep waiting for the opportunity to knock down the door and seize full control of their plan.

Now the question was, what did they want?

"Where are Athos and Aramis?" D'Artagnan asked quickly.

"They should be here soon."

Anne looked at the two of them with concerned etched deeply into her dark eyes, lips parted as if she wished to speak but found no words that might lend themselves to the conversation. Without being told, she knew that something was terribly wrong.

It took only two powerful strides for him to cross the room and gently caress her shoulders in his large hands, looking down at her with the same serious gaze that she had seen countless times before. It had been on his face the night that he had donned his black uniform for the first time in many years and left her a single red rose at the end of the lane, before he had hurried toward the Bastille and the untold dangers that awaited him there. And now he wore it again as he stood before her, causing the nerves to jump madly within her body and her hands to quiver in her fear.

"What are you going to do?" she whispered to him, touching his chest in an effort to still her hands.

"The only thing I can do," he told her in his deep rumble. "Find those who are responsible for this threat and stop them. I will not see our son in anymore danger."

In her heart she knew that she could expect nothing less of him, for even if his fatherly instincts did not demand such a thing of him, his position as captain of the musketeers did. D'Artagnan had always held tightly to his honour and his duty above all other things in the world, a list that had since changed in the past few weeks and now altered his sense of reality. Whether she wished to or not, there was nothing Anne could say that would deter him from wearing his uniform on horseback once again and roaming the streets of Paris in search of the threat that now endangered Philippe and the monarchy. Should anything ever happen to him, the country would not be safe. Between Spain and England, there would be a bloody war to see which their enemies would be victorious in their claim for the throne, as each had already spoken out in desire for it before.

And this time, she was not sure that she would get him back.

His hands quickly dropped from her shoulders as the door burst open once again, revealing the other three men. While both Athos and Aramis looked to be just as concerned as Porthos had been when he had brought the news, it was Andre who was flushed from the effort of running through the palace halls, his chest heaving slightly.

"D'Artagnan, we just heard the report," Athos said, closing the door behind him.

Andre shook his head, inhaling deeply. "There's more."

All eyes turned to the young lieutenant as he stood himself up straight and addressed the room, ignoring the otherwise frazzled appearance that he had adopted in his haste to find them. "There have been reports of brawls in the streets since the announcement of what sentence the traitors were to receive," he began, glancing at the boy who now stood frozen near the fireplace mantle. "And even now the whispers have grown worse. The brawls began because it is being rumoured that Louis is an illegitimate son and therefore not the heir to the throne."

"That makes no sense," growled Athos, arms folded tightly over his chest. "Declaring Louis to be a bastard would leave France without an heir all together, and while many people still despise Louis there isn't a soul among them who wants to see the throne taken by the English or the Spanish."

Aramis nodded his agreement. "The people know Louis to be the only child born of the King."

"They claim that Louis is not the son of the King, but rather the son of a peasant who was bought and groomed to take the throne because the heir was undesirable."

"What heir?" Philippe asked slowly. "If Louis was not the heir, then who was?"

Andre chewed his lip, looking nervously about him until he at last mustered the courage to face his young master. "A woman," he answered. "A woman who was born of the King and a young maid with whom he had an affair. When it was discovered that the maid was pregnant she was quietly removed from the Queen's household and located away from the city until she gave birth to a girl and died shortly afterward."

"Is that all they have said?"

He asked the question so quickly that everyone turned their attention to D'Artagnan, noting the gleam of urgency that shone in his eyes. Looks of uncertainty crossed the faces of his friends, concern working their way onto Anne and Philippe's features as they took stared at the normally calm influence in panicked situations. But this time around it seemed that he was the one who needed to be consoled, and nothing short of Andre's affirmative answer was likely to be of comfort to him.

"That is all that I have heard," he confirmed. "They must be using the rumour to cause unrest among the people. There surely cannot be any such person."

As they all struggled to piece this new plot together in their minds, Aramis broke away from the circle and stepped up to Philippe, reaching into the folds of his tunic to produce the letter he had earlier been handed. He had promised Katherine that he would deliver it to Philippe as soon as she had gone, and while he still had his misgivings of what it was that urged his daughter to flee from the palace grounds, he would say nothing until the letter had been read. The confusion spread even further across the young King's face as he looked between Aramis and his outstretched hand, waiting until the older man nodded to him before he carefully removed the letter from his grasp. With his eyes firmly locked on the neat writing of his name that decorated the outside, he turned it over and broke the wax seal, turning his back to the others.

"Aramis," D'Artagnan whispered to him, walking forward until he was able to grip his forearm tightly in his hand. "My friend, you must bring Katherine here. I fear her safety is in danger."

Aramis blinked at him. "She is no longer here," he whispered in return. "She left this morning to return to the monastery so that her health might improve."

"She what?!"

Aramis was not sure if it was fury or concern that propelled those words from D'Artagnan, though he clearly wasn't happy with the fact that Katherine was no longer within reach. The captain pulled himself away in a hurry and instead walked up to Andre, muttering something in his ear before the lieutenant nodded his understanding and bolted out the door once more. All at once the aura in the room had changed into one of great panic, with everyone attempting to ask questions of D'Artagnan all at once to try and better deal with their lack of knowledge. For his part though, Aramis slowly turned away from the chaos and back to Philippe, who still stood apart from the commotion and held Katherine's letter tightly in his hands. Unsure of what the letter contained, he could only provide general comfort and laid a hand atop his shoulder.

"I do not believe that she intended to hurt you," he began.

"I know."

To hear the resignation in his tone took Aramis aback as the young man slowly moved round again so that he might look the priest full in the eye. His gaze had softened considerably, so much so that Aramis wondered if his mind was playing tricks on him or if indeed he saw tears welling up in the bright blue orbs of the King. This was a compassionate, sensitive side of Philippe that he had seen only once before in the time that the two had known one another…but unlike that time before, there was no trace of fear lurking behind his eyes. Instead there was a sadness, a regret…perhaps even a hint of guilt hidden in there as well. Philippe offered no further words but offered out the letter that he held in his hand for Aramis to read before his gaze returned to the empty fireplace. Unsure of what else to do, the old musketeer dropped his head and began to read.

Dearest Heart,

I write this to you now, hoping that perhaps in time you will come to forgive the actions I am about to take. I did not get a chance to speak to you after we met in the garden, and I feared that I had hurt you too much for you to understand just what I have come to know is happening around us. There are spies everywhere, which is why I dare not address you as you are, for fear that that might fall into the wrong hands. I am returning to the monastery in the morning so that I can continue to heal and remove the worry that I know Papa and my uncles are feeling about my well-being at this moment.

If there is nothing else that you remember from the time I was at the palace, I pray that you remember this. My heart is something that I decided long ago was not for the taking, but instead for the giving when I finally met a kind soul who had shown himself to be worthy of it. And as I leave you in the care of those I love most in the world, know that I leave behind my heart to your keeping.

There are few people in this world who have shown the same level of compassion and wisdom that you have shown me over the last few weeks, and I know that a great many people will benefit from having you in their lives for years to come. Our paths were never truly meant to cross as they did, for I am not desirable as anything more than I am. To the crown I shall always be a faithful subject of France, but as a woman I shall never feel for another what I have come to feel for you.

All my love,

Katherine

As he lowered the paper from his eyes and looked across at the reaction in the face of the King, Aramis had no doubt in his mind that while her words were genuine, there was something more than just her health that propelled Katherine to flee from the palace as she had. And yet he could see the torment that lit behind Philippe's eyes, the evident sadness of something that the older man did not yet understand. But he knew there was something, perhaps a feeling of guilt for some mysterious reason. Why was that?

Unaware that Katherine and Philippe had met only the night before in the gardens before she had made the decision to leave the palace all together and return to the monastery, Aramis folded the paper neatly again and offered it back to Philippe, who took it without comment. There was no glance exchanged between them because the young man avoided his eye, but Aramis knew enough now to feel that something was amiss; perhaps something more than he might have first thought. In whatever regard, the problem at hand needed to be dealt with before anything else could be addressed, and that unfortunately meant that the issue of Katherine's departure was no longer top priority.

"When did she go?" Philippe murmured quietly, his question intended only for Aramis.

"Early this morning," he replied. "Only a few hours before Athos and I came to find you."

News of the threats that were now being made against Philippe had reached them fairly quickly after the carriage bearing his daughter had disappeared from sight, and the two had immediately accompanied another young man to making sure that the entrances around the palace were secured. Men had been posted all along the perimeter of the grounds, instructed not to let anything in or out without the express consent of D'Artagnan or one of his friends. It had taken very little to convince the musketeers to stand their ground as soon as they learned of the dangers their King now faced, and it seemed that a wall of men had begun to surround the palace entirely to prevent unwelcome visitors who might wish the King harm. If nothing else, they had been rather relieved to see that the musketeers remained loyal to their King despite recent events.

Thus had Aramis been delayed in keeping his promise of allowing Philippe to see the letter that Katherine had written to him before she had gone.

Philippe offered no further words of conversation and removed himself from his place before the mantle, moving further into the room to put a distance between them. Assuming it was best to let the young man think through the words of the letter, Aramis gave a small bow and backed away until he was able to rejoin the others, his brow furrowing at the number of people who stood before him. All of a sudden they were one shy of the number that had been present upon his arrival…and that one should never have wandered off alone.

"Where is D'Artagnan?" he asked, almost demanding an explanation from a rather perplexed looking Andre.

But the young lieutenant only shook his head. "In all my years of service, I do not know that I have ever seen him so upset by something like this. The captain has faced countless threats against the crown before with a clear mind, but this…" he trailed off, pressing his lips firmly together. "I do not know. I feel that this goes above and beyond simply being a musketeer."

Andre's meaning was rather clear, and Aramis could only nod in agreement. The game that they were playing was becoming more and more perilous as the moments progressed, which left a rather uncomfortable feeling in the pit of the old priest's stomach. Someone was attempting to play them.

The question was…why?