A/N: Thank you Lia Whyteleafe, pallysAramisRios, and SnidgetHex for reviewing!

Chapter 3

Constance was giving Dragor a brushing down when the Queen came to visit the compound.

"Your Majesty," she greeted brightly, only to falter at Anne's pursed expression. "Is something wrong?"

"Surely you've heard of the unrest in the city," Anne replied.

Constance grimaced. "Yes. D'Artagnan's been away with the Musketeers trying to stop it."

The Queen nodded, wringing her hands. "The Musketeers are doing their best, I know. But innocent people are dying, all because of that foolish peasant girl who thinks she can talk to God."

Constance gave Dragor a subtle nudge to leave them, and the dragon shuffled back to his den.

"They say she speaks like an angel," Constance ventured. It was all the talk in the market when she went out.

"Angel of death," Anne retorted scornfully. She shook her head helplessly. "I can't stand idly by and watch my fellow countrymen slaughtered. If the King won't do something, I will have to."

"Why won't the King see her?" Constance asked. With d'Artagnan busy handling the riots, she hadn't had a chance to ask him about the situation.

The Queen huffed and put her restless hands on her hips. "His advisors won't allow it. They say it would only encourage her."

"Can't you talk to him?"

"I've tried, many times." Anne bit her lip and cast a hesitant look around. Constance realized she hadn't brought any of her ladies-in-waiting or attendants with her. When Anne spoke again, it was in a softer voice. "The King won't say so, but he's afraid to meet with her, afraid she might be a witch. He barely leaves the palace anymore because of Milady."

Constance had noticed; it'd fallen to her to take over Dragor's exercise again now that the King no longer came for his weekly flights. "And what do you think?" she asked.

"I think I must do something." Anne hesitated a moment. "I came here to ask if you would help me, Constance."

She furrowed her brow in confusion. "Help how?"

"Will you come with me to see Emilie myself?"

Constance's eyes widened. "Alone?" she blurted.

"Not if you say yes," Anne replied hopefully.

Constance didn't know what to say. That did not sound like a good idea. "What about the Musketeers?"

Anne shook her head. "I want to speak with Emilie as an equal, not bring a show of force."

Constance could tell the Queen was determined in this, and she most definitely couldn't let her go alone. "Alright," she reluctantly agreed.

Anne smiled in relief. "I don't suppose I could trouble you for a change of dress? So I don't look so…obvious?" She gestured at her fine gown.

Constance really thought this was a bad idea but she nevertheless took Anne into her home and got out her best dress for her to borrow. She also gave her a spare cloak. Part of her wished her father would walk in on them and put a stop to this madness, but he never did, and the two of them were able to walk out the back gate unnoticed and head for the woods that led to the encampment outside the city. If only they could have brought a dragon for protection, but that certainly would have given them away.

"I'm not sure this is a good idea," Constance said as they approached the camp and she saw just how many of these people were armed.

"If the King won't grant Emilie an audience, I must," Anne replied staunchly, then added under her breath, "What choice do I have?"

"You could have stayed safe at home. And so could I."

"I want to be useful, Constance. To show the King there are some things only a Queen can do."

Constance sighed inwardly. The Queen had a good heart; that was what made her a fair and just ruler.

"How do I look?" Anne asked.

Constance glanced at her. "Beautiful."

"That's not what I meant," she whispered back.

They approached the bridge that led into the main camp.

"I don't see any muskets or swords," Anne said. "These are just ordinary people. I'm sure they'll listen to reason."

Constance didn't point out the various farm tools that could obviously be used as weaponry—or the fact that reason rarely worked on devout followers.

They walked across the bridge, holding their heads high with faked confidence, like they belonged there. But even in their simple dress and cloaks, men stepped out to block their path, each of them holding sharp blades.

"What do you want?" one of them demanded.

"We're looking for Emilie," Constance answered.

"Who wants her?" a black man sitting on the edge of the bridge asked.

"Two women who've seen the damage you've caused," Anne said.

The man canted his head with a quirk of his lips. "Tell us your name."

Constance touched the Queen's arm in firm warning and stepped around her. "Constance d'Artagnan. And this is my friend Anne."

"Well, we can't let just anyone see Emilie," the man said. "It wouldn't be safe."

Constance didn't have a response to that, and neither did the Queen it seemed, because she appeared to be faltering for a reply.

The man leaned forward. "I know you. You're her. The Queen. The Spanish bitch!"

"I am as loyal to France as any of you!" Anne declared as every person in the vicinity stopped to look their way.

Constance cringed. She'd known this couldn't go well.

The black man surged to his feet. "There is not a drop of French blood running in your veins," he spat.

Constance reflexively put a protective arm in front of Anne.

The man paused to consider them. "Who puts a fox in a hen house? Why are you really here?"

Constance drew her chin up. "We've told you—"

He grabbed her and shoved her toward the men. "Take her!"

Anne yelped as she was seized too, and Constance twisted around to reach for her, drawing her close as they were manhandled through the camp and into a large tent.

"A present for you, Emilie. The Spanish Queen herself."

They were both shoved forward where they halted to a stop, and both of them stared in shock at the sight of Aramis, who looked equally stupefied to see them.

"Your Majesty," he uttered.

A young woman with red hair in two long braids and dressed in a chainmail jacket stormed over. Emilie, Constance presumed. The girl shot Aramis a sharp look that made him falter. What was he doing here? Neither Constance nor Anne asked as Emilie stepped up to the Queen, eyes boring into her. Constance held fast to Anne's hand. After a moment, Emilie gestured for the men to back away.

She turned her head toward Aramis again, who had yet to move from his spot, then back to the Queen. "This man is a musketeer. He deserted his regiment to join me."

Constance and Anne shared a nervous look at that.

"Do you know each other?" Emilie asked pointedly.

"He has been loyal in the past," Anne said. "I am sorry he has forgotten his duty."

"Why are you here?"

"I came here to talk to you, not only as your Queen but as a woman. Do you really believe that God wants this hatred and violence?" she implored. "You must know that our Savior preached love and forgiveness—"

"I don't need lectures on religion," Emilie cut her off.

Constance saw Aramis wince. Yes, reason was going to work out so well.

"My message is from God himself."

"Look into your heart—"

"You should not be here!" Emilie bellowed, making them both flinch.

"We should just cut off her head and send it to her brother as a gift," the black man spat.

Aramis finally surged forward and flung the man around, snarling, "Lay one finger on her—"

Emilie threw up a hand to hold the black man back. "For a deserter, you show a high degree of devotion to the Queen," she snapped at Aramis. "Would you defend me with such passion?"

"Do you really think the King will tolerate any barbarity towards his Queen?" Anne interjected sharply.

"We should hang her," an older woman sitting in the back declared. She had her fingers steepled together and was watching things unfold with calm interest. "In the morning, in front of the whole host. Leave the King free to marry an honest Frenchwoman. He'll thank us for it."

"That's madness," Aramis rejoined. "He'd send his dragons to slaughter us all," he appealed to Emilie.

"Abraham was willing to sacrifice his son for God," the old woman went on. "The King should do likewise with his wife. It will inspire his people," she said with relish.

Constance swallowed hard and glanced at Aramis again, wondering if there was any way he could get them out of this.

Emilie moved to stand in front of the Queen again. "God will show me what to do," she declared. "Until then…you will be our guest."

With that, she moved away, and Constance saw out of the corner of her eye the men slip out of the tent. But she wasn't naive enough to think they weren't standing right outside, ready to come to Emilie's call.

Guest was just a polite way of saying prisoner.

.o.0.o.

Aramis's mind was awhirl with the unforeseen complication of the Queen and Constance being here. What were they thinking?

He dished up a bowl of stew, glancing guardedly at Emilie and her mother on the other side of the tent. Emilie was watching him. The Queen's arrival had shaken her trust in him, but he couldn't have very well stood by and let them execute her.

He brought the bowl over to the Queen. "Here," he said loudly with a touch of brusqueness, then lowered his voice. "With the respect, Your Majesty, are you completely out of your mind?"

"I thought I could help," she said despondently. "That she might listen to reason."

"Faith has little to do with reason," he said, pulling his braces up over his shoulders. "If Emilie foresees your death tonight, God knows how I'm going to get you out of here." He cast a surreptitious look at Emilie and her mother and found them doing the same to him. This was a right mess.

Constance pulled the sheets down from the cot and leaned toward him. "D'Artagnan didn't tell me you were here," she said in a hushed volume. "You are here as a spy, right?"

He shot her an exasperated look. "I've been trying to get to the truth behind Emilie."

Constance busied herself with folding the edges of the sheets nicely. "Isn't the truth that she's mad?"

"Her visions are real," Aramis said. He hesitated, a haunted expression flitting across his face. He bent down to pretend to help Constance with the bedding. "When Milady sent those hallucinations, they seemed as real as you are now. And they were terrifying. Emilie's visions terrorize her. I don't know what's going on, but I can't discount what she's experiencing. I want to help her."

Constance gave him a sympathetic look.

Aware that he was spending too much time over there, he straightened abruptly. "You should try the broth," he said loudly. "It's good."

"Take mine," Emilie called over. "I'm not hungry."

"Thank you," he said, picking up her bowl and taking it back over to Constance. "If you need me, I'll be close by," he said softly, then headed out to his spot across from the tent next to the goat pen.

He couldn't sleep, though, too worried that one of Emilie's followers—or her mother—might take matters into their own hands and harm the Queen. He also worried over what Emilie's dreams would show her that night.

He now shared Rhaego's earlier frustration at not being able to stick closer to camp. His dragon would be able to get the Queen and Constance out. Aramis considered finding a way to signal him in the dark and just get the Queen out now without risking Emilie's decision in the morning. It would mean abandoning his mission before he'd discovered the truth, but the Queen's life was more important.

Distressed sounds started coming from the tent, and Aramis tensed to listen to Emilie's latest nightmare. But it wasn't her voice that shattered the silence of the night—it was Constance's.

Aramis leaped to his feet and ran back into the tent, thinking they were under attack. But Constance was on the cot, eyes tightly closed and thrashing in her sleep.

"No!"

Anne scrambled from her own bed and reached for Constance's arm. Aramis rushed to her other side and gripped her shoulder, trying to shake her awake. But she continued to jerk and scream, her skin glistening with sweat. Then suddenly she bolted upright with a ragged gasp, her eyes flying open. Both Aramis and Anne braced her arms as she sucked in desperate breaths.

"Constance, what is it?" Anne asked worriedly. "You were crying out in your sleep."

"It was so real," she said between shuddering breaths. She turned terrified eyes to Aramis. "I was there and…"

"Shhh, you were dreaming," he soothed, rubbing her arm.

"What if I wasn't? What if it was…?"

He shook his head staunchly. "I don't think she would target you like this."

Constance let out a broken sob. "I've never felt anything like it before. I was so scared."

"God granted you a prophecy," Emilie spoke up.

Constance looked at her, bewildered. "You're wrong," she said, still shaking uncontrollably. She looked at the Queen, lip trembling. "I hope you're wrong."

"We can't reject the truth when it is revealed," Emilie insisted, then turned to go back to bed.

Constance broke down into sobs and Anne pulled her into an embrace.

Aramis turned a thoughtful gaze toward Emilie, who curiously had not had a vision this night. Her mother, reclining in the back, had a stone cold expression on her face that made Aramis even more suspicious that something wasn't right here.

He returned his attention to Constance, rubbing her arm as she cried into Anne's shoulder. After a few more minutes, she finally calmed and pulled back, wiping at her eyes furiously.

"I'm sorry," she said in a ragged voice.

"Don't be," Anne replied, brushing sweat-soaked hair out of her face.

Constance looked around fearfully. "I don't know if I can sleep again…"

"Just lie down," Aramis coaxed. "I'll be right here."

Her throat bobbed, but she gingerly lay back down on the cot, fine tremors still running through her body. Aramis pulled the sheet up to cover her shoulders and resumed stroking her arm in comfort. After a few minutes, her eyelids started to droop until they finally fell closed.

Anne was still sitting on the other side of Constance but was now looking at him. "I didn't know you'd been through something like that," she said softly. "The witch Milady?"

Aramis hesitated. "Yes," he reluctantly answered. "But the curse was broken. I'm fine now."

Mostly. The experience still haunted him, much the way Emilie's visions did her, and now Constance's dream. Such things left a mark not easily wiped away by waking up.

Anne was silent for a moment. "Do you believe black magic is involved here?"

Aramis looked up to meet her gaze. "I truly don't know."