A/N: My research says that the 'proper' saddle for riding sidesaddle was invented in 1800s and before that speed was impossible in that position, but let's just imagine for this story that either there was at least one developed then for this story or a gallop was possible; after all, research says Anne was a skilled equestrian :)
This is not what she had in mind.
But it is not unexpected; she knew this is how it would be no matter how much she wants it to be more. At least she has the reins in her own hands as she sat sideways atop the horse, the high parasol held by one of the staff bobbed along to protect her from the few times the sun peaked out from beyond the summer clouds.
She looks to the king in the distance and tries not to flinch as he practices his hunting skills on the birds let loose one at a time from the cage off to his side. She cannot see his eyes from this far away but she knows there'll be happiness there and wonders if it will ever be her turn to fly free. A pistol shot cracks the air and a soft patter of claps reaches out to her. The king basks in the attention and her gaze shifts to the blue cloaks dotting the king's sentry, marking the presence of his majesty's fledgling regiment of personal guards. She likes Treville, he may just be honest in his desire to protect the king but she wonders if this new regiment means more scrutiny, more eyes watching her with wary caution or distaste or worst pity.
The people are still waiting for an heir.
The losses have embittered them towards her.
She turns away. The lulling walk of her horse irks her; the parasol follows her around for another circle of one of the lawns. She looks straight ahead towards the trees, feels the cooler breeze as the sun once again dips behind the clouds. She taps her foot to the side of the horse and feels it trot, the parasol lags behind, she shifts while blessing the soft material of her gown and the slight change in weight signals her horse into a canter, a press of her foot and they are off.
Away from the ladies, the king, the palace, her life.
There is nothing but the wind and the beat of hooves; her loosened hair and the rush in her chest.
She's grinning, she's laughing.
And then there is another horse on the trail, a rider behind her. She glances at him as he draws alongside her and feels her eyes widen when the man doesn't reach over to take the reins. It dawns on her that he has understood that this is not a horse out of control; he can tell that she is very much in charge of what is going on, is aware of this unwomanly behaviour by none other than the queen.
But he never asks her to slow down, doesn't say a word until she eases her horse into a trot then a walk. A sigh escapes her and she blinks against the drizzle she hadn't noticed the start of. She turns her horse around and so does the man at her side. A blue cloak hangs on his shoulder, a blue sash at his waist. She glances at him and he takes off his hat with a bow of his head.
"Your majesty,"
"Musketeer," she nods, "are there others following?"
"I'm not sure,"
She nods again, feels the heat rising up her neck and into her face; berates herself silently for giving in to the unbecoming behaviour that has led her here.
"If I may your majesty," the man at her side has his hat still pressed over his heart and gaze lowered slightly, "I have never seen a woman with such mastery over a horse,"
Her eyes narrow, she suddenly doesn't want Louis finding out about this. But how could he not? He was right there. And this man is from his personal guard. How can she explain away a sudden jaunt in the woods?
"You would do well to remember your place Musketeer,"
"Of course your majesty, I apologize."
"Musketeers are supposed to protect his majesty," she says.
"You will never know a more loyal and law-abiding body of men," he dips his head again.
His damp dark hair have taken to sticking to his face and she thinks there may be a smile playing at the corner of his lips.
"Then why are you the one to follow me out?"
Has Louis sent him? Was he scared for her?
Something must have shown her voice for the Musketeer didn't reply immediately.
"His majesty is upset," he says.
And there is something beneath those words that she cannot identify. She frowns even as they come to the end of the thicket and glances at her companion who has slowed. The Musketeer reaches out, a gloved hand asking for the reins she still holds.
"May I your majesty?"
She lets him take them. Sits straighter, face held high and blank even as the parasol is back over her head. It moves along with her despite the fact that she is soaked in the summer shower, despite the fact that the cloth of the parasol does nothing to keep the water at bay, but to each his duty, she knows. They stop before the small retinue at the edge of the courtyard. Treville is there, so is the Cardinal but not her husband she notes as she dismounts.
"What is the meaning of this? Who is responsible for this horse," the Cardinal takes the reins of her horse and turns to one of the staff, "who trained this animal?"
"It is not the trainer's fault," she says, "nor the horse's,"
The Cardinal turns to her and the horse backtracks, its hooves coming down hard in the mud just as the Musketeer steps nearer, that splatters lands on his coat instead of her gown. He strokes the horse's neck and looks to the Cardinal.
"The horse was stung your eminence," he says, "by a bee most likely,"
The Cardinal's face twists into a scowl but he lets one of the stable-hands take the reins.
"His majesty didn't like the interruption," Richelieu tells her, "I would suggest that you..." he sweeps out an arm towards the palace.
Anne nods and glides up the stairs.
She keeps the Musketeer's excuse as the truth.
This is not what he had planned.
But he should have known; when has his good deed ever gone unpunished? Shaking his head he looks down the corridor and catches the gray end rounding the next corner. It has started out innocently enough, a few scraps here, some milk there and soon the monstrosity had started identifying him. It was all going well until it had limped up to him bleeding from more places than one. Stitches, bandages and a fortnight of sleeping in his room at the garrison later it had returned to health with a penchant to following him around.
And it had done so with no sense of decorum right into the palace.
His boots squeaking against the clean marble floors he hurries along, not sure if he is afraid of his Captain's wrath and the possibility of losing his commission or the safety of the intrepid creature that seems intent upon inspecting the palace. A thought of booted kicks to a small mangy body has him picking his pace. His heart drops to his toes as the cat slips into one of the rooms.
He curses whoever it was that had left the door ajar.
Looking around one more time to ensure they are alone he goes into the room, squinting slightly in the dim light. The drawn curtains glow blue and there is a rustle somewhere. He listens carefully and there is the click of the one claw that the cat can't sheath for the missing flesh on its paw. He bends down whistling softly.
"Come out, come out, mon petit monstre," he sees it sidle along the far wall and marches over, "you my friend need a lecture from Athos,"
The cat flattens against the floor and darts out of his reach, slipping under the dresser.
He crouches, weapons clinking even as he adjusts his rapier and goes down further on his hands and knees, clicks his tongue to coax the feline out at the sound. There is only silence at his endeavors. He lowers still until the side of his face is brushing against the cool floor.
"Mi querido pequeño horror, ¿por qué insistes en que te maten?"
A single glowing eye stares back at him.
He presses his cheek to the floor and reaches out, the cat scoots back and sniffs at his fingers. This might just be the last living day of the arrogant beast; if not because of the disgusted denizens of the palace then by his hands, he will wring its neck, after he manages to get a hold of it that is. He puffs out a breath and pulls his arm out.
"I'm trying to save your life," he speaks to the darkness under the dresser, "how many of those do you suppose you have left to spare?"
There is a very pointed, very feminine cough behind him.
Resisting the urge to thump his forehead on the floor he rises and bows before the queen.
"Your majesty,"
"Musketeer," she nods.
There is the same chill there that had been in her words reminding him of his place weeks ago.
"Is the threat imminent against all the palace furniture or just this one?" she asks.
He opens his mouth to reply but looks down at the sudden press against his leg, there is his little horror curling about his shin, its thin tail held high. He picks it up and remembers the queen a second too late. He glances up at the royal staring at the animal in his hands, except there is no revulsion in the queen's eyes. There just might be a twitch up at the corners of her lips. He scratches the cat's head and smiles down at the one eyed creature, there are pieces missing from both its ears, a good chunk gone from its front paw and what thin gray fur there is, it's covered in the grime of Paris streets.
He loves the little fiend.
It gives a loud purr and hops down from his arm, padding over to the queen.
"Your majesty I –"
He can only stare as the queen bends to stroke the thin spine of the animal.
"Did you give it a name Monsieur?"
He nods only because he is too shocked by this turn of events.
"What is it?"
And he refrains from drawing a hand down his face.
"Monster," he says.
It is definitely a smile on her face.
The sound of the door opening has him looking away from the amusement on the queen's face and he holds back a wince at the thunderous look on his Captain's face. Treville stops halfway to words as he realizes the queen's presence and bows. But the glare turns back where it had been intended.
"Why are you not at your post?" he demands before his face drains of colour at the sight of Monster rubbing itself against the queen's gown.
"It was my foolishness Captain," the queen says, "I thought I saw a rat and screamed. Your Musketeer was passing by and ran in to help,"
"A rat?" Treville tries not to sound incredulous.
"Yes and this noble beast chased it away I think," she smiles down at the feline, "and as a reward for its service I'll let the staff know it's allowed to roam these halls as often as it wishes,"
He can only bow low as she walks by him and grins wide at the baffled look Treville pins him with. Aramis shrugs and plucking Monster from the floor he exits the room.
After all, he would never call the queen a liar.
Along lonely flights
Upon winding paths
She has heard the rumours.
While his majesty has been visiting his favored half-brother Feron there had been an attack on the royal procession, the king was safe but the story going around said it was only because the wounds intended for his majesty had been taken upon by a Musketeer. She watches her husband stroll along among the flowers with Feron's cousin Lady Henriette at his side; and wonders if Louis ever finds himself thankful.
Turning away from the window she walks back to her chair.
The king will never understand how important he is for her. Her position, her authority, her place in the world hinges upon this man. If Louis dies without an heir – she closes her eyes to keep those thoughts away.
She only opens them when Treville's presence is announced. Sitting down in one of the chairs she greets the Captain with a smile.
"I called you here to extend my gratitude," she says, "You have brought my husband home safe amidst an attack upon his life, and for that I thank you,"
"It is an honour your majesty. And our duty," says Treville.
"Not all would hold it so dear Captain,"
"My Musketeers always will," he says.
"How do they fare," she asks, "I've heard there were wounded,"
"Some are worse off than others, Aramis is –" Treville sighs and shakes his head, "I made a mistake but my men were able to rally."
She can read the flash of guilt and worry in the sharp blue eyes before it's gone. He is an honest man she can tell and she wonders how long could he survive under the king's ever changing whim.
"Aramis? Is that the Musketeer who was wounded by the shot intended for the king?"
Treville smiles, there is pride under the humour.
"Nothing as dramatic your majesty," he says, "he simply did his duty and protected his king. If it means stepping in front of a blade to do so, then that is what he did,"
She isn't sure if she could do that for anyone, not for husband, not likely for her siblings.
"I would have you thank him for me Treville," she says, "I am grateful for my husband's safety,"
Treville simply bows and takes his leave.
The king's laughter floats in from the open window and she can imagine the pleased expression on Lady Henreitte's face. His majesty had taken a liking to her sweet words and thick modesty, the absorbed countenance in the face of even the most bland observations by the king had endeared the lady to his majesty. She has seen the same quality painted upon most of the faces she finds in the palace.
But Anne reminds herself that as long as there are still some men like Treville and Aramis left, all will not be lost.
He had followed the lead.
Ever since he had found his weight back on his albeit shaky legs he had been trying to find the one responsible for the attack on the king. He had wanted to know the reason behind the wound that had put him in the infirmary with heavy blood loss.
He keeps a firm hold on the man between him and Porthos as they follow Athos to the throne room.
The nobles stare, the Cardinal scowls. He is proud of the fact that they had not beaten up the man they had brought as a witness and meets the Captain's gaze with a clear conscious as he steps ahead and hands the papers to Treville. The poor clerk had been easy enough to scare with words in order for him to tell the truth; he is shaking and sniveling by the time he is introduced before the king.
"Do you recognize anyone here?" the Cardinal enquires at length.
The man nods; glances at the woman at the king's side and looks down.
"The Lady Henriette," he says, "her brother is my employer,"
"And what do you do for him?" Treville asks.
"Manage his finances,"
"What has this got to do with the attempt upon my life?" the king demands.
"Her brother lord Henri paid the men to attack his majesty's procession," says the man, "I have his correspondence there," he nods towards Treville who hands the papers over to the Cardinal.
"But why?" his majesty frowns.
"Most likely to secure his sister's position at the court," Cardinal Richelieu's scowl deepens, "wasn't it convenient that your majesty had to stop at lord Henri's residence. Or it might be that your half-brother asked his cousin to act on his behalf,"
The woman standing at the king's side pales under his majesty's glare. The same glare that is still firmly in place when the royal gaze turns towards the rest of them.
"This man will remain in prison until I have his master," the king points at the clerk, "and I want Henri to be brought before me, send him the summons right now!"
There is a rush to obey the orders and the clerk is taken from their grasp by the Red Guards. Lady Henriette is shedding quiet tears but the king scowls at her and turns away. They bow as his majesty stomps past them, the queen a step behind her husband. He remembers Treville telling him about the queen's gratitude for his part in saving the king's life
"I thought he would be happy to have his attackers punished," he notes.
"At least the queen would be pleased," Athos mummers.
"She would've been getting tired of that woman flaunting her power," Porthos nods.
And suddenly he understands that Lady Henriette had succeeded in securing the king's favor while he had been recovering. He wonders if it's disloyal of him to be averse of his majesty's decision to shower his attention upon another while he hardly glanced towards his wife. After all it was not unknown for the kings to have mistresses and selfishness seemed to be a given for those in power.
But Aramis reminds himself that as long as there are still some royals like their queen, all will not be lost.
Caught in the spin they pass each other by
Never too near, never too far
TBC
Thank you everyone who read, review, favorite and follow this story. Thank you guest reviewers Caroline, Jmp and Visitor for taking the time to share your thoughts.
Google translated:
"mon petit monster" = "my little monster."
"Mi querido pequeño horror, ¿por qué insistes en que te maten?" = "my dear little horror, why do you insist on being killed?"