Chapter 3: Discharged
Disclaimer: Don't own the Three Musketeers much to my dismay.
Chapter 4 will be outlined tonight and post tomorrow. Fingers crossed that the plan works! Enojy reading :) Please review!
Medicine did not cure a broken heart. Only time. And as far as Antoinette knew, Athos and time were not on matching terms. Athos, the strong leader of the Musketeer trio, held nothing but cold feelings for Milady. Underneath all the bravado on the journey back, Antoinette could see the shards dislocated by the cruel numb hand of hers.
But talking to Athos was out of the question.
He was not made for sentiments. So, Antoinette relied on his brothers to steady his mind for her.
The day-long symptoms gave much time in the darkness to think. First of betrayal from their companion. How long had she known the plans would be dropped off to him? Yesterday? A week? A month when preparations were made? Next, the scum Lord Buckingham and his kind whom always seem to be a step above all the rest of Europe. With the drawings of a war machine in the hands of the British, France was a powder keg away to be destroyed within herself.
Lastly Antoinette bothered to shame herself with her father's letter. This wasn't how it was suppose to end up. She imagined the plan executed perfectly, Aramis and her would celebrate in their own ways without interruption, and a victorious return home proving to her father Aramis and she could take care of theirselves without sovergnity protections.
But that was just a fool's ending. Not all endings have to be happy, and hers was certainetly not.
They hitched a gypsy caravan from Venice to the French border. Past the border, they rode hard and long two days before stopping at a local inn for the night. It was there the first accusation was brought up by Athos.
The bar was half full with few occupants drowsy from their liquid. The quartet moved to a shadier side of the bar, away from whispering ears and squeals of bar maids entertaining their customers.
Athos and Porthos occupied one side of the table with two mugs each at their sides. Antoinette settled for a glass of white wine. Her partner traced the rim of his exported beer mug effortlessly.
Athos roused her out of her thoughts. "Did you know she would have done this?" he interrogated.
Her eyes narrowed as she sipped the remaining of her wine. "I know about as much as you do, Athos,"
His hand twitched a tighter grip around the tankard handle. "Oh yes, because you women don't keep secrets between the two," He laughed sardonically.
"Leave her be, friend. I'm sure the bottom of the well will keep your mind at ease," Porthos gestured the ale in his hand.
"So my best intentions were leading up to five years all for this?" Antoinette drawled. She steadied her wine on the table and fished her eyes towards the ring leader of the troupe. Athos didn't hesistate to finish off his beer. His greedy gulps were fervent to fire up his temper.
"I wouldn't know," he pondered. "Wouldn't be the first time a mastermind has befuddled our plans,"
"Athos," Aramis intervened.
Antoinette's hand pushed away the wine. Intoxication would not allow her to win this duel. "Perhaps if you weren't distracted by her backside you would see the trail of footprints she left," she accused.
"Antoinette," Porthos bantered.
"Tell me, were you the reason Aramis left the Church in order to pursue you?" Athos shoved his chair back to eye her down. Her face profused red, but not from the heat or the escalating blood alcohol levels. She suppressed the memories surfacing from beneath locked deposit boxes. As her knuckles shed white, her throat tightened.
"Wasn't it Milady who nearly cost us the mission in Belgrade?" she threw back as a last ditch effort but it was pointless as her guilt came through.
"Enough!" Porthos bellowed. "No need to draw more attention to ourselves," he beckoned for a refill of beer to muddle Athos' thoughts. Athos gladly accepted the new tankard and spilt half of its contents down his throat. His beard caught trickles of the liquid and his eyes bloodshot from sleepless nights.
"You're right, I may have been blinded for love, but I can assure you I'll not make that mistake again. Especially to Comtesses," He aimed that straight to Aramis as if to make his point clear.
Her voice cut off as tears pooled at the corners. His hatred for her was meant to Milady but somehow in the crevices of her mind she knew Athos held unresolved suspicions and disapproval for Aramis' choice in her. Hurt etched on her face, she tucked back her seat and walked off. Her footsteps trailed behind with heavy heart as Aramis called her back.
"Netta!" he begged. When it was clear her body had no mind of its own to return, he released his grip on his drink. He knocked away Athos and Antoinette's drinks to the ground. The tankard's metal thundered on the floor while the wine glass ricochetted one time before breaking on impact. Porthos retreated away from his brothers to the bar table for company. Athos slammed his curled fist to the table in fury. But not even Aramis could find kind words to his broken friend. His kindred spirit darkened like a dead candlelight.
"Friend, I only wish you could heal your scars shortly before you drive our brotherhood apart," his voice lowered as he stood against him.
His companion allowed a regurgitated gurgle. "Go ahead. Side with the-"
A definite crack to the nose alarmed the patrons in the tavern.
A single candle glowed in the suite. One pile of books with black coverings and gold letters accompanied reading glasses and a beaded rosary. The other side held masked weapons and unloaded guns on top of small keg powder pouches. Antoinette's traveling case sat on top of her lap as she lamented her sorrows in her belongings.
A golden perfumed case holding a picture of her deceased mother, a short paper listing her family tree, and a hand sewn handkerchief embroided with a cut clean black A were laid across the table. She opened the case to see her mother's radiant smile lift the portait. If anything she inherited physically from her mother besides her signature brunette tressels, was the infinite smile. Small dipples, barely detectable, were dull curves on her cheeks.
She discarded the family paper to the side as she made conenctions to the handkerchief and pocket perfume case. Five years ago, the two items wouldn't be as significant to her. Now they were the things she took out only in her saddest of times. She inhaled the dull scent of mint leftover from years of storage on the napkin. Her finger traced the elegant loops of the A.
It was a only a moment her sorrow lessened until a knock pounded on the door. Her reasons for revealing the objects at hand flooded back those unwanted memories. Antoinette riled up the emotions and stuffed them further down the grooves of her restless brain.
"Go away, Aramis. Don't want to associate with the town floozy," she called sardonically.
The loud chuckle behind the door guffawed louder as the intruder opened the door. "It's good thing they all reside back home in Paris," a care-free voice laced with traces of alcohol echoed.
"Porthos?" she wondered.
"Aye, the one and only," The gentle giant flourished with two glasses and a bottle of wine he carried. "Have you ever noticed wine losses it's appeal before midnight?" He sat himself next to her, already uncorking the bottle. The small pop resided with foamy bubbles at the neck into her glass before disapparting. The burgundy bitter taste alluded her taste.
Sharp and numbing. Perfect for drowning haunts.
"No," she said. "But I have noted the more wine you consume, the worse the headache," she added sarcastically.
Porthos waved her away with a flick of his wrist. "As much as your sarcasm amuses me, talk is cheap. Drink up!"
The merriment of clinking glasses vibrated the dull ache building in her forehead. The consummation of more fermented wine buzzed and tingled down her spine.
"Are you trying to get me drunk?"
"Not trying, succeeding!" He poured another glass full for his friend. Antoinette could not recall how she forced a glass full of wine down her pipe in such a short time. She shrugged it off, filling her mouth with familiar French burgundy.
"As long as my inhibitions are still intact," she slurred at the beginning before shaking the feeling off.
He shook his head feverously. "Nah, that's reserved for your beloved priest," he joked. For a minute the lovable Porthos sobered up as he neglected his glass. "He's talking to Athos- Aramis is. You know Athos never meant those things,"
Her mind did not recognize his words. She mulled the wine over, spinning it around the bottom. "Antoinette?"
She sighed too many breaths. "It'd be easier to forgive then to forget. And for that I can understand his pain. No matter how much she did to betray us, he'll always love her,"
He recalled, "A blessing and a curse on all of us. Be better to bond with his alcohol then to ever love another woman," The bottle remain half way empty by the time the both of them finished a second glass. Neither of them spoke, they let the sounds of the glass speak for them for the shortest of minutes.
"When we return to Paris, I'm not staying at the boarding house," she confessed.
"Is it because of Athos? A row with Aramis?" The one thing about befriending a gentle giant is his heart on his sleeve for those he is closest with.
"No, no," she sighed. If only it were that. "My father is holding my well being hostage homeward or assist the Queen. This is just the tier to the trip," She gestured with her rising hand.
Porthos clasped a hand on her shoulder, a vice-like grip. "Life is like riding a horse. When in pursuit, the steed will eventually sore and tire till it drops dead. A rider must overbear obstacles all the time on horseback but eventually trades the tired horse for a refreshed stallion,"
"So...?"
He explained, readjusting the bottle, "So, living in the palace doesn't mean you're giving up anything. Think of it as the fresh start. Athos won't be mad for long, trust me," His reassurance lasted long in her mind.
A sip to her lips made her want to spit it out. His confusing metaphors did hold some truth. The life in a palace could be exciting, and not necessarily sealing her fate. She giggled as she asked for more wine.
"I bet that's what you say to all the women,"
"Only the ones with the name Netta," he said. "Now you, little one, have run my time and wine out. However shall I charm the women now?" He gestured to the barely there remainings of the wine he took time and consideration to pick out.
"You can start with a bath. You smell wretched," She punched her friend in the shoulder.
"Ahh, your words never cease to amuse me," His hands went over his eyes.
Antoinette snapped her fingers. "Knew there was a purpose to my part of the group,"
The tap of the door sounded off. The annoying creak gradually led to a crescendo. Porthos eyed the stranger before grinning like an alley-way cat.
"Ah! And in good timing, Aramis, my friend! I have drunken your woman up. No need to thank me," He puffed his chest before taking his glass and the wine bottle away from Antoinette's needy hands.
Aramis pinched the bridge of his nose. "Good grief. And I exactly wanted to attend Church tomorrow, not babysit three hungover tykes," He gestured back out of the door.
"Three?" slurred Antoinette.
His disgusted cry gave way to his disapproval. "Athos decided to drink the town dry with the help of his new found 'friends'. I'll let his indiscretions last for tonight," His hand let go of the trench cape he wore onto the back of a chair. Aramis' hand glided to her hand surrounded the bottom of the glass.
"Blah, blah, blah. Where are the women?" charmed Porthos slamming the door behind his retreating figure.
Drunken giggles broke from Antoinette's throat as her head threw back.
"Hahaha," she laughed.
Aramis took matters in his own hands and drained the contents of her glass down the side of the building out of the opened window. A cool breeze shivered Antoinette.
"That's enough for you, darling," he decided.
"Just one more!" she begged.
"No,"
"Fine, see if I love you tomorrow," She collapsed to her side of the bed, pouting. He climbed in after her, taking off his boots and shirt. His hand traveled from her backside to around her waist. He lifted her figure next to his chest.
"I can already see you declaring your despise for me come morning. Let's just survive the road trip back," he said kissing her forehead. A hand smoothed back her frazzled hair. Antoinette felt his kisses trail from the side of her head to her clavicle. An unsteady hand pushed him away and rolled away from his wandering mouth.
"Ohhh no. No drink, no sex,"
"Antoinette!" he complained.
"Nope, not even an inch closer," said Antoinette out of her stupor.
"Infruriating,"
"It's a reason you love me so much," she purred.
"More like put up with you," he mumbled. A quick slap of her hand hit his sore chest. "Thought you said not even an inch closer?"
She sucked in a breath. "After five years, I can't believe you would twist my words," Aramis drew her closer to him. "But that doesn't invite you any closer," Her eyes closed as she smiled.
Another long day of riding and a short break led the horses race until the wee hours of morning the next day. Sunset in Venice was beautiful but sunrise in Paris illuminated. Pastel colors exploded ranging from dark purples to the tell tale golden liquid next to the rays of the sun. Peaking just besides the towering palace, the incoming rays liquidfied the town from the darkest corners to the running streams. Bridges gleamed up close when four travellers and their horses crossed each one.
The sleepy towns awakened with business, personal or strict. Friends passed through jolly as ever. Women scattered holding babies, things to buy and sell, and taking care of their personal belongings.
The aromas of street sold bakery goods grumbled in the stomachs of women and in the pockets of men's coin purses. Children giggled as they played tag and pointed to magnificent toys venders sold. Puppet shows around the Notre Dame were told in silly songs the children seem to know.
"Back to Paris," Porthos boomed.
"Another day, another reason to protect France," Athos said as he led the group a series of turns to the district the Musketeers resided. Convienently it was two blocks away from a brothel in one direction and a Church in the other. A stable to the right of the apartment block opened up by the mighty hands of Porthos. The home consisted of a top balcony and earthy colors. On the outside it was nothing special as the other unique buildings. In the inside Antoinette took charge as the housekeeper and kept the men in tow of their messes.
However as Antoinette charged down to the ground, she petted her black beauty of a horse. Rosemary, the horse, snuffed as she was guided away from the stables. The three Musketeers, with their horses stalled away, came out with their things in hand.
"This is where we part," she whispered not looking any of them in the eye.
"We'll leave you to it," Athos sensed.
That night was forgiven. Athos treated Antoinette as he would with the upmost care. She needed not an apology as they both said things unforgettable and hurtful. Porthos offered a small smile and he descended into the house with Athos.
Aramis guided her into his embrace, breathing in her scent one last time. "We won't be separated for long. There's a summoning for us at the palace tomorrow,"
She smiled sadly. "Let us hope I will be able to see you,"
"The Queen is kind," he reassured.
"I meant Richelieu," Aramis' eyes hardened. The Cardinal of France held true power to the kingdom. The King was young and naive. He was not raised to be King the right way. His young bride Queen, with no experience in French politics could offer nothing but the bond of their marriage to unite Austria and France. With no true sovergn, the Catholic Church annointed the Cardinal with much power and military afflictions, that the people are too scared to revolt.
It was not Richelieu's history that frightened Antoinette and annoyed the Musketeers, for they were appointed to serve the King. It was the decisions held in his hand that affected the future of France.
For her, the Cardinal had the power to take away the Musketeers or alliance her to marry a man for politics. Something she nor Aramis desire the results.
"I do not feel at ease with that man around," he replied sternly.
"He's my superior next to the Queen. He holds the power to banish me out of Paris and back to my father's residence. And I'll do everything to secure a position here," Antoinette held head high.
Aramis' forehead connected to hers. His eyes, dark and sometimes terrifying to people, held nothing but concern in her eyes. "Nothing sinuous,"
"Of course not," Aramis leant in to kiss her but stopped as his head turned round. "What?"
"Jussac," His stoic face returned.
The henchman to Rochefort, who was the right hand man to the Cardinal, sat on his steed overlooking the couple, smirking. Aramis held her hands in his tightly.
"The Comtesse de Chevreuse is to accompany with me," he said amused like a cat catching a mouse.
His eyes narrowed. "She doesn't have to go anywhere with the likes of you," he sneered.
"Orders from the Cardinal, Musketeer," he gritted his teeth at the title.
Antoinette held a hand on his chest. She was more than capable to handle men like Jussac. With his bleached blonde facial hair standing at ends, his horse reared to go. She nodded. It was time for her to depart.
"I need my things first," Her features stoned, not allowing Jussac ordering her around.
His smirk threw her off. "Afraid you can't do that. Some of the guards will send forward your belongings,"
A step forward and a hand on the horse's muzzle sent shivers down Aramis' neck. An angry Antoinette held nothing but defeat on his part. "This is unacceptable. I refuse to allow your guards pack my luggage," she gestured between Jussac and herself.
"You have no option," he finished with finality.
"I'll sort through your things for you," her lover called besides her.
Her gaze up towards him held nothing but appreciation. Appreciation she held to the highest ranks. If it weren't for him, five years ago would have ended quite differently.
"Thank you," She kissed him longingly. He peppered around her mouth with dove kisses as she hugged him. She wiped around her eyes. "Am I going to get on my horse by myself?" she asked.
"No, that would be my job," He gladly let a foot slip into the handle and hoisted her back upon Rosemary. The red bridle rested against her wrists as Aramis enclosed his hand around hers.
"Hurry up!" roared the impatient guardsman.
Rolling her eyes at him, she smiled down. "I'll write,"
He kissed the inside of her wrist where a single pulse let out. "I'll respond," he promised.
French taste not only served itself in wine but as well in drapery and double doors. The Parisian palace oped a golden heaven with heavy creme swirls designed in the walls. The left wing was housed as the Queen's chambers, a whole floor dedicated. Golden archways circled around the paintings and mahogany furnishing breathed intricate patterns right until they reached the spacious windows pouring in sunlight.
Antoinette's skirts floated amongst the polished, marbled floors with a young girl a few years younger than she. her long blonde hair did not wash out her porcelain skin. Her blue dress with a pink corset background let the lights dance about her. Antoinette's simple yellow peasant gown was nothing compared to the lavish expenses the court dresses out.
Constatine's young spirit reminded her of a younger Antoinette. "And here is the Queen's wing as well as her lady-in-waitings' rooms. Yours is at the end of the hall," The end of hallway happened to be what seemed like a kilometer away.
"Right," she said unsure. She turned towards Constatine, looking for a conversation piece seeing as her room was such a distance. "Thank you so much Constatine for your kindness. It's been a rough transition from Paris to Venice and back,"
Constatine smiled. "At least you could travel the world. It's always been a dream of mine. Adventure, action, the thrill and excitement," The familiar glow of a young girl dreaming of places and people so foreign that it would be exotic.
"You forgot romance," she stage whispered.
She laughed, blushing a shade of rose red. "I honestly don't seem myself with someone. All the boys try to act like men, and all the men act like boys," she concluded to perfection.
"Not all of them," she admitted. "You've just got to choose the one who stand above the rest. That doesn't always mean the cockiest or richest in most times,"
Constatine slowed her steps. "You speak truthfully?"
"And from experience," She restarted Constatine's steps.
"You are in love?" she guessed.
Antoinette thought of her love for Aramis. Constatine's young curiosity and her innocence should be preserved. "Very much. Been together for half a decade,"
"Does it hurt?" she asked curiously. Antoinette's eyes widened at what she was insinuating. Her mouth gaped. "Being away from him after five years?" she finished. A short breath of relief eased her.
She explained, "After a while, you fall into routine. He goes off to work, she cooks and cleans the home. We work differently; add the adventure in our lives. Some days both are nigh inseparable; others can't stand one another. You take it day by day," She reminisced for a minute before she realized her predicament.
"But yes, I do miss him. This will be the first time in a long while I know not how long I will be away from him,"
Constatine's face sympathized. "If it's any consulation, lady-in-waitings receive time off once every week as a merit. Unfortunately the Cardinal must sign permission to leave the palace," she said meekly.
Antoinette, taken back, showed little fear. "Not even the Queen has clearance?"
"In these regions, Cardinal rules,"
Didn't she know that already. If Antoinette was going to be pushed around by the Cardinal, it would be on her own terms. Her father might have separated her from her escapades with the Musketeers but it won't interfere with her life or decisions. As she continued walking, she counted thirty seven ways to torture the Cardinal without the use of knives or gun powder. She shortened her list noticing it would be impossible to haul a catapult inside on her own.
"Then he will be half of my problems," She remained calm and with edge tucked beneath. Her hands curcled into manicured talon shaped fists behind her back.
Her problems would just about to begin when a guard escorted her down to Cardinal Richelieu's working office. She had the fortunate time to change into a purple taffeta chiffon with a slick lace train enveloping a pace behind her. Her messy hair was curled back to it's original shape, eyelashes thickened, and charm bracelets clipped round her wrists.
"Her Ladyship, Comtesse de Chevreuse," a page announced when the doors opened.
The Cardinal, so innocent and pure, decorated the room wholesome white with lingering black. The usual checkboard floor was made to scale of the continent of Europe, with replicas of armies and ships playing on all borders of starred France. She stood at the center of the outlined Paris as she gazed upon a smiling Cardinal. His red robes and cap draped around him, obscuring his figure. His fading beard and moustache twitched at my prensence.
He came forward with a train of red robe. "My lady. I persume your quarters are to your liking?" He held out his rings on his stout fingers. It was customary for the people to kiss the rings as a sign of respect. Antoinette stiffened her nose before quickly brushing her lips over the Cardinal's ring.
"Yes, Your Eminence. However it would have been more proper to pack my own belongings," she curtsied.
His eyebrow lifted. "Are your things delivered?"
Taken back, she replied, "Yes,"
"Then I don't see the problem. Whether by whose hand, your belongings managed to make it one piece, are they not?" He waved a hand for a page to bring him a cheese platter. He dipped a finger on the tray before shoveling it in his mouth.
"That is besides the point," he started as Antoinette watched as he sat back at his desk with forlong authority. "Your attendance here is upon request by your father the Duc de Chevreuse. You are to wait on the Queen until further notice. Palace rules will be conducted in the strictest of manners and permission to leave the grounds are the be authenticated by me. Understood?" he ordered.
Antoinette's toes curled underneath her skirts. Somehow she could not find the heart or brains to imagine how the Pope hand chosen him. His eyes watched over her figure. She moved her train over to the side as she walked across the map and moving away from its obstacles over to his desk.
With single mind at hand she curtsied shortly never taking her eyes off the hunched over holy man.
"Yes, Your Eminence. Will that be all?" she drawled in her Lorraine sea born accent.
Richelieu laughed patiently watching her slowly retreating figure to the map. He snapped his fingers for some more cheese.
"Not quite. Guards, bring them in," he ordered as the cheese platter was set aside. Antoinette glanced behind her at the horror. Athos, Porthos, and Aramis- all changed and suited as Musketeers approached the Cardinal with dignity and honor. To her left, reaching for her hand was Aramis. The twinkle in her eye did not go unseen by the Cardinal.
Athos began to bow. "Your Eminence-"
"Silence," he commanded. In a single file line he walked down each of the four, examining them like vermin. "Athos. Porthos. Aramis. Lady Antoinette. I have summoned the four of you to review your plans conceived in Venice. Do you or do you not have the Da Vinci war machine plans?" his voice broke like icicles in mid December.
"Complications arose, Your Eminence," Athos broke even.
The Cardinal, becoming more bird-like rather than holy, marched with hidden anger and fake disappointment. "Oh dear. There are no complications, only mistakes. Where are the plans?"
"We imagine halfway to London by now," Porthos said darkly.
The Cardinal's eyes widened like a snake's retreating slither. "What? Explain yourselves Athos!" he shouted an octave higher.
Athos, being Athos, took the balme instead of equal corporal punishment. He was the expected leader and believed even if one was for all, their failure was his failure. However turning in Milady would have made punishment easier, there was nothing to do with a mastermind ex-criminal on the arm with the most powerful man in England second to the King.
"Buckingham and... Lord Buckingham sought after the plans after a successful extraction. Took us by surprise and fled before we stood a chance."
Richelieu called forth Rochefort. Dangerous as his one good eye, he was the deadliest swordsman in all of Europe. An ex-military war hero and prestige marksman, he took great pleasure in stirring the pot with the rugged Musketeers- a team which he was not privileged to abide.
"Well then. Rochefort, this is unacceptable. A failed mission by the best Musketeers in France. What say you?" asked Richelieu.
"Death by penalty," Antoinette clutched to Aramis hand for life. One askewed mission did not merit a lifetime sentence. After all their hard work, it was not by their laws to see fit an unfit punishment.
"Your Eminence, I hardly think that constitutes a cruel and unusal punishment," The Comtesse spoke hard on truth. Aramis' hand struggled to not yank her hand, a signal to stop her from receiving on the spot death.
"Silence you ungrateful wench!" he thundered. He turned to the lot. "You have disgraced this great nation of France and furthermore drove our enemies to snatch the plans leading us to your Judgement Day!"
Athos intervened, "I speak for my team and take full responsibility to the damages inflicted,"
"There are no damages yet, only full-fledged war on all sides! This incompetence-" Richelieu's power strike was stopped in maddening seconds when the announcement of the King was made. All in the room bowed or curtsied deeply. The Musketeers inwardly sighed for a presence to ratify the Cardinal's unjust behaviors.
The young King, a man of great descent and lean figure, stormed with his entourage of servants surrounding his person. His flowing red hair reached his shoulders, which were ripped at the seams. Perhaps another outburst to his dislike of the fabric or texture.
"Richelieu! Just the man I was looking for," He waved his hand for the entourage to stop. The Cardinal replaced his sneer with a happy, unwanted face as his King approached him.
"Your Highness, what do I grant your presence for?" he gnashed.
"I need a new wardrobe assistant. The last one had the nerve to suggest white and black for the court colors. How ghastly!" he squealed at the disarray of fallen pieces of cloth at the ends. The Musketeers looked questionly at one another in hopes their last chance for life would not be spoken from the mouth of a child.
"Oh, were you in the middle of something?"
Richelieu laughed quietly to himself. "Just issuing your Musketeers their rightful punishment for failing to follow orders," He narrowed his eyes at the group.
King Louis XIII puffed out his meager chest. His chin lifted too high. "I am the King and I will see such actions. Go along, tell me what you have done. Speak!"
Athos looked towards Aramis and Antoinette. Aramis cleared his throat and didn't dare raise his tone above normal speaking level.
"Your Majesty, the plans from the vault in Venice were intercepted by Lord Buckingham,"
The King scoffed childishly. "Buckingham? Oh, great. Not only is he fashion forward but now his military might have the advantage! Can't someone do something right around here?" He stomped his feet down impetuously.
Antoinette, hoping her feminine voice would calm the King, spoke. "Pardon my outspoken tongue, Your Majesty, but some of the blame should be placed on the traitor who turned the plans over,"
It may have not been up to her, but Milady's treachery should not be left unseen. Sneaking away with the plans and Buckingham may have been a betrayal on her part, but to disgrace the Musketeers in front of the King's country? Certainetly not.
Interested, the King questioned, "Traitor? Who is it, Richelieu?"
"I have no idea, Your Majesty. Full investigations will be followed up within the coming weeks," He half-promised.
"Make it within the week. Gah, I do hate Buckingham with his leadership qualities and ability to turn a few heads on his trendy styles," he whined.
Richelieu stood forward to the Musketeers. "Your Majesty? The punishments? Might I recommend the gallows?"
A distracted King was brought out of his mind and back to his supposed duties. "What? Oh yes, yes. Right."
"You three Musketeers are discharged from service and reduced salary for not giving the Cardinal what he wanted. Ummm, what about her?" He pointed to the Comtesse. Richelieu snaked a smirk across the way.
"Her father arranged plans to serve the Queen,"
The King blinked rapidly not comprehending well. "Don't see how that's a punishment but I dub you lady-in-waiting, Comtesse de Chevreuse. Now, if that's all I'm needed for I would like someone to draw a list of wardrobe coordinators!"
With a flourish and a few clumsy steps away, the King was out of sight and the hopes of the quartet. Aramis clung to Antoinette's hand as she felt her chest about to heave frustrations.
"Right on it, Your Majesty," he sneered. "Guards, escort these... men out of the palace. Dishonorable men have no place on national grounds," casting away his eyes from the men and woman.
Aramis turned to embrace Antoinette for a moment but was interferred by the clang of guards with their weapons. Antoinette, frozen from her fate, let go of their conjoined hands as she was pushed forward with a javelin axe to separate.
"Antoinette,"
"Aramis," They whispered as the two tore apart their eyes away from one another. Antoinette's dry sobs were met with a single shed tear on her march to her room. The guards left her halfway in the hallway to her own crumbling figure. She would let the tears fall but only for the last time. She would remain strong for herself.
For tomorrow would mark the first day as a lady-in-waiting, and the first of many days to always remember no matter the amount of generousity, the cruelness that was bestowed by the Cardinal.