She lay with the King, on the night after the events of his mother's dramatic return to Court, to comfort him more than anything. And because he had asked her to, and such was a rare thing indeed.
It had been long since he had asked her into his bedchambers, and so she went, surprised and a little pleased, that his mother's sudden return into their lives could lead to one good thing.
He was kind with her that night, gentle, in a way that he hadn't been since their first consummation, awkward and surrounded by the French and Spanish nobility and clergy to ensure that their marriage was legally consummated in the eyes of God.
Not that he was ever unkind to her, in the few nights that they did spend together. He was simply...indifferent, she decided, was the correct word. Nervous more than any real affection, wanting to get it over with and put a child in herso that they never had to do so again.
She remembered that first time. They had both been afraid; he more than she, for she had learned well enough from Rochefort what to expect in her years under his training. But they had made their way through it, as they did this night.
And that night, inexplicably, while her husband kissed her and took her in his arms, she imagined that he was that musketeer, the one who had rescued her during the fray at that prison. She barely refrained from whispering his name aloud.
She knew that she shouldn't. That entertaining such thoughts was dangerous, and that she hardly even knew the man, this musketeer who had saved her.
Yet she thought of him anyway.
The night was so successful, in fact, that she felt guilty, when it was over, for the realization that it was the most pleasuable experience she had ever had with her husband.
She quickly forgot her guilt, however, when the King had left and one of her ladies was helping her into her formal robes.
"Perhaps, my lady, there is hope after last night," Caroline suggested coyly, and Anne shot her a look before pulling the rest of her clothes on herself, a look which warned the younger girl to drop it.
Still, hope blossomed in her chest for the first time in many years.
And, in the afternoon, she had already resolved to go to the healing waters of Bourbon-les-eaux that she went to every year, a bit early this time, to see that her night with the King was worth it.
She took with her most of her ladies, as well as, at the King's insistence, his "four best musketeers," and they rode off just after the morning break of fast, and prayers.
Her prayers were most fervent that day, for she was no fool. After twenty years of marriage, she knew that her husband was tiring of her inability to carry a child.
And yet, she remembered Marie's words, that often it was not the woman at fault, when it came to the Bourbon line.
Ridiculous. She knew better than to believe one word out of that lying woman's mouth.
She could not help but notice that Aramis was amongst the four chosen to guard her, and felt a spark of pride that her musketeer was considered one of her husband's best soldiers.
And instantly squashed the thought, blushing crimson as she rememered thinking of him, even as she lay with her husband.
She could not entertain such ideas; if anyone were to even suspect that she had feelings for a musketeer, of all the men...
"Your Majesty, are you unwell?" one of her ladies, Caroline, asked with concern, turning to look at her.
Caroline, one of the few people in France who had remained a friend to her, over the years since her arrival here.
Anne feigned a smile. "Quite well, thank you," and pretended not to notice that Aramis had turned in his saddle to check on her, at the lady's words.
"Perhaps her Majesty wishes for a break?" Athos asked then, and Anne bit her lip.
If she said no, they would find her rather silly, if they did not already, for rushing off to the waters to ensure a child. It was a superstitution of the nobility, she knew, that the waters could help a child to grow in her womb.
But it was a superstition that Anne clung to, for it was the only thing to do with her womb that she could readily countrol.
And if she asked them to stop, she would be staring at Aramis while they ate, watching those lips close around his meal, waching him swallow with each drink, watching his strong arms flex around a spoon, watching, in short, everything she could not have in her own husband-
"We go on," she ordered briskly, and trotted ahead. The musketeers called after her, sped their horses up to her pace, but she ignored them.
It was Athos who finally caught up with her, Athos who rode beside her even as the others stayed behind with her ladies, and she was a little glad of that, for she knew him least of all.
Had it been Aramis, she would not have known what to say to him, and d'Artagnan, kind as he might have been since, still unnerved her, after that incident in the prison. Porthos, she supposed, would have been all right company, but would have likely spoken to her.
Athos stayed mercifully silent, and Anne watched the scenery go by in equal silence, feeling oddly safe beside him in a way that she hardly did, even in her own home.
Safe as she had been on the ground, in Aramis' arms.
Eventually, the stopped for the night, as Bourbon-les-eaux was a good two days' ride, at the speed her ladies were travelling, and Anne's legs had grown weak from the pace at which she and Athos rode.
The musketeers set up the camp while her ladies crowded around her, and Anne felt almost guilty, watching them work as she and her ladies did nothing. She wanted to help, as she always wanted to whenever she saw servants working around her, for her, but decided against it even as she opened her mouth to offer.
They may be on an informal pilgrimage, may be equals out here, in these woods, but she was still the Queen. Lady Jeannette would no doubt be most willing to carry the story back to the Cardinal, of the Queen doing work like a common woman, and ruin her position once more.
The Cardinal had done worse with less information, once, and she did not dare to allow him even the slightest chance of doing so again.
"Caroline," she called out to her lady, holding out a hand until the younger girl moved forward and took it. "Sing us a song, would you?"
Caroline smiled shyly, not used to singing in front of men, and Anne almost felt guilty for asking, and would have taken it back, if she did not nod and begin to sing.
The Maiden was not normally a song that Anne would have felt uncomfortable hearing in front of men, though she found herself feeling uncomfortable now, a high blush rising in her cheeks as Caroline crooned the words to such an old and intimate song. But Caroline sang it so sweetly that she did not have the heart to tell the other woman to stop, and she valiantly looked away from Aramis the entire time.
When the song had ended, her ladies clapped and smiled, and the Musketeers clapped as well, though they seemed far less invested in doing so, for which Anne was rather relieved.
"We should have another," Lady Margie suggested then, looking at the Queen hopefully. "One that we ladies can dance to, for Your Majesty."
Anne hesitated, before smiling. "If the Lady Caroline is up for it."
Lady Caroline grinned rather impishly. "Of course, Your Majesty."
Anne swallowed as she saw the stained gown in Caroline's hands. They were inside the tent just after she had spent a considerable few hours soaking in the healing waters, and she supposed that this was a rather definitive answer to all of her prayers, yet again. She had not expected it to come so quickly, however.
"I'm so sorry, Your Majesty," Caroline said quietly, staring down at the stained nightclothes.
Anne sighed deeply, before giving her lady a resigned smile. "It is no matter. I was foolish to come here and think that the waters might give me a child this time, when they have never done so before."
"Oh, my lady," Caroline cried, rushing forward and wrapping her arms around the Queen, pulling her into a shocked embrace. "I am so sorry."
Anne bit down hard on the inside of her cheek, for she would not lose her composure over a child who had not even been made within her, as her month's blood so clearly showed. Still, she leaned into the embrace, glad of the small comfort, in that moment.
"Still," Caroline said, when she finally pulled away, ever the voice of hope, "Perhaps the waters will help you when you return to Paris, and the King."
Anne forced herself to smile and nod, and when Caroline asked to borrow her robe so that she might go and bathe her hands of the Queen's blood, and of the blood on the Queen's nightclothes, she hardly gave a thought to it, nodding and waving the girl out of her tent without another word.
She would regret that for a long time, that she had not said anything more to Caroline, that Caroline had not known of her importance as a friend to Anne before she died in Anne's gown, for Anne's sake.
She spent the next few moments finding something new to wear in lieu of the bloodied gown, since Caroline could not be expected to do that on her own after washing herself and still get the Queen dressed on schedule, and that was when she heard the scream.
She heard one of the musketeers shouting for her, and opened the flap of her tent just as another appeared before her, alongside her ladies. She thought that perhaps one of them was attempting to shield her from the view, when she saw the spots of blood, but he did not succeed soon enough.
She stared down in shock at the body of her lady, of Caroline, on the ground, a splotch of red on her chest, wearing her robe, as the musketeers pulled her out of the line of fire.
"She borrowed my robe," she heard herself say, as if from a long way off, "Just for a moment."
"Your Majesty! Get the Queen to safety!" she heard the musketeers shouting, and then the musketeer Pothos was grabbing her, pulling her behind the safety of a rock where she could be protected from the oncoming shots.
The musketeer Porthos' arms were strong and firm, but they were not full of the warmth and comfort that Aramis' had been, when he had held her after that criminal had nearly killed her.
She was rather aware that thought came out of shock, rather than any true caring, as she heard several more gunshots ring out and the musketeer Athos shout that Porthos must stay with the Queen.
And then Porthos and D'Artagnan were helping her climb the rough terrain, and Porthos was helping her onto a horse. His movements were quick, but unhurried at the same time, and she marveled at his calm.
Her musketeer climbed up behind her, grabbing the reins and whistling at the horse. It moved with the urgency of a creature who understood the danger they were in, and she thought that perhaps it did.
Caroline, sweet Caroline, who had always been kind to her despite that she was the hated Spanish Queen, who had allowed Anne to treat her like a friend despite that queens were not meant to have friends.
And they were leaving her body in the dirt as they rode away.
Anne buried her teeth in the fabric of her sleeve as they rode, and was grateful to the musketeer behind her for saying nothing of it, for not attempting to offer her a comfort she did not want.
The first time they came to a stop, D'Artagnan climbed down from his horse, and, pulling a looking glass from his jacket, spied the land behind them. Anne glanced nervously at her musketeer.
"What if we can't lose them?" she asked, biting on her lower lip.
"We will," he said, smiling reassuringly at her, but Anne shook her head. She appreciated the attempt at comfort, or would have at any other time, but she needed to know the truth.
"What if we don't?"
He hesitated, before finally responding, "We've been in much worse situations than this and always prevailed. You've nothing to fear. This is a relatively quiet day for us." And then he was smiling at her, and Anne found herself smiling back at him.
"Time to go!" D'Artagnan called, and they were moving again, and the silence roared in her ears.
She did not know how long they rode for, did not know even if she had been aware of most of it, before they stopped by a copse of trees for a short rest, and she found herself panting with the exertion of the crushing weight of uselessness on her chest.
"There's been no sign of them for an hour now," D'Artagnan said, as he climbed down from his horse, clearly about to check if they were being followed once more.
Athos nodded. "We're safe for now. The Queen needs to rest."
She would have protested, for she knew that their pursuers could not be far behind, but she was tired, physically from so much riding, but that was not the only thing weighing down on her.
Aramis helped her down from her horse, and then informed the others that he would go and find them something to eat. Porthos set about getting a fire ready, and Athos disappeared into the woods as D'Artagnan went back to his spyglass. She stood there uselessly for a long moment, before she found her feet trailing after Aramis'.
She could not help but watch, hidden behind a tree, as he stood mid-thigh in the water, shirt tossed onto the bank alongside several small fish, bending down to make a grab for the fish swimming past in the little creek with his bare hands.
For a moment, she was fascinated, for he did this with the ease of someone who had been doing such his entire life.
"Can I help?" she finally asked, stepping forward, and he glanced up in surprise. "I mean, not catching fish, of course, but...anything. To help."
He dried his hands by flapping them in the air, and then waved one dismissively in her direction. She pretended it didn't sting. "Rest while you can, Your Majesty. Soon we'll be riding again."
She shook her head insistently, taking another step forward. "No, I'd like to be useful. Really."
He hesitated, and then gestured toward the fish. "Well, in that case, can you gut a fish?"
She glanced down at the pile on the bank, grimacing as one of the fish flapped uselessly in the air.
Aramis smiled gently. "Porthos is preparing a fire. I'm sure he'll appreciate help collecting sticks."
She smiled. "Thank you. And I'm sure I can cook anything."
How hard could it be, after all?
The rest of her ladies had gone back to Paris on a detour, and Anne feared for them, that her assailants would think she was with them, rather than with the musketeers, even if the musketeer Athos had already hinted that they were being followed. She was glad, however, that they were not here to be killed alongside Caroline, glad that there was no singing tonight.
The mood was not happy and friendly as it had been the night before. She could feel the tension in the air, and did not know if it was from the death of her lady and the vigor of the chase or the fact that her cooking was not nearly so good as her musketeers were attempting to pretend it was, for the sake of her vanity.
She could taste her own cooking well enough, after all, though she supposed it was valiant of them to pretend otherwise.
And then the ground began to shake, and they were moving again, D'Artagnan taking her hand and helping her toward the horses.
She heard Porthos complaining that he would much rather make a stand, and couldn't help but find herself agreeing with him, even if she knew that she would not be of much help in such a fight, would rather be a hindrance to the musketeers for whom this was part of their everyday lives, apparently.
She did not know how long they rode until they saw the convent.
The convent sat on a hill, and Anne couldn't help but breathe a breath of relief at the sight of it. The Church had, after all, always been a great comfort to her, and for it to pose as her rescuer now...perhaps God had not completely abandoned her.
"You two ride to Paris and get reinforcements," Athos ordered Porthos and D'Artagnan. "We'll hold up in there until you return."
"What, just you two? Alone?" Porthos asked incredulously.
Aramis snorted. "Thank you for the vote of confidence."
"We won't be back before tomorrow at the earliest," D'Artagnan protested. "There's at least a dozen of them."
"In that case, you'd better hurry," Aramis told him, sounding flippant, though she could feel how tense he was against her back.
"Good luck," D'Artagnan muttered, like he thought they were really going to need it but wasn't willing to say so. Anne nodded to him, and he hesitated a moment longer, before following after Porthos.
The doors to the convent burst open as they rode in, Aramis riding on after Athos helped Ann down from her horse before moving to shut the gates.
The nuns came running out, looking more startled by his action than their arrival.
"These gates are never closed," one of them protested, rushing to stop him.
Athos looked very tired to Anne's eyes. "This is an emergency."
"Everyone is welcome here, at any time of night or day," she argued, eyes blazing, and they continued at it for a while, until several more nuns came running out, one of them calling, "Close the gate, Sister!"
Athos was more than willing to comply, and Anne wondered what Aramis had told the ladies, to convince them to do so.
"Come with me," the nun who had ordered the gates closed, no doubt the Mother Superior, gestured to Anne, who followed her silently.
"You are welcome, Your Majesty," Mother Superior told her, as she led her indoors. "Our humble convent is your sanctuary."
Anne swallowed. "Thank you. Your kindness will be repaid in full when I return to Paris and tell the King of it."
The nun waved a hand dismissively. "This is our duty, to God and you, Your Majesty. And besides," she smirked, "It is the most excitement our humble convent will likely ever have."
Anne forced herself to smile. "Nevertheless."
The Mother Superior nodded in a rather distracted way, before leading Anne into a small chapel inside the convent. "You will be safe here," the older woman promised her. "It is the most defendable room in the convent."
Anne raised a brow as several more nuns filed in behind them, all openly staring at her, and Mother Superior explained, "We have had our run-ins with rats. Nothing gets into this room that we do not allow in."
She had a feeling that the words were meant to make her smile, and so she did, standing awkwardly before the nuns when Athos and Aramis entered the room behind them.
Athos was telling the nuns that they could leave, but Mother Superior stood by Anne like a rock; she could tell already that the woman had no intention of going anywhere, and while the gesture was appreciated, Anne couldn't help but feel guilt, that anyone might die because of her.
"We could take the Queen with us," Mother Superior suggested suddenly. "Disguised as a Sister."
Athos shook his head at the same time that Aramis murmured, "If she is recognized outside, we cannot protect her."
Athos nodded. "The Queen stays with us."
Anne bit her lip, wondering if she would be forced to watch these musketeers die for her as she had already imagined the nuns doing.
Mother Superior stepped toward her fellow sisters. "Anyone who wished to leave may go now," she told them. "With my blessing." The ones who were not sitting down before this sat, resolute in their wish to stay.
"It seems we are all at your service."
Anne stepped forward, a small smile on her face; she could not quite summon up the will for a better one. "Your loyalty will not be forgotten," she promised the women, while the musketeers and Mother Superior conferred behind her, and then one of the nuns was pulling Aramis away.
The nuns got to their feet, going off to make preparations, and Anne moved after them. She did not feel so out of place here as she had so often in French Court. The Church had always been her rock, even when she was a little girl in Spain.
"Let me help you," she offered to some of the nuns, who nodded eagerly toward her, and Anne soon found herself sorting musket balls, and preparing for battle in a way that she had never thought she would have to, before.
The nuns were gracious enough about having their queen work amongst them, awkward about it, at first, but, once they saw that she was willing to do anything they did, no longer seeming to notice.
"Someone must go and give these to the musketeers," one of the nuns said, and Anne surprised herself when she murmured, "I'll do it."
"I believe the musketeer Aramis was in the cellars with Sister Helene," one of the nuns offered, and Anne nodded gratefully, going after him.
"Here," she said, handing the musket balls over to him.
"Thank you," Aramis said quietly, not meeting her eyes as he took it from her. There was a tenseness in his shoulders that she had never seen there before, not even when he threw himself atop a bomb for her, and she felt a strange need to be rid of it, in what little way she might have been able to offer comfort, after what she had overheard of his conversation.
"That nun, the one you were with downstairs... I'm sorry, my arrival was a disturbance," Anne apologized. And she truly was, that she had interrupted such a private conversation, that she had heard more of it than perhaps Aramis realized.
"You did not disturb anything," Aramis said, looking resolutely forward, and Anne sighed, for the distance reminded her of her husband, and his inability to share anything of personal value with his queen, despite that she was his wife.
"I may be cosseted, but I'm not a fool," Anne said gently, meeting his eyes.
"I knew her...once. We were to marry," he said finally, eyes on the gun in lieu of her.
"And you changed your mind?" Anne prompted quietly, recognizing that he needed to speak of this more than she needed to hear it.
Aramis sighed. "She fell pregnant and the marriage was arranged. I was happy. I was in love, and so was she. But then she lost the child and her father... took her away and put her in here. I never saw her again, not until today."
Anne winced in sympathy. She wanted to say something, to comfort him somehow, when Athos burst into the room, and at the same time, musket fire rained on the open window behind Aramis. Athos grabbed her, pulling her to the safety of the chapel, and she knew that the moment was lost. Perhaps forever.
The shooting seemed to go on forever, once Anne had been placed between two nuns and the Mother Superior suggested they all pray together.
"My parents always hoped I'd end up in a place like this," Aramis shouted, over the volley of musket shots and the prayers of the nuns surrounding Anne.
"They wanted you to become a nun?" Athos called back.
"A priest."
She didn't quite understand how the two men could joke at a time like this, though she was beginning to believe Aramis' words that this was not so shocking to them.
"Why didn't you?"
"Because I found I was better at dispatching people to Hell!" Aramis shouted, and then the windows of the chapel shattered, and Anne found herself whispering the prayers of the nuns as well, clutching her hands together tightly.
"Mother of God!" Mother Superior called out at another shot, "Helene, come with me."
"Continue to pray, Sisters," Anne told the other nuns quietly after the Mother Superior had gone and the sounds of their prayers began to dwindle. "I think we will need God's intervention, now."
The nun, the one that she had overheard Aramis speaking with before, lay dead on the floor after the invasion of their attackers, and Aramis lurched to his feet, moving away from her as though he'd been burned when he realized he was not alone.
Anne swallowed hard, feeling a great swell of pity, thinking of Caroline and wondering how many more would die this day.
"We will take her to the Small Chapel," she heard Mother Superior saying, distantly. "Come, sisters."
The nuns moved to help her, but Anne stayed put, frozen, barely noticing when Mother Superior stood to her feet and guided Anne before them as they carried the girl, led her back to her room after the nun's last rites had been said, and set her down on the bed.
"You ought to get some rest, Your Majesty," Mother Superior told her gently.
Anne found herself nodding as she laid down on the bed, and then she was mercifully left alone, with a small candle lit beside her bed, and Anne stared at it long into the evening as sleep refused to claim her.
She lay in bed, sleepless, restless, and unable to think clearly. Her mind's eye saw only pictures of the nun, lying dead on the floor, of Caroline, with splotches of red staining the gown Anne had given her.
She sighed, sitting up to go and fetch herself some water, as she usually did when she could not sleep well, but she paused when she saw Aramis sitting guard outside of her bedchamber, head in his hands, sitting instead on the edge of her bed.
The crushing silence lasted only a few more moments before Anne asked quietly, "What are they building?"
He glanced up, clearly surprised that she was still awake, or perhaps it was merely the shock of the nun's death on him causing him to not notice his surroundings, as Caroline's death had done to her.
She was surprised when he actually spoke. "Battering ram, perhaps. Or a ladder."
Anne swallowed. His voice...he sounded so...hopeless. She could not abide that, could not abide this horrible, whirring silence that was so loud in her ears.
Standing to her feet, she walked out into the antechamber, once again surprising him when she spoke.
She stood, walking over to him. "A few years after I married, I too fell pregnant." He glanced up again, surprised at the end of the crushing silence, though she doubted he was surprised by her words. Everyone in Paris had known about the pregnancy, at the time. It had been such a happy time for France. "It was perfect. I could feel my child inside me... moving and kicking. I had his whole life planned out, what he would do and... be like. And then...I lost the baby." She glanced up at Aramis, gaze intense.
She did not know Sister Helene, but she knew that look in the other woman's eyes, when she had gazed upon Aramis from afar, and so she could say the next few words with certainty.
"Six years, and I've never forgotten that child, not for a single day. I am certain that Sister Helene never forgot you... or your baby."
She could remember all too well that day, playing with her ladies on the staircase before the garden. She had been so young, and so foolish, thinking that any child of two monarchs would be strong and invincible, not knowing the dangers because she was considered too young to know them, despite the fact that a child grew in her. But her doctors had told her nothing of being so very careful, in those early months. In fact, many of them had told her that it was unlikely she would have to refrain from her normal activities until the time of her confinement.
It was only upon playing on those stairs that she learned her mistake.
Marie, her closest friend and lady, had offered a game of tag, and Anne had been excited to do something that involved a form of exercise. She had learned early on that her husband did not share her love of horses, nor of any strenuous activities, and so even the idea of tag had pleased her.
She fell, on the fifth step.
The moment had been horrendous, terrifying in its swiftness. She had felt blood soaking her thighs from the moment her body slammed against the marble stone step, had felt an ache in her chest and a pain in her stomach that nearly made her pass out, it was so great.
And she had felt her child slip out of her body, like an angel leaving for another world.
She had known, even as she screamed for her ladies, even as they screamed for the guards to call a doctor, that it was too late. That her child was gone.
Her ladies had panicked, had called for the doctors and servants and moved her back to her chambers, despite the doctors later saying that she should never have been moved at all, that that likely compounded the miscarriage.
But Anne had known that her child was gone long before that.
The doctors had been pensive, had told her that she was young and healthy and likely to have a child again, despite this failure, unlike some queens, who never recovered from their first miscarriage enough for a second.
And then they gave her something to help her nerves, and left her.
And, when it was all over, Louis came to visit her in her bedchambers. He accepted her apology for her recklessness, and then informed her that he had sent Marie away, and that she would never see "that Spaniard" again. And then he had told her that she must be more careful, the next time, before leaving her alone to her tears.
She liked to tell herself that their relationship had never recovered from that day, that that was why he was so awkward and distant around her, but she knew that their relationship had never really had the chance to thrive in the first place; there was nothing to recover, and so it had not hurt so badly to lose one another.
She blinked, and remembered that, fresh as the pain still was, she was not the one in pain just now, someone else was.
Aramis swallowed hard. "All these years, I believed Isabelle was the only woman who could make me happy. But she was right. It was a lie."
"You're grieving," Anne consoled him, barely refraining from reaching out and putting a hand on his arm.
"She knew me better than I know myself. She was right to stay away from me."
"No, Aramis," she moved to sit across from him. "You are brave and honourable... and kind. Any woman would be fortunate to be loved by you."
He looked up at her then, his eyes shining, and she swallowed hard past the sudden emotion in her throat, realizing just what she had said.
And she knew in that moment, as she had known when she lay with the king, that she should disengage now, should make her excuses and leave before things took a turn for something that she could not control.
And then he met her eyes, and her hand was on his arm, and the next thing she knew, his lips met hers, and she pulled the musket off of his lap, gently guiding him back to her small bedchamber, to her bed.
He pushed her down, gently, peppering her with more concern than her husband had ever shown her.
He was full of passion, this heartbroken musketeer, and it was intriguing and refreshing all at once, and Anne could hardly take her eyes off of his own for an instant, afraid that, if she did, she would lose this moment between them forever.
For a moment, she was not a Queen, but a woman, and she could take as much passion from this moment, as much comfort, as he. He was not a musketeer, but a man. And, for a moment, they needed each other.
She thought of the words he had spoken of Ninon, of how he had given her the crucifix only to offer comfort when he knew that she needed it, for she was a woman suffering, and wondered if this was her motivation behind offering him comfort now, or if there was something more.
In that moment, it was enough, the wondering, and when it was over and he moved to go back to his guarding position, she took hold of his hand, pulled him back into bed with her.
He sighed, but relented, settling down beside her and pulling her close against his chest. Anne closed her eyes and made a wish to the candle burning out beside them, that this moment would last a lifetime.
When Anne awoke, she sat up slowly, her muscles aching, and, for a moment she chastised herself for spending too much time on horseback the night previous.
And then, with the empty place on the little bed in the nunnery beside her coming into view, she remembered everything.
And knew that her body did not ache of the gruels of horseback riding.
She had woken alone, though she was not surprised, and with that loneliness, the truth of what she had done hit her like a blow to the stomach.
She had just slept with a member of her husband's musketeers. Had just committed adultery, in the eyes of God and men, and, should anyone ever learn of it...
And she had enjoyed it. Enjoyed it far more than she had ever enjoyed a night in her husband's bed, for where her husband exuded only nervous duty, Aramis had shown her passion.
She could have cursed herself for enjoying it so much, but it didn't matter, now. Not if they were going to die here, anyway.
The door opened, her musketeer stepping into the room, a look of longing filling his eyes before this too, was replaced with a deferential bow to the floor in front of her.
"Your Majesty should probably stay with the nuns," he said softly, still refusing to meet her eyes.
She hated that. Hated that, after the night they had spent together, even if it was only a kind dream, where he had spoken to her not as a Queen but as a lover, he now called her, 'Your Majesty,' as though he were still only one of her guards.
As if, truly, he had ever been.
She wondered if it had meant nothing more than a mere night's comfort to him, for she knew that he took many women to bed, if he was not plagued by memories of sweet, lingering kisses and touches, as she was. It had been a mere way of comforting and receiving comfort for her as well, at first, but it had not stayed that way.
She thought she had felt something the night last, thought that he had felt it too, but perhaps she had been nothing more than a particularly powerful, pretty face in his bed, to make up for the reminder of his old fiancée.
And she wondered why it was that she felt so angry at that thought.
Struggling not to sigh, Anne answered resolutely, stubbornly, "I want to stay here," she argued, pulling up her stockings, "help you."
Her musketeer gulped. "Your Majesty, I dont think-"
"I am the Queen," she interrupted, as if either of them needed that reminder, "and this is my decision. Besides, surely I am safer with you than in the care of unarmed nuns."
Still, she waited. If he had told her to go, she might have.
He only nodded, dipping his head in agreement, and then moved aside for her to pass him, a small smile on his lips.
The fight itself was all a bit of a frightening blur, and by the end of it, when more musketeers had arrived and her musketeer in particular was helping her onto her horse, she smiled at him and wondered if she was seeing the same lost look in his eyes, or if it was merely a reflection of her own feelings. And then he climbed up onto the horse behind her, and the musketeer Athos was giving him a dark look, but said nothing as they rode back to Paris as quickly as possible without being too hurried.
And when they arrived at the palace, to much fanfare on her husband's part, Anne told herself to forget about his soft touch on her arms when he helped her down from her horse, his gentle smile as he welcomed her home.
She walked into the throne room with her head held high, knowing that she must be strong now or forever destroy herself.
The knowledge that she had slept with a musketeer ate at her as she walked, and she found herself fearing that someone would accuse her of it the moment they looked at her, but nothing happened.
Now that she was here, she was not certain that she could face the angry words of her husband, angered that she had put herself into danger, once again, for the sake of a child.
So it was to her shock that he reacted with quite the opposite attitude.
He strode into the room at the same time she did, all carefully planned, and yet she noted that, where she had been the one in mortal peril, his legs shook as he walked, his face uncommonly pale.
He stopped when he saw her, eyes wide, and rather relieved, or so she liked to think. His pause forced the nobles walking behind him to do so as well, and an awkward silence fell over the room, all waiting for the King to make the first move.
"Your Majesty," Anne finally said, curtseying, when the silence grew too great.
The picture of decorum, now that she had returned to Court. No longer the woman who had let herself be with Aramis.
She knew then that she would always have to remain that way, lest anyone dare to think of the great sin she had committed with a man she knew less, but loved far more, than her own husband.
Then Louis was almost running forward, taking her hands in his and pulling them close to kiss them with a passion that he rarely displayed in public, and even less so in the privacy of their bedchambers.
She doubted, at the beginning of their marriage, that Louis would ever love her. But she had begun to understand, in the years since, that his love for her was displayed much differently than the love she would want in a man. The passion Aramis had displayed two nights' past.
Louis' love for her was different, more the love a man might bear his sister than his wife, but it was no less present, and she loved him in return, in any way she could. But he was not a husband, not to her. More a child, she knew, in his feelings.
Not Aramis.
She blinked up at him, barely able to keep the shock off her face when he finally lifted his face to meet hers. "I thought you were dead," he whispered hoarsely. "And I could not countenance such a thing."
She smiled. "It's good to be home." And then he kissed her forehead, and though some part of her did love her King, she could not help comparing that kiss to the many that Aramis had peppered across her skin, her lips...
He held tightly to her hand, pulling away to smile at the Cardinal, and Anne forced such thoughts from her mind. The Cardinal gave her a strange look, and for one, horrible moment, she thought he could see into her very soul, knew the great weight she now carried.
She would not call it guilt, for it was not that.
"Your Majesty's safe return is a cause for great rejoicing," the Cardinal said, with a shallow bow, and Anne found herself forcing that ever-compassionate smile onto her face at his words, at the very sight of him. "And I have excellent news. The man responsible for the attack on your life is in custody, pending execution."
He paused, suitably; for suspense, though Anne suspected it was more to remind her and her husband (though she was certain the subtle message would be lost on Louis) who was in power, here.
As he constantly sought to remind her, ever since she had first attempted to undermine him.
"Count Mellendorf," he said finally, sounding properly saddened by his own words. "Signed a confession accepting full responsibility for the attack."
"Mellendorf," her husband murmured mournfully, still clutching to her hand like a lifeline. It was the most she could remember touching him in some time. "Who'd have thought it. Well done, Cardinal." And then he began clapping for the man Anne most detested in the world, and she found herself clapping as well.
When the King turned to leave, he reached for her hand once more, surprising her, and they walked out of the room, together.
She swallowed, thinking of her purpose for the journey in the first place.
And now, walking with the King as he turned and asked, "Was the beginning of your journey at least pleasing, Your Majesty?" she could not help but answer, "I hope that it was...productive, Your Majesty."
And she felt a bit more of the weight of guilt upon her as she said it, forcing herself not to glance back and look at her musketeer.
The King smiled. "I hope so as well, my dear," he said, and kissed her hand again, as though he could not quite restrain himself.
And she had a thought then, a dangerous one.
Anne fell for the musketeer the moment she saw him in that prison, the moment he shoved her out of harm's way and whispered to her that it would be all right, but she did not dare act on it, not only as a married woman, but as a woman married to the King of France. If she wasn't, she might have.
And it was a decision she knew she might grow to regret, but that regret only came much later, too late.
A/N: The circumstances of the miscarriage Anne remembers in this chapter was actually that of her second pregnancy, but, as I couldn't find any information about the first, I decided to switch them. I hope no history buffs are offended, haha.