Sore and frustrated, Athos ran his hand along the outside edge of the door. He examined the reinforced hinges, the locks, and then looked at the narrow window nearly seven feet above them. The stone walls were smoothly cut and shaped into squares. Mortar filled the crevasses, but rain had drizzled and ran in two narrow streams from the base of the window toward the floor where it pooled. Moss covered a few stones near the bottom of the window.

"We cannot stay here," Anne said and clutched at her cloak. The room was chilly and lacked seating and even a bucket for waste. She watched Athos carefully search for loose stones and then he looked toward the window once more, knowing it was too high to reach and too narrow to slip through. "Do you think they want to kill us?"

Athos cleared his throat and said, "They would have done it already if that were their goal." He paused and looked at her and then at King Louis, who stood with his hands on his hips and his expression stern. "I assume they want to send a message —"

"About taxes," King Louis huffed. He crossed his arms over his chest and shifted his right foot forward, and tapped the toe of his boot on the floor. "Is there a way out?"

"Louis —"

The king suddenly turned, looked at Anne, and snapped, "We are not in private."

Anne looked down, took a deep breath, and said, "Sire." She looked at him. "I'm sure if there is a way to escape, Athos will find one."

Louis twisted his mouth and scratched his right cheek. "How Treville and Richelieu could suggest traveling off the main roads was a foolish idea… foolish and dangerous!" He turned and paced. "I want the names of everyone involved in this. They will be charged with treason and executed for crimes against the king. It will done publicly as an example of what happens to those who betray me." He paused in his steps and looked at Athos. "I am the king!" He stomped his foot and pursed his lips. "Why must these things happen to me?"

Anne frowned, clutched at her cloak, and looked to Athos for strength.

Athos watched the frantic movements as Louis paced across the floor. He waved his hands, muttered to himself, and then glared angrily at him. Though his anger was misdirected, it was a characteristic that those closest to him were familiar with. Anne looked at Athos in sympathy and then stepped back and leaned against the stone wall. She shivered against the cold.

"Will they find us?" Anne asked. "Treville… the Musketeers?"

Louie huffed and turned his back toward her and Athos. "You are assuming they survived."

Athos ran his fingers through his hair and took a deep breath. He stood at the far end of the room and looked at the window and then at the door. His duty was to protect the king, the queen, and their future child. He was alone, without support, weapons, or direction. They were at the mercy of their captors, and while he would not be expected — against the odds — to save them, he would die trying. He looked at both of them and could not help but see their differences. Louis and his inability to take ownership of his choices; pride that denied him the ability to humble himself; and his need to be strong while the world crumbled around him, but his superficial strength made him appear childish, naïve, and out of his depth. He couldn't see himself, he couldn't see his fragility, or his weakness. Instead, Louis focused on the errors of those closest to him, those he could blame for his situation, instead of looking inward.

And the queen.

With a slight tilt of her head, she looked at her husband. Someone she had known since childhood. While she looked strong, Athos knew there was a piece of her that was just as terrified as her husband, if not for herself, then for the child she carried. She was several months away from giving birth, but having lost so many children to stillbirths the thought of losing another was running wild in her mind. Athos watched her take several confident steps toward Louis, place her hand on his shoulder and speak quietly to him.

It was the gesture of a wife supporting her husband: a loving hand, whispered words of support and encouragement when hope seemed lost. It was the expression of woman who understood men and how to manage their sometimes unattainable expectations.

Athos understood Aramis' attraction, his affection, and devotion to her. He understood how his brother could succumb to her needs in a moment of weakness. Anne had always carried herself with dignity, devotion, and pride. She stood proudly beside her husband, supported him, and… at times… offered sound advice. Her weakness had been loneliness. She craved friendship, love, and the affection of a man she could not have, but a man who could provide her with what she needed most.

Louis looked at Anne and his eyes wandered over the blueness of her irises, her button nose, and her heart-shaped lips. He gently took her hand and kissed the back of her fingers. "I don't deserve you," he whispered.

Anne smiled and gently pressed her forehead to his.

Athos turned his back to them in their moment of intimacy. He would not deny the king an opportunity to find his strength in the faith of his wife. Athos rubbed the back of his neck, looked toward the floor, and exhaled slowly. Questions raced through his mind and while he knew Treville and the others would search for them and attempt a rescue, how long would it take? How many men were they facing? Why had deserters and criminals united against the king? And why did they care about the over-taxation of the common people.

As the hours went by, the room went quiet except for the shuffle of shoes across the floor, chattering teeth, and breathing. The sun was slowly descending, and the room grew dark. Athos, with his back against the wall, looked toward the window when the cloudy sky slowly morphed into reds and oranges. Anne leaned against Louis, her head pressed to his shoulder while the room grew colder. It was a moment of affection they would not deny each other. Their futures were questionable and life suddenly became too short.

The shifting of the locks on the other side of the door caused Athos to push himself from the wall and place himself between the door and the royal couple. Louis wrapped an arm around Anne, helped her to her feet, and took a sharp intake of breath as the door was flung open. The old hinges creaked and screamed in protest.

Three men entered briskly and fanned across the span of the exit. Three others rushed behind them and charged Athos, who grabbed one man by the shoulder and shoved him back toward the door. He sent a tightly fisted right hook into the jaw of another, causing him to fall backward as more assailants entered the room. Athos grabbed the arm of another, twisted it, and then felt the impact of a powerful fist in the center of his back. He was then tackled and pushed against the wall with a punch to the right side of his face, and several to his ribs. He grunted, kicked at a leg and heard a death curdling scream. Someone grabbed Athos by the collar of his doublet and pushed him sideways against the wall. Athos hit his head. He heard Anne scream, Louis shout, and a man give orders. Athos reached for the dagger in his boot, but was hit hard once more to the right side of his face. Blood spewed from his lips and he spit fell against the wall.

With a grunt, Athos shoved his right shoulder into the stomach of the man before him. He knocked him backward, and then quickly punched at another, who swung the handle of a club toward him, striking his shoulder and knocking him to the floor. Athos groaned and covered his head as he was kicked several times, and he listened helplessly to the king's demands for release as he was pulled from Anne's embrace. Athos coughed, groaned, and spit again. He tried to push himself to his feet, only to fall back as his head spun and eyesight blurred. Resting on his knees and elbows, he rested his head against his forearms and forced himself to breathe slowly. Athos scraped the toes of his boots and his knees against the floor when he tried to stand, but fell to his right and landed in a heap against the wall. He breathed harshly, wiped his mouth and nose with the back of his hand, and winced when his ribs, back, and jaw protested to his movements.

Anne remained in the corner, clutching at her cloak and slapping at those who approached her.

Louis shouted frantically when the men grabbed his arms and pulled him toward the door. He looked over his shoulder toward Anne, glanced at Athos, who struggled to move, and then was suddenly forced from the room and the door was once again closed and then locked.

Anne openly wept. She hitched her breath, wiped frantically at her eyes, and then slowly pressed her right hand to the wall to steady herself as she walked toward Athos, who slowly and painfully pushed himself onto his hands and knees and gingerly rested back on his haunches. He looked toward the floor, wiped once more at his nose and mouth with a cupped hand, and glanced at the queen. He could feel blood drip from his nose, from the cut above his brow, and the bruising and swelling around his left eye. His ribs protested when he struggled to stand and instead leaned against the wall with a painful groan and sigh. He could feel a slight dampness of blood in his hair, but considering how hard he had been hit, he was grateful the wound wasn't more severe. Familiar with bruised ribs, he knew several would be tender for days.

"Your Majesty?" Athos asked, and watched her gently lower herself to the floor next to him. "Are you injured?"

"No," Anne said. She looked at Athos, and while she had silently wished Aramis had been the one riding alongside the carriage, she was grateful he hadn't been. "Are you all right?"

"I've had worse," Athos said and wiped again at the blood from his nose and split lip.

"That's not what I asked."

Athos quirked a gentle smile and nodded. "I'll be fine." He rested his forearm across his right knee and leaned his head against the wall. "I'm not sure what they'll do next."

"Will they kill him?"

Athos thought for a long moment and rubbed tenderly at his temple. "I don't believe so." He paused and looked toward the door as their cell grew darker. "Unless they're Spanish."

Anne winced, but understood the connotations.