The day of the supreme event had arrived. Cardinal Richelieu's full garrison stood at attention outside of the palace. The musketeers stood among King Louis's army, in their new suits. Felice had been unsure of where to stand, as she occupied two roles in the kingdom: a simple baker's apprentice and a secret musketeer. The king had insisted she stand with the musketeers, so she complied though she felt extremely awkward.
The king and queen and their attendants were outside on the balcony. King Louis was garbed in a frog green outfit-courtesy of Milady's deceit when he asked her what Buckingham was wearing these days. Queen Anne had insisted he should wear blue, his most complimentary color. This once, he declined her suggestion, insisting it was for the good of the realm that he must equal the duke in manner as well as appearance.
D'Artagnan and Felice were both terribly tense. Seeing as the Cardinal's full guard was there, that meant that Rochefort, their captain, was also there. He stood several feet away from them on the other side of the enormous courtyard. But to the teenagers, it still wasn't far enough! D'Artagnan glared with contempt at him as the big man eyed them menacingly from across the way. Felice completely avoided any eye contact with Rochefort, keeping her eyes peeled at a soldier's boots. But, she could feel the beastly scoundrel ogling her from head to foot, making her body feel scandalously exposed for the whole world to see. Her stomach twisted anxiously, and she wished the ceremony was all over so she could find a refuge far from his calloused eyes. D'Artagnan squared his shoulders, trying to make himself look as tall and buff as possible. He subtly reached over and squeezed Felice's wrist reassuringly. She breathed heavily. He was here. Her brother was here. He wouldn't let anything happen to her.
The French royal party had been waiting for hours. It was half passed one in the afternoon. Buckingham was supposed to arrive at noon. "Well, where is he then?" King Louis complained. "Such poor manners. But then again, what else can you expect from an Englishman?"
Suddenly, a massive shadowed cloud filled the sky. But as the audience below looked up at it, they all gawked. It wasn't a cloud at all! It was a ship! A ship! In the sky! The masts were formed in a large corn husk shaped pouch above the vessel. An anchor dropped down into the pavement, causing it to crack, shaking the ground. The bottom of the ship brushed against the French flag on top of the tower, breaking the pole and sending the national emblem to the ground.
"D- his impudence! What is that thing called anyway, Richelieu?" King Louis asked excitedly.
"An airship, your majesty." Richelieu answered casually, as if he was accustomed to seeing the extravagant monstrosity every day of the week.
"Why don't I have one of those?" King Louis pouted.
"An oversight on our part, your majesty." Richelieu apologized calmly, as if speaking to a fussy child.
"Right. Well, build me one!" The king demanded.
"Charles, what the heck? Have you ever seen the like?!" Felice gasped.
"Never!" D'Artagnan exclaimed. "Fascinating!"
"What is it?"
"I don't know. Airship, I suppose?" D'Artagnan shrugged. "The others back home will never believe this!"
The ship landed steadily on the ground, and a gangplank was lowered. A door on the side of the ship opened, and the grand figure of a man emerged. He swaggered down the gangplank into the sunlight. He was beautifully handsome, with dark hair and matching eyes. He truly shone in his bright blue and golden clothes. He strutted down the red carpet as if he not only knew but also was being stupendously fed with all the awe being bestowed on him by his very presence and appearance. The smirk on his face indicated that he was deliciously eating up every second of it.
"Buckingham!" Athos cringed.
"You know him?" D'Artagnan whispered.
"Hush!" Aramis told him.
"Bl-blue?" King Louis sputtered, nearly choking on the word. "Blue. D- it!"
The Duke of Buckingham marched to him and the Cardinal. "Your majesty." He crooned in his velvety voice, bowing flawlessly. "Love the outfit! Very...retro. We were all wearing those, when was it? Ahh, last year. Or was it, the year before?" He pretended to be thinking hard.
"Ahh, well. Uh, Buckingham. I trust your ride wasn't too uncomfortable." King Louis said as politely as he could muster.
"Not at all. On the contrary. Handles like a dream, and keeps me one step closer to heaven." Buckingham smiled up at his beloved ship. "Cardinal." He knelt then jerked Richelieu's hand closer for a kiss. "Of course, being a servant of God, you have no need for such crude devices. King James is most eager to hear your peace proposal."
"Lord Buckingham." Queen Anne muttered as she walked up next to her husband, Constance in tow.
"Anne." King Louis addressed her in surprise.
"Your majesty! I must say, your beauty is far more radiant than I remember." Buckingham leered.
King Louis's jaw dropped, and his face paled. "You-you've met before!" He gasped.
"A long time ago." Queen Anne said stiffly, keeping her regal head high, her countenance cold.
"An evening I shall cherish, forever." Buckingham bragged. "I am only too grateful that my station as ambassador to his majesty King James grants me the chance to lay eyes on you again, the dazzling, the alluring, irreplaceable Anne of Austria. So lovely. I trust we shall be seeing lots of of each other during my visit." He nearly reached for her hand, which she kept tightly clenched around her skirt.
"I think not, Lord Buckingham. I have more pressing matters to tend to."
"You were impressive. Quite impressive...at cribbage. Perhaps we can play a hand or two during my stay."
"I'm afraid I'm not much for games anymore."
"A shame. You don't know what you're missing." Buckingham sighed enticingly.
"Your lordship shall just have to play by himself. I recommend solitaire." Queen Anne gave a small, satisfied smile.
"Right. Well, shall we?" King Louis suggested, ushering his worldly braggart of a guest forward.
"Now this is a pleasant surprise." Buckingham sneered gleefully, looking down his perfect nose on the musketeers.
"Ahh, another acquaintance of yours, I see." Richelieu commented.
"We've met, yes." Athos mumbled.
"As I recall, the last time I saw you, you were on your knees as well. Most unfortunate habit." Buckingham stated.
"It's a habit I shall have to break, during our next encounter." Athos growled, his blue eyes flaring with daggers.
"Hmm. I shall look forward to it. Well, well, well! Now what do we have here?" The duke eyed Felice closely. She kept her eyes on the water fountain and tried to ignore how closely the dashing, suave playboy was standing next to her. It was difficult enough to stand calmly knowing Rochefort was so nearby! Now this guy too? Porthos and Aramis ever so subtly hovered their hands over their sword hilts, watching the cavalier closely. "Recruiting female soldiers now, are we, Athos? What? Have you mighty fighters slumped so desperately far as to requiring ladies' aid now to assist in your oh so brave brigade? The blow left from our last meeting had more effect than even I imagined! You musketeers truly are new-fangled pioneers. Or have I got that wrong? More like butter-kneed lads at swordplay." Buckingham taunted in a delighted voice. Athos bristled, silently.
Shall we settle this with rapiers, my lord? I will gladly oblige!, D'Artagnan thought to himself. Good l-, and they objected to my manners!
Just who does he think he is? "I suggest, my lord, that you stick to matters regarding that in which you are an expert." Felice said icily, glowering up at Buckingham. "It is obvious to all, that the occupation of a true musketeer is not one of them." Porthos had to bite his tongue to keep from laughing. Aramis and Athos arched their eyebrows. D'Artagnan slightly snickered, he couldn't help it.
"Charming, with a bite." The duke smiled wryly. He suddenly grabbed her hand and kissed it. Felice sucked in a breath, stunned, and quickly slid her hand from his grasp. "Until we meet again, little country flower." Buckingham flashed a dashing grin, cupping her chin. Felice scowled, wanting to kick him in the shin.
What makes you think there will be a next time? D'Artagnan glowered hotly. You make fun of our king, you flirt with the queen-a married woman!-, you insult my friends, and now you think you can just take liberties with my little sister? Oh, beware, my good sir! I'm keeping my eyes on you! My sword will remember you!
"Well, now. Shall we talk peace?" Buckingham turned toward the Cardinal and King Louis. They entered the palace, and the people began breaking up the crowd.
D'Artagnan blew out a breath. "Sophisticated, isn't he?" He jested.
"I should've known it was him. Who else would strike up such a magnificent entrance for all to see?" Porthos huffed. Other than Milady, that is.
"He struts like a peacock. And he looks like one too!" Felice crossed her arms.
"You've had a brush with him?" D'Artagnan asked Athos.
"More of a wild goose chase." Athos said dryly. D'Artagnan looked up at him sympathetically. He marveled at how the older musketeer had been able to even act civil toward the puffy haired duke! How did Athos maintain such control over his emotions, when they'd been scalded? Had D'Artagnan been in Athos's shoes, he would've challenged Buckingham to a duel on arrival!
Well, as Porthos says, 'discretion is the better part of valor'. D'Artagnan thought.
"Best be on your guard, lass." Porthos warned Felice. "The duke may have a tongue like honey, but his advances will leave you despondent."
"You needn't warn me, Porthos!" Felice assured him. "I've had my fill of the silver-tongued stuffed shirt. And apparently, so has the queen."
"Is he really here to talk peace?" D'Artagnan asked.
"Hardly. I would not put it passed him to be conspiring with the Cardinal." Porthos said.
"Is nothing held sacred anymore?" D'Artagnan complained.
"The question of the day, lad." Aramis sighed sadly.
"You could've stopped asking yourself that question ages ago." Athos added. D'Artagnan took Felice's hand in his own, the one Buckingham had kissed, and examined it as if he were a doctor checking for injury.
"You'll be needing to wash that." He told his sister. She frowned at him then giggled.
"Your brother is very protective of you." Aramis stated cooly, standing as close to her as he dared. Just let Buckingham try again to be too friendly with her! Just let him try!
"He's the one who needs protecting! After all the trouble he's landed us in!" Felice argued. "Honestly, how did Mother and Father ever agree to send him out on his own? He can barely take care of himself! Well, I mean...it is a wonder how he manages to make it to bed at night in one piece, with all the fights he picks!"
"D'Artagnan can look after himself." Aramis chuckled.
"He's giving me gray hairs already." Felice sighed.
"Nonsense." Aramis smiled. "Your hair is as vibrant as ever, if I may say so. And I do not spot one gray strand among them." Felice blushed shyly, nervously straightening out her skirt that didn't need straightening.
"Well…" She grunted, smiling a little, "every time he looks as if he is about to get in trouble again, it takes ten years off my life!"
"You sure he's the older one?" Porthos teased.
"No. No, I am not!" Felice groaned.
"He...he was not too rough with you, was he?" Aramis asked Felice seriously.
"Who? Him?" Felice creased her eyebrows. "Oh! You mean Monsieur Prissy Boots? No. Although I do feel a strong need for fresh air."
"Touche." Aramis agreed.
"And where did you think you were going, lad?" Porthos asked D'Artagnan.
"Me? Oh, I was only...insuring that he didn't return to grace us with his haughty face." D'Artagnan lied.
"Uh, uh, uh. You were trying to sneak one last look, or even a word with your fair lady." Porthos grinned smugly. D'Artagnan cleared his throat, putting on his best puppy dog face.
"I...I was...I only was…" he stammered.
"Ahh, young love. Makes you lose your senses unlike even the battlefield." Porthos teased.
"Lay off, Porthos." D'Artagnan argued the point.
"The girl does have an obligation to the queen, lad." Athos reminded D'Artagnan. "I'd say that presides over rendezvousing around with you."
"Ohff." D'Artagnan winced. "Your mighty words of wisdom wound me, my good Athos." Athos ignored him and walked away. "But, really now! Must he be so pessimistic?"
"He doesn't wish for you to fall irreparably as he did." Porthos said sadly, watching his friend.
"But, Constance is good! She would never intentionally do anything to cause me hurt." D'Artagnan said defensively.
"Careful, D'Artagnan. You're witty, but you have lived only half as long as Athos." Aramis added. "You would do well to learn from him."
"I must agree with Charles though." Felice put in. "Just because Athos has had a painful heartbreak doesn't mean that everyone else will." Aramis gaped at her.
"I should think that you of all people, my dear Felice, would sympathize more readily than your brother." Aramis said curtly. "After all, you understand what it is to be used by someone of the opposite gender." Felice stared at him dubiously, surprised at the harsh reprimand. But then she hung her head, feeling ashamed.
"You are right." She said lowly. "I do know. I shouldn't judge Athos so piously. "He deserves better than that."
"Can we just leave now?" D'Artagnan complained.
"I'd love to. I, for one, would like to return to Madame Raebourn."
Richelieu asked Buckingham to join him in the war room. Buckingham observed the interior with a critical eye. "You must pass me the name of your interior decorator." He stated in a patronizing voice. "Wine?"
"I don't drink." Richelieu lied with an innocent smile.
"Really? What about that rather nice bottle of Bordeaux in your middle left-hand drawer?"
Richelieu chuckled uneasily. "You must pass me the name of your spy in the palace."
"And yours in mine."
Richelieu poured them each a glass. "So, tell me. Why did you invite me to Paris?" Buckingham asked slyly.
"To discuss peace, naturally."
"If you want peace, prepare for war."
"There is no avoiding war, but it can be postponed to one's advantage." Richelieu mentioned.
"Personally, I find Machiavelli overrated." Buckingham rolled his eyes.
"England cannot afford a war on two fronts." Richelieu proposed. "Both our nations are stretched to breaking point. A peace treaty would be of immense strategic advantage."
Buckingham laughed derisively. "Whose advantage? Yours?"
"Ours. We serve men who can hardly tie their own shoes, let alone govern nations. Bringing them peace, or the illusion of one, only strengthens our positions. Besides, last I checked, you and your master were already engaged in a conflict with Spain. My condolences about Cardiff."
"A temporary setback. I have a feeling my new war machines will readdress the balance." Buckingham whispered.
"Impressive. Very impressive."
"I must admit though, France does have its own provincial advantages of...delights to the eye." Buckingham purred.