"What?" D'Artagnan stared at Constance, stricken. She hung her head, then met his sad eyes again.
"I'm engaged, D'Artagnan. I am sorry. Excuse me. My queen is waiting." Constance said meekly.
"Right, best not keep her waiting." D'Artagnan nodded. Constance barely curtsied, and gathering up her skirts, she made her way back to Queen Anne. D'Artagnan observed her shuffling away with the other ladies in waiting, his chest suddenly heavy, his jubilant spirit tumultuously dampened.
"The king wishes to speak with Charles. I do wonder what could he possibly wish to consult with him about, that the three of you are not included?" Felice mentioned. "Do any of you find that odd?"
"Indeed." Porthos agreed. "We have been serving our king for years, most faithfully, most courageously with our own blood, sweat, and tears! And never once has he singled out one of us to converse so privately. And then comes along a spirited, inexperienced yokel who has cast a spell of awe over his majesty's eyes! Mph!"
"You would not be envying the lad his majesty's graciousness, would you, Porthos?" Aramis grinned.
"Bah! Do not smirk at me with that pretentious piety, my dear Aramis." Porthos retorted. "I happen to know that you are as befuddled as I. And just itching to know what it is all about."
"Even so, it truly is none of our business." Aramis sighed. "I expect we will know soon enough. D'Artagnan is not one to shelter his victories from those around him."
"True." Porthos grumbled.
"Enough small talk. The king has honored us today." Athos reminded them. "Why waste it bickering when we should be partaking of the advantages?"
"Ahh! You are right, old fellow." Porthos's face widened into a greedy smile. "It is not every day we are invited to share of the king's own wine!" And with that, he marched quickly to the refreshment tables.
"Speaking of the devil, just where has the lad ventured off to?" Aramis asked.
"What else has been mooning his mind besides joining the musketeers? I shouldn't wonder." Athos shook his head.
"Oh." Aramis nodded. "Well, he will turn up soon, I am sure. Come, Felice. You shall enjoy the delicacies from the royal kitchen." He ushered her toward the food.
"I am afraid to." Felice said.
"Afraid?" Aramis frowned. What is this about? Has this girl been living in the backwater so long that she thinks even the simplest of material values is out to cause her harm? Good l-! You would think she's been living under a rock from the way she speaks. Poor sheltered child. "I do not understand." He confessed, maintaining a calm voice.
"I admit, the sweets look most indelible." Felice smiled. "But I believe my confidence in my abilities shall vapor away, once I taste the king's food. I have no doubt it will be absolutely scrumptious, so much that I fear I will not be able to meet the queen's standards when it comes to pies and cakes."
Athos snickered. "I do not think you shall have to worry about that." Aramis laughed with relief.
"What do you find so funny?" Felice narrowed her eyes.
"Nothing."
"What? Did you think I was speaking of something else entirely?"
"Never you mind." Aramis shook his head, walking on ahead of them.
"How is your shoulder, sir?" Felice asked Athos.
"Nothing to worry about." Athos replied. "And I believe that is the thirtieth time you have asked me in the passed twelve hours!" He remarked gruffly.
"Sorry." Felice blushed. She kept close to Athos, keeping her eyes peeled around the grand gardens and courtyard for a shadowy figure possibly lurking around. He is captain of the Cardinal's guard. I am surprised he hasn't shown his face today of all days. Unless the Cardinal told him to lay low.
"Enjoy yourself, lass." Athos broke into her thoughts. "No need to fret about Captain Rochefort. He will not stir any trouble during the festivities." Felice glanced up at him, her face red.
"I...I shall take your word for it." Felice gulped.
"You could use some instruction with hand signals." Athos remarked. "I think it shall serve you well."
"Pardon? Hand signals?" Felice asked curiously. "What do you mean, exactly?"
"We will begin tomorrow." Athos declared.
"Uh...alright." Felice shrugged.
D'Artagnan moped around, his chin dropped down to his chest. He didn't really pay attention to where he was walking, or at the spectators around him. Soon, he found himself standing next to Porthos, gleefully swallowing down his goblet of wine. "This is the life!" He boasted. He saw the boy hanging around like a sick puppy. "Oui now! What's this?" Porthos gaped. "Cheer up, lad! Why so wretched? A fine celebration, is it not? It's much too magnificent to be moping about."
"I suppose." D'Artagnan groaned.
"What's got your goat, lad?" Aramis asked. "I thought this was to be an epoch in your young life!"
"She's engaged." D'Artagnan said dismally.
"Oui?" Porthos sputtered.
"She is engaged. She is officially claimed by another." D'Artagnan's lip trembled.
"That's a shame. I'm sorry, D'Artagnan." Aramis said kindly, wrapping his arm around the boy's shoulder. Porthos shoved a goblet in front of D'Artagnan's nose.
"Drink up, lad. You need it." He said. "Drown your sorrows. There is no better rapport for it."
"I do not feel I desire a rapport." D'Artagnan sighed miserably. "Only to be miserable."
"Nonsense." Porthos protested. "You are a small scamp. It will not take long for the wine to hit your head, and drown you in a blissful blur."
"Well," D'Artagnan resigned.
"What did I tell you?" Felice chuckled, appearing with a saucer of iced cakes and biscuits. "These treats are so rich and exquisite, how will I ever come close to creating such crowd pleasers? Have you tried them yet, Charles?"
"Huh? What?" D'Artagnan grunted.
"The desserts, silly." Felice rolled her eyes. "Try the lemon cake with the blueberry cream on top. It is only the best!"
"I do not think D'Artagnan has the stomach for fine food at this time, Felice." Aramis apologized.
"Charles? Why so glum? I thought that you of all people would be enthralled!"
"I am! I was, but something came up." D'Artagnan mumbled.
"With his majesty?" Felice asked quietly. Porthos laughed.
"The king is hardly the kind of species that could produce that crushed soul of an expression!" He bellowed. Felice frowned.
"I don't understand."
King Louis trotted into their presence. They all bowed and backed away to leave him the space to march forward. "Ahh, there you are, young D'Artagnan." He smiled. "You are quite a wanderer, aren't you? A word in private, if you please."
"Certainly, your majesty." D'Artagnan humbly bowed his head then walked alongside the king under a carried canopy. "Another interview in two days? Your majesty honors me."
"Oh, come now. Please, think nothing of it." The king grinned. "You're a good fellow, D'Artagnan. So, uh, how are the ladies treating you these days?"
Why now? D'Artagnan grimaced. "Can't complain." He lied.
"Yes. Well, same here of course."
"Only, they are much more complicated to understand than I first believed." D'Artagnan sighed.
"Quite!" The king agreed. "Exactly my point. The thing is, I've got this...friend. Just a regular chap, like you and me. Well, he got married very young. Political alliance, arranged marriage, you know, that sort of thing. Hardly knew the girl. In fact, he was not for the entire deal, and entered it with a most bleak outlook. At first...until he got to see the sweet, intelligent woman she truly was. And then? He was riddled with guilt for having ever resented her."
"But he likes her, now." D'Artagnan added.
"Oh, uh, yes! Mmm-hmm. Very much so."
"Well, does she like him?"
"Ahh, well, funny you should say that. You see, that's the problem. He's not sure." The king shook his head. He gazed longingly into the large pavilion up ahead where Queen Anne and her ladies were sitting at a table, playing cards, and eating sweets. A breath escaped his throat. "But he just feels like a fool when he's around her." The king said wistfully.
D'Artagnan chewed his lip. The king was discussing such a personal matter, with him? Him, a brash country boy? Why? D'Artagnan peered sadly at the luscious blonde who was tending the queen. She was so beautiful, and smart, and witty, and kind. But she belonged to another. How could he ever accept that?
"He's always saying the wrong thing." The king moaned, bringing him back to reality. "His palms are sweating, his heart is pumping so loud he's afraid that she might hear it. He's tortured just to look at her."
I know the feeling. G-, how I know that feeling! D'Artagnan gulped.
"Have you ever felt this way?"
"Not until recently."
"S-so what do we do? I, I mean my friend! What, what does he do?"
D'Artagnan took another look at Constance again, his chest felt as if it was near to bursting. "He should…" he tried to speak in a steady voice, "he should speak his heart. Be someone who cares for her and isn't afraid to show it. Be himself."
"Well, that's what I told him!"
"Well then, he's doubly lucky. After all, he does have your majesty as a friend." D'Artagnan smiled.
"Yes, yes. It's good to have friends. Will you excuse me for just one moment?"
"Of course."
The king took a long breath, then squaring his shoulders, he walked toward the queen. "Ahem!" He grunted as he reached her. She stood up, surprised, but with a sparkle of delight in her eyes. "H-how are you?" He asked nervously.
"Very well." Queen Anne said.
"I'm wearing blue!"
"And you look very handsome in it." Queen Anne giggled.
"Do you really think so? More than in the gold, or the scarlet?"
"Wi, my lord. Blue suits you." Queen Anne nodded. "It is definitely your color."
"Thank you." The king chuckled. "You are looking very lovely. I, fact, I was just remarking to D'Artagnan how...h-how...how beautiful you are."
"Thank you, my lord." Queen Anne smiled sweetly.
"Are, are you enjoying yourself?"
"Yes. And you?"
"Quite nicely, yes." King Louis blushed.
Aramis watched Felice speaking with the cooks of the royal kitchen, trying to coerce them to share their marvelous secrets with her in the delicious food they'd created. She did look beautiful in her purple and black gown, and the sun shining on her long, auburn hair. She looked like a lady, far from the little country pauper rags she'd been attired in when he'd first seen her. The first two days of their acquaintance, she had avoided him and his comrades as much as she could, always watching them warily when she thought they didn't notice. For now, she was slowly but surely warming up to them. Still reserved, and she avoided speaking of her problems with them, she seemed more at ease in their company, much to Aramis's relief.
Her first day in Paris had been a mostly cheerless one, filled with vulgarity and danger. Yet despite that, from what Aramis had seen of her, she was not given to fainting in the face of peril. Oh, she would be trembling with fear, yes. And most likely would feel paralyzed from that fear. But she tried to be brave. Remarkable, Aramis mused. A damsel in distress, yet fights through it until an extra hand comes to aid her. Thrown into a typhoon of a new life. Yet here she is, trying to make a life for herself. Gascon children must truly come from heartier stock than one would suppose at first glance.
Porthos offered Felice a drink of wine. She took a small sip, but it was too strong. She coughed hard into her arm, trying to regain some composure. Porthos roughly patted her on the back. "Easy, lass!" He grinned. Aramis came to her side, after all, it would bide terrible for them if she choked on the king's wine!
"Are you alright?" Aramis asked. Felice loudly cleared her throat.
"Is my head still on?" She asked hoarsely, her eyes watering.
"Very much so." Porthos laughed. "I'm afraid the fine wine is too much for your little self. Oversight on my part. Begging your pardon, lass."
"How about a walk?" Aramis suggested.
"Alright." Felice agreed. Aramis offered his arm. Felice slowly reached out to take it, but then she hesitated. Aramis saw the conflicted look in her eyes. She wanted to take his arm, but was unsure.
"Just stay closely by. The palace grounds are a lovely place for a stroll." Aramis said quickly. His heart sank though at her obvious distrust. She sighed gratefully that he didn't press the matter. Swishing her new skirts, she walked beside him as he showed her the gardens, the fountain, and other structures of the royal family.
"I apologize." Felice said.
"For what?" Aramis stared at her.
"That was discourteous of me to refuse your generosity. Forgive me, Master Aramis." Felice said dejectedly.
"It is nothing, darling. Did I not tell you that you will open to us when you are ready? I have not forgotten."
"I…" Felice slowly shifted her arm toward his, but then her limb froze.
"No, no. Do not force yourself, sweetling. That will cause more harm than good." Aramis said solemnly. He would not let her see his disappointment in himself. I've failed her again. He told himself. I thought she trusted me at least! Give it time, Aramis, you dolt! Give it time.
"I am sorry."
"And do you apologize for breathing as well?"
"Pardon?"
"You make apologies too much, lass. Personally, I find it very tiring. It is grating to my ears." Aramis said sternly.
"I am sorry." Felice chewed her lip so she wouldn't cry in front of the musketeer. I hurt him again! I've hurt his dignity. Oh, and in front of everyone else! They must be thinking him a fool! How selfish of me.
Aramis groaned. "There you go again." He shook his head. "Why?"
"I, I do not know what else to say, Master Aramis. I do not know what you expect me to say." Felice answered meekly.
"And why do you always address me as 'master'? I do have a name, you know."
"I know. I meant it only as a respect to your position." Felice explained.
"Oh." Aramis sighed. "Well, if we are friends, you needn't be so formal. After all, you do not hear your brother going around calling us by Master Athos, Master Porthos, or Master Aramis!"
"No, he doesn't."
"I would feel less of a fiend if you could call me by my name, love."
"Fiend? My dear sir, you could never be described that way!" Felice blurted out defensively. "Not ever! You possess all the true attributes of a gentleman. And angelically patient, especially with me. I'm afraid I have offended you more often than not, and never intentional."
"Hush, child." Aramis said gruffly. "Enough of that. If you truly wish not to offend me, then please refrain from referring to me as 'Master Aramis'. I know there is a significant age gap between the two of us, but still, you make me feel ancient!"
"And are you going to cite me if I I don't?" Felice asked cheekily.
"What's that?" Aramis cocked his head.
"Are you going to write me out a ticket if I do not abide by your wishes, Master Ticket Scribbler?"
Aramis raised his eyebrows, thoroughly amused. Is she flirting with me? He snickered heartily then frowned sternly again. "Yes, my little Gascony troublemaker," he nodded icily. "If you continue to press me so with such mental exhaustion, then I just might have to resort to pulling rank on you, yes."
"As you wish." Felice sighed. She carefully slid her arm into his, and a breath escaped her lips. She'd never done this before. All she could do was tell herself to keep breathing. His arm felt solid, and sturdy-safe-underneath the black sleeve, like a strong oak tree. I hope he doesn't think me forward!
Aramis looked down at her in surprise. She was afraid to look in his eyes. Was he displeased? Annoyed? He just smiled and led her along. Felice exhaled heavily in relief. What the heck was I so scared of? This really isn't so bad! He is not asking me to leave him be, and I did not feel his arm stiffen under my touch. She'd nearly forgotten all about that rotten Rochefort, and for the first time in days, she felt relaxed.
D'Artagnan kept up light conversation on the way back home, but he seemed glumly distracted the entire time, with a saddened, faraway look in his eyes. When he wasn't speaking, he hardly heard anyone else speaking, and they had to repeat themselves for him. D'Artagnan went straight to the stable and saddled Buttercup then rode her about the city, by himself.
He returned at dinner. "Where did you go, Charles? I was worried!" Felice exclaimed.
"You hardly know your way around Paris, sir! We were afraid you'd gotten lost!" Planchet added.
"I went for a ride on Buttercup, that's all. I needed to think."
"Planchet kept your supper warm." Aramis remarked.
"Thanks, but I'm not hungry." D'Artagnan shook his head miserably.
"You'll make yourself ill, lad." Porthos pointed out.
"Maybe later." D'Artagnan muttered. He trudged sadly up to his room.
"Excuse me." Felice rose and followed him. She found D'Artagnan sitting lazily on the bed. "Charles? Hey." Felice came to him and sat next to him. "What's wrong? You've been as miserable as a sick dog all afternoon."
"She's engaged, Felice." D'Artagnan said dryly.
"Engaged? Who? Wait! You mean Constance?"
"Yes."
"She really said that?"
"Most emphatically." D'Artagnan mumbled.
"I cannot believe this! I thought she fancied you, Charles."
"Perhaps she does. But she is promised to someone else."
"I'm sorry, Charles." Felice patted his shoulder, equally disappointed. "Do you know who he is?"
"Monsieur Bonacieux. He is a mercer on the other side of this part town." D'Artagnan explained dryly. "He is in his forties, Felice! An older man. I inquired of him, that is part of the reason I went out today. He runs a boarding house."
"It's outrageous! Does she love him?" Felice asked firmly.
"What?"
"Does she love the fellow?"
"I do not know. She did not act pleased about telling me. Even if she doesn't love him, she would still marry him because she gave her word and would not want him shamed. She is that type of girl." D'Artagnan said wistfully.
"I would not lose hope so fast, Charles." Felice said encouragingly.
"What do you mean?"
"I saw the way she looked at you. I think I shall have a talk with Constance myself. I believe she would confide in me her true feelings. So, do not give up just yet, dear brother!"
"If you say so." D'Artagnan shrugged.
"Oh, good news! I was introduced today to Madame Raebourn, the proprietor of the finest bakery in Paris. She wants me to begin my apprenticeship in two days!"
So, the Duke of Buckingham hasn't arrived just yet. Oh, but he will!