Disclaimer: I own nothing. The characters and the original storyline belong to the BBC. Most of the lines in this chapter are from Season 2 Episode 9 (The Accused)

The story begins when the Musketeers decide that they must remove Queen Anne from the Palace and bring her to safety.

Chapter I

The Queen clutched Constance's hand, her grip far too strong to be mistaken for anything but sheer fear. Too many hardships had befallen her today, but they did not appear to stop. Her friend – or at least the person she thought was her friend – had forced himself on her, he had accused her of plotting against France, he had taken her son from her, he had proclaimed that there might be a suspicious connection between Aramis and her. It was too much to handle.

It was distressing to be confined to her Appartments, knowing that the King did not believe her, or that he had taken Rochefort's side in public. What was happening now? There was some sort of racket in the corridor where she knew Red Guards were keeping watch. Not to keep her safe, but to make sure that she did not try to wander off. She truly felt as a prisoner, and for the first time in a long time, she was frightened by what the future would hold for her. As a Queen, she hardly had to worry about it: her days usually went by dull and uneventful.

Someone fumbled with the knob of the door leading to her bedchamber. The Queen's breathing intensified, she glanced at Constance who had grabbed a golden candlestick and was prepared to use it to defend her Majesty against whoever might pounce to attack.

Both women relaxed their tight stance when d'Artagnan emerged from the opened doors, followed by Athos and Aramis. The Queen heaved out a sigh at the sight of the Musketeers. There were few people she could trust now, but they would never betray her. Especially not these four.

"We must get you away from here. To a place of safety," Aramis stated, striding toward her. There were no bows or anything that the royal protocol entitled when soldiers were in the presence of their monarch. It was not the time, and he of all people, did not need to bother with such rigid rules. She was glad he was by her side, that nobody had come to attack her this time, but she could not agree with his request.

"I need to be with the King." She was suffocating within these walls, inside the Palace where everybody now believed that she was a traitor sending letters to Spain with the prospect of invading her country. Even though what they thought was only a lie, leaving with the Musketeers would show everyone she might actually be what they believed her to be. She could not chance it. It was her duty as Queen of France to suffer in silence, take blow after blow for the sake of peace and stability. The King would forgive her the letter – with time. She simply had to be patient and endure the shame for the time being.

"Rochefort is a Spanish spy. He will destroy you."

Athos' words cut at her. Surely the Prime Minister had made a grave error in trying to kiss her, but he would not have committed such treason. They would have seen it before; the King would have noticed. The Queen shook her head, fumbling with her hands. She was uncomfortable, terrified.

"No. My brother would not...He could not forsake me like this..."

Aramis saw her distress. He had spent so much time over the last year watching her that he almost prided himself in being able to discern any single one of her emotions. In this very moment, it was not a difficult task. Her chest heaved with each panicked breath she was taking, and her white brow was creased by worry lines. Her eyes roamed the room, unable to settle. He stepped closer, too close for it to be proper. They were all in the confidence, though, and there was no one to deceive. She was in danger, a danger far greater than what she might actually think, so he had to protect her no matter what.

The Queen glanced at him, her eyes finally settling on his face. Everything that she enjoyed about his features was gone. No more joy, no more playfulness, no smile ready to burst and light up the room. The Musketeer was a mask of agony.

"I beg you. The Palace is no longer safe. Rochefort knows now. The danger is too great."

It took all her willpower to not collapse once more as she had done in the morning, after she was attacked. For a few hours, she had entertained the idea that Rochefort was simply uttering hollow threats, that he knew nothing about her and the Musketeer. It had been a foolish thought. Aramis was not lying to her, he looked too dreadful to be anything but serious. What was she going to do? The King trusted the Prime Minister so much that he may listen to him and unveil her painful secret. Would she die? Aramis would certainly die. What about her son? What would Rochefort do to her son?

She shuddered in spite of herself, fighting back the tears. Then, the King's former mistress joined them, barging in as if she owned the place, and the Queen found that some things could still surprise her today. Constance voiced the question for her. This woman was helping them? Why would the Musketeers trust her?

"I can't abandon the Dauphin." He needed protection. Him more than her. He was innocent.

"I'll stay with him." Constance sounded resolute, a fact for which her Majesty was grateful, despite d'Artagnan arguing against it. She was strong-willed, which was why the two women got along so well.

"We need to leave. They might decide to check on these guards at any moment." Porthos' threat ended the lovers' argument for them. There was no time to lose. Aramis's hand on her back as he led her to the servant's landing felt comforting. The Queen bid goodbye to her dear friend in haste, hoping she would be fine, and asking her to protect the Dauphin as best as she could.

Once in the corridor with the Musketeers, she tried to catch her breath and gather her emotions. It was turmoil inside her head. If it had not been for Aramis guiding her, she would have certainly stopped walking. But he was keeping her upright. It was clear that he worried about her more than about himself.

"Where shall we go?" she asked after long minutes of silence. They were stopping every few meters, one of the three soldiers checking ahead to make sure the path was safe. Aramis never left her side, an agreement that none of the others challenged. Did they all know, she wondered? Did they all know their Queen had put one of their friends in mortal danger? Did they know they could all face prison for trying to protect her and her former lover?

"We must leave Paris. The safest place we could think of was...there." Aramis whispered the last word, glancing down at her. He did not need to elaborate for her to understand where they were taking her. She nodded softly.

"Here, your Majesty." Porthos handed her a long coat when they were almost outside the Palace. She put it on silently, her heart beating wildly against her chest. What if someone saw them? The soldiers were more than capable of protecting her and fighting off any opponent, yet, it would raise the alarm.

"No one. Let's go."

Once they were safely inside the Musketeer Garrison, Queen Anne remembered she had to breathe. Smells of the Parisian streets assaulted her; she was not used to them. She was used to perfume and flowery scents. She was not used to muddy ground, hay and horses trampling the Garrison courtyard. One of the mounts in the stables looked uneasy, and she gave a start when it reared up. She grabbed Aramis' arm for support, feeling leather underneath her fingers. His arm came up effortlessly around her waist.

"There's nothing to fear here. I've got you."

"I know. Always."

"If you would follow me," Athos muttered, leading the way up the stairs until they were all inside an unused room. Tréville was already waiting for them.

"Your Majesty. I am sorry we had to come to such means."

"This is none of your doing, Captain. We must hope that everything will be settled rapidly." Years of training as a Queen had taught her how to lie without blinking or without her voice rising. Years of training proved to be a failure. Her voice shook at the words, because the situation looked so hopeless to her. She wished her son could be with her. How could she have abandoned him? Constance would be with him, but if Rochefort had set his revenge on her poor baby, there was nothing the woman would be able to do to prevent a tragedy.

"Please have a seat."

She felt watched as she sat down by the table, the five Musketeers hovering around. Her hands rested on her lap, but it took all her skills to keep them still. She was too nervous. D'Artagnan passed her a glass that she welcomed, pursing her lips once she realized it was not water but wine.

"I apologise. Should I bring you something else?"

"Not at all. It is needed today, I suppose."

There was a chuckle behind her, she guessed it must have been Porthos. Tréville shot him a dark look before finally explaining their plan.

"We'll set out as soon as the horses are ready. I am afraid we'll have to travel by night."

"It will be safer indeed. However, I do not see why we have to go so far. I am certain there are closer places for me to retreat to. I do not wish to be far away for too long..."

"I must insist, your Majesty. We do not know what Rochefort has in mind and..."

"Are you even positive he is a spy? What makes you so sure of it?"

"He attacked you! He tried to force himself on you," Aramis almost shouted, before remembering that no matter how much the woman meant to him, he still needed to remain gallant and polite. "He is not to be trusted anymore, not that he has ever been..."

She chose to ignore the last sentence, as well as the harsh tone his voice had first taken. It merely showed how much he cared about her, much more than the dutiful respect expected from a simple soldier. What she could not ignore was the way Tréville rebuked him.

"Remember who you are talking to!"

"It's quite all right, Captain. Rochefort has been one of my first friends when I was a girl. It is rather impossible for me to see him as a traitor."

"We have good reasons to make such accusations, your Majesty. Yet, we lack evidence. I will stay behind and try to find proof to incriminate him. Hopefully, it will not take long and you will be able to return to Paris in a few days."

Athos sounded confident, which put her at ease a little more.

"In the mean time, the convent appears as a rather secure location. Athos told us how difficult it had been for the assassins to enter the last time your life was threatened. Let us pray God that we will have such luck this time as well."

The Queen nodded, her eyes finding Aramis'. He had been staring at her ever since yelling, but there was no anger in his gaze now. She was uncomfortable with his friends around. It was wrong to want to talk to him in private, but she had so little to lose in here.

"Do you require anything before we set out? Something to eat, perhaps?"

She dismissed Tréville's offer with a shake of her head. Mentioning food was enough to make her stomach heave. Her soul was too tortured to be able to focus on anything else but her dire situation.

Quite suddenly, the Queen stood up from her chair to walk to the nearest window. The Palace was there, she could see some of it in the distance, and somewhere inside, her son was probably sleeping. It would be better for him if he slept throughout the entire thing. He was only an innocent baby. She could not live with herself if something happened to him because of her. It broke her heart to realize that Rochefort might be set to destroy her, but she had to protect her son. If she had to bring her former friend down in order to do so, she would act without blinking and without remorse.

She put her arms around her waist, clutching her heavy dress. It was too fussy and glorious for such an hour. The pearls around her neck, on her shoulders and her chest tightened against her skin, trapping her inside royal protocol, and royal duties. She needed to breathe. Reaching up, she pulled out pins from her hair, sighing as the curls flew down her back. Pins rattled to the floor, nobody minding.

D'Artagnan watched Aramis move toward her, not believing what his friend was doing. Athos only glared as was his habit with Aramis and his conflicted feelings for the monarch. Porthos stared, his arms crossed on his chest, his eyes so dark that his best friend flinched. Tréville put a hand on his arm, silently asking him to forget it. The Musketeer shook free, ignoring them all.

"Everything will be fine. Trust us."

"I trust you."

When the Queen raised her head to look at him, it warmed her heart to notice the ghost of a smile on his face. His eyes were saying an entire other story, but she forced her lips to smile faintly as well, because he needed the reassurance as much as she did.