A strange force brings her here every night, to the upper rooms of the confessory, or so the queen told herself. So she would want to believe, for she wills it to be so. After the day is gone, she walks as if on a trace, her steps slow and deliberate so she will not surrender to the thoughts that race across her mind. The queen willed herself to believe such a reason as she sat next to her mirror. The reflection on its perfect glass betrays the truth. Her soul was lost, this she knew. It had been lost the day she met him, long ago, before her sorrow could be identified and her eyes gazed at the distance without any emotions. When she did not know him.

The sound of the door rose her from her thoughts and she swallowed her gasp, not wishing to look as if she had been lost in her musings. She turned her head sideways, her gentle features betraying nothing and stared at the woman that walked into the small room. At once, her lips formed into a small smile. The woman by door folded her hands over long, dark robes that were ever ready to engulf her lady. The gentle, sweet, old face of the one at the door became a smile as well, as her milky eyes looked with love at the queen. The old nun clasped her hands, rushing forward like a mother towards the woman who sat by the mirror.

"My queen,'' she said softly. The queen mother lifted her head to look at her eyes. She took in her breath, not wishing to let it go. The old lady before her smiled, her eyes gleaming. "He is here."

Queen Anne struggled to hold her emotions inside, her soft eyes not hiding it as well as her composure. She lifted her head higher, hoping the old nun would turn away. The old lady smiled wider, making the young queen blush and realize it was useless. Queen Anne lowered her head, feeling her cheeks redden. There were no secrets from one such as the nun. She reached out and took her hand with tenderness. The old lady shook her head, ever silent. Queen Anne stood from her chair.

"The night walks faster than the hourglass can tell," said the nun, moving aside so her lady could reach the door. Her queen bowed in gratefulness and exited the room. The old lady sat on the chair, her hands folded over her dark robes and smiled to herself.

The light of the moon washed over the holy walls, kissing each stone with gentleness and silence as if scared of making a sound. Scared almost to destroy the silence that fills the halls where the queen walks, her steps brisk but not allowing her shoes to make any sound. Her heart beats wildly in her chest and she fears others might hear it, but there is no one near, all are asleep and unaware. Still, she clasps her chest to hold her breath. She sees no one in the halls of the confessory, but she spies one of the royal guards in the circle of pillars towards the eastern part of the building. He coughs and returns to his stiff post, not seeing her. She closes here eyes, knowing she must look like a fool for fearing so much.

Suddenly, her breath stopped in her chest. A soft night breeze moved her hair, brushing it against her reddened cheeks. The garden bellow was dark, the foliage moving occasionally with the soft wind. The queen lifted her hands, realizing they quivered slightly and touched the pillar to her left, holding herself steady. In the garden, in the middle, bathed by the silver of the moon stood the captain of the musketeers, tall and majestic, the light touching his hair gently, yet somehow fearing to disturb the man's peace. His small eyes were almost closed, but he was aware of the presence of his lady a few steps away. Just a few steps away. His gloved hands gripped each other and he shifted his head sideways, clearing his head. His eyes shone with a beautiful light as he caught the queen's gaze, and a small smile came to his lips.

Queen Anne's mouth parted, her feet moving on their own and moving towards the place where he stood. D'Artagnan's eyes told her to stop walking, his head accentuating his discreet actions kindly. She frowned, her lips saddening, as she saw his head gesture to his left, signalling for her attention. His eyes held her gaze. She gripped her robes. Was there someone in the confessory, someone who could see them? The queen's heart leapt, but the musketeer's eyes reassured her gently, his smile widening slowly.

Queen Anne followed the movement of his eyes as they trailed away from her face and into a fold on the wall to his left. In the fold she saw a small box of marble adorned with ruby stone crosses and decorated with white flowers. It was encased on the wall as a small shrine. Queen Anne approached it savouring each detail in the holy box which she had not seen until now. Her long fingers ran over the delicate lid and she lifted it. A smile crossed her lips as she saw the small red rose inside the offertory box.

D'Artagnan smiled as the queen turned, her face radiant as her eyes filled with quiet tears. He tilted his head softly, his small clear eyes smiling brighter than his face could ever reveal. The queen held the red flower close to her face, her lips brushing its petals. Her shoes made not a sound as she crossed the halls and stood close to the musketeer. Both stood silent, looking at each other. There was no need for words when both their souls were singing.

The voice of one of the guards broke their golden silence. Queen Anne's eyes widened slightly, but she did not move. It was merely the night watch changing his post on the west wing. D'Artagnan bowed, knowing the moment was about to come to an end, and lifted his gloved hand to his chest, smiling even if his eyes revealed his melancholy. The queen bit her lip wishing she could be bold enough to embrace the captain, wishing she could say a proper good bye. Instead, she acknowledge his reverent adieu and bowed in return. The captain turned around, his movement regal, like those of a prince, and walked away. The night breeze played with his dark blue uniform, lifting his cape as his steps faded into the darkness.

"Such a beautiful flower, mother."

The morning sunshine ran over one of the crystals on the window of the royal chambers, playing through its colours as it entered the room. The early morning birds could be heard as they woke in their nests in the branches of the tree that swung by the window. Queen Anne smiled gently, her eyes following the movements of one of the birds. Her son turned towards her, one of his dress confectioners sighing as he lost the place where he had fixed his needle as the king moved.

"As beautiful as you, mother," Louis spoke again, hoping this time the queen mother would acknowledge his presence.

Queen Anne blushed softly and turned towards her son. A lovely red rose adorned her dress, placed discreetly as part of her majestic robes. Her dress was all in black and grey, a long delicate veil falling from her crown, the only colourful accessory in her body being that red rose. The young king smiled at her, lifting his hands with impatience as his dresser was about to adjust his sleeves. His blue eyes sparkled, mirroring the subtle sky blue of his royal robes. He looked radiant, she thought, in the golden rimmed blue suit, his childlike features relaxed even early in the morning. Nothing could bother her son.

"Sire," the confectioner gasped, reaching to place a blue sachet around the young majesty's waist. "Please remain still so we can finish our work."

"You'd take all morning," Louis rebuked, but stood still as the dresser worked on his jacket. He wanted to look his best, as always, and was aware that the longer he made the court wait, the more he'd savour their greetings when he met them later. He knew his royal advisors waited by the royal chamber's door, ready to assail him with countless of questions and dilemmas. Louis frowned, wondering why the court needed advisors if they were always asking questions. None of those men ever provided any answers. Only questions, which the king would have to answer. Louis bit his lip wondering what new disaster they had developed to ruin his morning. What was worse, he thought with a sigh, was that all of them were coming on the morning hunt. There was no escaping them.

Louis was about to speak to his mother when his room's door opened. He stared at the man that walked into his bedroom, and his eyes brightened.

"Your majesties," D'Artagnan said, bowing low before his lord. He rose again and looked at the fair queen, gesturing respect before her as well. He stood tall and serene before both of them.

"Bon jour, D'Artagnan," Louis said, moving towards the musketeer. The wretched dresser cursed silently, moving with the king so he could fix the robe even as he moved. Or struggle to, at least. The king brushed him off slightly with one of his hands.

"Your majesty," D'Artagnan said. "The court grows restless. When will your lordship be ready to greet them?" Louis pouted childishly. His dresser moved quickly now that he was still and fixed his hunting cape over his shoulders.

"You see my servants work ever so slow," the king said, his mouth smiling as he shifted from one foot to another. He moved away from the dresser, walking towards the huge mirror  be the window. The confectioner frowned, making a face and waited until he could grab a hold of the king again. The queen turned towards her son, avoiding the nearness of the captain of the guards. He remained serene as he always did when they met in public, where eyes could see them.

"My son," she said. "I will go on ahead. My horse is ready, I am sure, and so is my party." The servants that stood beside her, having been the ones to dress her in her own ridding suit, smiled. They were pleased with her splendour. She was a jewel clad in black and grey, her ridding suit a lovely compliment to her royal robes and the single, red rose on her chest like a fiery star.

"Yes, my lady," D'Artagnan said. He moved aside so she could exit the bedroom. The queen lowered her head slowly, her veil trailing behind her and her luscious eyelashes moving over her cheeks. The musketeer's eyes held her with kind affection and he moved closer to her with devotion, yet maintained distant respect.

"It is a lovely rose," the musketeer said, his tone kind but full of quiet civility, "that which adorns your dress, my queen."

Queen Anne felt her face redden, but she remained composed. The dressers around her smiled, unaware of the way their queen's eyes moved, approving the guard's compliment. Louis smiled, turning around to inspect his ridding suit, his hunting gear, and the blue robes he wore. He stared at his reflection in the mirror, pleased with himself. He was about to speak when he noticed the reflections on the mirror- the eyes of his mother and the musketeer.

King Louis turned around, his long cape and his hair moving wildly, his body releasing a gasp. He suddenly felt his body lose its breath. All of the dressers in the room gazed at the monarch, and the captain and the queen turned. The king's eyes bore a strange frown as he stared at his mother.

"The court awaits," Louis said, his voice even. He moved away from the mirror, his steps hard against the floor. He looked at the captain, feeling a strange sensation travel through his skin. The king bit his lip, not knowing why he had reacted how he did, not knowing why he suddenly felt so vulnerable. He looked away, forcing his breath to become even, and stopped before the door. He looked back at his mother, seeing that her face was blank and still.

"Mother-"

The queen drew in her breath, a gesture no one noticed, not sure what she saw in the eyes of her son. She bowed her head, forcing her mind to seize to think, and gathered her royal composure. She clasped her hands before her gown and followed her son. D'Artagnan lowered his eyes, feeling ashamed. A soft melancholy suddenly overtook him, but he quickly summoned his cold civility and stepped aside as the young king and his mother walked past him. He stood rigid, glancing at nothing, his eyes becoming glazed like glass. Louis, his king, met that gaze, and he thought he saw a strange pain in his young, clear eyes.

"Let us keep them waiting no more," Louis announced, and the two guards that opened his chamber doors rushed to their duty. The hunting would begin soon. Both the queen and the musketeer stood dutifully behind the young king, silent and absent, their hearts torn. Their breaths stood still as the golden doors swung open and the morning began.

"There!" Hot sweat trickled down the king's face as he reared his horse to a jerking turn. He lifted his gloved hand and pointed at the disappearing small animal, a red fox, as it headed into the bushes. He mopped his brow with his hand. "See it? There it goes! On!"

Her majesty half rose from her saddle, her mouth gasping as the court rushed beside her, their horses kicked into action. She held on to her reigns tightly as the young courtiers laughed and groaned as they set themselves to full gallop following her son, their king. Their voices and the breaths of their horses touched her body, making her shift unwillingly.

All morning she had ridden half interested in the hunt, her face a mask for her sorrow, her soul confused. She usually didn't take any joy in the royal hunts, but today the affair had proved even more tedious. She lagged behind, accompanied by her court ladies and royal chamberlains. The euphoria travelled with her son. The majesty travelled with D'Artagnan as he raced with his musketeers, guarding her son closely. All of the world went with both of them, her heart bursting from her rib cage, rushing out to them, guiding them silently. She, Anne thought as she lifted her head, feeling hot sweat fall down her cheeks, kept nothing to herself.

Queen Anne gasped, her attention brought back to earth by the nearing presence of her nun companion. The old woman rode a splendid white mare, her dark robes a garish contrast to the lovely animal clad in colourful ribbons. A small, sad frown took over her features. She knew what her queen felt. Queen Anne smiled sadly. The old nun smiled at her, a sweet kindness touching her body with invisible love. Anne gestured at the trailing mad rush of horses and hunters, at the musketeers and the palace royals racing behind her son after the scared fox.

"Look at them," she whispered. Her small fingers travelled absentmindedly over the ribbons of her horse.
"They are so happy."

The old woman gazed at the gay hunters, her eyes taking in the joyful faces of the training musketeers as they gave their best to impress D'Artagnan. The king called out to the man closest to D'Artagnan, a young musketeer who followed the captain very closely, and soon the horses had reared into the woods. The old nun looked back at the queen. Queen Anne's eyes looked at the hunters with eyes glazed with pain. The old nun reached from her horse and touched the queen's soft hands. Her majesty gasped silently and looked at her friend.

"Go with them, my lady."

Queen Anne lowered her eyes, her lashes covering the small tears that formed there. Her lips trembled and she gripped her reigns harder.

"I-I'm scared," she whispered.

The queen gasped as the old nun squeezed her hand harder, her old fingers bearing into her soul. Queen Anne looked at the old woman, blushing. Her horse lifted its head as she pulled back on the reigns, and it galloped fast after the chasing court.

The heat slapped his face as the wind twisted his flowing cape as he dashed after the chase. before him he saw a few of his best men, young musketeers he had trained with his own hands, roaring with excitement as they followed the fox. twice his best soldier, he who had come a few mornings ago with the news that musketeers were being attacked all over the city and whom he regarded with respect, had almost got the feisty animal. D'Artagnan spurred his horse into a faster gallop. he enjoyed the chase, but it was not the reason why he joined the crowd. The king, who rode merrily before him, was to be kept out of danger. Even today, D'Artagnan was on duty.

The old captain of the musketeers pressed his lips together, his movements even and majestic, his stride perfect as he rose in close distance after his king, keeping a constant eye on his every move. It was a beautiful morning, he noticed as the sun shone on Louis' s face, and everyone was having a wonderful time.

Suddenly, his senses snapped, his gritted his teeth as he heard a strange movement in the woods, a few miles behind the group.  His hand reached for his sword instinctively while his other hand pulled on the reigns, ready to stir his horse into action should he need to. He heard his breath quicken, his small eyes becoming lethal. All morning he had waited for the assault, knowing one would close in on the defenceless king while he lay captive in his pleasure. D'Artagnan smiled to himself, his features still in a determined frown, and turned to meet the attacker.

he felt his breath leave his body. his horse jerked as he brought it to a stop and stared at the rider that approached the group. Queen Anne's veil flowed behind her as she sped through the forest. She lifted her head, her mouth gapping open as she saw the musketeer. Blushing, she brought her horse to a slower trot as she reached him. His eyes took in her beauty, and he found himself unable to speak for a moment.

"Your majesty," he said, bowing from his saddle.

"Mon capitaine," Queen Anne said. "Surely I may join the chase?"

"Anne," D'Artagnan spoke, his voice bearing a soft caress and tenderness. She rode beside him, moving her horse so they could ride side by side. He felt himself blushing as he watched her ride secure of herself on her saddle. She reached to move a stray hair from her face, darting a small look at him. Her dark eyes shone with a beautiful light. D'Artagnan's lips betrayed his feigned composure, finding themselves with a smile. He felt his face break into unexpected joy and he nodded at her, his gentle features needing no spoken words.

"Colvert!" Louis screamed, a small laugh escaping him. "Look! there it is! Aside- alors, I got him!"

The queen smiled, listening to the frenetic screams of her son. The musketeers cried out with equal joy, each one trying hard to meet his majesty's approval. They broke into groups racing after the animal whose small feet took like lightning. Colvert, one of the advisors, cursed as he shot and missed. D'Artagnan smiled, his eyes narrowing with pride and love. The voices of his men, his closest companions, and his king swept over his body. A small breeze brushed his face and danced with his hair. He looked at the queen and saw her face brilliant, a soft smile on her lips, her sorrow forgotten for a few minutes. The captain of the musketeers felt his heart beat faster as he felt his mask fall from his body.

"Anne..."

the queen looked at her companion, noticing the tone of his voice. He motioned his head and turned his horse. She watched as he separated from the rest of the group, waiting for her to follow. His small eyes bore a small semblance on reckless youth as they had done when they met long ago, yet they were full of such immense wisdom. She nodded her head and followed him, her black horse falling behind his.

Slowly, the yells and laughter became echoes as they rode away from the chase, their gallop slow and silent. They did not look at each other, but at the falling leaves that floated around them, at the tree branches that cascaded downwards, and they felt the wind on their faces. Both rode in silence, enjoying each other's companies now that nobody could see them, that no eyes could spy them.

D'Artagnan dismounted from his horse, coming to a small ring of wild bushes under s wonderful canopy of yellow tree branches. The sounds of the chase could still be heard, his soldier's ears keenly aware of the commotion of the hunt even if he were away. He guided his horse patting its head with affection. he out his gloved hand in its nozzle and the animal snorted in pleasure at its master's caress. Queen Anne watched the old musketeer with affection, her gestures less bold, still afraid of watching eyes. She knew he was aware of the chase, ready to rush back to his guardian post should he need to, yet- he had willed himself to separate himself, just for a few moments, from his duty for her. He waited for her to dismount from her saddle, feeling the breeze play with his hair. He felt younger, bolder than he had for a long time.

Queen Anne bit her lip as her shoes reached the grassy floor. Her veil flowed in the wind, her long robes gliding over the greenery like a cover of blessings. D'Artagnan clasped his hands behind his long robes, and walked slowly beside his queen. She blushed, not used to such open closeness, but she gripped her gloved hands tighter, willing her fear away.

"Anne..."

The queen rose her hands to silence him, her eyes looking straight into his. Her lips formed his name, a small blush taking over her cheeks. D'Artagnan's eyes smiled, his serene features revealing his gentle affection. he looked at the queen silently, feeling her closeness just as he felt his, forgetting everyone and everything, abandoning his duty and pride. She looked at him, feeling her eyes fill with tears as the branches of the trees moved madly with the breeze, the grass by her feet rustling against her dress, her hair flowing over her face. Her rosy lips trembled, gasping for the air her lungs could no longer find.

"I love you," D'Artagnan said, his voice barely a whisper.

Queen Anne felt her tears fall down her checks, running into her lips. He reached out a hand, daring to touch her, and captured one. She smiled, her eyes bright with joy. he brushed her face with his gentle fingers, holding her face in his hand.

A sweet, gentle peace caressed their bodies as their lips found each other. the breeze whispered softly, speaking through the trees. In the heart of the woods, distant shots echoed and the laughter of young men reached their ears. The voice of their king rose among all of the voices, claiming victory over the hunters. The queen smiled, watching her musketeer's face brighten with a sweet smile as well. None of them said anything; there is no need for words. Their eyes see deep into each other's soul, deep where their beautiful love lives, their strong love spoken without words.
 
 

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© April 23, 1998 Team Bonet. The Man in the Iron Mask © 1998 United Artists and © Alexandre Dumas. Please do not copy without permission.