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Chapter Text

Hey Y'all! 

This is a new work that I'm working on. 

I know this sounds EXTREMELY CRINGE but trust me it's going to be epic. I'm taking elements from Versailles and adding them to the Barbie movie. 

I hope you enjoy! I can't wait to finish this work! Hahaha

Chapter Text

It wasn't the young woman playing her guitar, distantly singing about being different from everyone else, and making her way in the world that awakened the royals from their sleep. 

In truth, it was the feeling of falling through a tunnel. 

Louis opened his eyes to a bright, glittering void. Everywhere he looked shone a bright pink and lines of white formed into intricate patterns he couldn't quite make out. His body felt as if it were floating but suspended in place. Louis looked down to see he wasn't wearing his nightgown but a slightly itchy, white collared shirt, form-fitting leather pants, leather gloves, slightly dusty and worn-out boots, and a scabbard rapier decorated with silver and gold details. 

From a distance, he could see another person floating in this bright pink void. Louis called out to them, but they remained still. He tried flailing his arms to see if he could move through the void to get to them, but he remained grounded.

A ball of light floated in their direction and placed itself in front of him. Louis crossed himself and lowered his head to utter a prayer.

"France needs your help," a voice urgently called from within the orb. "This is the only way I know how." he slowly raised his head.

"Are you my Savior?" Louis reached out to the orb. "Is it true then that I am blessed and designed by you to fulfill your purpose?" A laugh emanated from the orb.

"No, your majesty. I am not the one you speak of, nor am I from your world." a rumble shook the void, and the girl's singing began to increase in speed. "I summoned you here to help mine." The King's heart began to pound in his chest.

"Are you a devil?" Louis' hand reached for his sword.

"I am not. I am only a citizen of France who prayed for the deliverance of their country from ruin."

Louis heard a snap and could see the person he saw before floating toward them. A wave of relief came over him when he saw Philippe unconscious and wearing similar clothing to him. His eyes flickered open, processing what he was seeing. He looked over to Louis and then to the glowing ball of light. 

"Louis, where the hell are we?" his brother spitefully asked. Louis only smiled at him, happy that he was no longer alone with the floating sphere.

"France," it replied. Philippe scoffed. "And she is in peril. A masked man plans to destroy her and rule her subject. I summoned you to help me stop him."

"Why should we trust anything you have to say? And, more importantly, what does this problem have to do with us? We have our own battles to fight back home." Philippe argued disdainfully.

"I've seen your France. It is strong, beautiful, and united, thanks to you and his majesty. If this man becomes King, he will destroy any chance for this to be our reality." it pleaded. "Without your help, our kingdom will die."

Philippe suddenly went silent. Louis looked around the void once more, contemplating what to do next. 

"What's this man's name, and where do we find him?" Louis asked, eliciting a guffaw from Phillipe.

"Philippe Duc D'Orleans. He lives in Paris." 

The brothers look at each other. 

"Wait...We're looking for me?" confusion cracked the Prince's voice.

"He is my world's version of you." 

"And he's going to destroy France?" 

"Yes. He plans to usurp Prince Louis." 

Louis chuckled. "How absurd. This has to be a coincidence. We all share the names of the people running this country?"

"King Louis XIII has also passed in this world. It is Louis XIV who is crowned prince." the ball explained.

"Wait, so...that means..." Philippe thought aloud.

"My brother is trying to betray me in this world?" Louis finished his thought.

"They are not brothers. Philippe acts as regent to the Prince until he is of age." the ball explained in haste.

"Oh..." Philippe cleared his throat. "Good then. That's good." he eyed Louis.

The music began to fade and the void to crack.

"Will you help us?"

Louis and Philippe thought a moment.

"If we accept your quest, what do we get in return?" 

"Perspective." it simplified. "Now, what do you say?" 

The void began to crumble, a piece above their heads about to fall and crush them. 

"WE ACCEPT!" Louis shouted, grabbing his brother's hand.

The ball of light suddenly became bigger, fully engulfing them in warmth. 

"Come and find me..." 

The next the brothers opened their eyes, they found themselves on a trail lined with windmills somewhere in the country. Louis took in the air, smelling fresh grass and horse manure in the distance. Philippe admired the small flowers blooming and the scattered clouds in the sky. 

"What do we do now that we've been forced to do what the floating ball of tragedy says?" Philippe sighed, deciding to place the blame on his brother. 

"Let's find out where we are. If this is truly France, then we will know." Louis suggested, beginning to walk the long trail. Philippe threw his hands in the air.

"Why are you so calm about this?!" he cried. "Do you not realize that we're stuck in this god-forsaken place?" 

"I do not think that we're here by accident. If we were chosen to save this version of France, should we not consider what we can learn from this world and its people?" Louis bluntly stated. "I rule France in the name of God. And I believe this is God's will." he turned back and inched further down the trail. "I swear that I will do whatever it takes."

....

2 Hours Later

"Louis, we've walked past this windmill four times already," Philippe grumbled with exhaustion. "Those vines are in the shape of a flower, that pile of hay is the same size, and the song keeps playing in such repetition that I've practically memorized it." he clapped his hands together. "All for one, one for all~" he sang along with the woman's voice before lying down on the hill and covering his face with his arm to block out the sun.

Louis sat on a nearby boulder, sweat making his hair stick to his forehead and the back of his neck. 

"Shut up." he moaned as he pulled off his boot to get the rock pressed against his toe for the past fifteen minutes. "There has to be someone we can talk to nearby. It's not like these windmills suddenly appeared."

As if it were magic, they heard a girl's voice grunting in a barn that wasn't there before. 

"Phillippe," Louis stood up and pointed toward the barn. "Did you see that?" 

"Huh?"

"A barn just..." Louis looked over to see Philippe ignoring him. He stormed over to him, aggressively tugging on his arm, and forced him to look over his shoulder. "Look!"

Philippe's eyebrows shot up, astonished at their new find. 

"Well, that's something you don't see every day." Philippe dusted himself off and they sprinted toward the barn. 

Corinne raised her wooden sword, inciting a duel with her nemesis, the wicked Scarecrow. Donning a worn maroon musketeer hat, a gift from her father, she prepared for her first move. 

The Scarecrow was slow and made broad strokes, moves she knew too well. To catch him off guard, she would have to use her athletics and speed to avoid getting caught in his traps. Corinne ran, fell, and pushed her arm against the ground into a series of tight cartwheels. This move often threw the Scarecrow off its rhythm as he never expected what she'd do next. 

"En garde, monsieur Scarecrow." The Scarecrow remained silent, but after all their years of nefarious duels and his revenge plots, she knew he'd always accept her challenge. 

Corinne struck the first blow, knocking him back just slightly. The Scarecrow retaliated by holding completely still, relying on gravity to push his wicked foe back into her place. She struck upward, a fatal mistake, and he began his infamous spinning swinging attack Corinne called "the Carousel." Upon the last spin, he nearly cut her face off! But she was too quick and dodged this move. 

"You cannot defeat me!" she boldly declared. "For I am a Musketeer!"

The Scarecrow cocked his head, raising his sword again, but Corinne knocked the sword from his hand! 

Once again, the brave Musketeer won the battle, leaving the Scarecrow to eat her dust.

In a celebratory frenzy, Corrine used her sword to lift the compost bucket for the pigs and emptied its contents into the feeding manger. Then she found herself surrounded by thugs! Corinne swung at them, jabbing at their weak points, spinning and leaping over their swords as they came for her. 

Soon enough, there were too many of them! She had no choice but to...climb the fort walls (the stacks of hay) and make her escape to return her findings to the palace. Grabbing the rope of the belltower (the old Barn's rafters), she swung furiously, folding into herself to do a backflip, and fell backward into the pile of hay at the bottom of the stack when her feet failed to keep her standing upward. 

Corinne opened her eyes to the sound of applause. 

Philippe and Louis had watched her the entire time. They were quite impressed with her imaginary battles, though they didn't see what she had. 

"If only you had more height, you would have landed on your feet." Louis expressed with a smile. 

"Why, uh, thank you." Corinne blushed. 

"What were you doing?" Philippe looked around the barn, the image of her performance playing over in his head. "It looked like you were fighting someone."

"Well...I'm training to become a Musketeer, just like my father," the young girl explained. "He was one of the best." The King approached her, opting to use his charms on her. Philippe rolled his eyes and began exploring the barn when it became obvious.

"What was his name?" a chill ran down her spine; she had never expected this reaction from men like them.

"Dartagnan," she said in a bittersweet voice. Louis and Philippe looked at each other. 

"Dartagnan? If I remember correctly, I believe he served our father for decades." Philippe recalled, crossing his arms. "It's a shame he died so young. But he served France well" Corinne lowered her head, holding back tears.

"Pardon us barging in like this, but we're a bit lost. Where are we?" Louis asked, raising her head to meet his gaze. 

"Gascony." 

Philippe bit down on his hand to stop himself from shouting. Louis made a face telling him to calm down and not startle the girl. 

"Gascony! Wonderful!" Louis celebrated, concealing his internally screaming with a great smile.

Corinne had stars in her eyes when she realized they had swords.

"This sword is beautiful!" she pulled on Louis' belt, slightly catching him off balance. Philippe snorted at the girl's curiosity. "Wait...are you two Musketeers?" Louis chuckled awkwardly as she leaned in a bit closer.

"Why, yes!" Philippe said, noticing his brother's situation. Corinne lifted her head. "That's why we must return to Paris immediately." She reached out and grabbed both of the King's hands.

"Did you say Paris?" she squealed. Louis eyed his brother as if he had some advice for this situation.

"Uh...yes?" 

"I'm going to Paris tomorrow! Why don't you join my mom and I for supper? I'm sure she'll feel better about me going with escorts!"

"What an astonishing coincidence!" Philippe sarcastically expressed, trying to match her excitement. "I think that's a brilliant idea!"

"Wow! Real Musketeers. And on my birthday, no less!" she ran toward outside the barn. "Let's go find mother!" 

Louis and Philippe stood there momentarily, astonished by this girl's persistence. 

"Should we go with her? We could just take the horse over there." Philippe considered, biting his lip, pointing his head toward the brown horse in the corner. "And did you see what she was wearing? What if this is all an act to coerce us to join her?"

"I have considered that. But she was blind to my flirtations. Either she is naive or innocent to a man's touch." Louis explained. "What if we get trapped in another cycle, and there's nobody for stretches of land by not going with her?" he said, remembering how the barn suddenly appeared. "I feel like this girl is the key to our quest." 

"It is true that the music stopped when we stumbled across her barn." Philippe sighed. "I hate to admit you're right, but I think we have no other choice." Louis knitted his brow. 

"I wonder what the Evil You is doing right now? If he has the Prince locked up somewhere..." 

"I have an idea. Maybe he forced him to walk in the heat of summer and forced him to listen to unfamiliar music for repetitive hours." 

Louis glared at Philippe, who followed Corinne's path to her home.

...

The Royal brothers accepted the mystic's quest. 

And soon enough, they will begin their tumultuous journey to save France.

Chapter Text

Anne pulled out her best cutlery and glasses for the evening's supper: a hearty stew with biscuits and honey. Corinne asked for it every year on her birthday, and she pulled out the worn parchment from the cabinet containing remnants of D'artagnan's handwriting. 

During his time as a Musketeer, D'artagnan met Anne in Austria when the King was visiting the court to find a wife. They danced together and immediately fell in love with each other. When he returned to Paris, they continued writing sweet letters. Anne fled her life in Austria, much to the disgust of her family, and reunited with D'artagnan. They created a homestead in Gascony to settle down and begin their lives together. Corinne was born soon after. 

Anne will never forget the day D'artagnan left when a Kingsman on a horse gave him orders to return to Paris. He cursed the King for taking him away from his family. 

Months later, a footman grieved with Anne with a notice that D'artagnan had died in battle. Corinne vowed from that day she would become a Musketeer and search the world to find her father again.

Anne placed the final bowl on the table when Corinne burst through the doors with two strangers behind her. 

"Her name is Anne," she said as they walked in, pointing to her mother. Louis and Philippe bowed to her. Anne blinked, startled by the sudden intrusion. They looked around the small cottage, admiring its simplicity. The men looked into her eyes, feeling warmth grow in their chests. 

"Mother, these men are Musketeers on their way to Paris. I'm seventeen now, and we agreed that I could go to Paris to--"

"Corinne, who are these men?" she took several steps back and grabbed the bread knife from the counter. 

"Well...That's a long story." Philippe chuckled nervously. "If you kindly lower the knife, we will explain who we are." Anne eyed them cautiously.

"Apologies, madame. We are the brothers of Viscartes," Louis bowed to Anne. "I am Francis, and he is-"

"I am Lorraine," Philippe interrupted, folding his arms and ignoring Louis' sideways glance. 

"We were separated from our party and stumbled upon your farm." Louis had an instinct to open the bag wrapped around his torso. He saw a letter with a stamped wax seal bearing an unfamiliar sigil. It was an outlining profile of a woman's face with a name under it: "Barbie."

Philippe's face contorted into visible confusion. Louis looked back at his brother and gave the envelope to Corinne.

"Here are our orders," Louis said, praying that his instincts were correct. Anne grabbed the envelope, and her face softened at the sight of the sigil. 

"So..." she sighed. "Today's the day my daughter leaves for Paris."

A huge wave of relief washed over the brothers when Corinne squealed and hugged her mother's neck. Louis smiled at his brother and Philippe chuckled in disbelief. 

Anne stood on a stool and pulled a letter and bag of coins from the top of the cabinet.

"Then I suppose you'll need this," she said to Corinne, holding it out. "It's a letter to Monsieur Treville." the girl inspected the envelope, noticing the distinct mark of the Musketeers on the fold and her father's sigil on the wax. 

"The captain of the Musketeers?" 

"Yes. He was a close friend of your father's. I've asked him to look out for you." Anne explained, also giving Corinne the bag of money. "These are fifteen crowns...I only wish there were more." Corinne placed her hand on her mother's shoulder, where she could feel some tension and her body shaking. 

"But mother, you need the money." Anne held Corinne's face in her hand and kissed her cheek. That feeling of familiarity struck Philippe again.

"You'll need it in Paris. And take Alexander with you. He knows the way." 

"Who's Alexander?" Philippe asked, sitting at the table. 

"My father's horse," Corinne said. Louis and Philippe stared at the girl.

"A horse knows the way to Paris?" 

"Yes," Anne said, turning back to Corinne and giving her instructions.

Louis and Philippe gazed at the women with a confused look of bewilderment. 

"Are you sure we couldn't just take the horse and run?" Philippe said under his breath. 

"Trust me." the King's eyes shifted toward the women. "I know this girl is the only way to get to Paris."

"Great..." his brother scoffed, rolling his eyes.

Anne cleared her throat, getting their attention. "I permit you to escort my daughter to Paris, Vescartes. Please make sure she gets where she needs to go." 

"We assure you your daughter is in safe hands," Louis' eyes radiated intensely. "God wills it." 

The brothers didn't get much sleep that night.

Anne graciously gave them blankets and placed them in the haystack at the top of the barn.

A light thunderstorm crashed through the valley, leaking rain onto their heads. The animals below startled them from their slumber on many occasions. When the rooster crowed, Louis couldn't sleep from that point onward. 

As he watched the sunrise, he imagined himself back in the halls of Versailles. He could smell burning candle wax, parchment, and ink. He heard the fountains and the crunching gravel beneath his feet. But of all the stunning features of Versailles, Madame's radiant beauty completed Louis' ultimate design. 

Before he woke up in this world, they had shared a night of passion, nothing like before. After their lovemaking, Francoise's soft hands intertwined with his, and she whispered,

"I love you," and kissed him, falling asleep in his arms.

Louis bit the inside of his cheek.

I love you, Francoise. he ran a finger over his lips.

He heard hay rustling behind him, indicating Philippe was now awake. 

"Were you able to sleep?" Philippe asked after stretching his stiff shoulders. 

"Not much." 

Philippe grunted, stepping out of his bed to join Louis' side. He sat on a discarded wooden bench.

"What are you thinking about?" 

Louis pursed his lips. "Home. If everything is alright or my enemies have taken advantage of my absence. Francoise..." he smiled at the last one. "France, without her King, cannot be secure with our enemies still at large." Philippe crossed his legs and rested his head in the palm of his hand.

"I'm sure everything's alright. The queen will watch over France in your absence as she did before," he assured his brother. "And yes, this place is strange, I'll admit, but it's thrilling to anticipate what will come next." Louis chuckled and threw his legs over the barn's opening. 

The sun rose over the horizon, shining through the distant trees. The clouds from the night's storm turned a bright purple and pink hue. Birds cooed as the wind ran its fingers through the willow tree. 

"Hey, guys!" Corinne called from below. "Mother managed to get two horses from one of our neighbors!" 

Philippe stood up and dusted himself off.

"There's no use in waiting any longer."

They climbed the ladder to meet Anne and Corinne below, with their belongings already packed into the saddles. 

"You didn't have to put all this together, madame," Louis mentioned, regretting not climbing down sooner. Anne shrugged her shoulders. 

"It was nothing. I wanted to surprise you all before you made your long journey to Paris." Anne turned her head to her beloved daughter. "Remember what your father taught you, 'True courage is per--'"

"...Pursuing your dream. Even when everyone else says it's impossible." Corinne rested her forehead against her mother's. "I'll make you proud. I swear it."

"You always do."

The brothers smiled at the gesture and got onto their horses. Anne approached Louis and said,

"Please make sure she's looked after. She's still so young."

"You have my word." 

Anne squeezed his hand and said, "You know, if my twin sons had survived, they would be like you two. Kind, bold, and determined."

"What were their names?" Louis wondered.

"Louis and Philippe." the King's grip tightened around his reins.  

You were anointed by God, blessed by the Sun...Show the world that Louis the Great has arrived. 

"Francis, are you alright?" Anne's voice awakened him from his daze. He ran a hand over his face, feeling a tear run down his face.

"Oh yes, thank you," Louis assured her, kissing the top of her hand. "We ought to get going."

"We shall carry their souls on our hearts, madame," Philippe promised, holding back his own tears. 

"Best be off then! Please write letters, so I know you are all safe." Anne ordered. 

They rode into the horizon, not once looking back.

Louis loosened his shirt from his neck as he watched Corinne ride gracefully over the bridge. Her eyes roamed the spring countryside, and a smile grew on her face.

The King didn't know how to feel about the young girl. The women at Versailles were reserved and delicate but ambitious. Corinne was plucky, independent, and overly confident. Whether untapped potential, merely her youth, or some other unknown force driving her, he admired her tenacity to accomplish her dream. Corinne reminded him of his younger self when he'd just begun construction for Versailles. 

To Philippe, she was talented. Martial arts and technical acrobatics were her greatest strengths. While he, too, admired her tenacity, he was worried her naivety would get her into trouble. 

Without warning, Corinne stood on Alexander's back and jumped onto the bridge's railing.

"Wait! Stop!" Louis called out to the girl. Corinne ignored him and started cartwheeling on the rails.

On the trail ahead, there was a fallen tree blocking the path. Louis urged his horse to go faster. He straightened his back, pressing his legs against the horse's back for stability, and snapped the reins repeatedly to increase speed. Philippe watched Louis fly over the obstacle with ease. He looked to his right to see Corinne spin across the bridge. He jumped off his horse and ran for the riverbank. 

"Corinne! Don't move!" he pleaded with her. Corinne stopped to see Louis rush toward her, grab her waist, and drape her across his lap. 

"Are you mad? You could've fallen off and injured yourself!" Louis scolded her.

Corinne laughed at the distressed man. "I was only having a bit of fun." Louis' cheeks burned.

"Don't do that again," he muttered.

But she did. The next morning, she had climbed a tree and proceeded to jump from it upon seeing Paris on the horizon.

Louis and Philippe froze in place, horrified by what they were looking at.

Paris looked nothing like they expected. 

Every building was clean. The distinct smell of cow manure back home was not present. As far as the eye could see, both men and women dressed in the same styles of clothing as each other. The women wore shorter dresses, leaving the men to wonder what their characters were. The men all had shorter hair, noble and poor. Everyone also wore bright, saturated colors. Louis and Philippe finally understood what the ball said by "perspective."

Corinne saw a stable ahead. 

"We should leave our horses here until we figure out what to do next," she recommended. Louis nodded in agreement. 

They approached the stable boy and dismounted their horses.

"Keep the horses here for a couple of days. We will return in the evening to check up on them." Louis ordered the boy, paying him three coins. 

"Uh, sure. Thanks." he put the coins in his money pouch. His face lit up when he saw Corinne get off her horse. 

"I'm Serge. I work in the castle." he curtsied a bit for effect. Philippe shook his head and laughed at the boy. 

"I'm Corinne from Gascony. I'm going to be a Musketeer!" 

Serge made a face. "She's going to be a Musketeer?" he asked Philippe, who shrugged and kept walking. "Good luck with that!"

Louis, Philippe, and Corinne began wandering the streets when they stumbled upon a crowd forming. As they inched closer, they saw a group of men wearing navy blue tunics and fighting with swords, the main guy sporting a curly mustache.

The men fought but in an odd fashion unfamiliar to Louis or Philippe. Their strokes were not strong, and their footing was off. 

"Are they...?" Philippe asked as he vaguely pointed to the men.

"Musketeers? Yes!" Corinne giggled gleefully. "Aren't they talented?" 

Philippe gritted his teeth. "I wouldn't say that."

The mustache man swung hard and fast at his opponent. The others parried, holding their swords in one place.

"Getting tired?" he said, his voice dripping with arrogance. 

"I'm only getting started." the blonde replied.

After another few pathetic swings, Philippe noticed the blonde make a hand gesture, and the mustache man knocked the sword out of his hand. 

"Au contraire, I believe you are finished." 

Suddenly two more Musketeers approached the mustache man and began to fight him next. The men used their wrists to tap each other's swords, making them appear as hard knocks against their blades. Leaning forward and back, keeping their feet apart and their bodies open, Philippe was not surprised when he flicked his wrists, and their swords flew from their hands. 

"These men are pathetic. This isn't a real fight." Philippe commented, clenching his jaw. "Let's go find monsieur Treville." Louis huffed, no longer interested in this performance, and the two started walking away.

"Is there anyone brave enough to challenge me?" the man called from the staircase. 

"I sir," Corinne pushed her way through the crowd, putting both hands on her hips. "I want to be a Musketeer too!" Louis sharply exhaled through his nose and covered his face with his hand. 

"This could mean trouble for us. If she gets arrested, we will fail this quest," he grumbled in frustration. 

In the corner of his vision, Philippe saw a massive dog join stand next to a cart full of barrels to Corinne's left. It was an unfamiliar breed, but it was large around the neck and front legs. It had bright eyes and brown, short fur. And Philippe could've sworn he saw it smiling at her. 

"Look at that dog.” Philippe shows Louis, noticing animated he is. Louis leans in closer to see where he’s pointing. “It’s watching Corinne like its prey.” 

“It’s just a dog. What could it possibly do?” Louis crossed his arms, focusing back on Corinne. Philippe instinctively pushed himself closer to the front.

"Hahaha! The little girl wants to be a Musketeer?" the man cackled above the crowd, who joined in on his mocking. 

Louis saw the sigil on the Musketeer's tunics on flags in front of a stone building with an ornate fence. He saw men walking in and out of it wearing similar robes to the men on the staircase. 

"Philippe," Louis called out, pointing toward the building. "I think that place is what Corinne is looking for." Taking matters into his own hands, Philippe walked up to Corinne and pulled on her shoulder, muttering:

"Don't do anything rash. The headquarters are over there. Let's not waste our time on these fools." 

"I didn't travel all this way to run away from my first fight! I can show these men I can be a fighter, too!" Philippe's eyebrows shot up as she pushed him off and maneuvers her way to the discarded sword trapped in a barrel. After jumping on the barrel, she pulls the sword out of its place and poses with a flourish, piquing the audience's immediate interest.

"En garde!" she calls out to the man, pointing the sword at him. The man quirked his brow at her, surprised at her willingness to face him.

Philippe heard an odd noise. He found the source when he watched as the dog stood on its hind legs and opened the cart of barrels, hurling many barrels into the street toward Corinne. The girl had no chance to notice them coming toward her. Her knees buckled beneath her, her grip loosening on the blade, and she fell on the street. The dog howled and ran off somewhere.

What provoked that dog to do that? Philippe thought. And who is its owner?

Philippe picked Corinne off the ground, eyeing the group of Musketeers carefully. He looks back at his brother, who bore a severe look on his face. 

"Run along. Leave the fighting to the men, little girl." the man dismissed her.

"Good fight, Gaston." the blonde one said to the mustache man as if signaling him to continue their battle.

Philippe pushed Corinne toward Louis and put a hand on his hip.

"Surely these aren't the men who swore to protect the crown and proudly wear the royal crest on their robes?" Louis sneered. "I thought you were the Musketeers, protectors of the kingdom, set to a higher standard than teasing young women." the man's eyes narrowed.

"If you have an issue with how we run things, take it to monsieur Treville." he scoffed. "Maybe they'll take you both in to be their scullery maids. I mean, you do look like a woman yourself with that ridiculous hair of yours." Louis resented that comment.

Philippe cackled at his audacity. "You have no idea who you're talking to." 

"Show me then." Gaston raised his sword and stepped down the stairs. "En garde." 

Philippe smiled, pleased with this response. 

Philippe raised his sword hilt to his chest and placed his feet in the proper stance. Gaston rubbed his blade against Philippe's, licking his lips in anticipation. The Prince swung hard, knocking his opponent off balance. He leaned in and thrust, eliciting a yelp from Gaston as he dodged.

"Close call, but not close enough!" Gaston grunted, pressing his weight against Philippe's blade and pushing him back toward the crowd with a headbutt. Philippe wiped the blood from his nose and spat on the ground. Gaston struck again, their swords catching each other by the hilt. Philippe moved his hand slightly, causing Gaston to lose footing and slide down his blade. Gaston spun around quickly, narrowly parrying Philiipe's next blow.

He spun counterclockwise and tried hitting him on the back, but Philippe was too quick. He rolled forward, reached upward, and cut Gaston's ear. Philippe bent his knees and knocked the sword out of Gaston's hand. This gave Phillippe a perfect chance to land a punch to the face and pin him to the ground. 

The crowd cheered louder than they had for the earlier duels. Louis smirked at his brother's victory while Corinne stood there utterly star-struck.

"Stay down there until I leave, or I will cut off the rest of your ear. Understood?" he roared from above. Gaston furiously nodded his head, his body trembling in agony and humiliation. Philippe lifted his leg off Gaston's chest and sheathed his sword. Corinne stopped him and wiped the blood off his face. 

"T-Thank you, Lorraine," she expressed, her hand slightly shaking. "You know, you should teach me a few of those moves." Philippe tightened his lip. 

"Let's take you to monsieur Treville. Now." Philippe curtly stated, storming past her.

Corinne whimpered, lowering her handkerchief. Louis sighed, following the two toward the headquarters.

...

As the three approach the gates, Louis notices the dog from before following them. He tries ignoring it, but he notices how it stares at Corinne's hand that holds the letter to her future. 

The dog runs and blocks the path in front of Corinne, knocking the letter in front of her hand. After pulling a disoriented Corinne from the ground, Louis starts chasing the dog. 

"Stop!" he orders the brute. The dog looked back and smiled, gloating at how far ahead he was from them. Philippe pulled out the pistol that stood by his side, aiming for the dog's legs, but then Corinne bumped into him, ruining his shot. 

"Give me my letter!" Corinne called out, hoping someone would stop the dog. 

They watched as the dog jumped over the spiked fence. Corinne touched the gate and was immediately slapped on the hand by the guard on the other side. 

"There is nobody to enter the Training Grounds without explicit permission from the Captain of the Guard." 

The heavy doors opened, and two well-dressed men came out in a burst of laughter. One dressed in a dark blue vest, the other in a bright red fitted corset. Both were adorned with medals and jewels on their chest and around their fingers. 

"It was good to see you, Philippe," Monsieur Treville expressed heartfeltly. 

"And you as well, Monsieur Treville. You must visit me at the chateau once Prince Louis is King," Philippe returned, putting a hand on the other's shoulder. "I will have more time on my hands when I am no longer looking after him." 

When his eyes wandered over to the commotion at the gate, Louis and Philippe felt a pit grow in their stomach.

Chapter Text

Philippe was regent for fifteen years after his cousin died. During that time, he gained a large following of highly loyal soldiers to enact all commands in Paris, including what some may call macabre. He groomed the boy King, Louis, to be curious and pursue his dreams. It was easy to mold the boy. Philippe ensured he was kept from the kingdom's affairs, telling him all was well with France, becoming something of a hero in the young prince's mind.

Louis soon began showing his resolve when he discovered the stories of the brave Musketeers. His father created the Musketeers to act as his representatives in France, often risking their lives to protect innocents. He would gaze out his window for hours, imagining the King's men walking through the streets of Paris and beyond, protecting all of France. The prince dreamed of flying over his city and ensuring his people were safe, more so than his father ever had. For the past two years, he experimented with candles and tiny parachutes to make that dream a reality. 

Philippe saw this as a threat to everything he's done. Louis would destroy everything he'd established. He was stupid, naive, and pathetic. Not fit to be King in the slightest! 

And in the coming weeks, his years of waiting will finally end. He would make it look like an accident. The kingdom would mourn the last of the Bourbon bloodline, but they would be better off under his rule!

Then he would freely rule France and lead them into a new Golden Age, a legacy of riches and recognition.

...

Philippe signaled the guard to open the gate, directing his attention on the young girl.

"Are you lost? Surely you have no business with these roguish Musketeers." the bearded man eyed Philippe, whose hand hovered over his sword. 

"I'm not lost, sir. I'm here to speak to Monsieur Treville about becoming a Musketeer." Corinne put it simply, her breath still catching up with her. The King sighed, knowing exactly where this conversation was going. 

"As if a girl has the proper skills to be a musketeer," he sneered, earning a proper glare from Corinne. Before she could get a word out, Louis said:

"We don't wish to disrupt your schedule any further, but it would seem your dog..." his eyes flickered over to the dog who aggressively licked the parchment and tugged on the wax seal with its teeth. "Could we have her letter back?" Philippe narrowed his eyes, surprised by his eloquent language, despite his appearance. 

"Your family name, boy?" 

Louis pursed his lips, staring this man down. He does admit, the man is well put together, almost staged to look like the average nobleman. He wore a bright red velvet shirt adorned with gold, and a sapphire hung around his neck. But it was blatantly obvious how Philippe thought of himself. He reminded him of Gaston in the salons at the gambling table. He was clearly an ambitious man, and quite charismatic. He gave Louis the impression that he overlooked the people outside of his circle, a rather poor habit in the realm of politics.

"We are Viscartes, highness," Philippe pulled out the pink envelope from before and placed it in the other's hand. The older Philippe took a single glance at the parchment before handing it over to Monsuier Treveille.

"Impressive. Now, these gentlemen I would allow into my ranks, Monsuier Treville. They are quite reputable for being as young as they are," Philippe smiled at the two brothers, Corinne committing the image of his stupid face into her head to save for later. 

"The letter, if you don't mind." Louis pointed to the dog again. "Mademoiselle has been chasing him all morning for it."

"Very well," he whistled to his dog, and as if the dog knew this command by heart, it discarded the letter near Corinne's boot. To her dismay, there was a rather large bite mark in the corner of the envelope. 

"I best be off then. Goodbye, Treville," he looked over his shoulder as if he had stepped on a bug. "Musketeer! Ha!" Corinne's face burned as he walked away. 

"You two, come with me." Monsieur Treville called out to Louis and Phillippe. "I have a business proposal, of sorts." Philippe released his grip on his sword's handle, relaxing his shoulders. 

"Not unless the girl accompanies us," he argued. "She came all this way to see you from Gascony. I think it would be wise to listen to what she has to say before making any final decisions on this particular matter." 

"I have a letter of introduction!" Corinne held it up, slightly flustered at holding up the now sopping wet thing.

Treville chuckled, shaking his head. "I better not regret this." he signaled the guard near the gate, letting them inside the headquarters.

Louis and Phillipe stopped in their tracks the moment Treville's men opened the door to the main hall.

Galerie des Glaces. Louis smiled, tears welling in his eyes.

It was a long hallway, chandeliers hanging in a row above polished wood, mirrors facing outward to open windows to a perfect view of the palace. The ceilings had paintings depicting holy symbols and tales of war from a different France. There were very few statues, but all of them shared Greco-Roman motifs, including laurels, musical instruments, candles, and whimsical gods.

"France, the shining beacon of the world, now made real!" His eyes were struck by rainbows coming from the crystal above them. "It's nearly identical to the one in my vision, brother," Louis said, hovering his fingers over his reflection.

"Your plans for the three salons, I'm assuming?" Philippe's eyes painted over every crevice, twist, and pattern in a daze. "It's beautiful." Philippe walked ahead to look outside. The musketeers from the square were there no longer.

Louis followed suit, realizing this place wasn't in the palace itself, but had a plain view of it instead.

"Why is this place not in the palace or a church?" the King inquired, tilting his head. "Is this not French history and the celebration of God?"

"Ah, yes. When King Louis XIII established the Musketeers, he wanted this part of our headquarters always to face the palace. It serves as a reminder to the men of their duty to their King, and, therefore, to France," Treville smiled, thinking about his old friend. Louis was elated at the notion of another version of his father having a similar vision as him. "When the men accomplished something grand, their stories are engraved into the hall to immortalize their deeds for future generations." he stopped in front of a painting of a younger man with distinct blue eyes and a smile similar to that of Corinne's. "This is Dartagnan. One of the bravest men I've ever known." he closed his eyes, bowing his head. "His sacrifice for France was immeasurable." Corinne approached the painting, saying a small prayer under her breath.

"All for one, and one for all," Corinne remembered. "He would always say that to my mother and me before he left on his adventures."  Treville's eyebrows shot up.

"Indeed," the captain grinned, turning toward Corinne. "Then that means you're Dartagnan's daughter. It is a pleasure to meet you." 

"You as well. Thank you for what you did for my father." the young girl bowed. 

"Of course." he looked over to the brothers beside the window. "Now, about my proposal. I need a few more men to add to the order of the musketeers. With Louis' coronation just around the corner-" Louis and Philippe's eyes met just briefly. "We want to make sure the Prince is well protected during the evening at the ball."

"Woah. Is the Prince's life in danger?" Corinne asked. "Is there anything we can do to help?"

"Hehehe...no. He's not in extreme mortal danger at the moment; it's just for security to establish him as the new King." Treville said, amused.

"Oh..." 

"If you two join me, it's a guaranteed spot after the fact. You'll have accommodations, food, drink, and all of France's gratitude for your service to come," the old sword master reached out his hand. "What do you say?" 

The Bourbon brothers looked at each other, trying to read what the other was thinking.

"Could you give us a moment?" the King delegated the both of them to a corner of the room.

"Here are our options: if we join the Musketeers, we have a safer route into the castle and find out what Phillippe is planning," Louis framed, shaking off the chill running down his spine. "Alternatively, we continue following Corinne. She is...a character. However, with her stubborn persistence, we may find the one who summoned us here in the first place."

"We could also pretend to be servants, sneak into the castle, stab Philippe, and be done with it." Philippe shrugged, dripping in sarcasm. "Or, let's do this: get out of Paris and leave!"

"What are you saying?" Louis crossed his arms. "We give up?"

"No," Philippe bites his lip, slightly leaning on his left side. "I don't know. If this unknown person knows who we really are, doesn't that mean our lives are at risk? What if something happens, and we can never go back home?"

"We are no stranger to adversaries, brother. We faced many of them back home. Besides, we have an advantage. We know who the culprit is. All we need to do is to trap him and take him down before he commits to any scheme against the crown." Louis pressed, voice slightly rising.

"So what if it fails, Louis?" Louis' eyes widened at this. "We know nothing about this place, let alone who any of these people are. They may share the same names as us, but we are not them." Philippe leaned against the windowsill. "We may have an advantage, but if this individual is a double agent, this may very well turn into a trap."

"What do you propose we do then? We can't sit idly by and watch France fall." he huffed. Phillippe's gaze softened, realizing he'd chipped away at Louis' wall.

...

From the beginning of his reign, starting as only a child, Louis had to prove himself to the nobility who betrayed his father. Louis' life was in danger many a time, but by some unknown miracle, he continued living. Whether it was spite or pride, Philippe admired him for it, to an extent. Versailles was about to become the beacon of the King's life and legacy as a ruler, but it was slowly poisoning him. As he forced himself to live among his traitors, all while subjecting them to his regulations, he slowly began to lose sight of what was most important: his sense of personal identity.

Louis was always putting on a performance for them at every waking moment. And while he did it with the intention of pushing them to support his causes as an anointed monarch of God, he could no longer share his feelings with anyone, let alone his brother, not with his reputation among these frivolous nobles.

In the middle of the night, Louis stumbled into Philippe's bed chambers, sleepwalking, startling his Highness immensely. 

"Who am I?" the King mumbled.

"Asleep and intruding on my own," Phillippe whispered back, so as not to wake Lorraine. "What are you doing here?"

"Is my father proud of me?" 

The prince hesitated, but answered, "He is."

"Am I worthy of love?"

Philippe sat up from his bed, grabbed his robes, and wrapped them around his brother's shoulders. "Always, brother."

...

The Prince smirked at his brother. "Okay." Louis looked over his shoulder. Philippe unsheathed his sword, a metallic resonance echoing in the chamber. He walked briskly toward Monsieur Treville and Corinne, who were both startled out of their private conversation.

"WHAT ARE YOU DOING, PHILIPPE?!" Louis yelped as he watched Philippe stomp his way over there.

"Handing my ass over to France." he bluntly stated, tightening his grip on the sword's hilt.

Corinne screeched, getting out of the way. Philippe swung at Treville, who had the instinct to pull his sword from its sheath. He stepped back, relaxing his pose. Musketeers came filling in with their swords drawn at the commotion.

"What's going on, young lady? Who are these men?" one of them asked Corinne.

"I don't know! He just swung his sword at him for no reason!" she explained frantically.

"What is the meaning of this, Viscartes?" Treville struggled, pressing hard against Philippe's weight. Philippe stepped back, relaxing his stance.

He raised his sword to the Captain, his other hand dangling by his side. "If you win this match, we will join your Musketeers and muck out the stables." Louis made a disgusted face. "If I win this match, you will allow Corinne to train with you in preparation for becoming a proper Musketeer." Corinne's eyes lit up, the dread from this morning wafting off her like a feather in the wind. 

"It isn't that simple. Corinne must be recognized for noble and brave acts outside of basic training, including serving France as a soldier. If I were to let her in, then I would have to let all inexperienced individuals join the Musketeers."

"Weren't you just saying you needed people to watch over the Prince?" Philippe mocked, lowering his sword. "A soldier isn't a soldier until he learns how to defend his country, regardless of prestige or rank. And by not allowing someone to join, you have one less person defending France." he raised his sword again. "These are your people fighting alongside you. Why does it matter who they are outside of the battlefield? They are your French brothers standing by your side, sharing the same bond and oath as you. Your blood." Louis felt he underestimated his brother. "If she has that same desire, to stand by you in battle, for France, she should."

Treville was silent. His eyes wandered to every mural dedicated to this order over decades old now. He recalled his father telling off each of their names, their families, and most of all, what they did for France. In the darkest corner of the room resided a hidden memory of a soldier from a time lost long ago. Her name was lost to history due to a fire, but she was one of the greatest Musketeers to have lived.

"You make an excellent point, young man," Treville raised his sword, running it down the blade of Philippe's. "En garde."

Chapter Text

Philippe and Treville kept a close eye on the other while the other Musketeers circled them. Louis and Corinne pushed through to get a better view of this duel. 

The two grazed each other's swords, flicking them to their sides before raising them to their faces.

Corinne's heart was pounding loudly, and as if everyone in the room wasn't there, she could only focus on the two in the circle. This scenario reminded her of when she rode with her father to the city to trade hunting games and eggs for leather and other tools for the barn. Two men approached them, hoping to catch a good amount of gold from them. They surrounded the pair, inching closer as one of them held out a knife to Corinne's face.

Dartagnan was too quick for them.

With nothing but his satchel, he swung hard at first to knock one of them out, spinning around and wacking the other across the face, throwing them both off balance. He picked up Corinne, throwing her over his shoulder, and ran into the busy crowd. The thugs could not find them after that.

Treville shouted, lunging in first. He trusted the sword to aim at his shoulder, but Philippe countered it with a diagonal swoop and pushback. Philippe and Treville exchanged a series of strikes, metallic clinging filling the hall. The Musketeers shouted at their captain, encouraging him with various stances and attacks to take Phillipe down. Louis smiled when his brother placed one of his arms behind his back. Treville aimed to swing at his head in a strong spin, but Philippe leaned forward slightly and used his sword to trip the captain to fall. He knocked Treville's sword to the ground and slapped his sword against his behind. 

Treville yelped at that action, looking behind him with slight irritation as if to say, was that necessary? Philippe rolled his shoulders back, getting back into a defensive stance. He nodded toward his sword, allowing Treville to pick it up.

Treville hesitantly picked it up, watching Philippe tentatively. The prince sprinted and lunged with his sword, instigating the older man to use both hands to block it from piercing his face. Treville stepped on his foot and punched the left side of his face. Philippe stepped back and ran a finger over his lip, and the ring on Treville's finger cut it. He dryly laughed, licking his lip before leaning back and striking again. They exchanged another series of heavy blows to each other's swords. They stepped back, taking a few breaths. Treville noticed Philippe had managed to knick his face, and blood oozed slowly down the side.

Corinne reached out to Philippe's shoulder, leaning into his ear. 

"Thank you, Lorraine," she whispered. Philippe looked back at the girl, giving her a small smile. He realized she reminded him of Lisolette, his new wife. She was certainly naive, but he admired her stubborn toughness most. 

He turned back to Treville, taking a deep breath.

You know, I knew in my absence you'd become pathetic. Philippe raised his sword, closing his eyes. I don't think you ever noticed, but while the sun may rule the day... He opened his eyes.

It is the stars that rule at night.

Philippe shouted, thrusting his sword mercilessly at the old captain. Treville grunted, trying to keep his arms up, but Philippe knocked him down again, square on his back, knocking the wind out of him. The prince stood over him, aiming the blade's tip at Treville's eye. 

With halted breath, the captain grunted, "I-I yield." he swallowed the scream that wanted to come up. Philippe smirked, sheathing his sword, and he held his arm out for Treville to reach up and grab. The Musketeers applauded this spectacular display of swordsmanship, some coming up to the prince to express their admiration.

"Wow! You are amazing, sir! Could you teach us how to do that?" a young blonde boy asked, nearly jumping up and down.

Philippe held up his hand to silence them. 

"So you will train her now, yes?" Philippe asked the captain. Treville nodded, still catching his breath. "Good. Get started right away." The musketeers turned their heads to Corinne, who placed a confident hand on her hip and waved at them.

"A girl is joining us?"

"Yes, I am," she smiled evilly at their reaction. "I will be one of the best, too, like my father!" Corinne pointed at Dartagnan's painting, earning a bewildered gasp from the boys.

"Don't get cocky, girl," Louis sternly corrected. "Being a musketeer is more than personal glory. It is your solemn duty to defend France and represent the King by honoring the chivalric code," Corinne looked down at the ground, shoulders drooping. The King's face softened. "You have much to learn, but I know that one day you will know what it means to serve your king." the girl looked into his eyes, and a chill ran down her spine.

Francis... she grinned and turned back to the boys.

He sighed, looking at his brother. "Good job. Let's find somewhere private to determine what we must do next." They started walking away from the group when Treville noticed.

"Wait, gentlemen!" Treville called out to them. "If you'd like, you may stay here until you need to leave. Free of charge." He walked up to Louis and handed him a set of keys. 

"Thank you." the King turned back and opened the door.

"And you," Treville reached out to Philippe. "If you have time, I would appreciate it if you helped me train some of these boys in chivalry."

"I'll have to think about it." Phillippe looked over to Corinne, still engaged with the boys. "Keep an eye on her. She's a plucky one." Treville nodded, letting them pass.

Louis and Philippe wandered the streets of Paris with nowhere specific in mind as a goal. They observed how happy the citizens were, as if there wasn't a war going on. There was very little sign of poverty, and families were working together in their small shops and taverns. A couple of musicians were performing an upbeat song in the center of a crossroads, and a crowd frolicked around them in dance. 

Soon enough, the brothers found themselves in front of a tailor shop. Before they could enter the door, a girl opened it, holding a stiff piece of purple fabric in her arms. Her eyes were a bright brown color matching the dark curls of her hair, her tan skin nearly without a flaw, and her plain dress was a lavender purple decorated with embroidery around the collar and at the hem of her skirt. She reminded Louis of the governess of 

"Excuse me!" the girl pushed by them, placing the fabric on the table. Louis stared at her, curious. 

"Go ahead, brother. I'll meet you inside." Louis stepped down on the street, watching her measure out a corner with a string and a piece of charcoal. She reached up to her head and pulled a couple of pins through the dots. Using a pair of shears, she quickly cut out the corner, picked up the fabric, and wrapped it around her shoulders. After slightly adjusting, she looked at herself in the mirror behind the table. 

"Voila! Magnifique!" she giggled excitedly. Her eyes flicker to Louis, who watched intensely at her process. She yelped, holding the sheers to his face.

"Who are you?!" she shouted. Louis snorted, her terrifying threat scaring the living daylights out of him.

"I apologize for startling you. I'm only fascinated by your craftsmanship," he looked back at the fabric. "You're trying to make a cloak, I'm guessing?"

She put the shears down, smiling sheepishly. "Ah, yeah. It's part of an ongoing project of mine, and it's a bit childish. Something a man like you wouldn't understand." she looked up at the man, curiosity filling her. "Are you a designer too?" Louis grinned. 

"I suppose you could say that," he reminisced of the drawings he'd left on his desk a few days ago. "I'm more familiar with the structure of a building rather than the construction of fabrics and embroidery, but I know beauty when I see it." the girl scoffed, slightly caught off guard.

"Incredible!" she expressed excitedly. "I'm Viveca, by the way," she held out her hand. Louis took it and kissed the back of her hand. Viveca blushed at the gesture.

"Charmed. I am Francis." Louis said suavely. Viveca lowered her hand and dusted off her skirt.

"U-um, would you mind helping me finish this piece?" 

"Certainly." Louis stood back and watched.

She replaced the cape on the table before taking a purple ribbon from her pocket. She removes the pins from the charcoal and cuts two small holes through them. Pushing on the end of the ribbon through the hole, she began to use a needle and thread to line the inside of the cloak with the ribbon and pushed the other end through the other hole.

"Could you hold this end down for me, Francis?" she pointed at a spot on the cloak. "Just with your finger." Louis held it there, watching her pull the other end of the fabric until it was sinched in the center. It gave the cloak a symmetrical draping look to it. 

She wrapped it around her again, tying it into a bow, turned around, and posed for Louis. He smiled at her accomplishment.

"Thank you!" she giggled, spinning around in it. "It's perfect for my musketeer uniform!" she observed how it turned with her arm motions. Louis narrowed his brows, Corrine instantly popping into his mind.

Her face lowered a bit when she noticed the look on his face. Louis paced a moment before he realized she was staring at him. "What, are you thinking, 'I'm a girl, so I can't,' right?"

"No. I didn't think that at all. You are the second woman I've met who desires to become a musketeer." Louis admitted, and Viveca stopped her hostile tongue before she went and offended him. 

"What's her name?" she asked, crossing her arms.

"Corrine," he said, tilting his head.

"Doesn't ring a bell," Viveca shook her head. "Oh well. I'm sure we'll meet at some point." She looks up toward a clock on the side of a building. "I have to get going. I'll see you around, Francis?" she curtsied, grabbing the discarded basket from the table. 

"Of course," Louis smirked, stepping aside and watching her walk down the street, head up high, cape flowing gently behind her with every step. 

His head whipped to his right when he heard a sudden uproar from people down the road. He saw a tiny cat run by first, followed by the massive dog from before, who barreled toward him with what looked to be a smug grin. Without having time to get out of the way, Brutus jumped and landed in the puddle before him just before continuing his chase, splashing him in his eyes. Louis cursed under his breath as he cleaned his face off with his shirt. 

When he opened his eyes, Corrine was running towards him too.

...

"Brother, the fashion here is so dull, but the colors are brighter than back home," Philippe stepped out of the shop with an embroidered hat, belt, and gloves, striking a pose. "I will admit the clothes feel less itchy on the skin and--" he stopped in the middle of the staircase when he saw a distraught Louis splayed on the ground in a puddle spitting out whatever sludge splashed up at him from the ground. The moment their eyes met, Louis' face contorted into rage and exasperation. 

"What--"

"Not a word," the King interrupted, wiping his muddy face with his sleeve. Philippe held his tongue, hiding a quick grin behind a gloved hand, and picked up Louis from the puddle. Philippe's eyes widened when he saw a massive stain on his brother's back, and he quickly wrapped his brother in his cloak. Louis spun around, looking for the direction the dog ran. "If we ever encounter that putrid mutt again, I order and give full permission to end its life in whatever fashion you desire." 

"Okay...?" Philippe quirked his brow at his brother.

"And for god's sake! Where's a woman's depth of perception? You would think she would see the person in front of her if she were running in a straight line!" he rambled on, water dripping from his face and hair. Philippe leaned into Louis' ear.

"Brother, you are shouting in the middle of the street. May I suggest we find somewhere more private to vent our frustrations?" he whispered, noticing how the crowd had formed a tunnel around where he assumed the woman and the dog ran off.

Louis exhaled sharply through his nose, silently admitting his brother was right, and briskly walked down the street.

Chapter Text

Monsieur managed to find a relatively private public garden whose trails were lined with ripening rose bushes. It held the view of this world's Notre Dame cathedral along the Seine. The speckled cobblestone opened to a courtyard toward a bridge that led up to the castle.

"This way, brother." Philippe pointed to the entrance with his hand. Louis huffed and walked ahead, sputtering the debris from the puddle in the streets.

Luckily for both of them, a bench surrounded by hedges was in the farthest section of the park. Louis sat first on the bench and leaned against the brick wall with his head. He sighed heavily and closed his eyes for a moment. Philippe followed suit, enjoying the window the hedges provided to view the rest of the park. 

The palace loomed over their heads. Louis glared at it, an eyesore to him at this moment.

"Do you remember the first time you met Jacques?" Philippe blurted out after a long pause. He folded his hands together, contemplating. "He gave Mother a bouquet of wildflowers wrapped in some old lace and a blue ribbon." Louis glanced over at his brother. "He didn't say much, but he did say, 'We will do great things together, Your Majesty.'" he smiled as he held the head of one of the bright pink roses to his right. The king lifted his head from the wall, realizing he hadn't spoken to Jaques for some time. He shook his head, dropping all sentimentality.

"You don't have to resort to flattery to make me feel better," Louis said, dabbing a handkerchief across his face to remove the excess water and silt.

"It's better than assuming that the woman we met put you in an awkward situation," Philippe sighed, resting his head on the hedge behind him.

"It was Corrine and that damned dog," he sighed as he pushed the clean cloth against the grime on his face. "The other girl had nothing to do with it."

"Okay?" his brother snorted. Louis threw the cloth on the bench, rested his arms on his legs, and leaned his face into his intertwined hands.

"What was Corrine doing running around like that?" Philippe pondered out loud. "I thought I told Treville to start her training." 

"I believe she was trying to save a cat's life," Louis recalled Corrine being more focused on the cat than what was in front of her. "But if she lacks that much coordination, I worry for whoever is training her."

"I can only hope she accepts the training. If not, all of this will be for nothing," Philippe complained, crossing one leg over another.

Louis cleaned himself as best he could, irritated by the noticeable brown stain on his shirt. Philippe spun the rose between his forefinger and thumb, taking care to avoid the thorns. He squeezed the stem gently and combed the delicate petals with the palm of his hand. Then he peered over at his brother, whose eyebrows furrowed angrily. 

"Do you think we will meet them soon?"

"Our path has led us to the evil version of you in this world. If any other notable characters will force Philippe's hand, we should follow them, just as we did for Corrine. The voice did mention we'd be offered a change of perspective here, and considering how long we wandered in that field until we noticed her training for anything to progress, it would be wise to follow anyone connected to Corrine," the king said, his lips pursing inquisitively. "Viveca...that girl from outside the shop. She mentioned she wanted to be a musketeer too."

"Why didn't you follow her?" Philippe asked. Louis looked over his shoulder and narrowed his eyes. "Oh, right. A girl and her pets defeated you,"

"This version of Paris is considerably smaller than the one we know," Louis huffed, ignoring his brother's comments. "I'm sure we'll see her again."

Phillippe got up from the bench and walked toward the lines of blossoming garden rose bushes, leaving Louis in the shade on the bench. Tapping the palm of his hand on his sword's hilt, he held one of the delicate red flowers in his hand, the stem between his fingers. Leaning in slowly, he sniffed the sweet smell radiating from it. 

"So it is settled!" Chevalier Lorraine smiles, looking over the brush, orchard, and fountains ahead. His golden curls blew in the gentle breeze, an ornate blue silk robe wrapped around his body. "We shall stay here," he pats the back of the embroidered gold and cyan chair. "It's perfectly lovely, just you and I. And we shall throw a party for all of our friends."

Philippe eyes him carefully before returning to beyond the grass. "All of our friends are over there, the center of the world," he mutters.

"Trust me, the world is nothing special." Lorraine carelessly blurts out. Philippe fully turns his head to him."What I saw of it from prison, anyway..."

"You're lucky you kept your head on your shoulders."

"It's almost as if the King was punishing me for something. People conspire everyday. It's hardly against the law." 

"It's called treason," Philippe huffs, a flush coming to his cheeks as he chuckles at his lover.

"Versailles can be the center of whatever world it likes," Lorraine says, grabbing his hand and holding it towards his lips. "You are the center of mine, Mignonette. We shall be just the two of us."

Philippe's eyelashes flutter open, and he's back in the strange land, trapped with his brother. And his heart slightly aches.

A woman wearing a bright green tunic over a white smock holding a tightly wound wicker basket strolled down to a bench on the far side of the gardens. Her bright red hair was tightly wound in a bun, crested with a braid and a couple of pins. She turned around without noticing the brothers, looking through the bushes, and plucked out a bright pink rose hidden among the sea of red. Using her nails, she picked out every thorn and smelled the flower when she finished.

"Tis but thy name that is my enemy. Thou art thyself, though not a Montague," the girl began, her bright brown eyes gazing down at the plant. Suddenly, the strumming of a harp and the whistle of a flute played in the garden. Nobody but the three of them were in the garden, so when Philippe and Louis gave each other a concerned look, they knew that the other could hear it too. "What’s Montague? It is nor hand, nor foot, nor arm, nor face, nor any other part belonging to a man. O, be some other name!" They flickered over to Louis, sitting on the bench, who watched with intrigue. "What’s in a name? That which we call a rose, by any other name, would smell as sweet." The woman suddenly hopped and twirled, landing on the tips of her toes as she wore green pointe shoes.

The harp and flute carried on as the woman continued to dance. Louis stood from the bench, his eyebrows furrowed, and approached his brother, who kept an eye on the strange woman. He reached up, squeezing Philippe's shoulder.

"I think it would be wise to leave, brother," Philippe whispered over his shoulder, feigning a smile to satisfy the performance. "The music is playing again, and I can't help but feel that we shouldn't be here."

"I don't know, brother. What if we're--"

A very familiar cat hissed and sped across the garden toward the woman. Louis and Philippe's eyes widened when they saw the muscly dog, Brutus, chase after it.

"Watch out!" Louis calls out to the woman, realizing their path and who is to follow.

"Huh?" the woman says before stumbling over the creatures at her feet. Sure enough, Corrine fumbled behind and knocked the poor girl into the rose bush, comically throwing a bunch of leaves in the air. Phillippe cringed when he heard her body thud against the stone beneath her. The poor girl lay there on her side, whining as she slowly picked herself up from the hard ground. Twigs and roses were now tangled in her hair, dirt, and grass smudging her pristine dress.

"That was exceedingly rude! I shall not stand for it!" she shouted at Corrine. The snap of the rose's stem broke her heart, but the bug that threatened to crawl up her arm startled her from that daze. The brothers stood over her, Louis reaching out a hand. The girl's cheek flushed a light pink as she kept her bright blue eyes on him. 

"That was quite the fall," the King said, plucking some leaves from her hair. "Are you alright?"

"I'm just fine!" she sniffled and smiled weakly, her eyes filling with tears as she tried to keep a brave face on. Phillippe glanced over to see Corrine running around the corner toward the castle.

"What is wrong with that girl?" he muttered under his breath.

"I am Francis, and this is my brother, Lorraine. What's your name?" Louis asked, smiling gently.

"Aramina," she sniffled again, quickly wiping the tears from her eyes. She struggled to look at him. "Madam de Bosse will probably be looking for me. I'm so sorry for bothering you two brave and honorable men with my theatrics. I'll get going now." She dusted herself off, curtseying the two, ran over to her basket, and fled the garden without looking back at them.

"Corrine is headed toward the castle. We should follow her," Louis said, briskly stepping around the bush and down the brick pathway. Philippe rolled his eyes at the mention of her name and followed his brother.

"I'LL GET YOU!" another victim of Corrine's foolish antics screeched from the fountain, which had a statue of Eros's likeness on top.

When the brothers turned the corner to the courtyard, they saw Corrine running past the fountain, leaving a poor soaking woman behind her in chaos.

Louis and Philippe watched a darker-skinned woman trudge through the fountain, a deep frown on her face. She wore the same outfits as the last two women they'd met, but she wore dark blue. Her hair was woven with a matching blue ribbon. She had bright brown eyes and full, dark, peach-tinted lips. The woman let out a mournful sigh looking at her destroyed violin. Reaching a leg over the fountain's edge and placing a hand below her, she left the fountain shivering and beginning to leave a puddle below her.

The shouting of men filled the courtyard.

"Hey! Wait!"

The brothers noticed the guards following Corrine up a long flight of stairs toward the palace's far side. 

"If you're going to arrest her, do it before she gets away!" the soaked girl shouted angrily. She held her arms close to her body, rubbing them along her torso, water dripping down her face, hair slowly becoming unraveled.

"Where does the back entrance go?" Louis asked, noticing Corrine turning a corner and the bumbling guards slowly catching up to her.

Incompetent fools.

"It's the entrance to the kitchen. That's where I was supposed to be after my break," she sniffled, running a hand down her face and flicking it to the ground. "But if you go behind that fountain instead of to the left, there's another door you can beat the other guards to."

"Thank you again, miss..?" Louis quirked his brow.

"Renee...it looks like you had a similar run-in with that psycho, too," Renee chuckled. "I will owe you a drink if you arrest her." The King's face flushed red, blinking slowly. His brother chuckled at her generosity, as stupid as it was, and started walking away before he started laughing. Louis ran his tongue over his teeth and bit his tongue, flashing a smile back at her.

"I will consider it," he pursed his lips and bowed to her, choosing to leave before he said something he'd regret. Renee put a hand on her hip and watched him catch up with his brother.

Renee quirked her brow at the two men, chuckling to herself at how their hair bounced in the wind.

"Mon Dieu! Renee! What happened?" Viveca gasped as she walked around the corner toward the bridge's opening. The sweet girl ran over, distressfully looking over her outfit. "You're soaked!" she picked at Renee's sleeve between her index finger and thumb. Her lips trembled, getting worked up for her friend. "What happened?"

"Some girl pushed me into the fountain while she was trying to catch a cat and a dog going toward the kitchen," Renee sighed, rolling her eyes as she imagined that blonde woman again. "A couple of men came by to check up on me before running after her next. I think they were new Musketeers."

"New recruits? Intéressante. I wonder how many more Treville or His Highness needs for this coronation ceremony?" Viveca pondered aloud. "What did these men look like?"

"They both had incredibly long hair and were not in uniform. They looked like they'd just arrived in town, and one of them was filthy. I nearly mistook them for women before I saw the swords," she explained, rocking her knees back and forth.

"Oh! One of them helped me with a new project I'm starting for myself. I think his name was Francis?" Viveca smiled, thinking about how gently he'd conversed with her.

"Yeah! That one had a massive stain on his shirt..." she laughed, recalling the look he gave her. "Though, I think I may have accidentally insulted the man, hahaha!" Viveca rubbed her hand on her friend's arms to warm her up.

"Well, we should head back to the palace. Madam will be waiting for us," Renee sighed, tugging on her hair in an attempt to restore it.

Viveca exhaled sharply through her nose and grabbed Renee's hand, swinging it as they walked across the bridge.

"It's a shame you don't have time to change," she said. "Madam will make some unhelpful comment about personal hygiene or something again."

"Ha! Well, I'll have to make my famous stew to shut her up," Renee giggled, scrunching up her nose. Viveca giggled, wrapping her arms around Renee's left and hugging her tightly.

Louis and Philippe stood before a wooden door, catching their breath. They were about to open the door when the bridge guards exited first.

"She was just a scullery maid late for work? I aint ever seen her face before," one mentioned, shaking his head at his partner. 

"You saw Constance leave, right? So maybe Madam was waiting for her to mess up," the other said, throwing up his hands.

The men stopped in their tracks when they saw the winded brothers.

"Can we help you, gentlemen?" One with an absurd-looking mustache asked. The brothers huffed, annoyed.

"Carry on. We don't have business with you," Philippe patted one of their shoulders before leaving.

"Aren't you from the fight in the street earlier? With Gaston?" he asked, reaching out to touch his sword's hilt to keep him from moving forward. Philippe clenched his jaw, exhaling sharply through his nose.

"Yes, now will you let us through?" Philippe said bitingly.

"Oy! I outrank you, young man. Show me some respect," he leaned into his face.

Philippe looked over his shoulder between the two men and Louis. Louis slowly breathed through his nose, lifted his head, and focused his bright blue eyes on his brother.

"I suggest you let us be on our way," Louis stated firmly, glaring into his eyes. "Or you will not return home this evening."

The men yelped when Philippe pushed the mustachioed man against the wall, holding a dagger to his throat.

"If you truly outrank me, then disarm me. Right now," Philippe ordered, his eyes steadfast on the other's, his grip harshly tightening on his shirt by the second.

The poor man looked into the devil's eyes and swallowed his pride along with a scream.

"Jeez! Okay. Go in already!" the man held in a scream and moved aside to let them through. Louis smirked at the fool before opening the door and walking inside.

"Good afternoon, gentlemen."

Chapter Text

Corrine wiped the sweat from her forehead, finally reaching the door where her cat, Miette, and that awful dog ran through. Catching her breath, she reached out for the door's handle when it burst open, causing her to nearly trip over the lip of the sidewalk.

"You're fired! Don't you ever come back!" a boisterous voice boomed from the other side of the door. Corrine's eyes widened as she watched a girl in a ruined yellow maid's uniform run out of the kitchen sobbing. 

She turned back to see a woman with an indecorous look on her face. The woman was stout, a tight bun holding back dark auburn hair. She wore an ankle-length black dress with matching gray gloves and shoes. Her face was made up with red lipstick and a painted mole just below her right eye. The woman's posture was stiff, her elbows tucked in as she crossed her arms and impatiently tapped her fingers.

"Who are you, child?" she bellowed with a slight English accent. "Or shall I also kick you out of the castle for disrupting our labor here too?"

"Madame, I'm only here to get my cat. A dog was chasing her, the same one who had stolen a letter from me earlier today," Corrine explained with a dry mouth. "And I saw that she had run this way, so I thought I-"

"You thought you'd what? Burst into MY kitchen and make more of a ruckus of it?" the woman scorned her, scowling deeply. "We have a coronation coming up! I don't have time for you, girl! Get out." she shooed her away with a gloved hand.

"Excuse me?" Corrine gasped angrily. "I am a musketeer, madame, and you will show me some respect." The woman quirked her brow before cackling loudly. 

"Oh, please! A musketeer? You, a little girl?" she laughed. "Monsieur Treville and Philippe would never allow such a thing to happen."

"My entire life, I have dreamed of being a musketeer, just like my father, Dartagnan," Corrine explained angrily, pointing a finger at her. Rolling her eyes, she pulled out a letter with a blue wax seal bearing the fleur de lis symbol. "These are my papers proving that I am a candidate musketeer!" the woman's eyes widened as she tore open the letter. She scanned the inked lettering closely, her nose scrunching as she reached the bottom.

"It would appear you're correct. Whatever. Congratulations on being the first female musketeer, my dear. I suppose your father would be proud," she muttered, handing Corrine her letter back, eyes still narrowed on the girl. "...As improper it may be," Corrine smirked, as it was her right.

"Now, will you let me through? I want my cat, and then I'll go," she asked, staring the woman in the eyes.

"Fine. But if I find that wretched thing in my kitchen again, there will be a problem." the woman stepped aside to hold the door open for her, and Corrine stepped into the kitchen. 

The young woman looked around, seeing chefs actively preparing meals and busboys maintaining the kitchen's cleanliness. Pots lined an iron hanging rack above the counter, which was covered in pre-chopped ingredients and bowls of raw spices. Paintings of the countryside decorated the walls, and Corrine was instantly reminded of the farm in Gascony. Wicker baskets sat on shelves holding a variety of vegetables and grains. In the corner, an old woman in a light cyan blue dress mindlessly swept the floor, her eyes focused on picking up the dirt brought in from the outside.

"I am Madame Du Bosse, head of the palace's household. I have served his highness for most of his life, tending to all the cleaning and cooking that goes on here. Philippe has served well as France's regent, but soon it will be time for our Prince to take the throne. We have much to prepare for in the coming days," Madame explained pointedly. "But it would seem I've misplaced my workers. Perhaps I'll have to fire the lot of them for their insolence." She paced around the kitchen and swiped a finger over the counter.

"Is that a speck of dust?!" she screeched, turning toward the old woman. The old woman flinched, clumsily dropping the feather duster to the ground. "God, Hélène! If you weren't the only one who knows where everything is in this castle, I would've fired you long ago!" The old woman went to reach for the duster when Du Bosse kicked it out of her reach. Corrine scowled at the woman's behavior and picked up the duster.

"Here you go," Corrine said with a smile, holding it out to her. Hélène smiled back.

"Thank you, young lady," she replied. As Corrine started walking away, Hélène grabbed her hand. "If you ever need a friend to speak about your duties as a Musketeer, I will gladly help you. Dartagnan was a good friend of mine before he passed." Corrine felt her heart beat loudly in her ears. 

"You..." her eyes teared up a bit. "I don't know what to say."

"Just promise me that you'll visit, dear. That's all I ask," Hélène said, patting her hand before letting it go. Corrine curtsied to her before continuing her search for Miette.

"Miette!" she called, kneeling to the ground, hoping to spot her tiny ears poke out somewhere. "Where are you, girl?" She pushed the baskets around and saw no movement or heard anything clambering around.

As she searched, she heard footsteps walking and stopping a short distance behind her.

"May I help you, gentlemen?" Corrine heard Madam Du Bosse ask.

"We were looking for this girl, Madame. She is being summoned back to headquarters immediately." Corrine heard Philippe explain, a flicker of irritation in his voice. Corrine stopped her search and quickly stood up. 

"Francis! Lorraine! Oh, I'm so glad to see you guys!" she ran over and hugged the brothers, who grunted at the sudden embrace. "You wouldn't believe what happened when you left!" she giggled.

"Oh, I know all too well what happened, mademoiselle," Louis said angrily, startling her. She stood back and gasped, mortified by the massive stain on his shirt.

"Oh man...that was my fault, wasn't it?" she admitted. Louis clenched his jaw, unimpressed by her stupidity. "I am so sorry, Francis! I wasn't looking where I was going. I was so nervous that Brutus was going to eat my cat."

"Do you have a single clue of how much damage you've caused across this city?" Philippe scolded. "Are you truly ready to be a Musketeer if you can't look where you're going?" Corrine lowered her head shamefully, her face burning bright red.

"I-I'm sorry!" she sobbed, tears running down her face. Madam Du Bosse smirked at his exchange, laughing behind her hand.

"Dammit, Corrine, we vouched for you! So why throw all of that back in my face? You dishonored your king and France!" Louis added, his hands shaking with rage.

"That's quite enough, boys," Hélène loudly interrupted, gripping the feather duster tightly, catching the men's attention. "The girl's already apologized, so there's no need to drag it on any further." Grabbing her walking stick, she walked over to the remorseful Corrine and patted her back. "Go to the gardens for some air. I'll be with you shortly with your cat." Corrine nodded, keeping her head low as she walked briskly out the door Madame Du Bosse brought her through.

"That foolish girl! I knew she wasn't a real Musketeer! It's preposterous!" Madam Du Bosse cackled, shaking her head. "She nearly had me fooled."

"Oh, but she is a musketeer, madame," Louis firmly said. What's preposterous is that you don't know the castle as thoroughly as this one here," he said, nodding his head toward Hélène and crossing his arms. Are you not the head of household?"

"I beg your pardon?" she blanched. “Take a good look at her. She’s older than the air of Paris itself,” Hélène lowered her head. “And how dare you speak to me that way! Shall I call the guards and have them escort you to the dungeon?”

“No, madam. I only question your authority, seeing as you have lost a rather large dog and that girl’s beloved cat.” Louis held back a laugh when she saw her face fall. 

Hélène turned back to the brothers with a knotted brow.

"Erm..Madame, if you wouldn't mind, I'd like to privately speak to these gentlemen before I finish my duties," she asked Du Bosse. Du Bosse looked between the two brothers, still stunned by them.

"Whatever. There's too much to do," Du Bosse cleared her throat and dusted off her dress. "Gentlemen, if you or that girl need anything from me, I will be in the palace." she bowed before exiting the kitchen.

Louis, Philippe, and Hélène awkwardly stood there, waiting for someone to speak.

"Finally..." Hélène groaned as she stretched and suddenly stood up straight, a crack rippling up her back as she rolled her shoulders the moment they were alone. Louis grimaced at the sound, while Philippe chuckled lightly, slightly impressed. "I was hoping you'd get here sooner, but I underestimated the interference from the Musketeers and the girls, of course," Philippe dropped his smile the longer he heard her speak. His hand slowly reached for his sword.

"What, you were anticipating this?" Louis scoffed.

"Absolutely," she grinned. "Though it should've been Viveca in your place, your Majesty," Hélène giggled, her voice cracking from the phlegm at the back of her throat. Louis's eyes widened in realization.

"YOU!" Louis shouted, pointing a finger at her.

Philippe swiftly unsheathed his sword and pointed it toward her throat. "So, it's you. You're the one who brought us here against our will," he said through gritted teeth, utterly annoyed. 

"No, my dear Philippe. It was you who chose to be here," she said without fear, pushing the sword out of her face. "But now that you are here, we have much to discuss."

Philippe looked over to his brother, clenching his jaw tightly. Louis breathed out slowly.

"Tell us who you are first. You're the only one who knows who we really are. We've come all this way to find you, after all." The king exhaled sharply, pushing on his brother's arm to signal him to back down. 

"Good. Now follow me,"

Philippe ran his thumb across the ruby band around his finger, tugging on his beard as he looked through the window of his carriage. He had to go into town to settle some disputes popping up across the kingdom. From what he'd gathered, an unfamiliar girl chased his dog through the streets of Paris, causing a lot of upset among the townsfolk, who were upset that the girl was disrupting their routines. 

Was it the same nuisance who wanted to be a musketeer? Or the Viscartes brothers?" he pondered as the coach passed by Notre Dame. 

Bertram, his bodyguard and closest friend, sat directly across from him. He wore a black and white shirt with rubies and amber crested into the buttons and sleeves. He wore leather pants and gray boots, slightly worn from his various tasks. An eyepatch covered his right eye and the scars that came from it, a trophy from an unfortunate encounter during the war. His jet-black hair was combed back, and a well-kept beard proudly decorated his face. 

"Something on your mind, sire?" Bertram asked curiously, noticing Philippe's restlessness. 

Philippe looked over to his henchman with a frown.

"I don't like strangers entering my city, Bertram. I have waited too long for this moment to suddenly have my plans thwarted by a little girl and her bumbling heroes," he snarled, his eyebrows twitching.

Bertram crossed his legs and rested his cheek on the back of his hand, slightly pushing his cheek against his eye patch. "Once we return to the palace, I will look into it immediately,"

"Please do," Philippe said, returning to look out the window. "I wouldn't want to lose one of my greatest allies to a hunting accident, now would I?"

Bertram held his breath, stunned. "Of course, your majesty," he mumbled. "You know I wouldn't let you down, right?"

Philippe narrowed his eyes. "We'll see."

Hélène led the brothers down the hallway to an open part of the palace. The ceiling had arches lined with glass panes, letting in bright sunlight. The walls were surprisingly bare, not a single painting or motif of their country or previous kings. They turned the corner to see a gigantic chandelier hanging over an opulent staircase, more arches leading to other hallways, and statues framing the staircase like a proscenium stage. Every part of the palace was painted the same boring, beige color, and the space was eerily silent.

Louis scowled at all of it as his eyes wandered the space as they walked up the stairs.

"This palace doesn't feel like a palace, does it?" Hélène said as if she could hear Louis' underwhelmed reaction.

"No," Louis admitted. "It's lifeless in here. Where are the guards? The other nobles? The servants or chambermaids?"

"Philippe has them housed elsewhere for now," Hélène explained.

Philippe gazed at his brother's back, the curls bounding as he stepped upward.

Versailles?

He remembered the wolves who growled at his brother as he overlooked their father's old hunting ground and how terrified Louis was when their mother passed.

"How do you know about all of this?" Philippe questioned cautiously. "The events you're referring to haven't happened yet, and somehow you know that Philippe is plotting against the prince?" Hélène stopped at the top of the stairs, her back toward them.

"Don't forget that this world is quite different from yours, Your Highness," she grinned. "But it's true that I've lived in the palace for fifty-five years. As a servant, you quickly pick up on all sorts of things. And when these things come your way, you must do absolutely anything to stop it," she brushed her hand across her sleeve and placed a hand on her walking stick, looking back toward the brothers. "In other words, don't underestimate me just because I'm old," she said with a flicker in her eye before turning to the right. The brothers shared a confused expression.

The three continued down a long hallway that ended at a wall, with a desk at the end. Hélène held out her hands before the brothers could proceed any further. She grabbed her walking stick and pressed an invisible switch in the wall. The wall spun, revealing the floor was carved into a giant circle, too. The wall opened, and a secret passageway was opened.

"Where does this lead to?" Philippe asked, very hesitant to enter the damp hole in the wall that reeked of mildew and grime.

"Follow me," Hélène ordered as she walked across the threshold, her walking stick clanking against the stone. Louis took a deep breath and proceeded into the tunnel. As the brothers followed, the door slammed behind them, the sound reverberating in the shadows.

Corrine sat on the lip of a fountain, dragging her boot through the gravel, sniffling. 

You dishonored your King and France! 

Francis' words were harsh, but he wasn't wrong. Instead of obeying direct orders given to her by Treville, she made a ruckus in the streets of Paris and didn't apologize to those girls either. And now, because of her, she lost her darling Miette. 

Her lips quivered, and she pulled her legs to her chest, sobbing into her knees. 

I failed you, father. She thought miserably, squeezing tighter.

"Hey! I have a bone to pick with you!" a girl shouted above her. Corrine looked up to see three angry girls frown at her. She felt a weight drop in her stomach when she recognized two of them, who were filthy and soaked.

"Yes, you do," she said, looking down at her dirty boots.

"I have NEVER been so humiliated in my entire life!" Renee shouted at her, her fists clenched. "Why didn't you watch where you were going?!"

"I..."

"Do you know how long it took to get those roses out of my hair?" Aramina pouted, pointing at her tangled hair. "Don't even get me started on the BUGS!" she grimaced.

"What do you have to say for yourself?" Viveca sneered, putting a disgusted hand on her hip.

"I'm sorry, really," Corrine finally had the courage to look up at them. Her eyes trickled with more tears before she continued speaking. "Is there anything I can do to make it up to you?" Aramina's frown turned to that of concern. She couldn't handle anyone crying in front of her.

"She should clean all the draperies in the ballroom!" Viveca recommended, picturing how filthy she'd get by the end of it. 

"That's cute, Viveca," Renee chuckled. "But I don't think that's enough."

"Um..." Aramina bit the inside of her cheek, thinking. "She should dust every book in the library!" She nodded, attempting to thwart the growing guilt in her chest.

"Hm...that's an idea," Renee thought aloud, putting a hand on her hip. "But I don't think that's strong enough penance for what she's done." 

"I'll do both if you'd like. I need to get my mind off of everything," Corrine sighed. "I'm not doing so great for my first day as a Musketeer, am I?" she laughed miserably at herself.

The girls went silent, all of them looking at each other with shock.

"What do you mean 'you're a Musketeer'?" Renee asked, her brow furrowed furiously. "There are no-" her voice shook.

"Are you serious?" Viveca blanched. "There's no way you're a Musketeer? Why you? You're just--"

"How is this possible?" Aramina fidgeted with her fingers, stomping her foot into the gravel. "I've always wanted to be a Musketeer and was told I couldn't." 

"WHAT?!" Renee and Viveca squealed. "YOU TOO?"

Corrine giggled at the sudden change of direction this conversation was going, intrigued by their animated personalities.

"Wait, why didn't you tell us, Ari?" Viveca put a hand on Aramina's shoulder. 

"I thought you'd laugh at me. You know how much of a romantic I am! I thought you'd brush it off like you always do!" the girl blushed. Viveca pouted, internalizing her words. 

"I'm sorry, Aramina. I didn't mean to make you feel that way." 

Aramina gave her a small smile in return.

"How did you do it?" Renee huffed, exasperated, and returned to Corrine. "What did you say to Treville to convince him?"

The girls sat next to her and got in close to watch her explain. Corrine giggled again, shaking her head. 

"I was practicing in the barn when these two men found me. They told me they were returning to Paris, so I accompanied them. My father left me a letter of recommendation to join them, hoping Treville would accept. He initially rejected me, but one of the men made a deal with Treville that forced him to take me. They dueled, the man beat Treville, and now I'm an official Musketeer." Corrine pulled the letter from her satchel, and Viveca took it, examining it thoroughly. She went so far as to sniff the parchment and ink. 

"This is legit." she verified, her eyebrows shooting up. "Who was your father?"

"Dartagnan."

The girls all squealed with admiration.

"No way! That's insane!" 

"Do you think we'd be able to get accepted too?"

"What should we do?"

The girls paced around the gravel, all of their dreams and excitement filling the courtyard.

"THERE YOU ARE!" Madam Du Bosse hollered across the walkway, furiously stomping towards the lot of them. The girls immediately stood in a line, concealing Corrine from her gaze. "Do you know how late the three of you are? How dare you! I should fire the lot of you for this insolence!"

"Please, Madame! We are so sorry. We ran into a problem on the way here and had to take care of it." Viveca pleaded. "This will not happen again!"

"Well, while you three have been mucking about, we had a cat run through the palace! Find that thing at once and take care of all the regular chores. Now isn't the time to dilly-dally! We have a coronation to worry about!" she scolded, pointing her gloved finger at them. Corrine rolled her eyes and stood up from her hiding place.

"Madame, it's my fault that they're late." 

"Oh, Corrine. You again...the mistake." Du Bosse clicked her tongue. "What should I do with you?"

The girls parted from their line to allow Corrine to face Madame. Corrine took a deep breath and stepped forward.

"I'm sorry for disrupting your workflow. Once I report to Treville, I'll return and make up for lost time, if you want."

"How honorable!" Madame clapped her hands sarcastically. "If you return by 2:00, then you can clean the ballroom by yourself. Otherwise, these girls will be thrown in the dungeons and put in the stocks for a week!" The girls whined upon hearing that.

"I would never be able to show my face in town again after that!" Aramina relented dramatically. 

"Please, Corrine! Don't be late!" Viveca pleaded, tugging on her arm.

Corrine puffed up her chest and glared at Du Bosse's smug face. "You're going to have the cleanest floors you've ever seen, Madame," she said confidently, curtseying. "I'll see you guys later, right?" she asked the girls, who nodded fervently. "And if you happen to find my cat before I return, please hold onto her for me."

"We'll see," Madame Du Bosse muttered under her breath as she watched Corrine walk across the courtyard. "Return to your stations, the lot of you!" she clapped her hands, dismissing the girls.

Hélène led the brothers down the catacombs for a long time before she stopped in front of a torch. 

"Watch your step," she said, pulling on the torch. 

The floor fell beneath them, and suddenly they were sliding into a dark pit. Louis hit the back of his head and groaned as he slid. Philippe started laughing at his brother but soon found himself screaming as they were engulfed in darkness, and the angle of the slide increased exponentially. Hélène snorted at their expense, pulling her legs together to go faster. The brothers collectively sighed with relief when they slid into the light at the end of the tunnel, sprawling on a polished wooden floor in a heap.

"We never speak of this moment, yes?" Philippe gasped, collecting himself as the disorientation wore off.

"Agreed," Louis hissed, rubbing the back of his head painfully.

"Oh, hush. It wasn't that bad." Hélène teased them, shaking her head. She turned her attention back to the room they stood in. "Gentlemen, welcome to the old Musketeer training grounds."

The brothers sat up from the floor and stared at the strange mechanical nightmare in the center of the room. To the left, large windows illuminated the massive space of the room. Blue velvet drapes hung from metal racks with a fleur de lis crest hung at the center of them. Scarecrows decorated with targets at their centers were scattered about the facility. Multiple raised wooden stages dedicated to sword fighting, all with their own racks of rapiers and maces, were available for use, each with a hole at its center to place a dummy if needed. A shelf held all manner of blunderbusses and heavy pistols, which sat above barrels of gunpowder and metal balls. Large gears sat at the center of the room, activated by a nearby churning lever to simulate distance for shooting crossbows and practicing archery. Toward the back of the room sat all sorts of whips, ranging from chainmail to regular leather. There was a sand pit and another arsenal of guns and swords next to it. 

Louis applauded the craftsmanship of whoever designed this place. 

"This is beautiful," Louis said, slowly wandering around the room, running a hand on the polished wood from the gears. "How long did the constructions take?"

"Approximately five years, Your Majesty. Local carpenters were hired and paid very well to keep this place hidden from the public. Most of them retired to the countryside soon after," Hélène recalled, her eyes sparkling in the light. 

"They all still work after all this time?" Philippe asked as he leaned on the shoulder of a scarecrow.

"Yes. Just pull that lever there," she pointed to the lever next to the massive gears.

Philippe gripped the handle tightly and spun it clockwise. The gears quaked, roaring to life, and the scarecrows rotated around the gear. Louis marveled at their performance.

"Incredible." was all he could say. Philippe smiled at his brother's wonder and stopped pulling.

"This room was built strictly for the benefit of the Musketeers' training regime, but when Phillippe took the throne, it was all but forgotten when he built the boarding house and established the King's men to run the palace's affairs." she continued to explain as she looked up at the portrait of Dartagnan and Treville above the fireplace. "It was a necessary sacrifice to defend from the conflicts in the east."

"And what happened in the east?" Philippe inquired curiously, tightening his lips.

"Let's just focus on what's happening right now. It's a bit too complex to worry about that nonsense now." Hélène pleaded. Philippe blinked, picking on a piece of hay that fell from the dummy's arm.

"Very well, then." 

Hélène turned to the two royal brothers, her face getting serious.

"Now, onto business," she said from a nearby dueling stage. "The reason why I've brought you two here."

"Right," Louis said, sitting across from her on another stage, Philippe joining him. "France is on the precipice of collapse, correct? And that's because of this world's version of Philippe, the current regent." he summarized, running his tongue over his teeth. "How is that, exactly? The streets are clean, the peasantry is satisfied, and there aren't any droughts currently happening."

"Philippe plans to murder the next person in line for the throne. That's the problem," Hélène explained, her eyes growing more distant. "He hasn't pulled anything yet, but I fear for the Prince's life. Do remember how barren the halls were in the corridor? That's intentional. Philippe keeps a circle of kingsmen in the palace to vouch for him, Bertram the leader of them all. They are all corrupted by his lust for power. Philippe has offered them vast wealth at the expense of the people. The nobles outside of Paris keep this very private, continuing to maintain the limit of wealth for lesser nobles and the peasantry while keeping a massive piece for themselves. When he takes the throne, he'll begin taxing the people to pay for their silence in assisting him and his assassination. That's why things are so peaceful here right now."

"But don't they need the money to maintain the palace, to begin with?" Louis questioned. "Isn't there a proper implementation for these things?"

"There is an implemented limit to how much someone owns. You can still be wealthy, but not to an extreme, or use it to unfairly govern the people. There's more value in community and culture than in ownership and materials. It's mostly to ensure everyone is housed and fed here in Paris. But if Phillippe takes the throne, he will convert it that way to pay for private expenses while the people begin to starve and become homeless,"

"That is interesting," Philippe said, satisfied with that answer. "So then the King is supposed to ensure the whole country is satisfied, correct?"

"Oui, Monsieur," Hélène nodded, pleased at his understanding. Philippe looked over at his brother and sighed, smugly smiling.

"Shut up. I've seen your shoe bill," Louis ordered, ignoring him. Philippe raised his hands defensively.

"And I've seen your palace bill, brother. Don't even get me started on your gambling debts," he teased.

"Don't threaten your king,"

"Don't be a pain in the ass," he threw back.

"Gentlemen!" Hélène clapped to regain their attention. "Can we get back to it? Please?" the men sighed, regaining their composures. "You made the right choice bringing Corrine to Paris."

"I don't think we had one, considering how long it took us to leave Gascony," Philippe prodded one more time at Louis' expense. Louis burned a hole in the side of his brother's face with an icy glare. 

"Did you meet anyone else prior to your arrival at the palace?"

"Yes. You mentioned Viveca. She was charming and quite a talented seamstress," Louis recalled, smirking at her quips. "Then we met...Artemis?"

"Aramina?"

"Yes. And then Renee." Philippe answered. "They were all run over by Corrine, with the exception of Viveca." Hélène grinned and rested her hands on the walking stick, moving it from side to side.

"Good. If Corrine plays her part correctly, they should be meeting right now." Hélène stood from the stage and stretched, popping her back again.

"What will that accomplish?"

"She needs allies if she's going to save the Prince from mortal danger," the old woman pointed out.

"Those girls are eventually going to be Musketeers, aren't they?" Louis realized. 

"Yes," she nodded. "They will prove them wrong, those who would think a girl cannot be a Musketeer. I've seen them practice their technique privately, but they are not strong enough. They lack the skills needed to be a proper Musketeer. If they fail, then all women in France will continue to live without gaining their fullest potential. That is why you are needed." she points at them using both of her hands, the stick falling against her body. "You will teach them what it means to serve France and how to properly negotiate during moments of strife and peace," she tells Louis. "And you will teach them other kinds of strategy, including those of the martial arts," she tells Philippe, who smiles at his acknowledgment. Louis smiles at his brother, agreeing with her words.

"They will lead by example and, in turn, help the men become better soldiers for France. Louis will have a strong foundation protecting him as he begins his rule," Hélène finishes, standing firmly in place. "I know it is unusual for men of your standing, in your world at least, to guide women to be leaders, but it is the only way to save our country from its destruction."

"Exactly..." Louis said with little confidence, briefly recalling the brilliant Madame du Maintenon. "It's not entirely unwise to trust women in some matters." 

"Well, we chose to be here. This is the consequence," Philippe accepted, slapping his gloved hands together. "We don't have much of a choice in the matter, or else we'd be trapped in another endless cycle as before."

"You may return to the boarding house if you wish to clean up and eat. I will send a messenger for you when the time is right,"

"Ensure Corrine properly apologizes to the other girls, Aramina and Renee. If she has to go out and look for them, so be it." Louis orders.

"Very well, Your Majesty."

Hélène led them to the fireplace, both standing on either side of her. She tapped her walking stick on the ground, and the floor spun beneath them, sealing the room.