A/N: Thank you SnidgetHex, beeblegirl, and pallysAramisRios for reviewing the last episode! And thanks to 29pieces for beta reading!


Chapter 1

Anne lolled her head to the side, a throbbing in her temple keeping her from opening her eyes just yet. But then she registered the fact that she was lying on a cold, gritty surface. Confusion and alarm brought her fully awake, and she prized her eyelids open as she pushed herself up on her palms.

Torchlight flickered from sconces along roughhewn walls of rock that arched up into a cavernous dome overhead. There was no other source of illumination, no crack in the chamber to hint how far underground this place was. Burnt out fire pits were spaced about, and there were some wooden chairs and a table along the opposite end. Someone had made use of this cavern in the past.

Anne pushed herself up further and turned over to see the rest of her surroundings, only to startle badly when she found Rochefort perched in a chair a mere few feet to her left, watching her silently. She skittered backward until she bumped into the rock wall. Memory came flooding back, of him coming to her room, attacking her. Again. In those final moments when she couldn't breathe, she'd thought she was going to die. She had never imagined she'd wake up underground, alone with Rochefort.

"You will die for this treachery," she gasped, heart jackrabbiting against her ribs.

He regarded her patiently, back to his usual calm self, though Anne now saw it for what it was—a deadly calm like a viper capable of striking like lightning. He slowly rose from his chair.

"God has given us a second chance," he said.

"What do you mean?" she asked nervously.

He took a step toward her. "We will be together now. No one will stand in our way."

Anne's heart lurched with fear and she leaped to her feet. "Never!"

She tried to dart away, but he was always so much faster. He lashed a hand out and caught her by the throat. She gasped as he forced her around and bent her back over a boulder.

"Beg!" he seethed, leaning over her and squeezing his fingers.

Anne choked on a garbled cry as her air was cut off again.

"Beg for my forgiveness!" he raged. "Beg! Beg for your life!"

"I beg you…" she choked out.

He loomed over her for a moment longer, his one good eye burning with umbrage. Anne's lungs spasmed.

Rochefort abruptly snatched his hand away, and she rolled off the boulder to collapse to the ground, clutching her neck and gasping raggedly.

"Your beauty is nothing," he said, deadly calm again. "Nothing but deception."

Anne swallowed back a terrified sob, throat on fire. "We were friends…" she rasped, trying to appeal to some decent part of him.

"I loved you!" he shouted down at her, and she flinched as a whimper escaped past her lips.

There was no reasoning with him, she realized. He had gone completely mad. Or perhaps he had always been so, and she had been blind to it. Her only hope was to play along, to keep him appeased long enough for someone to find and rescue her.

"I'm sorry," she gasped, ducking her head demurely. "I chose the wrong words. You have always been there for me," she added, remembering past conversations with him. Her heart clenched as she remembered small instances, seemingly so inconsequential at the time, but perhaps they had been warning signs. Oh, how she had been a fool.

"I am more of a man than your sniveling husband," he spat.

Anne cringed and kept her eyes on the ground. "You are," she forced herself to agree.

She could feel his gaze boring into her, but she dared not move. She heard the sound of his boots coming closer, saw them edge into her field of vision. Then he was sinking to his knees beside her. Anne trembled as he reached out to brush a stray strand of hair behind her ear.

She bit back a whimper as he leaned close and caressed a finger down the side of her neck, tracing the bruises he had put there only moments ago. Anne wasn't able to hold back a wince as he touched a tender spot.

His hand stilled, and she was afraid his anger had ignited once more, but he simply gazed at her, that one eye wavering with emotion. Then he bowed his head, nestling it into the crook of her shoulder. A tear slipped down her cheek as she forced herself not to move.

"It's just you and me now," he whispered in her ear.

.o.0.o.

The palace was in chaos. Musketeers swarmed the corridors, searching every room for the Queen and Rochefort. Some of the low ranking palace guards assisted, while the lieutenants were rounded up and questioned. They all denied any knowledge of Rochefort's plan to kidnap the Queen.

D'Artagnan wasn't sure whether they could be believed. Treville obviously didn't think so either, because he ordered them taken to the dungeon until the Queen was found. The King, for his part, had been reduced to a distraught mess and was in no shape to give any commands.

Yet after hours of searching, they had come up empty, which left only one conclusion—the Queen and Rochefort were not in the palace.

"None of the servants saw anythin'," Porthos reported. "He didn't drag the Queen kicking and screaming out of here."

"He may have incapacitated her," Aramis put in grimly.

"Or killed her," Athos added.

"We will continue to operate as though she's still alive until proven otherwise," Treville said sharply.

"Still," d'Artagnan interjected, "you'd think someone would have seen something."

The doors at the end of the hall swung open and Jean Bonacieux came hurrying in with Constance.

"Rochefort's dragon isn't at the compound," she said, slightly winded.

"I haven't seen him in two days," Jean added. "It's not unusual for him to go sulking off somewhere on his own, but this is the longest he's been gone."

The musketeers all stiffened at that.

"If Rochefort fled with the Queen on his dragon, they could be anywhere by now," Porthos said.

"I want every rider in the sky, now," Treville barked.

With brisk nods, the four of them turned and quickly made their way outside to where Savron, Vrita, Zhar, and Beltane were still waiting in the gardens. They all pulled up short in surprise as none other than Ayelet and Rhaego came swooping in.

"Where have you been?" d'Artagnan exclaimed. He was relieved to see his dragon seemed fine—aside from her saddle being askew—but that only turned his worry to anger. How could she have run off on him like that? In the middle of a national crisis, no less?

Ayelet ducked her head contritely.

Aramis gave his dragon a critical look. "Rhaego?"

The russet dragon grimaced in apology, but unfortunately neither of them could exactly explain where they'd been. And together, which was befuddling in itself.

D'Artagnan shook his head. "At least you're here now. Rochefort has taken the Queen. We need to track him and his dragon."

Ayelet's face pinched and she shook her head, hunching in on herself.

D'Artagnan frowned. "What's wrong?"

Ayelet made a gargled noise in her throat and backed up a step, her wings folding down over the ground as she burrowed further into them.

Rhaego barked sharply, drawing d'Artagnan's attention, and gave him a head shake. He then cocked his head toward Zhar and made a throaty query. The green dragon bobbed his head fervently in response and croaked at d'Artagnan.

He was completely flummoxed and turned to his wife and father-in-law. "Is Ayelet sick?"

"I don't know," Constance replied, eyeing their dragon curiously. "We'll look her over. You have to hurry."

D'Artagnan's jaw tightened, but he knew she was right. So he went to climb onto Zhar's back to again fly that dragon into battle instead of his own.

"Savron and I will go back to the garrison and summon the rest of the dragon riders," Athos said as Aramis and Porthos mounted their dragons. "Head south. We'll take the rest."

They nodded and turned their dragons around. Everyone else backed up to give them space to launch into the sky.

D'Artagnan cast a look over his shoulder at Ayelet, concern gnawing at his gut. But she was in good hands with Constance and Jean. D'Artagnan just hoped it wasn't anything serious. They had enough crises to deal with at the moment.

D'Artagnan scanned the sky and land below for any sign of Rochefort's dragon, Falkor. There was so much ground to cover, though, and who knew how much of a lead they had…

"Do you think Rochefort would have fled to Spain?" d'Artagnan called over the wind. "Seems a stupid move, kidnapping the King's sister and then fleeing to his country with her."

"Rochefort's gone mad," Aramis replied. "Reason doesn't come into play anymore."

"Remember Rochefort's dragon can't fly very far," Porthos shouted. "No way he would've reached Spain yet."

Rhaego suddenly let out a screech and banked left. Vrita and Zhar quickly adjusted course to follow suit, and d'Artagnan caught a glimpse of a brown dragon flying over the river. Falkor.

D'Artagnan clung tighter to the saddle and leaned forward over Zhar's neck to reduce the wind shear as the Musketeer dragons gave chase.

Their hobbled target certainly couldn't outrun them, and within minutes they were swooping in and around him. But he was riderless. Falkor shrieked in anger and tried to break away, but three was no match for him, and their coordinated flying eventually forced him down to land on the riverbank.

He splashed into the shallow waters, one leg giving out beneath him. He wasn't even wearing his saddle, and d'Artagnan frowned as he noticed a nasty wound gouging out his shoulder, like he'd been in a fight with another dragon recently.

Falkor snarled and spat as the Musketeer dragons surrounded him.

"You'd better lead us to yer rider," Porthos said sharply.

Falkor snapped his jaws in response.

Rhaego hissed back.

Aramis frowned and laid a hand on his dragon's shoulder in caution.

D'Artagnan didn't think Falkor had a chance, but despite being crippled and pitiful, the dragon's muscles rippled as he prepared to attack. The Musketeer dragons saw it as well, and just as Falkor lunged, all three of them kindled their fire and spewed streams of flames into his path.

Falkor screeched and reeled backward, falling into the river and thrashing around to put out the flames. He let out a low keen and struggled to get to his feet again, water dripping from blackened patches of scales.

"It's not worth it!" Aramis yelled.

The dragon shot them all a baleful glower, then with a raging roar, came charging out of the river again.

D'Artagnan barely had time to think that he should have dismounted, but a musket shot cracked the air, and Falkor went crashing through the dirt. When he skidded to a stop, there was a hole in his skull with glints of obsidian alloy. D'Artagnan whipped his gaze toward where Aramis sat atop Rhaego, a smoking musket still braced against his shoulder. The marksman looked pale and slightly shaky as he slowly lowered the gun.

Rhaego snorted in contempt.

Porthos slid off of Vrita and went over to toe Falkor's carcass. The dragon was dead.

"There's nothin' on 'im." Porthos turned back to face them. "You think Rochefort camped somewhere and Falkor was off hunting?"

"It'd be a foolish move," Aramis replied. "He has to know every dragon rider will be out looking for his dragon." He slipped his musket back into its holster. "But we'll do a sweep of the surrounding area. Split up, and call out if you find anything."

D'Artagnan cast a regretful look at Falkor. "At least we know Rochefort won't be going any further very quickly."

But it was small comfort, because the fact of the matter was with Rochefort's dragon dead, they had no leads on him or the Queen.