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“There is nothing better than a friend, unless it is a friend with chocolate.”
-Linda Grayson
...
“You're in your head a lot today,” Constance asked as she entered the queen’s chambers, the day only half way over but they already exhausted, “Everything okay?”
Anne shook her hair out and sighed.
The father of my baby is not the king. I am afraid that the actual father is in love with me. I don't love him. I am trusting people less and less, which is terrifying.
I really need a freaking drink.
“I'm worried about Louis. That I am leaving him alone too often,” Anne says through a smile, “It’s hard to think about the budget when my son is still breast feeding.”
“You're the bloody Queen of France,” Constance replies, steel in her voice that is not directed at Anne but rather at the now departed assistants/fishwives, “No one has the right to judge you for how you decide to mother.”
“And if they do?”
“Then we will be having words.”
Anne's pleasant smile morphed into a grin. Constance is good people. She had no doubt that her friend could bring France to its knees if she so wished. Her sharp tongue and iron bones made her a formidable opponent in court (a place where she was meant to have no voice), as Rochefort had found out the hard way. His shocked and offended face still bought a smile to Anne's face during long, insufferable meetings of state.
“Come on then,” Constance announced, bear feet slapping on the floor as she strode over to her bags, “We only get one day off a month, might as well use it.”
Anne flopped down on her bed watching as her friend pulled a bottle of Wine out of her bag.
“Constance!” she said in astonishment, “It’s barely noon!”
“Yeah,” the other woman said with a smirk, “And what happens at noon?”
The Queen’s jaw dropped when her train of thought caught up with her friend’s.
“Oh, you are a bad influence.”
Constance just laughed as she twisted the cork from the bottle.
…
“Three.”
“Two.
“Ugh, One.”
“Six.”
“Six? I was thinking four.”
“Wow.”
“What, it’s all … flat.”
“What about that one?”
“Eh, seven.”
“Yeah, seven’s good.”
Anne hid her smile behind the rim of her glass. Well not so much a glass. It wasn't very Royal to be drinking cheap wine from a ceramic mug. But then again it wasn't very Royal to be sitting on the window seat of ones room with the window open, wearing pyjamas, while rating the backsides of the drilling red guards beyond said window.
Her mother would be turning in her grave. If she were dead that is.
“Wha’ abaw ‘im?” Constance garbled out through a mouth of chocolate, motioning to the Captain of the Guard who was doing leg ups. As Queen she should really know the man’s name, but she had never been that inclines to find out and simply thought of him as variations of “Captain Frownyface” “Captain Arse-kiss” and others. Constance had been the one to come up with those names, she would go to her grave swearing that.
Anne hummed. “One. If that.”
Constance grinned and handed her a huge piece of her chocolate.
“I like you drunk. You get all bitchy.”
“I am not drunk, and this is my normal level of bitch.”
“I still love it.”
Anne grinned and filled her cup again, ignoring the pop song Constance sung every time she filled her cup. Queens do not ‘up-town-funk’.
Below them the guards began to wind down their drilling for the day, ready to move off to their official duties. Probably to follow her husband around as he attempted to get to know their son. Every now and again her phone buzzed with updates on their whereabouts from Marguerite. Apparently the King had been reading to their son for an hour and planned to walk him around the garden before they both napped. As much as he was frustrating it was hard to hate that man.
Anne was just about to suggest moving to the bed to watch a movie when the gates to the garden beyond the Court Yard opened, revealing the arrival of the Kings Musketeers, an age old group of elite soldiers founded way before the Revolution that acted in the Kings name and with his immunity. They were known as the most honourable men in all of France, and Anne trusted them all with her and her family’s life.
She did not however trust the newest of them with her friend’s heart. She saw the way Constance tensed up as the four men and their captain approached, the way she clutched her cup closer and her eyes went sad.
Anne wondered if she should have the same reaction to seeing the man riding beside him.
They sat in silence for a moment, each friend leaving the other to their conflicting emotions, and watched as the Musketeers entered the court yard bellow her window. The red and black spectre that is the Cardinal, Prime Minister of France, walked out to meet them and Anne tried to ignore the dread in the bottom of her stomach. To no avail.
Constance looked no better, looked worse. Her face was twisting down with worry as she looked down at the men in the yard. She always worried too much.
Anne‘s lips curled into a smirk.
“Three.”
Constance twitched back to reality and frowned at her Queen.
“Wha’?”
“He,” Anne nodded down at D'Artagnan, “Is a Three.”
Constance just stared at her blankly.
“There’s just...” Anne scrunched up her face and held up her hands in a cupping motion, “…Isn’t enough of it, you know?”
The sound that Constance let out was akin to a caw or a screech from a bird, wine spirting from her nose, and they had to dive down from the window seat before the men bellow could whip their heads around and see them in all their indecency. Which was good because it gave Constance a place to roll around in her hysterics.
“Shhhh-“
“-oh my god-“
“You’re going to spill the wine!”
“I can’t breathe!”
“For the love of god woman!”
“I can’t Fucking breath!”
“Then drink, or they will think I am murdering a duck in here and I will be impeached!”
“Can Queens be impeached?”
Anne frowned.
“That is really something I should know about.”
Constance grinned over the lip of her mug.
Their giggles smothered the pair moved back to the window, laying across the seat side by side so they were just peering over the sill into the courtyard.
“What about Aramis?” Constance asked, glint in her eyes because she knew all of Anne’s secrets.
The two women looked at each other for a moment before speaking in unison.
“Nine.”
Constance grinned at her Queen.
“Always room for improvement.”
“And Athos?”
Constance bit her lip, considering her childhood friend.
“Nine as well… from the back.”
Anne giggled, “His face is much too grumpy for a Nine… but I can see he could be one if he wished.”
“That’s never gonna happen.”
“Nope.”
“And what about the Captain?”
“Two-
“Constance.”
“-alright, fine. Eight. You happy?”
“Ecstatic. And I agree.”
“Queen Perv.”
“You love it.”
“Yeah I kind of do.”
Anne knocked their shoulders together as they bother grinned. Bellow them Treville and The Cardinal disappeared inside leaving the other four men in the courtyard, standing around in their dark uniforms making all the red guards look like Zeroes by comparison. It was strange that they managed to look so much better when their uniforms were designed by the same company, but perhaps it was because Anne knew their loyalties were unbreakable and honourable, unlike the Red Guards who had proved the opposite again and again.
She sipped from her mug and accidentally sloshed some onto her night clothes. God she was drunk.
“We missed Porthos!” The Queen gasped, slapping her friends shoulder.
“We really must be drunk.”
“What is Porthos?” Anne mused studying the man bellow.
“Ten.”
“Oh yes,” she agreed with her friend, “That’s obvious... why do you think so.”
Constance was quiet for a long moment. Anne almost feared she had drifted off in the soothing warmth of the afternoon sun.
“Well-“ Constance downed the rest of her wine in one gulp like a shot- “-he’s got a frame for stand up fucking, but he also looks like he would cook you dinner after.”
The noise that the Queen let out startled the birds from their roots and sent the soldiers bellow them reaching for their weapons. Constance grabbed her as quickly as possible, covering her mouth and pulling her down on to the floor, but there was no way they hadn’t been spotted after that.
“Oh my god, Anne. We’re gonna get caught-“
Anne fell onto her back, her laughter turning into gasps broken up by fits of giggles.
“A- a frame!” She gasped, “For stand up fuc-“
“I know what I said!”
“I can’t believe you said that!”
“I can’t believe I said that too the Queen of bloody France!”
Silence stretched between them before the both burst out into loud un-lady-like laughter, leaving them both giggling and half-drunk on the ambassador of Russia’s ugly wedding gift of a rug.
“Do you think they’re gonna come up here to make sure whatever is dying is actually dead?”
“Shut up.”
“I’m sorry but that noise you made was not human, Annie. The tabloids are gonna start running ghost rumours again.”
“Better that than what we were actually doing.”
“I dunno,” Constance said, rolling closer to lay pressed to the Queen’s side, “I think France would like to know what their Queen has to say about the state of her subjects bum’s.”
“Please, shut up.”
“You should issue a proclamation. ‘Nothing under a Seven in my palace!’”
Anne narrowed her eyes at Constance’s dodgy Spanish accent.
“I do not sound like that.”
“You so do.”
Anne grinned and closed her eyes. The warm sunlight was streaming down on to the pair, making her feel sleepy and safe. She slung an arm over her friend’s waist as she began to run her fingers through the Queens long blonde hair.
“Everything is gonna be alright, Yeah?” Constance whispered to her friend, low and soft.
“I know.”
“And even if it wasn’t we can always run away together, right?”
“Right.”
“Not to a convent though. There is no way I can be celibate.”
“Or silent.”
“Okay Miss Queen, you can go to a convent all by yourself.”
“And where would you go?”
“Dunno. Spain?”
“Eh, not where I would go.”
“Where then?”
“…Wales.”
“Wales!”
“Do not laugh at me, Constance!”
“Why on earth would you go to, Wales?”
“I’m not telling.”
“Aww, come on luv.”
“No. I want to nap in the Sun.”
“You won’t get that in Wales.”
“Shut up. I’m leaving you in that convent.”
“Do they still even have those?”
“… That is also something I should know.”
“Some Queen you are.”
“Keep this up and I will have you executed.”
“We don’t have that here.”
“What about Wales?”
Constance chuckled.
“Go to sleep, Miss. I’ll make sure no one comes in and sees you in your natural state.”
“My mother would literally burst into flame-“
“Sleep. That’s an order.”
Anne hummed and fitted herself more comfortably against her best friend. It was hard being a Queen. And equally as hard being a mother. But it was not hard to love Constance, or drift off into much needed sleep in her arms.
…
Anne found out rather quickly when she woke up that ‘holy shit’ can be a whole body experience.
“Sweet mother of god…” she groaned into the pillow her face was pressed in.
She heard a giggle from somewhere above her head.
“That tickles.”
Anne frowned.
She lifted her head, as painful as the action was, and found that her face had not been pressed into a pillow but rather Constance’s boob. She would be somewhat scandalized, she is a Queen after all, if this had been the first time she had woken up to a face full of another woman’s breast.
Anne groaned again as she sat up more. It was now past evening into the night, and sometime after their nap on the floor they must have migrated to the bed. The entire day had slipped right by them, her everyday duties had been ignored, her son-
“The baby!” Anne sat up and gasped, launching herself from the bed.
Constance giggled.
“What baby?”
Anne groaned and all but flew to her closet, quickly changing into one of her loose around the house (palace) dresses and flats. It was painful to even stand up, but she needed to see her son. She couldn’t believe she had not seen or held him for an entire day.
She had just finished buttoning up her dress when a loud knocking sounded through the room.
“Don’t!” groaned Constance, rolling over to press her face into the pillow.
“Who is it?” Anne called and ignored her friends muffled swearing.
“Your Musketeers,” Athos’ voice called, and Anne smiled at their inside joke, “We are here to see if you are alright, Your Majesty.”
“The King is concerned since you didn’t come down for tea?” Porthos continued.
“We are quite fine.”
“We?” Aramis this time.
“Shut up you fucking morons,” Constance groaned, flipping off the closed door.
“You may come in, Musketeers!” Anne called through a giggle that made her head hurt, “I promise you we are both quite decent!”
“Speak for yourself.”
Anne had turned away from her friend but she was pretty sure she was getting flipped off by her best friend.
The door opened and the four men stepped inside, still in their uniforms and loaded with their usual weapons. They all surveyed the room covertly, all of them turning so they could keep both the women in their sights. D'Artagnan looked like he wanted nothing more than to go to the mumbling nonsense that was Constance, but he held back. Athos leaned down to whisper with the woman, the short conversation ending with a short chuckle and groan from the woman and a smirk from Athos. Anne was glad that Constance had friends amongst the Musketeers, they were good people and would look after her friend when she couldn’t.
“Tell me gentleman,” Anne started, slipping her shoes onto her feet, “How is my son? I have not seen him since this morning.”
“He seems content with his father, Your Majesty.” Athos spoke, cutting off Aramis before he could even say a syllable (which the Queen was grateful for),“They are both in the main dining room, waiting on you for desert.”
“Thank you, Athos.”
The older man nodded his head.
A loud beeping sounded through the room, emanating from Athos’ hip. He pulled it out and sent glances at his fellow Musketeers.
“Your Majesty-“
“Go, Constance and I will be fine.”
The men hesitated for a moment and Anne instantly knew that more was happening than a simple call out.
“I will stay here with the Queen and Constance,” Porthos said lowly to his commanding officer, “Make sure they get to where they are goin, then catch up with you lot.”
Athos nodded, and with a final bow escorted the other two men from the room. Anne ignored the longing look from Aramis. It was better for him, and it only served to make her stomach uneasy.
Porthos nodded to the Queen and moved from the door to where Constance was laying. The woman gazed blearily up at him and said something familiarly flirtatious, like she always did with Porthos, but it was somewhat diminished by her pale face and obvious hangover. Porthos just shook his head and grinned down at her.
“What have you done to yourself, Connie?”
“Nothing you don’t do to yourself every Saturday night, luv.”
Anne grinned to herself. She liked when people were informal around her, it made her feel more human, more normal. And she could always count on those two for informal. It made the Cardinal see red too, which is always a bonus.
Anne grabbed herself a cardigan and nodded to Porthos to lead her out.
He stopped at the door though, turning back to Constance.
“You were right about one thing though, Connie.”
“What was that, my love?”
“I would cook you dinner after.”
Constance squawked and flailed, landing in a heap next to the bed while Porthos’ laughter boomed through the halls and the Queen smothered her giggles behind her clasped hands.