Traitor's Chase Read Free Page B

D’Artagnan. The king still waits for you.”
    Greg nodded, then told Aramis, “The sooner you can find out about that silk, the better. I’ll take any lead I can get.” He then followed the messenger down another hall to a set of large, imposing wooden doors flanked by two members of the King’s Guard.
    The messenger bowed subserviently before them. “At the king’s request, I have brought Monsieur D’Artagnan.”
    The guards dramatically opened the doors and Greg passed into the throne room.
    He had been inside it often—in fact, this was the very room he had landed in after jumping through time—and yet he never could get past how dull it was. It was so vast that the oil lamps barely made a dent in the darkness, though they did create a grimy slick of burnt oil on the walls and ceiling.
    Louis XIII was slumped in his throne. The king was only fourteen, like Greg. He’d taken the crown at the age of nine when his father was assassinated, and he still gave the impression of a young boy merely pretending to be king. His formal royal red gown, trimmed with ermine, swallowed him up.
    â€œD’Artagnan!” Louis said. “Thank goodness you’ve come....”
    â€œI’m sorry it took so long, Your Majesty,” Greg began. “I was practicing my sword-fighting skills all the way at the other end of—”
    â€œI don’t care about your tardiness. I care about my safety. I’ve just learned some terrifying news.” Louis sat upright, his eyes boring into Greg’s. “Someone in my family is plotting to kill me.”

TWO
    â€œA GAIN ?” G REG ASKED THE KING . H E WAS ALL TOO USED to these paranoid outbursts. Louis was always concerned that someone was after him. “Who wants you dead this time?”
    â€œMy cousin Henry, the Prince of Condé,” Louis replied.
    â€œAnd how do you know he’s plotting against you?”
    â€œWhy wouldn’t he be? Until I was born, he was next in line for the throne. It’s well known that he wishes I’d never been born.”
    Greg sighed. He’d given up trying to understand the convoluted chain of succession to the French throne. “Do you have any proof that he’s plotting?”
    â€œOf course I have proof!” Louis stuck his nose in the air, as though offended by the question. “The captain of the guard reports that he heard a rumor to such effect while on patrol today.”
    Greg waited for more information to come, but none did. “That’s all?”
    â€œWhat more do you need?”
    â€œActual evidence of something would be nice. I hear rumors about plots to overthrow you all the time....”
    Louis turned even paler than usual. “You do? Do we need to increase the number of guards?”
    Greg held up his hands, signaling the king to calm down. “No. What I meant is, all the talk doesn’t mean anything. Your subjects love to gossip about palace intrigue, but they don’t really know what’s going on. The other day, I actually overheard someone on the street say that the Musketeers themselves were plotting against you.”
    Louis laughed. “The Musketeers! Plotting against me? You’re my only friends in the world!”
    â€œExactly. It’s ridiculous.”
    Louis nodded. “I apologize for my foolishness, D’Artagnan. It’s just that being the king can be so … deadly.”
    â€œI understand.” Greg knew the king’s paranoia was actually well founded: there were plenty of people vying to wrest power from Louis—including his own mother, Marie de Medici, and, of course, Dominic Richelieu. Until the Musketeers had exposed Dominic, he had been one of Louis’s most trusted advisers.
    â€œI’m sorry to bother you with all this,” Louis said. “It’s just that … I don’t really have anyone else to talk to about these things.”
    â€œAnd