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prismatica-the-strange · 1 month ago

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All I Am Belongs to You | As Long As I Know Who I Am

Warnings: 18+, show typical violence, attempted sexual assault, mentions of sex but no details

A covert mission in London goes awry when Amélia is recognized by a ghost from her past. The boys fight amongst themselves for who gets to play her husband.

Pairing: Aramis x Amélia with anAthos x Amélia subplot

Word Count: 6.4k

I'm Still Here by Colm R. McGuinness (Amélia) | Follow On by Celtic Woman (Aramis) | Slow by Chris Mann (Athos) | Dividers by @steddiecameraroll-graphics | Reblog banner by @cafekitsune

"Dear Amélia, you look gorgeous."

"Is Her Majesty sure it's not too much?"

She feels ridiculous and refuses to see herself in the mirror. She'd run to Paris to get away from this, but here she is at her final fitting for a dress she surely can't afford.

"The whole point of this little ruse is for you to take the room's attention," Anne explains, " I don't think you'll have any trouble in that area, no matter which Musketeer is on your arm."

She dares a small glance at her reflection and her eyes go soft as she reminisces the life she gave up.

She hadn't exactly volunteered to help with this ploy, but Constance's husband forbade her from taking part, and Amélia is the only other woman the musketeers trust for their mission. She had a choice, but she couldn't bring herself to say no when they sent D'Artagnan to plead their case with those soft brown eyes of his after she'd laughed in Aramis's face.

"Whichever draws the shortest straw, you mean?" The question is meant to be rhetorical, but the queen scoffs, adjusting her skirt.

"I'm sure they're each begging Captain Treville to pick them to play your beloved as we speak."

Athos rolls his eyes at his friends, "This is ridiculous, you are aware of that, yes?"

"Treville told us to work it out amongst ourselves," Porthos grins, "That's all we're doing."

"Unless you'd both like to bow out like dear D'Artagnan, and let me enjoy the lady for a night or two?," Aramis suggests, flourishing his rapier when neither move to do so, "No? Alright then, draw your swords."

"I won't maim you just to play pretend for a night," Athos sighs.

"I will," Porthos pushes past him, sword in hand, "You always whisk Amélia away when she visits, and anyway, I'm sure she'd prefer to be on the arm of a real man."

"Perhaps," D'Artagnan cuts in, gripping the shoulder of each of his friends, "We should wait and let her choose who she prefers. She is the one who will be in the most danger, after all. Shouldn't she be with whoever she's most comfortable with?"

"I agree."

"Well, that just means Aramis gets to be the duke!" Porthos argues, "Where's the fun in that?"

Unfortunately for both Porthos and Aramis, Amélia chooses Athos to be her escort for the mission, and he fails to hide his small, snarky smile when she does.

The ride to England is long and incredibly dull, longer still since the Queen insisted she take a carriage instead of riding.

"Would one of you please ride in here with me? I'm unbelievably bored," She laments through the open window of the coach, "Or let me ride with one of you? Please? Just for a short while at least?"

"I'm not sure that's the best idea," Athos says, but she won't take no for an answer.

"Aramis, my love?" She pouts over at him and Porthos laughs when his friend goes all doe-eyed at her words.

The others chuckle when he stops the group to help her up onto his horse, beaming proudly at the feeling of his arms around her.

"Stop that," She reaches back to swat his cheek, "You puff up your chest much more and I'll fall off the horse."

"I'd never let that happen, my dear."

"Perhaps I should ride with Porthos instead," She teases.

"Perhaps we should continue on?" Athos suggests, cutting off any possible response from Porthos.

"What possible reason could you have to play house with Athos over you dear love Aramis?" He whispers in her ear.

"Is driving you mad with jealousy not enough of a reason?"

"Even you aren't that cruel, my love."

She sighs and rests her head on his shoulder, admiring her intimate view of him, "I was afraid I'd become distracted on your arm. That didn't seem wise given the high priority of this mission and all."

"Ah, and no risk of that with Athos?" He snickers.

"Of course not," She giggles, "He's too much of a stick in the mud."

Their laughter stifles when Athos rides up beside them with a glare having obviously heard them.

"Sorry," She bites her bottom lip but it does little to hide her smile, and the two of them burst out laughing when he rides ahead in annoyance.

They make camp a few hours later, just as the sun begins to dip below the horizon.

"Come on, love," Porthos urges, tugging at her hand when she stands to stretch, "Sing something for us."

"Mm, it's been quite some time since we've heard your lovely voice," D'Artagnan agrees from across the campfire.

"You boys are insufferable," She rolls her eyes with a smile, "What would you like to hear?"

"Something fun!" Porthos requests.

"Something quiet," Athos hisses, "God knows who could be out there in the dark, and I don't wish to attract their attention."

"Something... romantic," Aramis grins, pulling her down onto his lap, and the others groan.

"Romantic, Monsieur?"

"Please, no," Porthos begs, "Unless you plan on sitting on my lap as you do."

She starts to hum a melody before soft words begin to seemingly float in the air around them, wrapping her companions in the sweet sound of her voice.

Even Athos finds himself momentarily soothed by the sound, eyes closing as he listens.

But no one more so than Aramis. He hums along like a hymn on his lips, his eyes and soul awash with adoration.

He brushes her hair aside and presses his forehead against her shoulder and neck, as though at prayer at her altar of song, mouthing silent 'I love you's against her skin. He slowly kisses his way up her jaw and she's near breathless by the end of the song.

"Stop," She sighs, but she doesn't move to get away, "Aramis..."

"My apologies," He murmurs, pulling away, "I seemed to have been entranced and lost myself."

She finds herself drifting closer, capturing his lips in a soft kiss.

"If you two are going to fuck, could you at least not do it in front of us?" Porthos snorts.

"You make it sound so indelicate," Aramis argues, fingers brushing across her now-flushed cheeks.

The next morning she wakes with her head on his chest and his cape around her shoulders.

She's careful not to wake him as she sits slightly, leaning over to press a gentle kiss to his sleeping lips.

She jumps when his hand cups the back of her neck, keeping her there to kiss her harder.

"You were awake," She laughs.

"And yet you kissed me when you thought otherwise, you truly are a romantic, dear Amélia."

"Get up, both of you," Athos orders, readying his horse, "We're leaving."

The two share a small smile and he quickly pecks the tip of her nose before she rises to her feet.

When Aramis moves to help her on his horse, Athos stops him and reaches his hand out to her, "You're riding with me today."

She looks confused, but pulls herself up with his arm, "Any particular reason, Athos?"

He settles his arms around her and she continues before he can answer, "Or were you just envious of Aramis?"

She can all but hear his eyes roll when he sighs and she smiles back at him.

All things considered, she actually quite enjoys being the center of their attention.

"My thought was that if we are to play married, perhaps we should know more about each other," He explains, "To make it more believable."

"Your logic is sound. What would you like to know?"

Aramis is flaming, his glare burning holes in the back of Aramis's head. The way he's holding her, their shared whispers and soft looks ravage his mind with jealousy.

He grits his teeth when she laughs and a plot to reclaim her affections begins to form.

He quickly averts his gaze when her eyes lock with his and she shakes her head with a chuckle.

"Why is it you find such pleasure in toying with us?"

"I grew up with three brothers," She says, "The lot of you bring out that mischievous nature they instilled in me."

She's quiet for a moment, smiling to herself as she thinks of her siblings, "I'm fortunate to have you all."

He smiles softly and leans forward to kiss her temple.

By the time they arrive at the manor, both she and Athos have changed into nicer clothes and are riding in the coach.

She takes a deep breath to calm her nerves and he takes her hand in his, trying to soothe her.

"I won't let anything happen to you," He promises, kissing the back of her hand comfortingly.

They step out and are greeted by their hosts.

"Sir and Madam LeBlanc," Lord Smith smiles at them, "It's so nice that you came all this way to join us."

"It is an honor Lord Smi-"

"Actually!" Aramis interrupts and Athos freezes mid-bow, "I'm Lord LeBlanc."

He ignores Athos's glare as he steps forward with a polite bow.

"You see, I travel dressed as one of my guards so my darling love has a guard right on her arm should anything happen on the road," She watches with wide eyes when he takes her hand with the most devout look in his eye, "I would never forgive myself if something ever happened to her."

She nearly swoons when he lifts her hand to his lips and kisses her knuckles.

"Thank you, you may join the others," He barely glances at Athos who fights the urge to roll his eyes as he bows and moves to stand with Porthos and D'Artagnan.

"What an inspired idea!" Smith muses, motioning them to follow him, "Come! Once you've settled in your rooms, I'll show you the grounds."

Aramis offers her his arm and she takes it, whispering through her smile as they follow their host, "Athos is going to kill you."

"I'd like to see him try."

"I'm going to kill you!" Athos snaps as soon as they're left to their own in their rooms, slamming his friend against the wall, "Is your ego so important that you would put this whole mission, including Amélia, in jeopardy?"

"Athos-"

"I would never allow her to get hurt!" Aramis hisses back, "She's safer at my side!"

"Boys-"

"You pompous, self-important, ass!"

"Stop it! Both of you!" She shouts, shoving her way between them.

"He was reckless and-"

"We all agree what Aramis did was stupid and ill-conceived," She huffs, glaring at both of them, "But what's done is done. Making a fuss now won't change the situation."

"Amélia's right," Porthos says, "We need to focus on the mission. And besides, we can kick his ass when we get back to Paris."

He and Athos go to change into more appropriate clothes for men of their respective stations and when Athos returns first, he moves to stand by her.

"Please tell me you won't instantly forgive him for this?"

"He's lucky you got to him first."

He can't help but smile to himself at her response.

"There we are," Aramis comes out dressed in finery, spinning to give them a good view, "How do I look?"

Amélia steps up to him and slaps him, "If you ever disrespect my choices again, I'll gut you myself, got that?"

She takes his arm and hooks it with hers, "Now, come on. We have a mission to do."

"I-" He stumbles when she tugs him toward the door, "Absolutely!"

He soon forgets his recent transgression as they walk through the halls with her head resting on his shoulder.

"Oh look, my love," She pulls away, stepping toward an open window, "What a darling creature!"

"Yes, you're beautiful," She coos, when the white long-haired cat nuzzles into her hand, "I had a cat just like you when I was a girl."

He comes up behind her and reaches out to tuck a stray curl behind her ear. Her smile is genuine when she looks back at him and he falls in love with her all over again.

By the time they part with their hosts and make it back to their room, he's aching to tear her dress off and bring her to ecstasy.

"Dear Amélia," He breathes against her lips as he presses her against the door. He begs, "Let me take you tonight, my love."

"Aramis," She sighs, her chest heaving. She tugs his hair and he starts kissing down her jaw, "Aramis, we can't."

As if on cue, the door jerks behind her, and Porthos bangs on the surface, "You two better not be doing what I think you're doing in there!"

The next morning is slower than the last and, despite Athos's annoyance, she and Aramis lock the bedroom door and laze in the plush bed together.

He holds himself over her, lavishing her skin with slow, loving kisses.

"Sweet... beautiful... darling, Amélia," He murmurs as she runs her hands through his hair, "What must I do to earn your forgiveness?"

She laughs as though he hasn't won her back her favor ten times over with the passion between them throughout the morning.

She scratches at his beard as she pretends to think and his eyes flutter shut.

"Draw me a bath?"

He kneels beside her on the bed and brings her hands to his lips, "Of course-"

She pulls him back down on top of her, kissing him as if the world had stopped outside their door and was simply waiting for them to finish.

Once the bath is filled and the room smells of rose oil, he rouses her from the bed.

"Heaven awaits," He motions toward the bath with a small bow. He leads her over by the hand, kissing her shoulder when he helps her slip her robe off.

The moan she lets out as she lowers herself into the hot water is absolutely whorish. It's the first truly nice bath she's had in ages. And why not take advantage of the situation? She deserves to be pampered, just a little, right.

"I thought only I could get you to make that sound?" He pouts, crouching beside the tub.

His finger dip just below the surface of the water, making ripples.

"Aramis."

"Yes, my love-" He laughs when she pulls him by the shirt to fall against her lips and water splashes around them, soaking the fabric, "If you wanted me to join you, you could have just asked."

"How silly of me," She smiles into the kiss.

"Come," He encourages her to sit up. One hand wanders her back while the other motions to her hair, "May I?"

She nods and he helps her wet her hair. Her eyes flutter at the feel of his fingers running through her hair and massaging her scalp, washing away the long ride.

She moans his name, head lolling to side, into his touch. She leans her arms on the side of the tub, resting her chin atop them.

"Don't stop," She murmurs, her eyes falling shut.

"I wouldn't dream of it."

The moment is cut short when the door slams open but a moment later. He jumps to his feet, dashing for his sword next to the bed, but stops when he realizes it's their companions.

"Don't you know how to knock?"

"What do you think this is, a vacation?" Porthos asks.

"How did you... that door was locked!"

"The other guests have begun to arrive," Athos says as D'Artagnan flashes the key they got from one of the housekeepers, "You should start getting ready yourselves."

"Aramis!" She whines, not bothering to move beyond the arm reaching out for him, "Come back, my love."

"Aramis," Athos warns when he steps back toward her.

"Dammit, Athos," She groans. Water sloshes over the sides of the tub when she stands, her body on full display for the four men in front of her, "You're absolutely no fun, you know that?"

She looks at each of them when they stand frozen.

She raises her brows expectantly but they don't move, "Are you all going to just stand there staring, or is someone going to hand me my robe?"

They all move as one, but Aramis gets the robe first, stepping around the tub and holding it up for her.

"Shame on you three," He tuts over his shoulder, "Degenerates, all of you."

"I don't know if I can do this," She says, adjusting her gown. She looks herself over in the mirror, still hiding behind the partition, "I look ridiculous."

She looks beautiful, just like she did before she left home, and that alone terrifies her. The Queen was right, the dress suits her wonderfully, and the jewels adorning her wrists and neck only enhance her image. They're glass, of course, the royals would never let some peasant girl ride off to England with their diamonds and sapphires.

"Surely it can't be that bad," D'Artagnan insists. He steps around the partition and his mouth falls open.

"Well, come on then," Aramis adjusts his cuff as he moves in front of the door, with the other two, "Let's see."

"Fine, just..." She sighs, "No jokes, alright?"

She gathers her skirts and steps past the youngest Musketeer, eyes cast toward the floor as they take her in.

"You look..." Aramis trails off and Athos finishes in his stead.

"Stunning."

"You can say that again," Porthos agrees.

She looks up at her companions with a shy smile.

Aramis moves to stand in front of her, offering his hand with a bow, "My lady."

She takes his arm and looks to her friends, "Is everything in place?"

"Don't you worry about that," Porthos assures her, "Just go out there and steal the show, yeah?"

That fear comes back as they walk toward the ballroom and she hesitates.

What if someone recognizes her?

Aramis pauses when he feels her stop, "What's wrong?"

She can't back down now, she knows that, but her chest tightens with anxiety.

"You have nothing to fear, dear heart," He promises, "There's nothing I couldn't protect you from."

She takes a deep breath and nods before they continue.

They round a corner with their guard in tow, coming to a stop as they enter the ballroom.

Extravagant ballgowns twirl as couples dance together in the center of the room.

"I'll take the left, Porthos the right," Athos says quietly, "You two know your parts, D'Artagnan will keep watch if he tries to run."

With that, the group parts ways and their plan is in motion.

Aramis begins showing her off, boasting her many virtues to whoever will listen as the other two search for the target.

She casts him a wary look when the lady of the house pulls her aside.

"Madam Lablanc, you look- well lovely doesn't seem to cover it," She compliments, "There is someone I wish you to meet!"

She's led to the buffet where various men and women stand and talk amongst themselves.

"This is my niece, Isabel, she's been ever so keen on going to Paris and I was hoping you could tell her what you could?"

"Oh," She glances past the girl to see Athos keeping a close eye on her. He then nods to a tall man by the punch bowl and she sees who they've come to arrest, Monsieur Desiré, "I don't know what I could tell you that you don't already know. I try to avoid the city as much as I can."

"Why is that?"

"Personal preference," She says, "I much prefer the serenity of the country to the noise of crowded streets."

They continue on for a few minutes more, but when Desiré begins to leave, she's quick to end the chatter.

She moves to step past him, purposely tripping over his feet and she's caught by a pair of rough hands.

"Watch it!"

"P-pardon me, monsieur," She stammers, "I get so disoriented in these large parties."

His eyes rake down her body, lingering on her cleavage before sneering at her. She has a feeling that each of her protectors is fighting the urge to swoop in and beat him.

"No," He bows, taking her hand, "The fault is mine, Mademoiselle...?"

"LeBlanc," She forces a smile to her face when he echoes her and kisses her hand.

"Would you perhaps honor me with a dance?" He asks.

"Perhaps," She teases, "My first dance of the night is promised to my husband, but perhaps after Monsieur..."

"Desiré. Husband?"

She winks at him, biting her lip with a grin.

She can feel him ogling her as she walks away and she wants to puke.

The whole meeting distracts her so much that she runs right into the back of another guest.

"Pardon me, Monsie-" Her eyes go wide when he turns and she quickly ducks out of sight behind another group of ladies before he can see her.

She carefully weaves her way through the crowd back to Aramis.

Cäraus. Of course. Of all the people in the world to be at this party, it had to be her younger brother.

"Aramis!" She hisses, latching onto his arm.

"There you are," He places his hand atop hers on his arm, "Where did you run off to?"

"I... ran into Desiré," She explains, "He seems to have an interest."

"Good."

"Then something else happened."

She's much more on edge than before, clinging to him and glancing nervously over her shoulder into the crowd. In fact, he doesn't think he's ever seen her this scared. He squeezes her hand comfortingly, and, while his lax smile doesn't change, his posture does. He seems to stand taller and hold her more protectively, "Tell me."

"Someone- Aramis, I am so sorry, this could ruin everything!" She whimpers, "If I had known there was even a chance, I wouldn't have come."

"It's alright," He cups the back of her neck and gently pulls her close to kiss the top of her head, "Now who is it?"

"My Broth- A friend," She catches herself, "A lover from before I came to Paris."

She doesn't think she's convincing, but it works well enough on Aramis who grits his teeth.

"He's why you came to Paris," It's not a question. He knows she had fled a bad situation and, based on her reaction, this man was the situation she was running from, "Show me him and I'll take care of it."

"What? No, Aramis," She gently touches his cheek, soothing the murder swimming in his eyes, "I came to Paris because of my mother. Dear Cäraus had nothing to do with that."

"Then why-"

"If he identifies me in front of all these people, not only will it ruin the plan, but she'll surely find me again."

And things will never be the same.

He just nods, but that is all confirmation he needs to know for sure, she is nobility. They've all suspected for a while, she never really held herself like a lowborn, as much as she may have tried. Perhaps that suspicion is what made the soldiers feel somewhat responsible for her, at least at the start. There's no question now of their collective fondness for her, and they couldn't imagine a world without her.

"What do you want me to do?"

"I don't know," She admits, "He just can't see me."

He signals to their companions and escorts her just outside the ballroom.

"What is it?" Athos asks.

"A complication," Aramis sighs, "There's a man in there, by name of Cäraus, who knows Amélia's face. If he names her."

The three men share a look and Porthos shakes his head, "I'll take care of it. Show me."

He and Amélia peer around the doorway at the guests.

"That one, with the mid-length black hair tied back with the gold cord and the reddish-brown jacket," She whispers.

"Violent?"

"Goodness no! Cäraus has always been a sweetheart."

"Alright, give me four minutes."

"Porthos!" She catches his hand as he steps away, her eyes pleading with him, "Be gentle? I'd hate to see him truly injured."

"I'll do my best," He smiles, kissing the back of her hand.

She finds herself sighing as she drops her head on Aramis's shoulder, "And here I thought the worst danger I would be in was getting stabbed."

"And if he does name you?" Athos asks.

She turns just enough to smile hopelessly at him, forehead still pressed against her lover's shoulder, "I get dragged back to a life I spent the last three years running from."

"I'd never let that happen," Aramis argues, hugging her tightly.

"Neither would I," Athos assures her, placing his hand on her back.

A warm feeling blossoms in her chest at their affection. She loves her musketeers dearly. She knows she could never deny them should they come looking for her help. They're the family she'd always wanted but never thought she could have. She would fight to her last breath for them without hesitation.

"What did Desiré say?" Athos asks and she straightens.

"Not much, but he seems... enticed," She grimaces, "He expects me to dance with him."

"Like hell you are." Aramis scoffs, strengthening his hold.

"Aramis-"

"No, Athos. I won't let that... that monster lay his hands on her!"

"I can handle Desiré," She assures them, "But first you have to dance with me."

"Dance?"

"Well the idea was to entice him with a bored wife at a party full of strangers, but someone," She grips his chin, "Decided to play the overly affectionate, doting husband. I didn't think he would believe it if I didn't dance with my adoring husband at least once."

"Well then," He offers his hand and leads her to the dancefloor when she takes it.

Athos rolls his eyes. He's almost offended she thinks he wouldn't fit the role of affectionate husband, but he knows he wouldn't have held a candle to Aramis's performance.

Porthos quickly finds the man in the crowd.

"Pardon me, Monsieur, but there seems to be-" He freezes for a moment when the man turns to face him. Those eyes, pale and silver as the moon. He would know those eyes anywhere. They're Amélia's eyes.

"Yes?"

Porthos shakes off his surprise, "There seems to be a problem with your horses. If you would come with me."

"You do know how to dance, don't you?" Aramis asks as he takes her waist, "It would be horribly embarrassing if our mission failed because you have two left feet."

She smacks the back of his head, making him laugh, "Sorry, I'm sure you dance beautifully."

And she does. As soon as the music starts she falls into step as though it were second nature. They glide across the floor effortlessly, her skirts elegantly fanning around her with every turn and twirl.

Her fingers twist in the hair at the back of his neck, looking at him with stars in her eyes.

"I've never seen someone more gorgeous," He murmurs, lifting her off her feet, "To hold you is to hold the heavens themselves in my arms."

"Aramis," She giggles at his flattery as he spins them. She pulls him into a kiss when she finds the ground again.

"You're being watched, my love," She feels his hand tighten on her hip. Another turn and she sees Desiré's gaze locked on her form. Aramis can see the disgust in her eyes and lifts her hand to his lips, "I Hate this plan."

"You're not the one who has to play nice with him," She scoffs, "God help me."

He presses his forehead to hers, "Call my name and I'll come running."

"I know you will," She sighs, eyes falling closed for a moment.

They part when the song comes to an end, but when she goes to seek her mark out, he's nowhere to be found.

"Desiré stepped out onto the terrace," She jumps when Athos speaks behind her.

"Aramis laid it on too thick," She huffs.

"You think? No one in this room thinks you'd ever go off alone with another man."

She thinks for a moment and suddenly takes his hand, "I have a plan, come with me."

She brings him over to the windows, ushering him behind the curtains, out of sight to anyone except whoever may be out on the terrace.

She joins him, their chests pressed together and he looks at her confused.

"What are you doing?"

"Can he see us?"

He glances outside and sees Desiré watching them curiously, "Yes?"

She reaches up to touch his cheek, the other holding the leather lapel of his jacket, "Athos, I need you to kiss me."

"What?"

"Kiss me as though you love me, please."

He searches her face for a moment before he gently takes it in his hands and leans in.

The kiss is soft at first, slow and hesitant, as if he's scared they'd both break from it. But then he presses harder, their lips moving together perfectly. One hand moves to cup the back of her head, his tongue sweeping across her bottom lip.

He's surprised when she lets him in, but he doesn't squander the opportunity. He takes his time exploring her, tasting the sweet wine that was served lingering her tongue, drinking in her little moans like they were all that could sustain him.

His other hand pulls her closer by the waist and he feels the hand on his chest grip the back of his neck.

"Athos," She sighs, tugging him close again when he pulls back, and he obliges, kissing her as though he'll never get the chance again.

For a moment he forgets everything. The mission, his own broken past, everything. For one blissful moment, all he knows is her lips against his, the smell of her skin, and the heaving of her chest.

"Athos."

He kisses her again and he feels her smile against his lips.

"Athos."

"Mm! Yes?" He hums, pulling away just enough to lean his forehead on hers, their noses bumping as he stares down at her with a loving gaze.

"Is he still looking?"

"Who, darling?" He pets her hair, cupping her cheek and smiling softly at her. It's as though her kiss has turned him drunk.

It's so rare to see him so content, and she wishes she didn't have to break whatever spell has been cast, but she sees no other choice, "Desiré. Is he still watching?"

Her heart breaks when his affectionate smile disappears and he pulls away, glancing over her shoulder again.

"Yes," His eyebrows furrow as he desperately tries to come up with a new plan that doesn't involve her being alone with him.

"Amélia wait!" He catches her arm when she turns to leave and pulls her back against his lips, catching them both by surprise. She looks at him in shock when they break, "Be safe."

She nods and ducks out onto the terrace, face surely flushed as she fans herself with her hand.

"Oh! Pardon me, Monsieur," She curtsies slightly, pretending to be surprised, "I didn't know anyone was out here."

"Needed some air?"

"Indeed."

"Have you ever been to the estate before, Madam LaBlanc?" He asks after a moment.

"I haven't."

"The gardens here are stunning by moonlight," He continues, sidling up to her and offering his arm, "It would be my pleasure to show you."

She smiles coyly as she takes his arm, "That sounds wonderful."

He leads her through the gardens, her stomach twisting with the path, but she reminds herself Athos and Aramis won't be far behind.

"You're quite an attractive woman," His words pull her from her head.

"Monsieur?"

"It's a shame your musketeer friend won't be able to save you now."

"What-" He slaps her before gripping her cheeks.

"You think we wouldn't notice him sneaking around in the dark?" He spits, "My men took care of him just as the party started."

D'Artagnan.

"And the one you sent off with the prince?" He sneers, squeezing her tighter, "He never saw them coming. Just one left. Your little lover back at the party with your idiot husband."

"I don't-"

"Does he know you're fucking your guard?" He asks, "Do you want him to know?"

She struggles against him when he forces his lips on hers, "Be a good thing for me and stay quiet and I'll keep your dirty little secret."

She gasps when he tears at the front of her dress, glass gems scattering across the ground when he yanks her necklace from her neck.

"You're the second one I've spirited away here and fucked, I think I'm developing a taste for it."

"Not if I can help it," A voice says behind them and she sighs in relief.

Desiré spins around to see Aramis pointing his pistol at him and scoffs at the sight.

"Let the lady go, there's a good man."

He shoves her to the ground behind him and grabs at the barrel of the gun, twisting it out of the musketeer's hand before hitting him with the grip, knocking him unconscious.

"Aramis!" She scrambles past her assailant, falling to her knees beside him, "Aramis please- No!"

Desiré grabs her skirt and drags her back toward him, the sound of ripping fabric filling the air.

"Athos!" She screams, struggling to get away, "Atho-"

His large hand grips her throat, tugging her back awkwardly, "Shut your whore mouth!"

He flips her onto her back and pins her down as he starts to push up her skirts.

"No! Ah- Athos!" She cries again, earning another hard slap.

"That's enough!"

She angles her neck back to see him standing just up the path, pistol in hand, "Athos."

Desiré tenses when a blade appears across his throat, held by Porthos, a second held by D'Artagnan pressing into his back, "Get off the lady."

He lifts himself enough for her Athos to take her hand and pull her to her feet. She clings to him, trembling against his chest.

"You're safe now," He whispers, stroking her hair and kissing her head, "I have you."

"Porthos, arrest him. D'Artagnan, check on Aramis," He orders, "We're leaving in the morning."

He holsters his pistol and lifts her in his arms, murmuring soft reassurances as he carries her back to their rooms.

She holds tight to his arm when he sets her on the bed and he kneels in front of her, keeping himself close if that's what she wants.

"What happened?" She sniffles.

"Aramis went after you and I went to find Porthos," He explains, running his thumb across her knuckles before holding the back of her hand to his lips, "I shouldn't have left his side, I'm so sorry."

When Aramis wakes he does so with a start and goes straight into fight mode as he jumps to his feet.

"Where is she?!" He snaps, swaying with a sudden head rush.

"Athos brought her inside," D'Artagnan is quick to steady his friend, "I'll bring you."

Aramis lets himself lean D'Artagnan as the make their way toward their quarters, "Is she hurt?"

"Maybe a little scraped up," He admits, "But mostly just scared."

"I should have shot him."

They eventually make it to the bedroom to find Athos knelt at her feet as though in prayer as he clutches her hands.

"Aramis!"

Athos lets her pull away, lost without her touch when she runs to him.

He stumbles from D'Artagnan's hold, collapsing against her. He takes her face in his hands, "Your cheek."

A bruise has begun to darken where she had been hit, but her main concern is him.

"You're bleeding," She says, "Sit down."

"I'll kill him," He growls, turning back toward the door."

"No!" She holds him tighter, "Sit down, Aramis."

He does as she says, pulling her into his lap when he sits on the side of the bed.

"I can't do much, confined to your lap," She retorts, but he isn't listening.

His hand hovers just over her cheek, half scared she'll crumble to nothing at his touch, shoulders relaxing when she leans into it, "Just... let me hold you."

"Here," Athos avoids her eyes as he hands her a bowl of water and cloth.

He abruptly leaves with their younger companion as soon as she takes it, leaving the lovers alone.

The sunrise comes faster than any of them expect.

The star finds Amélia and Aramis wrapped in each others arms, both of them still awake and shaken from the previous night's events.

The group readies and reassembles in near silence, each of them yearning to get back to Paris and put this whole debacle behind them.

Desiré had been handed over to the local authorities and would be transported to Paris under full guard later in the week.

She's too tired to ride and it takes little convincing to get her to ride in the coach. Athos opens the door but just as she moves to get in a voice sounds behind them, "Émila?"

She turns to see her brother who looks overjoyed, "It is you!"

He freezes mid-hug when Athos starts to draw his sword, still on edge.

She places her hand on his with a reassuring smile, "It's alright."

The siblings step away and she throws herself into his arms.

"Dear Cäraus," She kisses his cheek, "I've missed you so much!"

"We thought you were dead."

"Please keep it that way," She begs, pulling away from him, "I'm happy here and we both know what will happen if she knows where I am.:

He nods solemnly and she touches his cheek.

"Know that I am happy and well. But please pretend you haven't seen me."

"I love you, dear sister," He murmurs against her hands, "But if you wish to stay with these men, whoever they are, then I am not the one to stop you."

They part with one last lingering hug, knowing they likely will never see each other again.

"Keep the younger ones safe," She whispers as she pulls away, smiling as she rejoins her companions.

"Happy reunion?" Aramis asks, watching him walk away.

"Nothing to get jealous over," She grins up at him as Athos helps her into the coach, "I doubt we'll ever meet again."

"And besides," She leans out the open window to smirk at him, "I have my eyes on someone else."

He rides up beside the coach, beaming as he leans down to cup her cheek.

Athos grits his teeth at the scene in front of him and grips the reins of his horse, before ordering his men to move out.

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