A/N: Hello everyone! I had this story hanging in my little mind for quite a time now - in fact, since series 2 began. So it is time it is read. I am in the middle of writing chapter nine, so don't worry, the updates will come rather regularly. I'm not one to put something on hiatus unless life is a bitch, which it isn't at the moment, but I'm ranting.

This story won't be long, I intend it to end a little after series 2's finale, so a dozen chapters at most.

I hope you enjoy, and please review! :D

Disclaimer: I do not own The Musketeers or the plots of the episodes. I do own, however, my OC Juliette and the plot surrounding her.

Prologue: Happier times

The year was 1631. The city was Bayeux, in Normandy. A young couple was walking through the market-place, the woman's hand in the crook of the man's arm as they walked aimlessly through the merchant's stalls.

Juliette Durieux was a lovely woman of twenty. Her hair, that was the talk of the county, was of a deep auburn bordering on red. She wore it loose on her back, the soft curls brushing past her waist. Her dress, of plain blue, highlighted eyes of the same colour. On her fingers shone a single ring, whirling around with one little white gem at the tip. Her wedding ring.

The man beside her was her husband, Antoine Durieux. Famous silk merchant in Bayeux, he was considered the luckiest man in the country. Not particularly handsome, he had won the hand of the most coveted bride in Bayeux – Juliette herself. His dirty blonde hair was neatly cut, short bangs falling into his sky-blue eyes. He sported a smile on his lips, one of those seen when he was with the woman he loved.

That day was the last they would spend together for a long time. Antoine was to leave for Paris, the capital, to sell his goods to a rich tailor. His apprentice, Léon, was going with him.

Juliette always dreaded those long weeks away from home. The roads were not safe in those times. And Antoine, gentle as he was, could not very well use the sword that he had purchased only for the journeys his work asked of him to make.

Her hand squeezed Antoine's arm gently, and his eyes fell to hers. Such adoration could be seen in both gazes, it was as touching as it was infuriating. Marrying for love was a luxury not many had in 17th century France.

"Promise me you will be careful."

He chuckled, the sound sending butterflies to her stomach, and he pinched her nose playfully. "Am I ever reckless when I leave you, my dear?"

"Never. But now is not a time to start."

He nodded, and kissed her cheek softly. "I promise I will come back to you safely, my love."

But, unbeknownst to either at that moment, he would never come back to her.

For three weeks later, word arose in Bayeux that Juliette Durieux had received a black-sealed letter.

Antoine was dead.

A/N2: Chapter two is right ahead! ;)