My knuckles turn white from holding onto Darcy's reins so tightly. I just sit silently as I watch the sun rise over Paris, my eyes still glistening with tears. It's the exact same city I came to twelve years ago, but somehow it feels so different; less warm and inviting. Perhaps it's the circumstances I am coming in, maybe Paris just hates me.

The cool morning air nips at my ears as I force myself to move forward, and Darcy moves at a walk into the city. I keep my head down, even though there's no one out yet, because I can't stop feeling like I'm some criminal staking out forbidden streets. I guess that's kind of what I am.

For some reason I remember these streets like the back of my hand; every turn, every dip, every shop we liked to go to. Everything is so vivid that if I hadn't known better, I might've thought I was in this city yesterday.

My palms sweat as I travel through Paris. Some shop keepers open their doors for the day and the merchants set up their carts in the marketplace. I can smell the scent of fresh bread baking in ovens and flowers being set out to bloom. This is what I missed about Paris.

I turn a corner and almost immediately stop. I dismount from Darcy and walk straight up to him.

"Serge?" I ask.

Sitting on a stool in front of the stable is the boy I met so long ago. He looks up at me and faintly smiles. "That's what they call me. Do I know you?"

I am about to answer but then think better of it. "Uh, no. I just… Will you take care of my horse?"

He stands, obviously skeptical of my answer but makes no other comment about it. He takes Darcy's reins in his hand. "Sure. I suppose there's room for one more."

I smile. "Thank you." He nods then turns away, taking my horse inside the stable.

When Serge is gone I start walking, not believing how much he's changed all these years. When I met him he was barely sixteen, and now he's grown into a man. This makes me think of how much Louis has changed. I shake the thought away from my mind. I'll wait until I see him to make that judgement.

More and more people start pouring into the street as the morning ticks on. As I pass multiple shops the smells hit me again, and I remember that I haven't eaten since yesterday morning. I make a beeline for one of my favorite breakfast places that I used to eat at all the time before I was banished.

Inside, the wonderful sense of food overwhelms me, and, once asked what I want to eat, I practically order the whole menu. I give the money to the waitress, and she leaves with a very surprised look on her face.

I savor the food. Each bite tastes like I've been locked in Hell for eight years and am finally getting a taste of Heaven, which is actually quite true. These twenty glorious minutes end the moment three men in black and white clothing that look like musketeer uniforms walk in. Though each of them wear a smile on their faces, all I see is me in shackles at the butchering block. It'd be too suspicious to walk out as soon as they walked in, so I take as many slow and cautious bites of my food as I can.

They order and sit down at the table next to mine. I keep my eyes on my fork and listen as they talk loudly to one another.

"So, James," the blond one says as he nudges his friend to his right, "has Baudin decided whether or not to promote you yet?"

A man around five-and-twenty with raven hair and eyes the color of ice glances at him. "He said I am needed in my position at the moment, but he'll promote me when a good fit comes around."

The blond laughs. "Eh, keep telling yourself that, Jamie." He drapes an arm over his shoulder.

James shows the slightest hint of annoyance before turning back to his food. "Oscar, I don't need any of your input." He removes Oscar's arm from his shoulders.

I let out a sigh. They're really all here for pleasure and not tracking me down to take me to the guillotine. I start to relax a little, sipping my orange juice quietly.

I notice then a dark brown-headed musketeer sipping coffee next to James. He speaks in a low voice to his colleagues. "Any word on the Red Cobras?"

Oscar glances around to make sure nobody's listening, and I quickly avert my gaze. "No. Not since yesterday."

Red Cobras? What are Red Cobr—

"Are you ready, miss?" my waitress asks suddenly.

I gasp in surprise but nod. "Yes, thank you." I stand quickly and rush to the door before any of the men notice me. I'm almost outside before I feel a hand gently grasp my forearm. I'm about to jerk it away before I see what I originally thought was that the ice-blue eyes are actually white.

"You forgot your satchel, ma'am," James says, holding out my bag.

I have a lump in my throat and am not able to answer for a whole agonizing five seconds, but I manage to squeak out, "Thank you," before I rush out the door and onto the crowded streets. I dare to look back, and I see him still standing by the door, watching my every move.

The lump in my throat is still there once I settle myself on a bench in the marketplace. What just happened? Oh, God, what just happened? Nothing happened. Right? He can't know who I am. He probably wasn't even in the Musketeers when I was banished. He's so much younger than me. It's not like I'm the most wanted person in Paris anyway. It's fine. Everything is fine.

I start feeling claustrophobic being surrounded by all these people, so I quickly move through the crowd and down a much less busy street. I take deep breaths, trying to settle my nerves before I completely break down. It's hard to manage, but I eventually am able to get my heartrate down to a normal level.

It's crazy the kind of things that spook me anymore. I used to be the stubborn, hard-headed girl that wouldn't give up on anything. These past eight years have really changed me, and I can most assuredly tell you that it's not for the better.

I round another corner. After a few more minutes of walking, I realize I'm lost. This is an unfamiliar section of Paris, and, by the looks of it, it's definitely not the nicest. The houses apartments and houses look dirty and damaged, and the streets are filled with litter. Probably a bad area to be in.

I hear a scream from a block away, confirming my suspicions about this neighborhood, and, by natural instinct, I run over to see what's happening. A girl probably not yet sixteen is kicking and screaming while a burly man is holding onto her, pressing a knife to her throat, saying, "Where is it, little girl? Where is it?"

"You won't kill me. You can't because without me you'll never find it."

The man presses the knife into her shoulder, making at thin line of blood. "Maybe not. But one finger removed and you'll be begging for mercy."

The girl swivels around from where she was pressed against him and spat in his face. "You'd be surprised which one of us will be begging for mercy." And in one slick move she disarmed him, sent him to the ground, and wrenched his arm 90 degrees to the left. His own screams were the only ones that filled the air.

I watch in amazement at the flawless yet deadly moves of the girl, reminding me of how I used to fight with my friends. The girl suddenly looks up and stares straight at me, wiping her dark hair out of her face with a white gloved hand. I freeze, my heart racing, but she does nothing more than smile and walk straight into a dark alley, leaving the man she just maimed behind.

When she is gone I walk up to the wailing man. "What did you want with her?" I ask him.

He scoffs, trying to withhold his pain. "Why should I tell you?"

I frown but grap the front of his shirt and glare at him in the eye. "Fine. Then who are you and who are you with?"

He snarls. "I will tell you nothing."

I roll my eyes, taking his injured arm forcefully from his weak grasp and notice what looks like a branding of some kind of snake. I move really close and stare him in the eye. "What is this on your arm?"

He shouts in pain but does not answer my question. I yank his arm and he moans in pain. "You better tell me right now and hope I don't snap your arm in half right here, right now."

He shrieks again and finally gives up. "Fine! Fine, okay! I'll tell you!" I release his arm, and he cradles it. "My name is Anthony Timmons, and I am apart of the Red Cobras."

The Red Cobras again? Who are these people?

I narrow my eyes. "And what are the Red Cobras?"

Anthony looks up to my face from where he's sitting on the ground. "You don't know? Where have you been these last seven years?"

Seven years? Louis hasn't told me about this after seven years? I can't believe it. He was supposed to keep me up-to-date on everything. He sent at least one letter per month, and why couldn't he have mentioned a simple, "Hey, how are you doing? Good? Oh, yeah. There's a very rapid incline in crime because of some group called the Red Cobras."

I sneer. "I do not have to disclose anything to you. Now, tell me."

He sighs. "Fine. We are just a gang. Nothing else, alright? Now let me go. I've told you all I know."

I know that's not all, but I push him back down to the ground and step over his head. I smile to myself as I walk. Maybe I do still have that scary, intimidating aura that I used to have. Or maybe it was his dislocated shoulder. Who knows?

I suddenly realize what time it is. It has to be close to noon by now, and I really should go to the palace, but I can't help feel like I'm avoiding it. Hell, I am avoiding it. I don't want to see Louis yet. And I don't know why. I should be happy. I should be happy that for the first time in eight years I can see him again. But there's this part of me that's so afraid of rejection and dislike, I can't handle it.

I sigh as I sink down onto a bench on Main Street. I know every minute that I spend here without going to the palace jeopardizes my safety, but I just can't help it. I watch as people pass by me without glance, oblivious to the fact they're so close to a convicted criminal. It feels so weird to be surrounded after all these years. I spent most of my time at my mother's never leaving the farm in fear of being ridiculed or stared at. It's like nobody remembers me anymore. And that is completely okay with me. Better to be forgotten than remembered.

My mind wanders off to the Red Cobras. Anthony Timmons said they were just a gang, but is that true? I highly doubt it. There is no such thing as "Just a gang." They're always hiding something even if it's big or small. And whether or not Louis tells me anything about it, I'll find it. This is my city and nothing will happen to it that I won't try to stop.

I hear some people saying it one o'clock and for a second I think they're joking. It can't be that late. My stomach immediately pangs in hunger, which seems impossible after the insane amount of food I just ate. I brush it off as not having adequate Parisian food for such a long time. I walk up to a vendor cart and order a sandwich. I sit back down on the bench and enjoy what could be my last meal if fate decides it, God forbid. But if I would have to choose one last meal before I die, it would be this one.

The walk towards the palace is not pleasant. The sun, though only early March, is blazing and making me sweat much more than I already am. My hands slightly shake, and I grip the hem of my skirt to try to keep them still. My heart races. If I hadn't known any better I would've thought I was having heat stroke, but I know what's really happening. Anyone in my situation would know what was happening.

This fear, this intense fear is eating me alive from the inside out. I just can't get past the fact that he could kill me for being in Paris if he wanted. I doubt he'd do that after all he's communicated to me for these past eight years, but the possibility is still there.

And if not him, then someone else could too. Louis is one of the most beloved kings in France's history, and anyone who has tried to hurt him has been ridiculed and cursed at and… murdered. But I was the first female musketeer. I have saved his life multiple times on some days, so I don't feel like I should be entitled to all of this hate.

I stop suddenly as I see it. The palace's beauty is still immaculate after so long, though I shouldn't be so surprised because it's existed for hundreds of years. I bet if I tried hard, I could remember every single place I've been inside these walls. Walls. But they're not walls. Actually, they are rather the opposite. When I'm inside I feel like I'm free to do anything.

Keeping my head down, I approach one of the guards. My nerves flutter as I say, "I-I need to, uh, speak with the king."

I could sense their hot stares on me, but I force myself not to flinch. I glance up at them and realize they're not musketeers, rather uniformed in black and white just like the men in the restaurant were wearing, but this time also with a gold pendant with a design I can't make out.

"And who is asking?"

I swallow a lump in my throat. "J-just tell him that he's been expecting me for a very long time."

The guards glance at one another suspiciously, but one makes his way towards the palace. The minutes tread on like slow, agonizing torture. I still can't believe I'm here. Here, standing in front of what once was my home, after eight years.

I don't even realize when the guard is back and standing in front of me with a stern look on his face. I hold my breath. "He doesn't wish to see you," the guard says. "His Majesty says you should leave Paris and don't bother coming back." He goes back to his post and ignores me.

My eyes fill with tears before I can stop them, and I'm moving before I know where I'm going. I end up crouching in an alley while I sob and throw up and sob again. I start hyperventilating, and then I know I'm in a full-fledged panic attack. Never in my life did I truly think he would reject me. I always thought he would accept me back with open arms. If only I replied to those stupid letters.

I curl up into a ball and bury my face in my knees. And then I hear a snap from behind me. I jump to my feet quickly, quite certain I look somewhat deranged. Shadows emerge from the darkness. Six men, all dressed in black, surround me. I make an attempt to run, but one pushes me to the ground. I get straight back up. No one makes another move.

My heart beats furiously against my chest. What do I do? I haven't been in a physical fight for eight years, and I'm terribly out of shape. What do I do? I see them close in more. What do I do? And then I see out of my peripheral vision a fist flying towards me. I duck at the last second, and the guy who threw it nearly falls.

And then I realize, I can do this.

Another fist. I redirect it with my palm and grab his arm and knee him in the groin. He falls and another comes at me. He grabs me from the front and starts to carry me off, but kick him ferociously, screaming for my life. I figure if I could get someone's attention they could help me deal with this.

Another man comes toward me but before he's able to try to make contact, I'm pushed down to the ground. They jump onto me and start hitting me nonstop. I can't do anything except block as many punches as possible.

My lip and nose start to bleed. I stop screaming. My head spins around and around and around. I can't see straight. I feel like I'm going to die. Maybe that would be better than what just happened to me.

"He doesn't wish to see you."

I'm almost about ready to give up and let them kill me, but suddenly the punching stops. The hitting stops. Everything stops.

Either my head has a concussion or I'm going insane, but for a second I see what looks like an angel taking down man after man with ease but never getting blood on its clothing. At least, that's what I think I saw before the darkness overtook me.

(A/N: Heh, heh. How ya doing? I got the chapter done early, and I have the first 1,000 words of the next one done yesterday, too! ( Only two more thousand to go!) So, how are you guys liking it so far! Tell me in your reviews!

Replies:

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Oh, and I'm probably going to change the title of this story here pretty soon.

Bye, peeps!

Weatherbug02)