Sorry everyone I forgot to say that the story would continue, a little. There will be a final chapter after these two more introspective ones and the introductory ones. The whole idea of this psychological fic was about that moment in the episode where Anne tells with a certain feeling Aramis that she was not expecting to see the cross on some other woman's chest. Oh, I thought, so she had expectations. She felt the right to ask him. She feared the Comtesse was his lover. Oh that is so Jealousy! It must have cost her, and yet she did it, probably could not resist it, even if she tried. Or maybe it was not her intent, yet it still came that way? So, building up... we're getting there.

Thanks for reading it and dropping a review. I'm always so happy after reading them! :)

3. Owning your burdens is half the battle

She felt her own chest shrinking; a wave of doubt, hurt, of betrayal, anger, even all these mixed feelings seemed to assault could not find a valid answer to why Ninon was now in possession of her own cross. Why, why would Aramis give her that cross? Had it so little value to him?

She needed to calm herself. She needed to start reasoning accordingly to her rank and education. "Owning your burdens is half the battle", was the motto of her tutor in Madrid, she reminded him saying it so often, and has used it quite often, like now, to understand herself, always striving to become a better person on the base of that understanding.

She inhaled deeply, and asked one of the nuns who had kept by her side to take to some place so she could pray privately for both the Cardinal and Ninon. At least keep the appearance Anne, she thought to herself. God, not only was she feeling extremely troubled, she was also now lying to a nun.

The sisters took her to one of the small chapels of the Monastery, dedicated to St Anthony of Padua. She was glad it was summer, that place, by the river, must be so humid and cold during the other seasons. Right now though, she welcomed the fresh air that permeated the room, as it seemed to bring some sense back into her mind, if not in her heart yet. She needed to examine in detail what had just happened during those last minutes.

She first sat close to the painting of St Anthony depicted in awe looking at baby Jesus, and found a little solace thinking of Christ, who, in all circumstances seem to warm her soul. She kneeled then, in the privacy of the chapel illuminated with candles and the quiet presence of one of the nuns, and started praying, learned prayers, to Mary, and when she had the impression that she had reached a semblance of quiet, she whispered Our Father before engaging in a more personal reflexion.

"… and forgive us our trespasses

as we forgive those who trespasses against us

and lead us not in temptation

but deliver us from Evil. Amen."

As she finished saying the words, the words forgiving and temptation seem, for some reason to be the ones she needed to reflect upon.

Seeing that personal gift she gave to Aramis on Ninon troubled her to such anxiety, in just seconds. Even now, after the prayer, trying to face the questions as she was taught, with reason and morals, she still could not stop her mind and her heart racing.

Why? How? Didn't Aramis understood the value of her gift?

What was truly the value of such gift? Was it different for her that it was for him? And was she expecting him to value it like her?

If anyone would look it from outside, it should have been just a reward for saving her life. She rewarded other subjects for other reasons, with other gifts. It should not be personal. Royal business.

So why did it feel so personal?

Because he save her life, more than once now.

Because Aramis, which handsome figure and friendly face seemed to attract her glance whenever he would pass by. He carried that warmth in him, an easiness and openness that she was sensing in all moments. She had heard that he was from Spanish origins, and she wondered if this common origin was also one of the reasons she was so interested about him, looking out for him, a connection to her past life. Was she wrong to believe that he felt something for her, that he regarded her as a woman and not only as a Queen?

"A woman and not only as a Queen?" is that really what she had just thought?

Looking backwards at the last months, she had a feeling, she could not deny it. Those minutes in the Chatelêt had been a revelation on so many things. And more recently, the sight of Aramis, kissing her cross after jumping over an explosive artefact who by the grace of God did not explode, watching her intently, as if his life was in Gods, but also her hands? As if he would gladly do anything for her?

She knew, or maybe she wanted to believe that Aramis had felt that connection too. Had she been that naïve? After all, she also heard that the Musketeer Aramis was quite the charmer. Being an infant, and later a Queen had helped her develop some eavesdropping skills. The name of Aramis would come more than often in the Courtisanes and even servants' conversations. Could that explain why her cross was now in possession of the Comtesse? Was she now the new conquest of Aramis? A beautiful woman needless to be said.

Those sneaky thoughts were steering in her guts, and Anne realised that such displeasure did not resemble anything she may have felt before. She did not like the idea of Aramis with another woman.

Could it be? No. It couldn't. She was married, to the King of France. She was the Queen. She was a faithful wife. She meant each of her wedding vows, and has respected each of them so far. Why was she thinking that? What was it that she thought she was feeling? It could not be.

Jealousy.

Jealousy was a lower, dangerous feeling.

All religious teachings condemned it, but also modern enlightened voices, Monsieur de La Rochefoucauld* the new writer in vogue had recently described jealousy to one of the most serious wrongs you can do to other people you love.

Love.

There cannot be jealousy if there is no love, but…

She did not love Aramis. Didn't she? That was impossible.

Well, she certainly cared for him. That was true. She did worry for him that day at the market with the bomb, when she heard Porthos shouting "Aramis, noo!", as if he was in danger mortal. It is true, she felt her heart jumped that day at the thought of Aramis dead. The image of him kissing the cross and watching her, as if everything was perfect, as if he was grateful for life, and even after such danger, happy, content.

That image was in her heart. She knew it now.

So that was it.

She cared for him as a loyal servant.

Affection at most, that could be it.

But then, other words came to her mind, from a play wrote by a courtisane, and one of the characters saying that "only Jealousy had taught him to be in love." **

She felt herself paling at the understanding of what might truly be going on.

4. Confession is half remission

Jealousy. And a certain infatuation maybe with a handsome musketeer?

She had never felt jealous of Louis.

Even when Louis would openly flirt with other women, the feeling she mostly felt was humiliation, disgust for the lack of respect he would display towards his royal consort publicly. She deserved better. She had felt angry at Louis. But jealousy? She could not recall once that she felt jealousy over Louis.

Louis was her husband, yet, she never ever felt that heated disturbance she was feeling now. The need to confront Aramis and to know exactly what was happening between him and Ninon. As if it was her right to ask. As if he had the obligation to answer.

No, it could not be.

She couldn't be jealous of a man over another woman for another man that was not her husband.

Oh… and if she was, how could she ever ask him what Ninon was to him? She was the Queen. She should not bring herself so low.

God how she wished sometimes to be a French born and raised. She had seen it, through her years at Court, that quite many of the French ladies did not seem to feel the heavy weight of the catholic self-restraint chains. These women had some freedom when it came to affairs of the heart. Many of them had lovers. They had boring old husbands and young passionate lovers. As if there was no contradiction or hypocrisy in the situation. There were stories of treasons and revenge, of passion and lust. Stories she had not been very much interested about.

Not until now. Now….

So that is what it felt to be jealous? An impending need to confront the person about the situation, the doubt about the bound between that person and yourself, the need to be reassured that we are the one who matters more.

Oh… it was true, jealousy was a sinful, ugly feeling. Jealousy she had been taught was more about passion and lust and selfish love than about a sincere honest affection.

She should feel ashamed. Maybe a part of her was a little ashamed.

But above all that, she was feeling the need to know, more than anything else. She needed to placate the question in her heart. So here it was, despite her religious education, despite her being the Queen of France, despite all the pious principles ingrained in her since she was born, hovering inside her was a sheer feeling of jealousy at the idea that Aramis could be involved with another woman.

And when the thought finished to form in her head, it is when for the first time in a very long time, in many years, she felt extraordinarily alive. That feeling of jealousy felt strangely, achingly exquisite. It was not pure, it was not pious, it was not even worthy of her royal nature. But it was incredibly real. It was heating her up. Like the excitement she felt after the Chatelêt events. It was moving her, stirring her from inside.

She knew she had no right, and now she knew it was wrong, but that is precisely what she was feeling if she was honest to herself, and kneeling there, by a Cross and the image of the Saint, she could not lie to herself, and she knew there was no hiding from God's understanding of what is in our hearts.

So she resumed praying again, knowing now, what is it that she needed to confess.

That is not something she could ever confess to a priest, not even in the secret of confession. She was not that naïve, the Cardinal's men and ears were everywhere, and such admission could bring the "spanish Queen" to her lost.

But she could at least confess to her Lord, hoping that the French said that "Faute avouée est à moitié pardonnée" (Sin confessed is half remissed) would be true.