"For God's sake, Durand," Constance said with an exasperated sigh. "The King and Queen Anne will be here soon; can you please get those horses away and get yourself dressed into your uniform." The cadet bowed his head apologetically and quickly led the offending horse into the stables. Constance had been walking across the hectic yard of the garrison with her mother and d'Artagnan and had noticed that the cadet was still in his own clothes and not wearing his sword belt or carrying his pistol. It was purely for show this morning, and even though she considered Anne more of a friend than a Queen the garrison had to play the part of a well-oiled regiment, especially after the even at the ball a few months previously.

"Shouldn't that be d'Artagnan's job? To tell the cadets off?" her mother asked, incredulously. Constance could understand her confusion; her mother had never seen her as anything other than a tailor's wife and never as someone who listened to and respected by soldiers.

"He is too nice to them when they're not fighting," she said with a sly grin. "And mess really doesn't concern him that much" d'Artagnan shrugged, unconcerned.

"As long as they win their battles and don't embarrass me too much I couldn't care less about a messy yard," he said, indifferently. But then he noticed a group of musketeers in the corner being a little too rowdy and his eyes narrowed. "Actually, I take that back. They really do need to be getting ready."

Constance laughed as he walked off towards the men and made her way up the steps to the balcony with her mother to stand with the rest of her family, Elodie, Porthos, and Marie-Cessette. Usually a meeting with Anne and the King didn't include all the formalities that were called for today. Constance would simply arrive at the palace and be shown straight into Anne's private rooms – provided she wasn't busy ruling France. However, today was the official inspection of the Musketeers and as the King and all his ministers - Aramis included – would be present the occasion called for at least some ceremony.

Her nephews didn't seem to appreciate having to stay up on the balcony while all the horses and Musketeers were down below though. Richard was whining at his mother that he was bored and Samuel was kicking at one of the railing posts until Phillipe gave him a light cuff on the back of the head.

"Behave, both of you," he said sternly. "You're about to meet your King. Do you want him to think you both still act babies?" The two boys shook their heads and looked to the floor. Alice smirked at Constance.

"You have all this to look forward to," she said. "It's a good thing you're a patient woman, Constance." Before she could answer Porthos barked out a laugh that made even her jump.

"Patient? Constance?" he said, picking up Marie-Cessette. "The first time I ever met you, Constance, you slapped Aramis in the face because he didn't give you a straight answer, and you've threated to do worst to me a number of times." Elodie rolled her eyes.

"So have I," she said. "And you usually deserve it." Porthos opened his mouth to reply but before he could Brujon came flying into the garrison on horseback.

"They're minutes away!" he called, dismounting. "They've just entered this part of the city."

"That's my cue," said Porthos, passing Marie-Cessette to Eldoie and leaving the balcony as d'Artagnan lined the regiment up in the yard. Constance could see her mother fussing with her skirts and getting flustered at the thought of meeting the Queen while Lucas, who had been sulking against the door frame scowled.

"What is it?" Constance asked sharply. She hadn't even noticed his mood until now.

"Does it matter?" Lucas said, venom in his voice.

"Yes, it does!"

"You want me to say it now?" he said, raising his eyebrows at her.

"Well you're behaving like a child now so we might as well get it over with."

"Both of you, stop it!" her mother snapped. "This is ridiculous." Lucas straightened up and walked over to Constance, looming over her like he used to do when they argued as children.

"No, what is ridiculous, mother, is that we are about to spend our morning bowing and doting on a Queen whose doesn't even call France her home and will most likely arrive wearing a dress expensive enough to let our entire town feast every night for the next year." Benoit placed a hand on Lucas' shoulder to calm him but he just shrugged it off. "I respect the King. I refuse to respect his Spanish mother."

"Anne has called France her home since she was fourteen years old!" Constance said, raising her voice.

"Constance, please… don't upset yourself," Alice said softly, concern on her face. "Think of the baby." But Constance was enraged. She could feel the anger spreading through her, furious that her own brother was as ignorant as those she had been attacked by at the Louvre. She shoved Lucas in the chest and cried out, infuriated, causing the men in the yard, including d'Artagnan and Porthos, to look up towards them, and her mother to mutter "Really, Constance!" D'Artagnan made to come over but the sound of a carriage pulling into the yard stopped him. The musketeers stood to attention and Constance's family all rushed to the bannister to get a better view, all except her and Lucas. She fixed him with a cool glare and spoke with a restrained voice.

"You're better than this. I never had you for someone who had so much hate in them," she said. "I want you to leave; you can't meet her after this, and then I want you to come back so we can talk properly." Lucas' mouth was thin with resentment but he listened. He nodded once and moved towards the steps.

"Not that way," Constance said. "You're not walking through the yard while the King and Anne are there. Go out the back way." She gestured towards d'Artagnan's office that had another exit attached. Lucas went, slamming the office door as he did.

Constance took a deep breath and leaned against the wall, her heart hammering and her hands on her stomach. She could feel the baby moving around faster than usual, she'd noticed this happened more when she was feeling particularly strong emotions. She stroked her belly slowly, and took a deep breath to calm herself.

"Sush, darling," she whispered. "We're fine." She was due to give birth any day now and while the worry she had felt at the beginning of her pregnancy was creeping back into her mind, it was discomfort at being so big that was her primary focus. Her back was aching, her emotions were erratic, she couldn't spend too much time on her feet and she was constantly getting little twinges here and there that were beginning to get painful. Her mother gave her a sad but reassuring smile and reached out a hand to her, bringing her to the balcony to watch.

Aramis was the first to exit the carriage, dressed in his bright blue uniform and feathered hat – something he wore with immense pride – and he greeted d'Artagnan and Porthos first with respectful handshakes that the occasion called for and then with hugs that better fitted the friends. It was impossible to tell that he'd been shot only months earlier. Luckily the bullet had passed straight through his shoulder and caused no serious damage, though according to d'Artagnan he wasn't quite as resourceful with a sword in his right hand as he used to be – something he was working hard to improve. Anne was next and, unfortunately, Constance saw that she was indeed dressed so finely it took her breath away. She heard her mother make a funny noise, something in the realm of amazement, and Alice leant over the railing to get a better look.

"She's so beautiful," she said quietly.

"And unattached, yes?" Benoit said in a crude voice with a raised eyebrow. Constance snorted and threw an elbow into his ribs playfully.

"Not in a million years," she said laughing. Somehow comments like this from Benoit didn't irritate her at all like they would from Phillipe or Lucas. He just had a boyish spirit to him that made it impossible for her to take anything she said seriously.

As Aramis was helping the King down into the yard everyone sunk into a bow or curtsey, Constance holding on the railing to help herself back up again. He made his way up and down the rows of Musketeers, following his mother's lead, though looking like he didn't quite know why he was there or what he was supposed to be doing. After having inspected the regiment sufficiently, led by Aramis, Porthos, and d'Artagnan, Anne and the King made their way up to the balcony.

"Constance, Elodie, it really is lovely to see you both," Anne said with a smile and they all rose from their bows again. "This must be your family?"

"Yes, it is," Constance introduced her to them all, including the boys. As she said his name Samuel waved happily at the King, who looked a little taken aback by this. Anne nodded graciously at each family member as Constance went through them but then furrowed her brow in confusion when she'd finished.

"I thought you had three brothers?" she said.

"Ah," said Constance, looking to her mother for help. However she was still staring at Anne in awe. "Well, Lucas, he had to…. leave." D'Artagnan gave her a quizzical look but she just shook her head, as if to say I'll tell you later. Anne questioned her no further on the matter.

"Well, it really is a delight to meet you all," she said to Constance's family. "However you'll have to excuse me, I must speak with the Captain, and the General in private." After giving Elodie and Constance a gesture to follow them Anne led the way into d'Artagnan's office.

Aramis shut the door behind them and turned to d'Artagnan and Porthos, both of who were sat on d'Artagnan's desk while Constance settled herself in his chair, stretching out her legs. Elodie leaned on the arm rest next to her and watched happily as the King and Marie-Cessette sized each other up in the corner of the room.

"Good news first?" Aramis asked d'Artagnan and Porthos as he walked over to join Anne. Porthos narrowed his eyes.

"I don't like that suggestion," he said, suspiciously. "A statement like that almost always means that there is going to be bad news."

"You're as sharp as ever my friend," said Aramis, sarcastically.

"I've sent for Athos' return," said Anne. "I feel he's been away long enough now and after what happened at the ball I have decided that we all could use his experience."

"When will he be back?" d'Artagnan said, a huge smile spreading across his face.

"Soon," Aramis said, with a similar expression. "Of course it'll take him a little while, what with his new son." Porthos clapped his hands together and laughed.

"This is the best news I've had in a long time, apart from that I was coming home," he said, looking elated. "Athos is the only one who can keep up with me when we have a drink, no offence meant, d'Artagnan." D'Artagnan held up a hand of acceptance.

"None taken Porthos," he said. "It takes a lot to drink as much as you can and I'm not sure it makes Constance too happy when I try."

"I don't mind," Constance said, smirking. "I usually get a laugh out of it on the rare occasion that you stumble in in the early hours of the morning."

"So what's the bad news, Aramis?" Elodie asked. She'd been quiet for the whole of this conversation and Constance could tell she was dreading having to hear the news that Porthos might be sent back to the front now that his leg was pretty much healed.

"This actually only really concerns d'Artangan," Aramis said, hesitantly. Constance's heart fluttered at these words and she instantly reached out to take d'Artagnans hand and placed her free hand on her stomach. D'Artagnan sat up straighter and glanced quickly towards her before looking back at Aramis.

"Go on," he said.

Aramis removed his hat and ran a hand through his hair as he searched for the words.

"You remember the boy you sent to me to work at the palace? Moreau?" Aramis said. Constance stared at d'Artagnan looking for his reaction. She knew how much he'd worried for the boy when he had arrived in Paris looking for a Musketeer commission and how much he blamed himself when he went missing after the ball. He hadn't been discovered in the bodies and no one had seen him since.

"You've found him?" d'Artagnan asked, hopefully.

"Well…yes." Said Aramis, heavily. "He was shot dead by palace soldiers – he was found with a group of the men they were looking for over the attack. Turns out they were working for the new Duke of Lorraine who is currently being arrested. Moreau must have been working with them or convinced to join them. The group fought the soldiers instead of allowing themselves to be captured and… well, he was never a fighter, you know that. I'm sorry." He finished the announcement sadly and a substantial silence filled the room, disturbed only by the sounds of the King and Marie-Cessette playing on the other side of the office. D'Artagnan dropped his head into his hands and shook his head.

"I don't believe it," he said, stunned. "He was definitely one of them? He wasn't a prisoner?" Aramis shook his head.

"The soldiers watched them for a few days before attacking, they reported that he was definitely there voluntarily." Constance stood and rubbed d'Artagnan's shoulder, waiting for him to say something. Anne eventually broke the silence.

"We won't intrude any longer d'Artagan, Constance. I really am sorry you had to hear this, it must be shocking, but you couldn't have known." She embraced Constance before stepping back and taking both her hands and dropping her voice so only she could hear. "My doctors are ready to come to you at a moment's notice, just send a messenger when it's time." She quickly left and was followed out by everyone else except Constance and d'Artagnan, who was still sat in silence.

"d'Artagnan," she finally said, softly placing a hand to his cheek. "This isn't your fault." He shook his head as she spoke and bowed his head to the floor.

"How could I have not known?" he asked in a tortured voice. "Why did I not see it?"

"No one saw. Not even Aramis and Moreau was working for him for months."

"Yes, but it was me who sent him there," he said shortly. He stood and paced the office while Constance leaned against the desk and watched him helplessly. She didn't know how to comfort him. She knew how important it had been to him to help the boy he saw so much of himself in, and now he had turned out to be a traitor, shot dead in the French countryside for his crimes.

"Where was Lucas anyway?" d'Artagnan asked, obviously trying to change the subject to something less distressing, although this topic perhaps wasn't the best choice.

"I sent him away," Constance said, rubbing her temples, trying to force out the dull ache in her head that was forming. "He took issue with meeting the Queen. Apparently she isn't French enough." D'Atragnan closed his eyes in exasperation and rolled his head back before hitting his hand against the door frame in frustration, making Constance jump.

"I can't be around this anymore," he said, his voice shaking in anger. "It is a ridiculous frame of mind these people are and I'm sick of it. There is no logic to it yet it seems to be everywhere I turn. He can't come back to the garrison, and I'm going to ask him to leave the house."

"My house." Constance snapped at him. "And you can't just send him away, he's my brother! I'm going to talk some sense into him. Besides, you don't think I'm not sick of it too? I might not be fighting for her but she's still my friend and I've been caught up in as much of this as you have!" She was surprised to hear herself shouting now, angry tears prickling in her eyes.

"Constance, that's why I won't tolerate it anymore!" he yelled back. "Your own brother is contributing to a movement that has nearly cost you your life several times!"

"He doesn't know that! I'm going to speak with him, I'll bring him round." D'Artagnan rolled his eyes and placed his hands on her shoulders.

"No, I don't want him anywhere near you, the baby, or our home," he said, attempting to end the argument there. Constance scowled at him, ducked under his arms and walked away, her hands grabbing at her own hair.

"You don't tell me which members of my family I can talk to," she said, spinning round to face him.

"Constance, that's not-"

"I don't care!" she cried, throwing her arms wide. "This isn't even about you; this is my family and I'll deal with it!" d'Artagnan's mouth set into a grim line and he closed his eyes. He stood up silently, not even giving her a look, and walked over to the door, wrenching it open. He turned to her.

"Good to know where I stand in your family," he said, obviously hurt. He swept out the room and banged the door shut loudly.

Constance knew she had gone too far. Any reminder that his family was dead would always send him into a depressed state that he often didn't come out of for a while. She could feel the bile rising in her throat, disgusted at herself for using that against him in an argument – even if it was unintentional. Hot tears were rolling down her face as she ran to the window to see him mounting his horse and riding out of the yard before she could call him back to apologise. Constance slammed her hands on the window sill and cried out in frustration before slowly dissolving into sobs. She didn't know how long she cried for but it was only when she felt the most curious sensation that she stopped. There was a small popping feeling between her legs and suddenly, without warning, a warm wetness was spilling down her and pooling on the wooden floor. Constance gasped for breath, stunned, and clutched at the fabric over her stomach staring at the puddle that had appeared.

"d'Atragnan!" She shouted, knowing full well he couldn't hear her. The door swung open and Constance looked up to see her mother in the doorway.

"Mother," Constance whined. "Help me."