"You think I poisoned him?" Fleur asked, a look of absolute disbelief on her face.

"That's the most stupid thing I've heard, even by musketeer standard," Constance spoke up.

"Let her talk, please," d'Artagnan said.

Annabelle looked around the table, where she, the musketeers, d'Artagnan, Constance and Fleur were sat. The Comtesse de Laroque's trial had just ended, though not entirely on good terms, if you were to count anyone but the musketeers' opinions…

The Cardinal had been poisoned, but by who or what no one knew just yet. Annabelle didn't quite understand why her brothers thought Fleur had done it, but she trusted their judgment. If they had reason to believe she did it, then so did she.

"Tell us the truth," Porthos said.

"I didn't hurt him! I didn't do anything, I swear it," the girl said, her face looking serious. She turned to Constance, and suddenly a sad expression appeared on her fair features. "I have to go. My father is waiting." She stood up and walked a way off before stopping and turning slightly. "You know I am to be married? He's a forty-year old widower with a butcher's stall in Montmartre. I'm told he's a very good catch." And the young girl looked down again, turning to walk out of the Garrison.

Constance glanced at the musketeers, a look of disapproval plastered on her face, before following after her.

The men and girl stayed silent for a moment, each thinking to themselves. They really did not have any other idea who else the culprit could be. They hadn't wanted to accuse Fleur of poisoning the Cardinal - after all, if it had been her, they probably would have thanked her! - but as musketeers it was their duty to find out who wanted him murdered - (they couldn't really think of anyone who didn't want him murdered, but that was besides the point).

"I'm gonna get something to eat," Porthos said, sighing heavily, and d'Artagnan stood up.

"I will come with you; all this trial business is making me hungry," the Gascon agreed, and Porthos laughed before the two walked off to find Serge.

"Will you ever force me to marry someone I don't know?" Annabelle asked as she leaned against Athos' – who was sat on the table, feet resting on the wooden bench – leg with a sigh.

Aramis turned to his sister with a frown. "No, I will not."

Annabelle nodded, but a thoughtful expression was still on her face. "Why is Fleur's father forcing her to marry?"

Aramis sighed, taking his sister's hands in his. "He believes that having a husband would be good for her."

"How can it be good for her if she does not want it?"

"Unfortunately, Fleur is not at an age where she can decide how her future will be shaped. She must listen to her father."

Annabelle's eyebrows furrowed at that, and she looked at her brother. "What about me? I do not have a father to listen to."

"You have a brother," Aramis said with a raise of his eyebrow. "Several, in fact, who I am sure by now you have realized are your guardians. And you cannot forget Treville, who is like a father to you."

"But... does that still mean you have to shape my future?" the teenager asked.

Aramis shook his head and squeezed his sister's hands. "No. I may be in charge of you, but I will never tell you how to live your life, or what to do with it. You only live once, I say. If you want to grow up and be a lady, you grow up and be a lady. If you want to grow up and be a musketeer, you grow up and be a musketeer. Your life is your life, Belle - it is not mine to do with as I will."

Annabelle grinned, jumping forward and hugging Aramis around his neck. "I have the best big brother," she said into his ear, and the musketeer chuckled.

"And don't you forget it!" he said, placing a kiss on the girl's cheek before looking up at Athos, who was smiling fondly at the siblings.

Annabelle smiled back, but her thoughts quickly wandered elsewhere. "Why didn't Fleur's father want her to have an education, though?"

"It is not proper for a lady of the lower-class to have an education," Athos told her. "Fleur's father wanted her to be like every other young woman and learn how to sew and cook, among other things."

"I don't think she wanted that," Annabelle said.

"No," Athos agreed, "but as Aramis has said, it was not her decision to make."

Annabelle nodded, frowning. "How has Ninon done something wrong?" she asked. The question had been swirling around in her mind ever since the Comtesse had been arrested, and she didn't quite understand the reasons behind it. She had met Ninon, and from what she could see, the woman was a well-respected and kind person who would never dream of doing anything to harm others.

Aramis and Athos shared a quick glance, before the older musketeer spoke up. "What do you mean?" he asked.

"Well… I guess I just do not really understand how giving girls an education is a bad thing."

"Some people think it is," Athos said.

"Like the King?"

"Like the King."

"Anne- I mean, the Queen doesn't think so."

"No," Athos said, moving to sit himself down on the bench beside Annabelle, who leaned back against his chest, "perhaps not. But you must remember that the Comtesse has been trialled for different crimes that she has apparently committed, not because she has given some young women an education."

"What crimes?" the girl asked, and Aramis couldn't help but melt at the innocent expression on his baby sister's face as she asked that question. In all honesty, he had wanted to grab that girl and carry her out of the room when Madame de la Chapelle – or whoever she was – started talking about what Ninon had supposedly done to her. Annabelle was thirteen years old, and did not need to hear those things. Perhaps he was being over-protective, but he did not care. His sister was his everything and he would not have her grow up faster than she needed to.

"It does not matter what crimes," Athos said, feeling the exact same way as the younger musketeer. "All that matters is that I do not believe the Comtesse did what those people have accused her of, and I swear I will find a way to get her out of this."

"And me," the teenager said, lifting her head and looking up at Athos, who leaned down to kiss her forehead with a smile.

"And you, my Belle."


"Where are you going?"

Aramis turned, a smile quickly appearing on his face. "Good morning little one," he said. The girl had clearly heard him moving about the room – though he had tried his best to stay quiet – and had bolted upright in bed, eyes still half-closed and hair in a tangled mess. "I am going to the mortuary. We need to get Father Sastini's bag to give back to him. It's alright, you can stay in bed - Treville has some work to do in the Garrison for the morning and so he won't be too far off."

"I want to come," Annabelle said. She pushed back the covers and swung her legs over the bed, immediately moving to grab her clothes and start changing.

"To the mortuary? You want to be around dead people?" the musketeer asked with a raised eyebrow.

Annabelle shrugged. "It's interesting. I don't mind it."

Aramis chuckled. "Alright, you can come. But if you feel like getting sick, do not come crying to me."

Annabelle grinned before grabbing her jacket and skipping out of the room. "I won't!" she called over her shoulder.


"I feel sick."

Porthos let out a booming laugh at Annabelle's quiet comment and placed an arm around her shoulder, drawing her close to him.

"Did you ever find out how he died?" Athos asked the diener, who was stood by the corpse of the man the musketeer had ran after yesterday when he had stolen Father Sastini's bag. He hadn't been able to catch him, but had noticed him and the bag in the mortuary the other night when he had been with Ninon, and told the Father that he would return it to him as soon as possible.

"Some sort of apoplexy," the man said. "He was having a drink at an inn nearby. One moment he was laughing and joking, and the next he convulsed and fell down dead on the spot."

Annabelle frowned. "Just like the Cardinal…" she thought out loud, but the musketeers around her nodded.

"Sastini," Athos said, and immediately removed the Father's bag that he had swung over his shoulder, setting it on the ground and quickly rummaging through what was inside.

Annabelle watched wide-eyed as the musketeer and d'Artagnan continued looking through the bag. She walked over to where Aramis and Porthos were standing over the dead man, and grimaced.

"Open his mouth," Aramis said to Porthos, who quickly gained a disgusted expression.

"You open his mouth," he countered back.

Aramis sighed, but leaned down, opening the corpse's mouth. He quickly drew back and made a sound of absolute revulsion. "He stinks!"

"Well, he's dead," Porthos said.

"Not like that," Aramis told him, "he's… there's something bitter on his tongue."

Porthos furrowed his brows but sniffed the man all the same, stepping back and coughing violently. "Either this man had disgusting eating habits or something's badly wrong."

Annabelle frowned, walking over to Athos and d'Artagnan. "What are these?" she asked, picking up a letter, before quickly dropping it again, looking up at d'Artagnan. "And why is it wet?"

Aramis turned to her, and a look of realization dawned on his face. "I know that smell," he said. "It was on the Cardinal's breath."

"Poison," Athos said, "wash your hands. Everything's soaked in it."

Annabelle's eyes widened and she looked down at her hands, rubbing her fingers together and feeling the wetness of the poison.

"This is where it came from," Athos said, holding up a small, empty vial he had found at the bottom of the bag.

"He must have drunk half the bottle before he realized it wasn't alcohol. The rest spilled in the bag," Porthos said as Athos stood up. The musketeer grabbed Annabelle's arm and lead her towards a small bowl full of water in a corner of the mortuary, plunging his hands in and washing away the poison. Annabelle did the same, rolling her eyes when Athos stuck them back in again himself once she had taken them out, not wanting to risk even a small bit of the poison staying on his sister's hands.

"I'm quite capable, you know, 'Thos," she said.

"Mhm," the musketeer mumbled, not saying anything more.

"Sastini's still at the abbey," d'Artagnan said, shaking his hands dry. The musketeers looked at each other.

"The Cardinal's still alive," Athos said, grabbing Annabelle's hand and rushing out of the mortuary, the others following close behind. If the Father had attempted once already to kill that man, then there was no doubt he would try again.

"Just so you're clear, this is the Cardinal we're talking about!" the girl shouted as she ran behind Athos.

"Exactly!" Porthos called back. "Why are we running?"


So sorry for the long wait, but I've just started my final year in school, and so I have a lot of preparing for exams to do… revision will be starting soon as I want to get the best grades I can :)

But anyhow, I hope you enjoyed this!

I didn't know what the name for someone who worked in a mortuary was, so I googled it and it came up with 'diener'... does that sound right? :P

Please review! ~ Gre3nleaf