This is the 2nd episode for the Season 3 rewrite.

Episode 1: The Restoration of Brothers

Warnings: If you are a fan of Milady de Winter... turn back... this story and the next will be traumatic!

The Honor of Horses

There was always a target. Someone in Milady's sight, someone who had something she wanted, and what she wanted was everything, no matter the cost. With a list of aliases, enemies, and dead husbands, Milady de Winter found confidence in herself, her situation, and her skills. Lying had been as natural as walking, and her beauty and wit had helped her navigate a world created for and by men. However, she found herself surrounded by them, by their love, their devotion and commitment, and their desire for her.

She used that to her benefit.

And she had become exceptional at it.

Milady smiled as she looked toward her target. Her hair whisked along her neck and across her face, and her hips swayed as the corset emphasized her bosoms. She walked across the deck of the tall passenger ship. He was tall, stood with a cane, and had long black hair that cascaded over his shoulders. He was significantly older than Milady, and gray hairs fluttered along his temples. Clean shaven, he stood near the edge of the ship and looked across the water at the white cliffs as they departed the English shores. The winds caused his black blouse to flutter, and the sash tied around his waist blew in the breeze.

"It's beautiful, isn't it?" Milady said as she grasped the edge of the railing. Her hair blew around her face. The elegance of her dress and the lace that covered her bosoms exaggerated her long neck.

"Very," the gentlemen said. "I've traveled these waters many times," he smiled, "and each time I'm more impressed. Although," he chuckled, "France has always been my home."

Milady smiled, brushed her hair from her face and tucked it behind her ear. "Mine too," she said.

The gentleman held out his hand and took hers. "Marquis de Feron," he said and then kissed the back of her hand.

Milady noticed his gentle manners, the rings that adorned his fingers, and his stoic nature as he clutched at the cane with his right hand. "This is your ship?"

Feron nodded and grabbed a thick rope above his head to steady himself as the waves of the water rocked the ship. "One of several. I specialize in the trades, Madame —"

"Mademoiselle," she corrected, "Milady de Winter."

"Pleasure." He glanced at the white cliffs as the distance increased between them. "Where are you headed when we reach shore?" He turned and motioned with his hand for her to join him and together they walked to the cabin of the ship, where they would be more comfortable.

"Paris. I have business there."

"Fortunately for you, I do as well." Feron smiled and then winced when his leg and spine caused him pain. "Perhaps you and I can travel together… enjoy each other's company while we journey the countryside."

Milady smiled and slipped her arm around his as they walked. "I would like that." He was complex in a simple and enchanting way. She wasn't sure if it was his outlook on life or his condition, but for a short time, he reminded her of what it was like to… just be. He spoke only vaguely of his life, but focused instead on his love of the water, his ships, and the foreign shores he had visited. He touched briefly on his illness, but focused on the things that brought him joy. What caused her to pause and remember who, and what she was, was the emerald ring on his finger and the abundance of money he had stashed in his room. She didn't know it at first, but when he left her for a short time to see to his personal needs, she found it, a solid bar of gold, and more livres than she had ever seen before.

Her heart fluttered, and she looked out the window toward the moon that was partly hidden by dark clouds that threatened to spill rain. Milady grabbed a knife from the table and tucked it within the folds of her dress. There was more money within reach than she could have ever dreamed. It was money she could use to escape, to run away and not be tied to anyone or anything. It was what she always wanted. There was enough money for her to change who she was and become what she wanted.

Or so she thought.

She sat alone in the cabin and listened as the men prepared the ship along the docks. The wood creaked and water splashed up the sides. Orders were called, and the ship was prepared for docking. It would remain until the Marquis deemed it necessary for them to depart. She pressed her thumb along the curve of the blade and took a deep breath. She could feel her heart race, her blood pulsate through her veins, and she curled her lips into a knowing smile.

She had been 14 when she first killed a man. And what she discovered about herself was her love of the moment, the excitement of almost getting caught but not of being in a room full of people knowing they were looking for her and yet they would never truly see her. She paused and then suddenly her smile fell. Athos had. He had seen her, her ugliness, her desire for murder and rage, her desire to escape what others could not, her need to win at all costs. She had hated him for it. And the moment he had sentenced her to death by hanging, she swore if she escaped she would change, become the person she was supposed to be, but instead she found herself again in the killing fields, covered in blood and enjoying it. She had wanted revenge. Revenge for getting caught, for being found out, and for being identified as the murderess she had become. She was good at it. And she felt nothing when she took a life, whether it be for a dress, out of annoyance, or for revenge.

"My carriage is running late," Feron said and retook his seat. "Perhaps a bit more time on the ship will not go unwanted?" He looked at her and smiled. He poured her another drink and one for himself, and then he stretched his leg before him. "My men will spend their time on shore and Martine will notify me when the carriage arrives."

"Your men are devoted."

"I pay them well." He smiled and raised his glass in cheer.

Milady smiled and said, "Why aren't you married?"

Feron frowned and then rubbed the edge of the table with his thumb. He forced a sad smile and shook his head. "I was once," he said sadly. "She died."

"I'm sorry."

Feron shook his head. "One might ask you the same question. You're young, beautiful, intelligent, and witty," he said with a smile.

Milady tucked her chin in and shrugged her shoulders. "I knew a man once," she said, "but he didn't value me."

"That's a shame." Feron leaned forward, and gently rested his hand on her hers and then softly rubbed his thumb along the back of her hand.

Milady leaned forward. He smelled of oak, leather, and musk. She tilted her head to the left and exaggerated the length of her neck and looked into his brown eyes.

"You're extraordinary," he said, and then ran his fingers along the side of her face.

Milady smiled and shifted closer to him. "We shouldn't do this," she whispered as he drew closer. "We barely know each other."

Feron chuckled and said, "My parents knew each other for less than an hour," he raised her chin with the curve of his finger, "we've been talking for more than four."

Milady sucked her bottom lip between her teeth. "Your men?"

Feron looked over her shoulder and out the window of the cabin. "They're off the ship, Milady." He smiled when she took a deep breath and relaxed.

Milady shifted closer to him, kissed his cheek, his forehead, and finally his lips. He tasted sweet, like an English pastry. She looked over his shoulder as he slipped a hand beneath her skirt and ran his fingers along her thigh. The moonlight highlighted the ropes restraining the mast and shone through the window onto the chest near the seat where Feron sat. She hitched her breath as he moved his hand, and then suddenly she pulled the knife from the confines of her skirt, kissed his mouth, and shoved the blade between his ribs.

Feron gasped, choked, and opened his mouth and gasped like a fish out of water. He struggled for breath and then coughed. Blood slipped between his lips and ran down his chin. Milady pushed him back against the chair. She sniffed his neck, kissed his left temple, and looked him in the eyes. There was something about the way they died, the moment that the light went out, when a life simply became a body. Milady pushed herself off of him as he slumped suddenly to his left. The bloodied knife was in her hand, and she placed it on the table next to his slumped form. She looked at the trunk, smiled, and then grabbed one of his cloaks that hung from a hook by the door. Milady moved quickly and placed the money within the confines of the cloak, and as she tightened it into a bundle, the door to the cabin opened.