It was late into the evening already. Oscar could think of nothing else at Versailles today but the three strangers she welcomed into her house without any hesitation.

Without any hesitation… even she had to admit it was out of character for her.

Alas, there was something that drew her to these odd and inexplicable happenings. Something she could not explain rationally. Like some otherworldly beckoning that her soul tethered to.

She could only be grateful that there was someone like Andre who believed in her irregardless.

It was that same intuition that allowed her to leave Andre behind at the mansion to attend to – or rather, keep watch over – these three proclaimed musketeers, knowing full well that he would be no match for any of them if they proved malevolent.

Upon her return, Andre met her inquiry on how the day had passed with a shrug.

"The large one slept the entire day. He only got up when it was time for dinner. I suspect it was the aroma from Grandmere's cooking that woke him up," he added jokingly. He wasn't wrong. Oscar only nodded with a faint smile.

"The invalid?" she inquired.

"He hasn't woken up yet. But Dr Lassone passed by and said he was well on his way to recovery."

"Good," she replied, absentmindedly. But it wasn't really those two that interested her the most. It was the other one.

"As for the blond one," Andre began, remarking the sudden alertness on Oscar's face, "He spe-"

"She," Oscar corrected him.

Andre fidgeted in discomfort. "Are you sure?"

"Trust me."

"Alright, well, she spent the day watching over Athos. I don't think she slept a wink. Her friend practically dragged her out to eat something. Which reminds me, dinner awaits. Shall we?"

….

She had managed to slip into his room after dinner.

Maybe, just maybe, he would finally wake up and say something. Alas, Athos appeared to be in a deep and peaceful slumber.

She was about to leave when the light of the candle cast a glow onto his face. She had never truly looked at him before.

His features were striking. Perfectly chiseled face with well-defined square jaws that exuded virility. An elegant moustache decorated his handsome mouth, matching in color with his jet-black hair that fell to his bare shoulders in one solid wave. And those shoulders! So broad, so muscular, so… masculine.

His skin had an olive tint to it that showed no signs of paleness to indicate his present condition, giving him an air of robust vigor – as if nothing could touch him.

Speaking of touching… she somehow found herself stroking his face with the tips of her fingers. The allure was just too strong to resist. It was as though she had no say in the matter. Her body moved by invisible strings.

She regarded him intensely. Her eyes traveled below his shoulders where the sheets had slipped a few inches below. Although his torso was wrapped in bandages, she could make out the muscles that carved its shape. Her face turned crimson and once again, with this invisible force, she brushed her fingers along the length of his chest.

She had to admit with bitterness that, even unconscious, this man seemed to exude a certain charisma, a quiet intellect and a noble countenance that could rival Fersen himself.

A startled gasp escaped her as a hand gripped her thin wrist. She tried to wriggle out but he was too strong for her. Too strong, in fact, that she lost her balance and fell on top of him.

"Mmm," he mumbled contentedly as he enclosed his arms around her.

"N-no," she started. "L-let me go."

His fingers began to caress her hair as he pressed her further onto his chest. "Don't fight it. Let go."

"No!" she attempted again, her face buried in his neck. His arms were too strong and her resolve was weakening with every touch. Maybe just for once she should just give in? Maybe this will be her only chance ever to be physically close to anyone.

Her only chance: a half-conscious man who didn't know her and will likely never remember her.

Maybe, just maybe.

She was able to raise herself up an inch to his face-level. His eyes were still closed but his lips… oh, his lips were so beckoning. Maybe just this once…

"Mmm, Aramis…" he muttered.

…Oscar could almost hear the spell break like a vase falling onto the floor in a million shards.

Argh. Of course. Another man hopelessly in love with another woman. Is that her life now?!

With that, she delivered a punch to his side. His injured side.

As expected, he jolted upright and woke up, writhing in pain. She managed to extricate herself from him just in time.

"Aramis! Wh—what happened?" he panted, wiping the sweat off his forehead and looking around him feverishly.

Oscar cleared her throat and attempted to casually restore some order to her hair and clothes.

He squinted at the blonde figure in the corner until his eyes habituated to his surroundings and he realized that it was, in fact, not Aramis.

…

Brown.

Porthos stared into the cup with trepidation.

The sludgy drink seemed to stare back at him in defiance, as though it was challenging his very honor. Should he run away or face it head-on?

"So, I'm supposed to… drink this?" he lifted his eyes to meet the emerald green ones of the young man who nodded encouragingly.

Since they arrived at Jarjayes, Porthos felt like he was in heaven: comfortable beds, scrumptious food, fantastic wine, and most importantly: nice people who did not want to kill them.

Or so he thought.

He pushed the cup away. "Err, listen here Andre, I thought we were friends."

Andre raised his eyebrows. "Well, we've only just met, I wouldn't call us friends yet but…"

"So, you are trying to poison us, is that it?" Porthos returned.

Andre burst in a fit of laughter.

"It's not poison! It's a luxurious drink. It comes from the colonies. They call it 'chocolate'."

"Oh, for heaven's sake, give me that!" interjected an exasperated Aramis, stealing Porthos' cup.

"I'm pouring you one too, here-" before Andre could finish, she held her hand up.

"Save it. I'll have his so don't waste your supply."

Her statement came like a command that Andre felt as though he had no choice but to obey.

Porthos winced as Aramis brought the cup to her lips and took a sip. If she died on his watch, Athos would surely kill him.

His eyes widened with horror as he watched her body spasm and her hand gripped the edge of her chair.

"Aramis!" Porthos cried.

Anxiety washed over Andre… poison? No way! How could this happen?

It all happened so quickly after that. She tilted her neck back, closed her eyes firmly and crossed her legs, squeezing them tightly together. Her face flitted through multiple expressions and she bit her lips to stifle a sound that otherwise would have been obscene.

Andre understood exactly what was going on. His cheeks reddened as he attempted to suppress a smile.

"Oh my GOD!" she finally cried out. "This is AMAZING!"

"I'll get you some more." Andre's eyes twinkled with amusement as he left to fetch some more. So, it wasn't just Oscar who liked chocolate.

…

"OW!" Aramis cried. Her hand rubbed the spot on her leg where Porthos had just kicked her. "What the hell was that for?!"

"What is wrong with you?!" he hissed at her.

"What? Aren't you the one saying I'm always being prude? Well, there you go."

"Yes, but not in front of… people."

"What people? You're not 'people'."

"Not me, you imbecile. Him! Andre."

"So what? He seems friendly enough."

"Too friendly, if you ask me." And too handsome, he wanted to add but stopped himself.

"What does that mean?" she shot at him with raised eyebrows.

"I mean, the way he looks at you. And glances he steals at you when no one is looking. Don't think I didn't see that. And don't think I didn't see how you've been looking at him, too." He pointed his finger at her threateningly.

"Oh, come off it!" she brushed him with a wave of her hand. "Don't be ridiculous. We're all just on our guard, trying to determine friend from foe. Normal battle tactics."

"Normal indeed! He seems to devote particular attentions to you, in case you haven't noticed."

"Then, that means he prefers men so nothing to worry about, hm?"

"No, plenty to worry about because I don't think he prefers men. I think he prefers women. A very particular type of women."

Aramis shook her head in exasperation.

"And just how did you glean all of that? You were sleeping the whole day! Besides, he doesn't know I'm a woman."

"That's your problem. You and Athos think you're all high and mighty with your calculated strategy and your intellectual genius but you're both always blind to what's really going on right under your noses," he pounded his fist lightly on the table, clenching his teeth. How could she be so blind?

Bewildered and blushing by his allusion, she turned away from him, her arms crossed over her chest. Could Porthos have possibly noticed her feelings towards Athos? Could she have been that transparent? Worse, if Porthos could see through her then surely Athos could.

And if Athos knew then… then he obviously didn't feel the same way because he would have said something… wouldn't he?

She felt a knot forming in her chest. Is that what Porthos was trying to tell her? To open her eyes and see in front of her just how hopeless the situation was and how useless her feelings were?

She didn't get a chance to pursue these thoughts because he resumed his scolding.

"…and if Andre had a mere suspicion of your real sex then this spectacle has given him the proof he needed."

"Look," she snapped at him. "It doesn't matter if he knows or not. The fact is, his own Commander is a woman."

"We're not even sure—"

"I am sure," she practically hurled. "Trust me."

With that, she silenced him.

It was her who broke the silence a few moments later.

"Think of it, Porthos," a dreamy smile illuminated her face. "It's almost two hundred years away from where we came from. Things could be different here. Better. if women can become commanders of an entire military regiment… just think how wonderful! I won't need to hide anymore…"

Andre, who was listening at the door, felt these last words tug at his heart. Should he be the one to tell her, or let her discover this harsh new world on her own?

…

Oscar placed the candle onto her bureau in her apartments and began leafing through the book she had asked Andre to bring her.

The registrar of nobility.

She had to verify two names that Athos had given her:

The first was the name of the Captain of the musketeers, Jean-Armand de Treville and the second, was Olivier de la Fere.