A/N: Hi all! Here's the start of the next little chapter of this series. Hope you're enjoying it!

The Secret, Chapter 1

Light spilled in through the window and onto the ruffled bed sheets.

"You'll need to get up soon," she murmured and pressed herself further into the musketeer's side.

He smiled and pulled her closer. "You're probably right," he said and kissed the top of her head. She raised her head slightly and rested her chin upon her hands to better take him in. He lay peacefully in her bed, the sun revealing the richness of his chestnut hair. She looked at where his intense dark eyes were hidden behind closed eyelids and thick lashes, his perfect lips parted slightly, daring her to steal a kiss, which she did with pleasure.

He smiled again and his eyes opened. He looked at her face, the way her dark hair cascaded down her back and shoulders, the light streaming in from the window behind her to make her skin glow like a goddess. There was nothing that could pull him from her bed in that moment. Except…

"Treville will be angry," she said, but made no effort to put distance between them, her fingers tracing a path across his chest.

"There is still time," he replied.

"Athos will be in a mood," She laughed as he pulled her close again. Rolling, her hands clasped in his, their fingers entwined, he looked down into Christine's blue-grey eyes.

"So be it," he said, her arms encircling him as they made love in the morning light.

oOo

"Morning," called Aramis as he jogged through the garrison gates.

Porthos grinned, "Cuttin' it close," he said. Aramis grinned and clapped him on the shoulder.

"Anything left to eat?" he asked.

D'Artagnan grinned. "You're lucky I saved you something," he said and tossed Aramis an apple. "You'd think that as a comtesse she'd at least feed you some breakfast," he said.

Porthos and Aramis looked at their youngest and grinned.

"Not sure they had time for breakfast, pup," said Porthos with a suggestive wink.

"What? Why no – Oh!" he said, his eyes grew round and he blushed. Porthos and Aramis both roared with laughter and clapped the lad on the arms as the other men filtered in to take their positions at muster. Sometimes, D'Artagnan was still just that naïve boy from Gascony.

"Never going to live that down," he muttered as they took their positions for the muster.

oOo

The four musketeers were just leaving the palace following their guard duty as Christine emerged from the throne room looking a little perturbed - spending the morning in the company of some of the more inane nobles could have that effect, but she smiled warmly when she recognized the four men who saluted her from the courtyard. The sun was shining brightly for late March, a nice change from the heavy rains of the days before. Cold puddles still marked the streets of Paris, but the upcoming Easter weekend would hopefully prove to be a warm one.

As Christine descended the stairs to meet the quartet, Aramis stepped forward and bowed to her slightly. "It is a pleasure to see you Comtesse," he said.

She paused for a moment, startled and laughed softly. "Comtesse?" she said. "So formal."

He grinned back at her. "Appearances, my love, we're still at court."

She sighed as she continued to walk towards the others as they exited the palace gates.

"Please," she said, "Let's not mention the court right now."

"Anything the matter?" asked Athos, casting a knowing glance at his old friend.

She sighed. "No, and yes," she said. "The King is surrounded by some of the most insufferable and simpering dolts I have ever seen in all my life at court."

Porthos laughed loudly. "Tha's a bit of an understatement if you ask me," he said, to which the others grinned their agreement.

Christine laughed. 'Oh Porthos," she said. "If only a third of them had your goodness and sense then the King and country would be in a much better position than they're currently in."

The musketeers said nothing, but exchanged dark looks at these words. Christine sighed and turning to the musketeers, she brightly asked them about their day, where Porthos launched into great detail about D'Artagnan's altercation with a bee that morning while he was on guard duty in the gardens. She laughed and drew close to Aramis, resting her head on his shoulder as he entwined her arm in his and stroked her hand as they progressed towards the marketplace.

They arrived at a scene of chaos.

"Stop, thief!" shouted a vendor as a young man came sprinting through the crowd towards the musketeers.

The vendor had drawn his pistol.

Without a moment for the others to react, Aramis stopped, his hand on Christine's elbow. He pushed her away from him into the outstretched arms of Athos as he stepped forward.

The bullet hit Aramis in the chest.

Time slowed down as the bullet made impact and Aramis was turned by its force to face where Christine and Athos stood.

Sound faded from the world as he looked into the terrified eyes of his lover and his friend as he sank to his knees into a cold puddle on the street.

With a roar Porthos was at his side, catching the marksman before his head hit the ground.

D'Artagnan leapt forward to apprehend the thief, as he simultaneously drew his pistol on the shooter.

"Do not move!" he hollered as the laneway cleared, giving him a clear view of the man with the smoking gun.

"'Mis! 'Mis!" shouted Porthos as he cradled Aramis against his chest.

"Aramis!" shouted Christine as she tore herself out of Athos' arms and threw herself into the mess of the street. A dark red stain had begun to blossom on the man's doublet. She immediately placed her hands over the wound to put pressure on it and stem the blood flow. "We need to get him out of here! Athos!" she called over her shoulder.

Athos handed her the scarf he had pulled from his neck which she quickly placed under her hands to help to slow the bleeding. "We'll take him to the Garrison," he said rising.

Christine shook her head. 'My home is closer," she insisted.

"- stine," Aramis muttered as his eyelids fluttered and he reached a bloody hand towards her face, before dropping it and falling limp in Porthos' arms.

"Please!" she begged Athos as she placed her hand at Aramis' throat, desperate for a pulse.

"Okay," said Athos, as he helped Porthos lift the marksman into his arms; he and Christine rushed from the marketplace.

Athos stared after them for a moment, unsure of how to act. D'Artagnan still held the thief in his hand, his pistol still trained on the shooter. From the corner of his eye Athos saw more musketeers approaching the scene.

"Go!" shouted D'Artagnan. "I've got this!"

Nodding to the younger man, and trying to ignore his brother's blood that had stained the pavement, Athos bolted from the scene to follow in the wake of his injured brother.