A/N: Thank you 29Pieces, Issai, pallysd'Artagnan, BrokenKestral, and LadyWallace for reviewing the last episode!
Chapter 1
Athos slogged drunkenly down the darkened streets of Paris on his way home after drinking his fill at the tavern. He had stayed longer than he should, though not quite as long as he had on past occasions, nor as long as he felt inclined to this night. He had somewhere to be first thing in the morning, after all. Yet his melancholy had struck with a vengeance and he had fed it wine as he always did. Even after all these years, the pain could feel as sharp as it did that day he lost his brother and his wife. And sometimes d'Artagnan's and Constance's happiness only served as a reminder of what he himself had once had. So he indulged his vice in the evening and tomorrow he would present himself as the supportive friend he was supposed to be to the young couple in love.
A figure cut across the street ahead of him, gliding like a ghost out of his tortured mind. Athos froze, paralyzed by the visage. She paused in the middle of the road and turned her head toward him. Dark eyes pierced him where he stood and his breath caught in his throat. The ebony curls and porcelain skin looked tangible, but she could not possibly be real.
She turned her gaze away and resumed walking. Athos stumbled forward, unable to not follow, desperate for one more glimpse of the phantom that haunted him daily. She slipped down a dark alley, an apparition slinking away into the shadows. Athos lurched after her, but she did not stop or turn again, not until he finally caught up at the other side of the alley mouth. At his harried, scuffing boot sounds, she stopped and slowly turned. He stared in stupefaction.
"Hello, Athos."
He blinked to clear his vision. It couldn't be.
"I'm dreaming," he murmured.
She gave him a simpering smirk. "Drunk, perhaps. But not dreaming."
He seized her by the arms then, gawking at the solid feel beneath his fingers. "H-how? The magistrate…"
"Took me away to be hanged?" she finished. "The Cardinal took pity on me." She narrowed her eyes in a considering manner. "But there will be no pity for you."
Out of the darkness, something struck him from behind, and Athos crashed to his knees. His vision wavered, and the last thing he saw was his resurrected dead wife before he was hit again and everything went black.
When he next became aware, it was to the typical pounding in his skull after a night of heavy drinking. But there was a crick in his neck from his head hanging back at an awkward angle. He shifted, or tried to, only to find his limbs wouldn't move. Prizing his eyelids open, he squinted at a dark room faintly lit with candles, but even that soft light was too much for him to tolerate.
Athos flexed his fingers, feeling coarse rope around his wrists and what felt like arm rests beneath them. He was tied to a chair in some place without windows, making it impossible to know how long he had been there. His vision started to clear a bit, and he stiffened as he noticed his wife sitting at a table across the chamber from him. It was just the two of them, as far as he could see, but she must have had help bringing him here.
"Anne…" he breathed.
She rose gracefully. She had always possessed a measure of grace and poise, but now it was stiff, cold…predatory. "I've waited for this moment for years. Ever since you sentenced me to death."
She moved closer and grabbed a fistful of his hair, yanking his head back and pressing a knife to his throat.
"You murdered my brother," he said, voice devoid of the tumultuous emotions roiling inside him.
"I killed Thomas to save our love," she rejoined.
"You killed him…because he discovered the truth," Athos ground out as the knife's pressure increased. "That you were a criminal…who lied and tricked your way into my life."
"He was a fool and a hypocrite," she spat venomously. "He deserved to die. I thought you would understand that."
Athos's heart clenched with grief, betrayal, hatred…and that ever capricious feeling he couldn't seem to stamp out—love. Love for the woman he'd pledged his life to, the woman he thought she was, the woman she had been with him. "Anne…" he whispered.
Her gaze flicked down, and she moved her knife to lift the chain of the locket from his neck, a strange emotion crossing her face. But a moment later it hardened and she pressed the blade more firmly to his throat again.
"Do it," Athos hissed, the lingering effects of the wine making his tongue loose. "Do it."
Anne smirked then and drew back. "I will," she promised. "But not yet." She slashed the knife across his chest.
Athos gasped in surprise at the pain. She cut him again, and again, and Athos gritted his teeth against crying out.
Anne stepped back, mouth pursing in a considering moue. "Physical pain only gives me some measure of satisfaction," she mused. "But I know what will really hurt you is to lose your friends, your proclaimed 'brothers.'"
Athos lunged forward in the chair. "You've already taken one from me!"
"And you took my life from me! Now I will take everything from you."
"Leave them out of this!" he snarled. "This is between us."
Anne smirked, her expression and tone growing deceptively mild. "But it's always been a family affair, hasn't it?" She cleaned the knife on a handkerchief and tucked it into her clutch. "You'll have to excuse me for a bit, there was somewhere you needed to be this morning, correct? I'd be happy to go in your place."
Athos's heart lurched. "Anne, don't do this," he pleaded.
She narrowed a chilling gaze on him. "Begging didn't sway you."
With that, she turned and swept toward the door. Athos struggled against his bonds, but he could only watch, horror gripping his heart as the door slammed shut behind her.
.o.0.o.
D'Artagnan shifted his weight, nervous energy making his stomach flutter. He didn't know why he was anxious; all of his dreams were coming true and he was elated. Now that he'd finally gotten his commission into the Musketeer regiment, he couldn't wait any longer and had gotten Jean Bonacieux's blessing to marry Constance. He threw another glance toward the front of the church where his bride-to-be was standing with her father, waiting to walk down the aisle. She was dressed in a simple summer dress, mostly white but with some pink patterned blossoms along the hems. Her hair was done up with a crown of flowers as well. Constance caught him looking and smiled back. She was radiant.
Beside d'Artagnan, Aramis and Porthos were exchanging grins. The priest was in front of the altar, ready to perform the ceremony. They were just waiting for Athos. Who was now late.
D'Artagnan fidgeted again, this time with a little impatience and annoyance. Athos knew how important this was. He'd promised to be here.
"How much longer are we to wait?" the priest spoke up.
D'Artagnan's mouth pinched as he looked toward Constance again. Her smile faltered and she looked around as though expecting Athos to come rushing in. But he didn't. Maybe they should just go ahead…
"I'll check outside," Aramis said. "Perhaps he's just coming up the street."
D'Artagnan sighed as Aramis moved away, but irritation was quickly replaced with a flicker of worry. "Do you think something happened to him?" he asked Porthos.
The other musketeer shrugged. "He was a bit melancholic last night. He's happy fer the two of you, you know. I think it jus' also reminds him of…you know."
D'Artagnan frowned. He didn't mean to bring up bad memories for his friend.
"He'll be here," Porthos assured him, then quirked his brow thoughtfully. "He jus' might be a little hungover…"
D'Artagnan sighed again. He wanted to be understanding, but this was his big day. And Constance's. And the joyous mood was starting to temper.
"Father," Aramis called from the front of the church. "Did you lock the doors for the ceremony?"
The priest furrowed his brow in confusion. "No."
"I can't get them open."
"What?" Porthos strode down the aisle to the front of the church.
D'Artagnan followed, stopping beside Constance as Porthos grabbed the large door handles and yanked. They rattled but didn't budge. Porthos pulled harder, gritting his teeth as he used his brute strength to pry the doors open.
"You'll break them!" the priest exclaimed.
The doors finally cracked open, and d'Artagnan caught a glimpse of chains across the gap on the outside.
"What the hell…" Porthos groused, squeezing his hand through the gap to finger the chains.
"I don't like this," Aramis said. "We should check the other exits."
"You smell that?" Porthos interrupted, brows knitting together. "Is that…?"
"Gunpowder!" Aramis yelled, spinning around. "Run!"
D'Artagnan felt a split second of stunned incomprehension before he grabbed at Constance and began to haul her down the aisle. The priest sputtered and didn't move fast enough, momentarily blocking their path. D'Artagnan shoved at him urgently. There were sounds of scrambling as they tried to bolt for the back.
And then an explosion ripped through the church, a concussive force slamming into d'Artagnan's back and flinging him off his feet into darkness.
.o.0.o.
Athos had been twisting and rotating his wrists against the ropes nonstop since Anne had left. He didn't know how much time had passed, and his wrists were grated and raw, but his efforts finally paid off as he managed to tug one hand free. His abraded flesh stung and his fingers fumbled to loosen the rope on his other wrist, but he managed it. He pushed himself out of the chair, only for his legs to completely buckle beneath him.
He crashed face first to the floor, the cuts on his chest flaring with bursts of pain as they scraped across the coarse ground. Athos tried to roll over but could only twist his waist. His legs wouldn't move at all. Terror shot through him and he grasped frantically at the lifeless limbs. He hadn't felt any pain to suggest he'd been wounded. He could feel his fingers squeezing the muscles, but he just couldn't make them move. He twisted back toward the door, heart rate ratcheting up as he desperately tried to drag himself across the floor.
Then the door opened and Anne stepped inside. She paused at the sight of him, mouth pursing into a simpering moue. Athos dropped his head to the floor, clenching his fists.
"I'd be disappointed if you hadn't tried to escape," Anne remarked calmly, closing the door behind her. She glided across the room toward him, crouching down at his side. "Which is why I gave you a paralyzing agent."
She walked her fingers down his back to the base of his spine, and Athos flinched as he suddenly registered the feeling of a tender spot.
"It's not permanent," she crooned. "Not that it will matter in the end." She straightened and began to pace around him. "The ceremony for the d'Artagnans looked like it would have been lovely. If not for the unfortunate incident with the gunpowder at the church."
Athos's blood ran cold. "What have you done?" he hissed.
"I spared those two young lovebirds the disappointment and hurt of future betrayal."
No…it couldn't be true. She was lying. D'Artagnan and Constance… Aramis and Porthos would have been there too…
Athos tried to push himself more upright, only managing to brace himself on his elbows. "You already took my brother from me. You have me here. Why do this!"
Anne rounded the table in the room and knelt next to him again. "You made me the monster you believed me to be," she seethed. "And now you can reap the fruits of it."
Athos's arms trembled under the weight of her vitriol and the crushing despair of further loss. "Then finish it," he spat.
She smirked. "Patience, my love." She slid a look down the length of his body. "The paralyzing agent renders your legs useless, but they can still feel pain." She produced the same knife from before and slashed it across his thigh.
Athos grunted against the fresh burst of fire. Anne trailed the tip of the blade down his leg and curved it tauntingly around his knee. With a flick of her wrist, she drew another line of crimson. Turning back to Athos, she gripped the back of his hair and leaned close to his face.
"I'm going to work my way up to cutting out your heart as you did mine," she purred.
With that, she slammed the grip of the knife into his temple. His last thought before oblivion claimed him was if it was his heart Anne wanted, she'd already destroyed it.