Take a breath,

Take it deep.

'Calm yourself', He says to me

If you play, you play for keeps.

Take the gun and count to three.

Im sweating now,

Moving slow,

No time to think. My turn to go

Russian Roulette - Rihanna

Iris was breathing deeply, focusing on the two men approaching from different sides. On her left, Aramis, on her right, Marsac.

"Two against one? That hardly seems fair," she had argued, much to their enjoyment.

"You're more likely to be attacked by more than one in a battle," Aramis lectured with a grin. Ever since he had joined them, Iris found her training more demanding. Where Marsac had treated her with care, Aramis sought to push her further than she ever had before.

"We're not training her to become an assasin," Marsac cautioned when Aramis had suggested taking her out to properly teach her how to shoot.

"She likes to be challenged - besides, she shows greater promise than some of the men in the regiment."

"But she's NOT one of the men in the reginemt. You shouldn't encourage her like this."

"Me?" Aramis blurted, his eyebrows almost disappearing into his hairline. "Don't forget, you started this."

Iris sensed the lunge from one side, and quickly lifted her sword to ward off the blow. Ducking from an attack from the other side, she remembered what they had taught her earlier.

"'What ever you do, don't end up on the ground. But if you do, be sure to drag your opponent with you.'"

Kicking out, she had Aramis on his back and was standing over him in seconds.

"Any last words?" Iris said dramatically, before reaching out a hand to help him up.

"The student becomes the master," he noted, giving Marsac a shove to stop him from laughing.

"You two! My office, now."

Aramis and Marsac glanced at each other and went up the stairs towards Treville's office. Iris had parted with them on their way back, having some errands to run before returning.

The two men took their places in front of the desk, that was currently littered with scrolls of paper. In his chair, Treville watched them expectantly.

"Tomorrow, the two of you are to escort the king and queen to inspect the newly restored wing at the palace."

"I thought Blaise and-" Marsac began, but was cut off by Treville.

"His shoulder still hasn't mended, though he may pretend otherwise."

Aramis gave a nod of understanding, and waited to be dismissed. However, Treville kept looking expectantly at them.

"Was there anything else captain?"

"Yes."

When he didn't continue, Aramis grew uneasy. Somehow, he knew he wouldn't like whatever the captain had on his mind. Next to him, Marsac thought the same.

"Which is...?"

Treville leaned forward in his chair, looking at them both as though he wanted to see right through them.

"I'm waiting to give you a chance to tell me first."

Aramis frowned.

"What do you want us to tell you?"

"Perhaps you can start with why the two of you have been teaching Iris to fight."

He froze in place. Marsac had inhaled deeply in surprise, and seemed to be holding his breath. Looking at thair captain, Aramis prepared himself for the anger that didn't come. Treville didn't seem angry. But then again, it was always hard to tell.

"How do you..."

"You think I'm unaware of what happens in my garrison?"

"Captain, we never meant-"

"For me to find out?"

Neither of them dared to speak, in case they would say something to enrage the still calm man in front of them. He looked them over, and sighed.

"I suspected she might try something like this. The night I found her, she was afraid. Said she was running, but not from who or where. Tell me, have anyone been following her?"

Iris pulled her cloak tighter around her, though it didn't seem to make much difference. The sun had started it's descent, and the crowd at the market was thinning. While she waited for the salesman to return with the supplies she had requested, she let her mind wander.

It was still hard to explain the completeness she felt when she was training with Aramis and Marsac. A part of her wished to take it further, to join them and do good in the world, but reality was quite different. No one in their right mind would allow a woman to become a soldier, and certainly not the musketeers. It hadn't been why she had done it in the first place, but the more she learned the more she wished for it.

'Wish all you like - it will never be more than that,' she thought bitterly. Glancing around the market-place she found her eyes drawn to a dark corner - and gasped in shock.

"Who would be following her?" Marsac said, stepping closer to the desk.

"She never told me, but I'm certain that she is hiding from someone."

"Shouldn't we investigate further if she believes someone is after her?" Aramis asked, searching his mind for any hint Iris might have given to being followed.

"As I brought her back here, I tried to learn more of the circumstances, but she assured me she didn't want any trouble."

"She wanted a clean slate," Marsac remembered. Treville nodded.

"I suppose we never really tried to learn more about her past when we realised she didn't want to talk about it," Aramis muttered, massaging his neck.

Standing in the shadows, a man was looking in her direction. The confidence she had built since coming to Paris crumbled in seconds. A pair of piercing dark eyes locked onto hers, and had she not been frozen to the spot she would have turned and run away.

He is too far away, there is no way to be sure, a little voice inside her argued. But she was sure. She would always recognise Andre Demont.

"I'm sure we would have known if someone had sought her out," Treville continued. After a moments silence, a hint of a smile appeared on his face.

"Is she any good?"

"I... I'm sorry, what?" Aramis stammered, unaware that the conversation had returned to it's former subject.

"Can she fight?"

"She keeps up well enough with us," Marsac admitted, a look of pride spreading on his face.

"She's a quick learner," Aramis added, thinking of how she earlier had sent him on his back.

Treville huffed and leaned back in his chair, deep in thought.

"You would do me a favour of not mentioning this conversation to her," he said quietly, looking both of them in the eye. "I'd like to discuss it with her myself."

"So you're not angry?" Aramis asked, glancing at Marsac.

"I don't see why. There are no rules that says a woman cannot wield a sword. I would be angry if you brought her in harms way - which of course you haven't."

"The thought never crossed our minds," Marsac assured him, noticing the threatening sound in his captains voice.

"You don't know us well enough if you even have to ask," Aramis teased, as Treville rolled his eyes, and dismissed them.

"Mademoiselle?"

The salesman had returned and was holding out a box containing her purchase. When she looked at him, a concerned expression slid over his face.

"Are you quite all right, mademoiselle?"

"I...I...," she stammered, and turned her gaze back to the corner. The man was gone. Looking frantically around, she saw no one who even slightly resembled Andre.

You must have imagined it, the voice said, trying to calm her. Clenching her fists, feeling her nails dig into the palms of her hands, she turned back to the salesman with an apologetic look.

"Forgive me, I must have been lost in thought."

Taking the box from his hands, she quickly slid it inside her satchel and gave him a parting smile.

Not daring to look over her shoulder, she rushed to the garrison as fast as possible without dragging any attention to her.

Now that she wasn't seeing him, it was easier to convince herself that Andre hadn't been there. She had been allowing herself to feel safe for a long time now - and though she was confident that she could take on just about everyone who would stand in her way, there was still two men in the world that could fill her with terror.

The gates of the garrison in sight, she sighed in relief, and felt the tension leave her. She was home. She was safe.

Treville found her in the kitchen the next day, preparing a batch of dough. She looked up as he entered, and turned her attention back to the sticky mess in front of her.

"A rare sight seeing you in here, captain," she greeted him cheerfully. She had taken quickly to adressing him as captain, just like the musketeers did.

He came to a stop in front of her, holding on to his hat. When she looked up at him again, he was watching her with amusement.

"Can I help you with anything?" she inquired curiously. Clearing his throat, he turned serious.

"I was hoping you would accompany me on an errand or two - I have a few things I wish to run by you."

Iris stopped working the dough and shrugged.

"Of course - just give me a few minutes to put this away and we'll be off."

"You may want more than a few minutes," he muttered, eying the flour that coated her apron and arms.

"Why? Where are we going?" Iris asked with a frown, as she gathered the dough in a bowl.

"Before going anywhere, we have to make a quick stop at the palace."

Iris nearly dropped the bowl as she whipped around to look at him. She couldn't possibly have heard him right.

"The palace?! But I don't... I'm not..."

"There's no need to make a fuss, we'll barely enter before we have to leave."

Iris continued to stare at him in astonishment.

"I'm not sure I should..." she mumbled.

"Nonsense. You will be just fine, you'll be with me. I'll be in my office when you're ready."

Quickly putting the bowl away, she rushed to her room to wash every trace of flour off her. After that she braided her hair and changed into a clean dress. It didn't look any special, but it would have to do. Knowing she would look terribly out of place no matter what she did, she felt a surge of excitement mix with her nervousness.

Treville looked her over when she came to his office, and gave a nod of approval. Two horses were prepared for them, and a moment later they were on their way.

Iris has grown fond of the horses in her time at the garrison. Treville had taken her out once, letting her grow comfortable. However, she had soon realised that she much preferred walking.

The palace was unlike anything she had ever seen. Following Treville, she looked around her with great interest. The mansion where she had grown up couldn't compare - and she was sure nothing ever would. Everything she passed was spotless and perfect. The frames on the paintings that hung on the walls were adorned with gold and silver.

He led her through a series of rooms and halls, and for once Iris found herself lost. How big was this place?

She took a deep breath when they turned a corner and neared a small group of people. She recognised Aramis and Marsac, both standing guard near the king and queen, who were listening intently to a man explaining something. A blue cloak was thrown over each of their shoulders, something she had seen other musketeers wear when going to see the king.

At the sound of their footsteps, the group of people turned towards them.

"Ah, Treville!" the king exclaimed. Treville bowed, and Iris followed suit with a curtsy.

"Your majesties," she said respectfully.

The queen gave her a smile. Iris had heard of the kindness queen Anne showed to her subjects, and felt it instantly as she stood before her. King Louis barely seemed to notice her, but turned his attention to Treville. Iris stepped to the side, and caught Aramis' eye. He frowned confused at her, and in return she gave a little shrug. Clearly neither of them had any idea of what she was doing there.

As Treville and Louis spoke of security for an upcoming event, Iris looked up and down the hall they stood in. These parts of the palace had recently been restored. The walls still had a faint smell of fresh paint, and the floors barely showed a scratch - no one had walked here till today. Inhaling deeply, Iris caught a scent that didn't belong there.

It was a scent she connected with the garrison and the musketeers - most often with Aramis - but it seemed very much out of place here. Looking around, she tried to find the source of what was unmistakenly gunpowder. It seemed to grow stronger and for a moment she wondered if she was the only one who had noticed it.

An uneasy feeling washed over her and she glanced around and saw a little puff of white smoke emerge from behind one of the paintings.

"Captain!" she gasped, cutting off whatever Louis had been saying. Everyone turned to stare at her, with looks disapproval. No one interrupted the king.

"Really, Iris," Treville began, looking frustrated at her outburst. She, however, wasted no time being embarassed at her disrespect.

"It's gonna explode!"

The words had barely escaped her lips when fire erupted from the wall, blowing the group of people away. The sound was unlike anything Iris had ever heard before, and she feared she would never hear anything other than it again.

Everything was chaos, the only sounds were of the ceiling breaking apart. As it fell down, it filled the hall, creating a barrier. Louis, Treville, the architect who had been showing them around, Aramis and Marsac had been blasted to one side. As they came to, Aramis stared wildly around him, in search of any other dangers.

"Are you hurt your majesty?" demanded Treville as he helped Louis up from the floor. They were all covered by a layer of dust, that was still settling around them.

"What in Gods name was that Treville?!" he uttered, a look of shock on his face.

"I assure you, your majesty, we will do everything in our power to find out."

"Wait," Louis gasped. "Where's Anne?"

Marsac felt his throat close painfully as he looked around.

"Where's Iris?" he whispered soundlessly.

A/N

Just getting used to typing on a new keyboard, so there may or may not be a few spelling mistakes... oh well. I'm danish. I don't have to write this with 100% perfection. Anyhow, things are heating up! Where IS Iris and Anne?