It is now our fifth day on the road, our journey interrupted only for our nightly visits to different accommodations in each village we encounter. The journey has been rather unexpectedly tranquil, devoid of any disturbances. Ever since that day, Rosette and I have barely exchanged any words, she hardly glances my way anymore. I am not entirely sure whether the reason for our growing distance is her offering me the time to take in her remarks or she has taken my unforeseeable reaction and denial personally. My heart can't help but swell at the notion of me causing her any kind of hurt. There is this bothersome feeling of distress and perpetual doom lingering on my mind - driving me insane.

But what seems to bother me most is that the further apart we grow, the closer she and Aramis seem to be coming. Oh, how I envy those little moments, falling perfectly into place as they share the smallest of gestures and speak the pettiest of words. Like we once were. Now watching Aramis' advances towards her seems a little more disturbing that it should. For why should I care? It was no surprise after all that my friend had grown an interest in her.

I have always thought Rosette a princess. With her apple blossom skin and pale moon beauty, she could have been any saint, maiden or fine lady from the songs. In my eyes, no man would ever truly be worthy of earning her heart and keeping it. She could have had any man wrapped around her little finger with a single pout of her cherry red lips. A milliard of suitors ready to fall for her giant eyes, the color of midnight and raven wings. They are the type of darkness that isn't dark. They are sweet silence before dawn and pure enchantment. She could have ruled away, a duchess of a fair keep, but she would never be content - for no vanity gentleman with wealth and power would make her happy.

Across the foliage of the trees that stand mute in the harsh winter air, I can see the country road marking the entrance to the village. How fulfilling a sense it is to finally be here.

"This must be it." I assure them and ride off my horse first before turning to look at my companions.

My eyes lock on Aramis, assisting Rosette down her own horse and her eager response with a sweet smile. I curl my upper lip to keep myself from speaking. My mind whirling with thoughts that only made me assume the worst. I can sense the feeling of jealousy is slowly growing into my skin, filling my blood unexpectedly. I force my mouth into a straight line to prevent it from hinting any of my burning emotions. And suddenly, I am drowning in an uncontrollable urge to tear the two apart from each other - but of course I dare not do such thing.

Instead, I hide my heart as far up my sleeve as I possibly, humanly can and continue my way. I can feel her eyes drilling into me, that familiar look of concern adorning her features. I glance back at her, anger turning into sadness and despair. Being so close yet at the same time so far away.

We pass the greengrocer with his window full of apples and oranges, and the butcher with his bloody lumps of meat on display and naked chickens hanging up. I can see Rosette approaching me with the corner of my eye, her steps are hesitant as if she's too scared of engaging in any conversation with me. We decided to split for once more, leaving only me and Rosette to enter the house as the others waited outside for our own protection.

The door opens and a very large man -well-built and muscular- greets us. His height and appearance are more than intimidating with a stoic and fierce look to him so I assume he must be there for the family's safety. He immediately urges us to enter and suggests we wait patiently until the Contessa joins us.

A pregnant pause follows and silence is the only thing that fills the room. It's a rather typical cottage but most certainly large and fancy - nothing too extravagant and showy of course. I glance back and forth at Rosette whose gaze is locked on the stone floor, again refusing to look back at me.

So I finally decide to bite the bullet and make the first move, approaching her slowly. "I am sorry." is all I make out.

She turns immediately at the sound of my voice; her eyes drilling into mine. "Excuse me?" she speaks in that melodious voice of hers.

"For that morning. My reaction was uncalled for and I understand that you might be holding it against me, I wouldn't blame if you did but we need to resolve things. Believe me, hurting you was not my intention."

"Athos-" she takes hold of my hand that barely fits in her tiny one and for once more I become intoxicated by the feeling of her baby-soft skin against my own rough one. "-I am not angry. Or hurt. A bit disappointed perhaps, yes. But you need not worry about it for now. I highly doubt this is the proper place to have this particular discussion. Later perhaps?" she offers me her dazzling smile that I so much missed.

I only nod in response before we are suddenly interrupted by the presence of a woman in the room. Judging from her noble look, this must be her. She is a good-looking woman, with chocolate brown hair and no older than me but her soft eyes appear tired and the surprisingly many wrinkles on her face suggest that Elisabetta di Bianchia is a worn out woman, always mourning for the loss of her husband.

"Could I help you?" her voice is low, yet polite - adorned by her heavy accent. It looks like every bit of life has been violently taken away from her with the death of the Conte.

"Yes, actually. We are sorry to bother you Mademoiselle but trust me, our presence here is very important." I decide to take the lead and speak first. Her eyes are scrutinizing us before she gives her answer.

"Fine then. Shall we go outside? It's a wonderful day."