"I love you."
They stood in the middle of their new home, her hands on his shoulders, and his at her waist. She looked up at him with such admiration, and all he could do in return was blink.
Love.
Athos stared back at Sylvie blankly not knowing how to reply. He heard these words enough times in his life. He had said those exact words many times, to Milady. But that was years ago if he didn't count all the times he pledged his love to his wife in his dreams.
But standing here, for the first time in his life he didn't know if he should say them back.
How hard could it be? You either loved someone or you didn't. And yet…
The only person he had loved before was Milady.
Was that even love?
He is sure it is. But it was so twisted, full of pain and anger.
It had been sweet and innocent once. And then, it wasn't. He loved her the same way she loved him and hated her the same she hated him. The line between hate and love got blurred, and he no longer could tell one apart from the other when it came to Milady.
So did he love Sylvie?
He didn't want to hurt her, the same way he wanted to hurt Milady. He didn't want to scream at her, or push her away only to pull her closer, he didn't want to slam her against a wall, he didn't want to bite her lip so hard it bled. He did want to pull her hair like he did with Milady. He didn't want to strangle Sylvie. No.
Sylvie was pure and innocent, and everything that he and Milady were not. Even before everything fell apart thanks to his brother, his love for Milady had never been like that. It had always been full of passion, full of lust. It was boiling hot. And what he felt for Sylvie wasn't like that. It was peaceful, and quiet, and often lukewarm.
Did he love her? He didn't know. It was so different. Yet it could still be love.
Couldn't it?
Perhaps this was true love, and what he had with Milady was obsession? Because he knew for a fact that alongside love and hate, he also felt jealousy and obsession. He felt possessive whenever he saw her. He could still remember how his nails dug into his own palms every time he saw his wife laughing at something the King said.
So perhaps it had never been love?
No, it had been love.
But it was also much more than that, it was much deeper than that. The problem was his inability to separate his feelings. Afterall it was hard to comprehend one's own emotions after a few bottles of wine.
So what now? He had never known anything other than Milady's love. He didn't know what it was supposed to be like if it wasn't like it was with his wife.
He didn't know what he felt for Sylvie. He supposed it was love. Or something similar. Perhaps it wasn't as deep and as all consuming as what he felt for Milady, but it was love.
It had to be. Otherwise everything he had given up to be here was for nothing.
"I love you as well."
Sylvie let out a heavy breath and looked away.
"That took you a while to say."
After a long pause she added "As though you are not sure".
Yes, he was not sure. But how could he be? He had only loved one woman before, and that ended tragically, by his own doing no less; it was his hand that had wrapped around Milady's neck, and it was his choice to leave after she begged him not to.
"I simply didn't expect it."
Athos lets his hands fall from her hips as he steps away. She slightly nods and turns away - looking for something to break the awkward moment.
The fact was that he did expect it, they were having a child together, if nothing else, and Sylvie didn't seem like a woman who would stay with him just for the financial stability. He simply had a habit of not dealing and putting off any issues regarding feelings and women, with the hope that maybe the problem will never resurface.
While he stood there, Sylvie picked up a few books and disappeared through the door, no doubt to go read outside while the weather was still pleasant, no doubt to give him time to think.
It was easier to simply not think about those things, and busy himself with his duties, especially now that he didn't drink so much. The same way it was easy to forget about Milady when the muskets were fired and swords clashed all around him on the battlefield. No time to sleep, no time to dream about her, and her perfect smooth skin and her sly gaze.
He had promised himself to forget Milady once and for all, for Sylvie, for his child.
And now it was all cracking at the seams, pulling him back towards the bottom of the bottle. He no longer had duties. Nothing to do during the day, nothing to busy his hands with, nothing to focus his mind on. Nothing to keep the memories away.
He clenched his jaw and made his way to the bedroom, where in the darkest corner of the closet stood a large wooden chest, hiding all that was left of his old life, and the life before that.
He itched for a fight, for the adrenaline that the fight would bring. He wanted something, anything, to drain his energy so that he could finally sleep. He'd give anything to stop himself from comparing this to his childhood home.
Anything to forget Milady.
Anything to forget how much he still loved Milady.
Anything to forget that he could never love Sylvie the same way he loved Milady.
He wasted a second to look at his father's sword, before running a hand through his hair and digging deeper.
It had been so easy to be with Sylvie. There had been no darkness there, nor regret. Lightness and joy filled Sylvie's smile, and it was easy to forget what kind of man he was.
From the very bottom he pulled out a bottle of wine. Good wine. Expensive wine.
Athos turned it around a few times before standing up and locking the chest. Still trying to convince himself he would just leave it standing on the book shelf as a decoration and a reminder of who he truly was he walked back to the kitchen.
He did love Sylvie. As the mother of his child. And that was better than nothing, it was more than he deserved after everything he had done.
And Milady?
He forgot to forget her.