Author's note: Dear readers, it's been so long! Thank you so much for sticking with the story thus far and especially for your patience! Here is a new update after many months of absence.

"…I thought I made my feelings very clear to you that night."

The wind slapped her face mercilessly, blowing with it the echo of these stabbing words, spoken merely an hour ago.

Yes, he had made his feelings very clear, indeed. "Oscar… let's not, let's just forget about it."

And tonight, he made them even clearer. "I thought…I thought we were becoming friends again… I thought it was all back to normal, but this…this is just too cruel."

Cruel.

That word had made her blood boil and she lost her nerve.

He was the one who was rejecting her, so by what authority was he calling her cruel?!

And then…

The dagger! Mon Dieu, the sound of him slamming it onto the table reverberated in her mind.

"Here, I believe this belongs to you?" He had thrown these words out so casually, so effortlessly.

He had known all along. He had known it was her at the servants' ball. This whole time, he had known. All the while, she was trying everything in the book to make her feelings known to him, to show him how much she cared for him, in the hopes that it would somehow resuscitate his feelings and she would hear him say it again.

"I love you, Oscar".

And this time, she would be ready to accept his feelings, and perhaps even say it back.

She had blamed herself for his lack of reaction: it was her lack of experience, her inadequacy after a lifetime of conditioning into an unfeeling puppet.

"Do you really think I don't know why you are doing all of this? Why you have been acting strange, flirting with me and showering me with unsolicited attention? Yes, don't think I did not notice!"

He had noticed. And he yet, he said nothing. Not even the slightest hint of acknowledgement, let alone a reciprocation.

She felt utterly humiliated. Such a fool!

Had he kept silent to spare her the mortification?

No, that was not it.

It was worse. He believed her to be insincere. Nothing more than a scheming heartless commander.

"Let this be our last day of the mission together. You can cut your hair and play the Black Knight yourself after this, just as you planned all along. I know you only wanted to cut your hair as a secondary precaution for when you discovered that I am indeed, NOT, the Black Knight. And hopefully, we will meet him soon so that I can prove it to you. I can't believe how little faith you have in me, after all these years."

She kicked her horse with impeccable force, sending them both into a feisty gallop and overtaking her companion, whose black cape was fluttering behind him in the wind as he himself galloped like a mad man several meters ahead of her.

…

Andre clenched his teeth, as he held on tightly to the reins on his horse, attempting to assert control and dominance to prevent the animal from becoming flustered by the fierce onslaught of hooves that was rapidly gaining on them. He barely moved out of the way before she came flying by, her golden hair breaking his line of vision like a bolt of lightning, momentarily blinding him.

Under normal circumstances, he would scold her and tell her she was galloping at a dangerous speed. That there was ice on the ground and things could become dicey.

But he was the one who started it. He had left her room after they argued, gotten into his costume and met her at the stables. He half expected her not to show up, but she did anyway. Then, without even acknowledging her, or waiting for her to mount her mare, he had hopped on his horse and rode off into the dark night.

She caught up to him in no time, as was expected. So then, he kicked it up one notch and overtook her. To which she responded by doing the same. And so, the ride continued in this fashion, the distance between them ebbing and flowing, one overtaking the other at equal intervals.

Emotions, it would seem, ran as high, as tense and as fast as they were riding.

He knew why he was angry, of course, but why was she?!

He was the one who was being humiliated by her, and being taken advantage of. What on earth could she possibly be angry about? She had no right. Not after everything.

What, was she angry that he had found her out? Her pride was hurt because he was sharp enough and bold enough to expose her?!

She had practically stood there, muted, as he laid out his accusations towards her. "Really, Oscar… I wish you would just come out with it already," he had goaded her.

"Andre, I…"

She only fidgeted and said nothing. And when he had presented her with the irrefutable truth: the dagger, she had no defense or anything to say. She had been utterly dumbfounded.

Then she had the audacity to call him 'unfeeling'! Him, Andre, unfeeling!

The word made his blood boil.

Hadn't he made his feelings clear to her already?!

"No matter what you decide, I will always be there for you, if you'll let me. And it wasn't a prank. I meant to do it. I wanted to kiss you. Just once. I… love you, Oscar."

He had said those words to her, as clear as day. What more could she possibly want?!

That stupid untimely confession! Why did he even say it?! And to think that there was a possibility of them resuming their friendship once more. To forget about all of this. He had been desperate, just to stay by her side.

But then, she decided to rub salt in the wound. "Andre…about before… about Fersen…"

How could she even bring up another man – a man she loved, no less - knowing full well what his feelings towards her were?!

"Unfeeling", indeed! Just, who was unfeeling?!

"You accuse me of being cruel, but then what are you?! I'll tell you what you are, Andre Grandier, you are a hypocrite!"

"Aaargghh!" he grunted loudly to himself. She was already much ahead of him and could not hear him.

Not only did she take full advantage of his feelings for her, using them shamelessly in her scheme to try and entrap him – because she seemed to suspect him of being the Black Knight – but she also did not hold back on the insults.

"Well, damn you, Oscar," he whispered under his breath before kicking some more speed into his horse and reducing the distance between them.

…

Consumed as he was by his rage, Andre Grandier failed to notice that the rider in front of him had stopped, and was parked sideways, blocking his way. And so, he almost skidded to a dangerous halt, as he poured all of his strength into pulling the reins at the last second, suddenly cutting off the fast momentum that both he and his horse were enjoying. His horse gave a loud neigh and Andre was almost thrown off its back.

It was with great difficulty, and many thanks to his years tending to the horses that he was able to avoid what could have been a fatal accident.

He glared at his companion. She could have warned him ahead of time that she planned to stop. They always coordinated with each other effortlessly.

"You could have whistled," he reproached her.

She only regarded him with disinterest. "I did."

He must have not heard her while he was deep in his thoughts, fuming. Not wanting to admit any weakness to her, he simply rolled his eyes.

They were just outside the manor of the Duke de Guiche, the trip having taken a bit over an hour, although it felt much, much longer.

Andre regarded the imposing building in front of him and calculated that it was probably easier to climb up to the roof rather than attempt a break-in and engage with the staff inside. Knowing the Duke, he had an army of people employed in his household. Even if he were not at home, this would be risky.

The roof it was!

He began taking out the ladder when:

"We need to discuss the plan first," came the cold commanding tone of Oscar Francois de Jarjayes.

Andre paused for an instant, but did not respond immediately.

She crossed her arms over her chest, shifting her weight to her right leg, tapping her foot impatiently, as she observed him fiddling about with the insipid ladder. Clearly, he was adamant on continuing to give her the silent treatment. Classic Andre. Ever since they were children, he would sulk for days. The boy had an enormous capacity to hold a grudge.

Finally, he hauled the ladder over his shoulder and scoffed. "Do we even need a plan?"

She squinted her eyes at him. "What is that supposed to mean?"

"I mean," he said, putting the ladder on the ground. "Since in your eyes, I am the Black Knight, notorious thief and robber, then all you need to do is just arrest me after I go in and steal some jewelry and expensive artwork. And then, voila! The Commander returns victorious."

She grinded her teeth, and bit the insides of her mouth. Was he serious? To top it off, he was giving her one of his sarcastic grins that chafed her nerves raw.

"Why are you so UTTERLY fixated on this folly idea?" she launched at him. "You brought it up once before and I told you then that I never doubted you and that has not changed one bit! I do not understand why you keep INSISTING on bringing this up every time!"

Her voice echoed through amongst the trees of the wooded garden they were standing in – loud as it was, and filled with much exasperation and anger that she could no longer hold back.

"Well, that is kind of difficult to believe now, is it not?" Andre retorted, matching her tone and temper, "When you have done nothing in the last few days but incessantly question me, follow me around the house, pretend to flatter me when you subtly – or, rather, I should say, NOT so subtly, point out to me how this uniform is so "becoming" on me and how "skilled" I am at thieving! How you will "catch me". As if you are profiling me! Or probably softening me up to confess something to you. And this mission! As though you are buying time and pretending to go after the "real" thief so you could give me some sort of a grace period until I break!"

Andre's chest heaved turbulently, as the avalanche of words poured out of him uncontrollably. He struggled for a few moments to hold back a coughing fit, that threatened to overtake him. Remnants of his illness.

A whistle pierced through the air, coming from Oscar's lips.

She advanced a couple of steps towards him, her hands on her hips.

"My, do I need to have a word with your grandmother about that rowdy imagination of yours!" she said disparagingly.

Andre scoffed again and shook his head. "I KNEW you were going to say that!" his heated voice carried through the vicinity. "I knew you were going to try and discredit me. But I wager you didn't know one thing: that I KNOW you came after me that night at the chapel. I know you went to Fersen's, borrowed a dress and came to tail me like I was a thief in the night."

He was satisfied with his blunt and effective delivery as he perceived her stunned face.

It was his turn to advance now.

"Oh, you weren't aware just how much I found out about your little "excursions", were you? Shocked, perhaps?" he goaded her, putting emphasis on the word "excursions".

Oscar's cheeks flushed and her eyes widened in disbelief as it clearly dawned on her that he was referring to their clandestine encounters.

But rather than give him the satisfaction of seeing her mortified, she went for a different strategy:

She took another step towards him, holding her head high and his gaze steady in hers.

"Honestly, Andre," she threw with cold detachment, trying to give herself as confident and nonchalant an air as she possibly could. As though the allusions Andre was making did not infuriate her beyond reason. "For a 'man' of the world like you, who spends his spare time courting the entire female household and any moving object that comes his way, I must say I am surprised at your complete lack of sensitivity and poor perception. It seems I overestimated your intelligence!"

The truth, however, was that she was bitter that he did not – or rather, could not, see her feelings. What had she done differently than the maids who swoon over him, or the women at Versailles who make eyes at him and flirt with him?

Was it the dress that was missing? A hairdo? Is that what it took for him to notice?

It made her bitter.

"Ohhhhhhhhh!" Andre exclaimed, as though he had uncovered some great secret that was unbeknownst to him for years.

Oscar scrutinized him, half hopeful that, perhaps, he was finally going to realize it.

Alas…

"I see," he nodded slowly. "So now, I am a libertine with half a brain."

She clasped the bridge of her nose and groaned.

"Well then," Andre went on, faking a lighthearted tone, "Since you brought this up, why don't we talk about you, hm?"

He took another step towards her, shortening the distance between them.

"I saw Fersen going into your room that night of the servants' ball."

Oscar looked up at him, eyes wide once more. This time, though, she could not control the blushing, nor the redness that began to creep up to her face from her neck, particularly as Andre went on: "But I suppose that wasn't enough for you, hm? You needed to come to the ball – MY sanctuary, by the way, away from YOU – only to find ANY man that would dance with you and give yourself away – "

Andre had more to say. But the violent slap that landed cleanly on the side of his face put an end to it.

He brought his hand to his cheek, attempting to assuage the throbbing.

Her whole being trembled with rage. She could no longer maintain her composure:

"I WENT THERE TO TRY AND CATCH YOU!" she stormed at him. "I didn't…" she paused, catching her breath, then with a calmer timbre, "I didn't plan for what happened in that room! You… I was…"

Her chest heaved up and down with uncontrollable emotion. They were standing so close to each other, the memories of that passionate night seemed to come alive once more in that instant, impregnating the small space between them. Andre dropped his arm to the side. She was flushed, her eyes fiery, sparkling in the faint light of the moon, reminding him every bit of how she was the night he took her in his arms.

He knew she was thinking about it, too. Remembering it all. He felt shivers up and down his spine as he recalled the taste of her lips, her skin, her sighs… The way they intermingled together, the way each of their bodies responded rhythmically to the movement of the other. Even with their identities hidden, they were still in sync.

Andre swallowed with difficulty. So close. There was but an inch between them. He bit his lip and she did the same.

Should he attempt it?

The tension between them practically begged to be dissolved, right then and there.

Oscar involuntarily found herself leaning towards her companion. Her gaze must have travelled the distance between Andre's eyes and his lips a million times in those few seconds. Should she attempt it?

She could tell he was as flustered and caught up in this as she was. She could almost feel the heat from his body beckoning to her. And yet…

… why wasn't he attempting it?

Was she misreading the situation? Did people kiss after they argued? Did not argument mean that the individuals in question were unhappy with each other?

How little did she know!

Suddenly, she felt inadequate. Embarrassed.

The events of the past few weeks came crashing down on her. She felt her stomach fall into a pit as she recalled how she had let herself go so easily the night at the servant's ball. How she had wanted to enjoy Fersen's attentions and ended up letting him kiss her in a desperate attempt to preserve her feelings for him. Only to kiss Andre the morning after under a shallow pretext of uncovering the identity of a man, when she knew full well that the sole purpose of that act was to satisfy some sort of a desire over which she had no control. She had used him. She had humiliated him. Andre, her best friend, her childhood friend. How could she?

And then! Oh, mon Dieu, she had to go and kiss Victor, emboldened as she felt by her newly discovered sensuality.

Oh, but it was all wrong. All of it was wrong and terrible. It was not who she was. She was Oscar Francois de Jarjayes, Commander of the Queen's Royal Guard and heir to the Jarjayes name and house. She was not some sort of a blooming careless and rebellious adolescent girl going from one flirting session to another at a garden party.

How did she even arrive at this point?!

Ah yes…

Andre had made up his mind. He would attempt it. He thought he had wanted to give up on it, to give up on her, and yet the opportunity was not to pass up. He will kiss her and reiterate his feelings again and maybe, just maybe…

Unfortunately…

"This is all YOUR FAULT!"

Andre closed his eyes momentarily, lamenting his lost chance. It appears that the Commandant was back for another match.

"That was how it all started!" she launched at him. "From the ball at the All Hallow's Eve! This is all your fault! From that insipid kiss that unleashed this all!"

"I TOLD you why I did what I did!" Andre launched back. "I bared my soul out to you, remember that, Oscar? What more could you possibly want?! But I suppose no matter what I do or what I say, I will always continue to disgust you."

They held each other's gaze, exchanging glares and livid looks. Her palms were balled up into fists now and Andre unconsciously took a step back.

"Maybe," he went on to deliver the final blow, "Maybe because I'm not a noble… like Fersen."

He could almost swear he saw smoke coming out of her head in that instant.

She stamped her feet into the earth and cried out at the top of her voice:

"FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, THERE IS NOTHING GOING ON BETWEEN ME AND FERSEN!"

Her chest heaved violently, her breathing shallow and forceful.

Andre was shocked into silence.

Was she telling him that there was nothing between her and Fersen? Actually?

Andre's heart was beating rapidly. His swallowing was audible.

"WHY CAN'T YOU SEE WHAT I HAVE BEEN TRYING TO TELL YOU?"

He could feel his heart stop and the world around him spinning. Could it be?

"Why can't you see it? Is it because of this?" she pointed to her uniform.

He shook his head.

"Then WHAT!"

Alas, Andre was not granted the time to contemplate this potentially life-changing speech.

"O-Oscar!" he hissed.

"WHAT! JUST TELL ME WH-"

He clasped her hand on her mouth and turned her around. "Sshhh! We're not alone."