**Prologue**

This is my first fanfic ever, and while it may be far from perfect, I tried to create a story that's both short and sweet. My goal was to stay true to the original character development as closely as possible, respecting the essence of the main storyline we all love. Yet, we all know how the story ends, don't we?

With that in mind, I invite you to join me on this journey, embracing the familiar while exploring new nuances. Your constructive criticism is more than welcome, as I strive to grow as a writer. Thank you for taking the time to read this, and love you all!

Oscar was having a staring contest with the bottom of her bourbon glass, the amber liquid a blurry reflection of her troubled thoughts. She couldn't remember how many drinks she had downed, but the barkeep was certainly hesitant to serve her another, despite the prospect of extra profit on a slow Thursday night. It wasn't often that patrons lingered so long or drank so heavily, but Oscar wasn't the usual patron. Beside her sat Andre, her childhood friend, her steadfast companion, and her supposed servant, though she never viewed him in such a hierarchical way. To her, he was simply Andre, her Andre, the one constant in her tumultuous life.

Oscar's mind was a storm of conflicting emotions, primarily centered around Fersen, the Swedish count with whom she was hopelessly, secretly in love. Fersen was a man of charisma and charm, qualities that had ensnared her heart from the very first moment she laid eyes on him. He had been her first crush, a youthful infatuation that had matured into a deep, unspoken love. Yet, she had always kept these feelings buried deep within her, knowing that his heart belonged to another—her employer, Queen Marie Antoinette. The Queen and Fersen shared a passionate, clandestine love affair, one that had caused ripples of scandal throughout the court. Their love was so intense and consuming that Fersen scarcely noticed Oscar's silent yearning, her quiet devotion masked by the role she played as a loyal friend to both.

The affair between Fersen and the Queen had grown so perilous that Fersen decided to volunteer to join the French Army for America, hoping that his absence would quell the rumors and give the Queen more time to fulfill her royal duties without the shadow of their love affair looming over her. This decision had shattered Oscar, leaving her to grapple with a profound sense of loss. She felt like a spectator in a tragic play, powerless to alter the course of events, condemned to watch from the sidelines as the man she loved went off to war for reasons she could never express or challenge.

Andre, ever the silent support, understood her turmoil without the need for words. He had known Oscar for as long as he could remember, had seen her through every high and low, and his presence now was both a comfort and a reminder of the unspoken bond they shared. He knew of her feelings for Fersen, and though it pained him to see her suffer, he respected her need for space and silence, offering his support in the simplest of ways—by just being there.

Oscar's role in this tangled web of affection and duty was that of the loyal friend, the steadfast confidante. Her feelings for Fersen, no matter how deep, were out of the question, an impossible dream she dared not voice. She had resigned herself to this fate, to loving in silence and supporting from the shadows. The weight of her unspoken love and the anguish of watching Fersen leave for war were almost too much to bear, but she bore them nonetheless, fortified by the quiet strength that Andre's presence lent her.

"I entrust the Queen with you" she said suddenly, turning to look at Andre as she repeated the count's words to her. "To him, I'm a comrade, a loyal friend who he entrusts his lover with. He chose to be away to protect her, and my feelings don't matter." She gestured to the barkeep for another round, her voice tinged with bitterness. "The first time we met, he didn't know I was a woman. He still doesn't see me as a woman. I was never my dad's daughter. Rosalie doesn't see me as a woman, neither does the entire palace of Versailles. To them, I'm just a decorative piece to complete the sumptuousity of the palace."

"You know that's not true, Oscar," said Andre, unable to stay silent any longer. He was distracted by her blushed cheeks, her rosy lips trembling from the alcohol, and the vulnerability in her eyes. When she poured her heart out about Fersen, he tried to pay attention though it agonises him. However, the moment she began to discredit herself, he couldn't bite his tongue any longer.

"How is it not true, Andre?" she retorted, her voice rising slightly with a mix of frustration and sadness. "No one sees me for who I truly am. I'm always playing a role, wearing a mask. To Fersen, I'm just a loyal friend, a soldier. To my father, I was never the daughter he wanted. Even Rosalie, who I love dearly, sees me as her rescuer, not as a woman. And the palace? The entire palace only sees the uniform, the duty, never the person beneath."

Andre's heart ached for her. He wished he could make her see herself through his eyes, could show her the depth of his love and admiration. But he knew now was not the time for confessions. She needed a friend, someone to support her without adding to her burden.

"Oscar," he began gently, "you are more than a comrade, more than a soldier or a protector. You are strong and brave, yes, but you are also kind and compassionate. You care for others in a way that few do. Fersen may not see you as a woman, but that doesn't diminish your worth. Your value isn't defined by how others see you, but by who you are."

She gave a small, sad smile. "Thank you, Andre. You always know what to say."

He reached out, placing a comforting hand over hers. "I'm here for you, always."

For a moment, they sat in silence, the weight of unspoken words and emotions hanging between them. Andre's heart beat heavily in his chest, longing to say more, to tell her how much he loved her. But he knew this was not the time. His feelings would have to remain unspoken, for her sake and for his.

In walked a group of thugs, their presence instantly shifting the atmosphere of the bar from sombre to tense. They looked scary and dangerous, eyes scanning the room until they settled on Oscar and Andre's uniforms and the swords they wore. Those must've been worth a few days' worth of food, they likely thought.

"Look at this," one of the thugs sneered, pointing at their uniforms. "A couple of fancy soldiers thinking they own the place."

Oscar wasn't the type to lose her temper easily, but tonight was different. The frustration, the sorrow, the bourbon—all of it churned together, making her blood boil. These thugs had stepped in at the wrong time, just when she needed to release her pent-up anger. She stood up, fists clenched, ready for a fight. Andre, ever her loyal companion, rose beside her, prepared to have her back as always.

Oscar's eyes narrowed. "Back off," she warned, her voice low and dangerous.

The thug laughed. "Or what? You'll slice us with those pretty swords?"

The fight broke out before he could finish his taunt. Oscar threw the first punch, a satisfying crack as her fist connected with the thug's jaw. Chaos erupted. Andre fought valiantly by her side, but the thugs outnumbered and overpowered them. Despite their skill and bravery, they were beaten senselessly. Oscar, already numbed by the alcohol, took blow after blow until she finally passed out, the bourbon in her system fully kicking in.

Andre, bloodied and bruised, struggled to stay conscious. He knew he had to get them out of there. With sheer willpower, he lifted Oscar onto his shoulder and stumbled towards the door. The thugs, having gotten what they came for, jeered and laughed as they left, but Andre didn't care. All that mattered was getting Oscar to safety.

Once outside, Andre leaned against a wall, gasping for breath. It was only then that he realized his wallet was gone. A wave of despair washed over him, but he quickly checked to ensure they still had their swords and uniforms. At least they hadn't lost everything.

Summoning every ounce of strength, Andre carried Oscar through the dark streets, each step a battle against his own exhaustion and pain. Finally, he found a small, secluded alleyway. It wasn't much, but it was hidden enough to give them a moment's respite. Gently, he laid Oscar down, checking her for serious injuries. She seemed battered but not broken, her breathing steady despite the rough treatment.

Andre slumped beside her, his body aching from the fight. He had nothing left but his determination to protect Oscar, to stay by her side no matter what. As he sat there, watching over her in the dim light of the alley, he had vowed to one day give his life for her, but now he wants to be her shield, her support, through whatever trials lay ahead.

This was the closest they'd been together in God knows how long. "You've always been a quick-tempered one, my love. At least they didn't find out you're a woman," Andre chuckled softly as he picked her up in his arms. The pain from his injuries faded into the background; all he could feel was the warmth of her body pressing against his, her faint breath intoxicating him even more now that they were so close.

"My poor Oscar" he whispered, his voice filled with tenderness. "If only I could carry your burden. No matter what you're dressed in, no matter your rank in the military, you are without a question, a woman."

The stars shone brightly that night, casting a gentle light over her face. Andre noticed a small trickle of blood at the corner of her lips. Leaning down to wipe it away, he couldn't fight his feelings any longer. He pulled her closer, gently clutching her shoulder and pressing his lips against hers. Her breath smelled sweet, the bourbon mingling with her natural scent to create an intoxicating cocktail that made his body feel warm all over. A tingle ran down his spine as his tongue brushed against her lips, prying its way in.

She tasted exactly as he had imagined—sweet, captivating, yet so delicate. He forced himself to stop, pulling back slightly, but the longing in his heart was undeniable. He had thought one kiss would be enough, but the moment their lips touched, he knew that was not true. He was more in love with her than he had ever realized.

Andre gazed at her, his heart pounding. "Oscar, I love you," he whispered, the words spilling out before he could stop them. He knew she might not hear him in her unconscious state, but he had to say it, had to release the feelings he had kept bottled up for so long.

As he held her, the weight of their situation pressed down on him. He knew they couldn't stay here forever, but for this moment, he allowed himself to savor the closeness, the intimacy. He stroked her hair gently, his fingers trembling with emotion. "You are so much more than you realize, Oscar," he murmured. "So much more than a soldier or a friend. You are everything to me."

Andre cradling Oscar in his arms, he took a long walk to their carriage to get back to the mansion. The sky was clear for that moonless night, giving way for the stars to glisten the night sky, witnessing his silent confession. He knew that when she woke, things might return to their complicated norm, but he also knew that he would always cherish this moment, this fleeting glimpse of what could be.

As the night wore on, he remained vigilant, his love for her providing a strength that no physical injury could diminish. He vowed to give his life to her one day, but as he grows more affections towards her, he wants to be by her side, ready to support her, to fight for her, and to love her unconditionally.