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Chapter Text

Chapter One 

Her eldest brother, Louis, had been born at the height of summer; when the heat was merciless and the breeze over Paris did little to ease the relentless glare of the sun. Marie had often heard how her mother endured a difficult labour, her strength drawn from unwavering faith in God, allowing her to bring the Dauphin safely into the world and into the eager arms of their father, the King.

Louis was the image of their mother, with his soft golden curls and gentle blue eyes. Marie understood now that it was likely the resemblance that had kept the Queen and the Dauphin safe in those early years-at least, until Philippe arrived.

Two years after Louis' birth, the court was abuzz once again. The Queen was with child. After years of waiting, the royal family not only had their Dauphin but also a spare. And that was exactly how their father had treated Philippe. Marie had often overheard the courtiers whisper how much Philippe resembled the late King, with his darker hair and warm eyes, but she had never seen the resemblance they spoke of. 

His curls were too dark, his eyes more onyx than hazel; nothing like the portraits of their father. And the King had seen it too. Louis had confided in her about the disdain in their father's gaze whenever he looked at Philippe in those first few years-how he kept him at arms length and belittled him. Philippe spent the early part of his life striving to earn their father's affection. He never did.

Then rumours began. Quite at first, but persistent. The whispers claimed that neither of the Queen's sons were of the King's blood. That, in a desperation to secure France's future, she had taken a lover. A Musketeer. Marie had been a fool to not have realised sooner how true these rumours had been. 

Thankfully, the war with Spain had consumed the court's attention long enough for the rumours to fade. The musketeers were sent to the southern boarders, and the King, ravaged by illness and paranoia, grew increasingly vicious in his final months. His spite had been directed at the Queen and Philippe, and Marie felt a small, selfish relief that she had not been born durning those days. 

A month after the Kings death, it was announced that the Queen was once again with child. God's parting gift from the late King, they had called her. But Marie had never felt like a gift. 

Born in the early spring, Marie's arrival was met with both joy and sorrow. She had her mother's delicate features, but her eyes, those unmistakable onyx eyes, were the same as Philippe's. No one dared ask questions. 

***

Marie's curiosity about her father had only grown with time. Having never known him she was full of questions for her mother. One summer afternoon when she was six, as they sat weaving daisy chains on the palace lawn, she had asked the question that had lingered in her mind for so long. 

"Did Papa love me?"

Her mother had been focused on the flowers in her lap, but at Marie's words, she glanced up; her eyes drifting to where Louis and Philippe were practising their fencing with Athos. Aramis stood nearby, offering pointers as the boys tried to best their opponent. 

A soft, wistful smile crossed her mother's lips.

"Of course, my darling," She said gently. "He loved you from the moment he held you."

Marie had frowned, her young mind trying to make sense of it. 

"But how could he have held me if Papa went to heaven before I was here?"

Her mother's fingers stilled on the daisy chain. Marie was too young to notice the flicker of pain that crossed her face. 

"Well," her mother began softly, taking a breath.

"We know that God is all around us, holding us in his embrace. And your Papa is with God... so he's always here."

She placed her hand gently over Marie's heart before offering her the finished daisy chain.

"Now, I think it's time you presented your brother with his crown don't you?"

In that moment, Marie had been content with the answer, her young mind easily distracted. With an excited squeal, she grabbed the daisies and dashed across the lawn.

"Louis! Mama and I made you a pretty crown!"

Philippe, ever the playful accomplice, immediately wrapped himself around Louis' legs to keep him from running away, while Marie ran towards Aramis, arms outstretched.

"Help me put it on him!"

Without hesitation, Aramis swept her into his arms, his grin wide.

"But of course, your highness."

He held her high as she placed the crown of daisies atop Louis' head, giggles filling the air. 

"I know exactly how ticklish you are, Marie!" Louis warned, struggling to free himself from Philippe's grip.

"Princess, I think it's time for a quick retreat." Aramis set her down, and Marie dashed to hide behind his legs, her laughter bubbling uncontrollably.

"Unfortunately, you highness," Athos said, his tone laced with amusement as he gathered the boys' discarded practise blades,

"I don't think the Minister will be able to protect you from the King."

"Philippe, help me get her!"

At the prospect of tormenting their little sister, Philippe sprang into action.

"Run, your highness! I'll hold them off!" Aramis pretended to block the boys, putting up a half hearted defence. Marie let out a squeal of pure delight as her brothers chased her around the lawn, their laughter echoing through the gardens and beneath the low hanging willow trees. 

What Marie didn't notice, what none of the children did, was the quiet exchange of looks between the Queen Regent and the First Minister. A look of shared pride, and perhaps something more. 

Chapter Text

She was eight when the fever nearly took her.

It came silently, weaving its way through Paris one bleak autumn, claiming lives without mercy. The palace was no exception. Servants whispered of death lingering in the corridors, and the air felt heavy with the weight of fear.

Louis had been kept away, sheltered from the sickness to protect the young King. The royal apartments were sealed off, the usual bustle replaced by an eerie stillness. Only the court physician was permitted to cross the threshold.

But despite every precaution, Marie fell ill.

She remembered little of those harrowing days, and was grateful for it. Her body had burned like a furnace, her joints writhing in unbearable agony. What little food she could stomach never stayed down, and her mind drifted in and out of a fevered delirium. Time blurred. The days stretched endlessly, broken only by fragments of whispered conversations from outside her bedroom door.

"I'm afraid there's been no improvement, Your Majesty."

The voice of the physician drifted through the haze.

"If the fever does not break tonight... the princess may not see morning."

Darkness pulled her under again. When she woke, it was to the sound of muffled sobs. The soft glow of candlelight spilled into the room from the partially open door, and she heard her mother's voice; raw, breaking with grief.

"She's our daughter! I cannot leave her. How could you ask that of me?"

Marie's heart ached at the anguish in her mother's words. She tried to move, to call out, to let her mother know that she would be okay, but her body refused to obey. She was trapped in her own skin, too weak to even lift her head.

There was another voice beyond the door, low and soothing, though she couldn't make out the words. It was enough to calm her mother, if only a little.

"Fine, I'll make sure you're not disturbed. But if anything changes..."

The voice murmured a reply, and her mother's sobs quieted.

"Thank you, my love. I'll make sure the boys are safe." Sleep claimed her again before she could hear more.

***

Marie had no sense of how much time passed. But when she woke again, her world had shifted. A cool hand brushed gently through her damp hair, easing the heat the still lingered in her scalp. She instinctively leaned into the touch, seeking comfort. 

She tried to turn her head, to see who was beside her, but the darkness of the room was too thick, her eyelids felt like lead. A small, pained groan escaped her lips. 

"Shh, you're okay," came a deep, soothing voice- low and tender, filled with warmth. 

Marie's heart fluttered. She tried to open her eyes again, to see the face that belonged to that familiar voice, but the effort was too great. 

"I want Mama..." She whimpered, her croak of a voice barely above a whisper. All she wanted was her mother's arms around her, to make the pain go away. 

"I know, my love. I know."

The cool hand brushed against her cheek, wiping away the tears she hadn't realised had fallen.

"We have to keep Mama safe for just a little while longer," the voice murmured softly. "But once you're feeling better, I'll bring her to you. I promise."

Marie's fevered mind struggled to place the voice. It was familiar, safe, but her thought were too clouded to make sense of it. 

"Papa?"

The sharp intake of breath was almost imperceptible, but she felt it. Another hand, warmer and stronger, slipped gently into hers, holding on with desperation. 

"I'm here, my little Marie." 

Her heart clenched at the words. 

"You just have to get better for Mama and I... We'd be so lost without you." 

"Please don't leave me, Papa..." Marie voice cracked as she clung to his hand, afraid that if she let go, he would disappear. 

"I will never leave you, my darling girl." 

A gentle kiss brushed her forehead, cool and soothing against her fevered skin. And with that, Marie surrendered once more to sleep. 

***

By morning, the fever had broken.

When the physician finally declared her out of danger, her mother was allowed to see her. Marie had never heard her mother cry the way she did that morning, her sobs of relief echoing as she held Marie close, thanking God for his mercy. 

Marie's small fingers gripped her mother tightly, afraid to let go. She had barley caught her breath when she whispered, her voice still weak;

"Mama... Papa was with me. He stayed with me all night. But I think he's gone back to God now." 

Her mother's body went still. Marie was too exhausted to notice the fresh tears that slipped down her mother's face or the way her lips trembled as she tried to smile. 

"Of course he did, my sweet girl," her mother murmured, pressing a trembling kiss to Marie's temple.

"Of course he did."

There was a part of Marie, deep down, that believed that it hadn't been a dream. He had been there. And even now, when she closed her eyes, she could still feel the lingering warmth of his hand in hers. 

Chapter Text

Marie was ten when Aramis started teaching her how to fight.

“Now, Your Highness, I’d rather like to keep my head attached to my shoulders.” Aramis glanced around as they slipped through the palace grounds, his tone light but his expression wary. 

“So, if you wouldn’t mind not mentioning this little lesson to the Queen, I’d greatly appreciate it.”

Marie’s grin was almost wicked. 

“What lesson? We’re merely taking a stroll, enjoying the fresh air.”

The early morning dew still clung to the grass, glistening where the night’s rain had left the ground damp. Peacocks called faintly from the distance, their cries echoing through the quiet gardens. But Marie barley noticed. Her pulse was racing with excitement. She had insisted for weeks that Aramis teach her. If her brothers were allowed to train, why shouldn’t she?

She had been surprised when she presented her argument to Aramis and was met with no pushback. In fact he had been quite keen on the idea.

And now, finally, here they were. 

“Carry these, Musketeer.” Aramis passed her the training swords with a mischievous glint in his eye, watching as she stumbled slightly under there weight. 

“You’re making me carry them?” She huffed, struggling to adjust her grip. 

“If you want to learn like a musketeer, Princess, you’ll be treated like one.” 

Her eyes lit up. That was exactly what she wanted. To prove herself, And Aramis, ever her ally, had given her the chance. 

They reached a quiet corner of the gardens where the ground was firm beneath their feet, shielded by high hedges and away from prying eyes. 

“Here will do.” Aramis said, eyeing the space with approval.

Marie’s excitement bubbled over as she set down the training swords. Her eagerness, however, was quickly tempered when Aramis launched into a detailed lecture on the anatomy of the rapiers they were using.

“This is the quillon. And this-“

Her enthusiasm began to wilt. 

“Do I really need to know all this?” She groaned, crossing her arms.

“Isn’t the point of a sword to, I don’t know…fight? Or do you distract your opponent by giving a lecture on the difference between the false edge and the true edge?”

Aramis raised a brow, fighting back a grin. 

“Every good musketeer knows their weapon inside and out.” He tilted his head, a spark of challenge in his eyes.

“May I remind you, Princess, that both the King and the Duke had this exact same lesson.” 

Marie’s jaw clenched. There it was- the bait. A subtle prod that compared her to her brothers, and Marie never backed down from a challenge. 

“Fine,” she huffed, rolling her eyes.

“That’s the spirit!”

He ruffled her hair before she could dodge out of the way, earning a scowl as she tried to smooth it back down. Aramis’ laughter was warm, filled with pride. 

“Come on, Musketeer. Show me your best fighting stance.” 

***

They trained for an hour. 

Aramis led her through stances and guards, correcting her posture and coaxing her movements into something sharper, more deliberate. By the end her strikes came quicker, her footing surer. The gleam of pride in Aramis’ eyes did not go unnoticed.

“You’re a natural, Highness.” 

Marie’s heart soared at the praise. She lunged into another attack, her confidence growing- until her foot slid on a damp patch of grass. 

Pain shot through her knee as she crumpled to the ground with a sharp cry. 

“Marie!” 

Aramis was at her side in an instant, his sword forgotten. 

“Let me see,” He murmured, his voice soft but firm. His hands were steady as he lifted her trouser leg and examined her knee. His touch cool against her skin.

“Just a sprain.” His shoulders relaxed. 

“You’ll be alright. Come on, let’t get you back inside.” 

Without another word, he scooped her up into his arms, holding her close.

“The swords-“ Marie glanced back toward where they lay abandoned.

“Forget the swords.” His grip tightened protectively. 

“You, Your Highness, rank a far higher importance.”

***

The walk back was quite. Marie leaned against Aramis, her pride slightly bruised but her heart full.

“You know,” Aramis teased, his voice breaking the silence, “You were a lot braver about your injury than either of your brothers would have been.”

Marie smiled despite the pain. 

“Good. And you better tell them that. Because this really hurts.” 

Aramis chuckled as Marie suddenly realised a slight complication.

“I know I promised not to tell Mama about this, but…”

Marie’s expression turned sheepish. 

“I think she’s going to find out anyway.”

Aramis’ smile vanished. 

“Oh no… Don’t worry, I’ll handle her.”

“Looks like we’re both being brave today,” Marie murmured. 

“That we are, Your Highness, that we are.” 

***

It took approximately five minutes for the Queen to burst through the doors to the drawing room.

“Aramis! What on earth were you thinking?”

The fury in her voice made every servant scatter like frightened birds. Even the physician, who had been tending to Marie’s knee, suddenly found something very interesting on the opposite side of the room.

“Your Majesty, I-“ Aramis began to explain.

“I would like everyone to leave. Now.”

The Queen’s tone was calmer, but that made it even more terrifying. The servants fled the room, and even the physician didn’t argue. 

Aramis took one step towards the door.

“Not you.”

The look on her mother’s face was one Marie and her brothers knew far too well. Aramis was in trouble. Big trouble. And if they were both being brave today…

“Mama, it was my idea. I begged Aramis to teach me.” Marie sat up straighter, her face earnest.

“And I told him it would probably count as some form of treason if he said no.”

Her mother’s eyes narrowed at her. 

“Marie, I know exactly what you’re trying to do. They’ll be no digging the Minister out of any holes.” 

“But Mama-“

A raised hand silenced her. Aramis, to his credit, stepped in.

“Your Majesty, both the King and the Duke have been trained to defend themselves. I believe the Princess deserved the same chance.”

A tense silence filled the room.

“You of all people could have said no to her, Aramis.” Her mother’s voice was softer now, but no less stern. 

“What will people say when they hear of this? She’s a princess. That is not what is expected of her.” 

Marie sank deeper into her chair. This was worse than she thought.

Aramis met the Queen’s gaze, he voice sure. 

“I would never let anyone speak ill of her.”  His words carried a strong conviction. 

“I swore to you long ago that I would protect you and your family. Please… let me protect her by doing this. I won’t always be there to keep her safe.”

The tension in the room shifted to something that Marie couldn’t name.

“May I speak with you in private, Minister?”

Aramis bowed.

“Of course, your Majesty."

***

Marie was left alone, her eyes drifting to the celling as she counted the gold leaves in the intricate patterns. 

“Thirty seven. Thirty eight. Thirty nine…”

She was nearing three hundred and fifty when the door creaked open again.

Aramis poked his head in, looking slightly dishevelled and a little flushed- but victorious.

“So, muskets next week?”

Marie’s answering smile was filled with delight.

“Absolutely.” 

Chapter Text

She was fourteen when she first heard Aramis compare her to her mother. And it was in a way she least expected.

Louis’ coronation was only a week away, and D’Artangnan was in the courtyard running drills with the younger musketeers. The palace hummed with anticipation, but for Marie…this week marked something entirely different.

This was the first time she found herself developing a crush.

A dark haired musketeer had caught her eye. He wasn’t the most handsome of the recruits, nor the loudest or most charming, but something about him… the quite confidence, the graceful ease with which he moved, the way his curls fell into his eyes when he was deep in focus. It made her heart flutter. 

And of course, Philippe had noticed. In true brotherly fashion, he teased her mercilessly.

Marie had positioned herself carefully, tucked into the shadows of a corridor overlooking the courtyard. She was just out of sight, but at the perfect angle to observe from a distance. 

Everything was going well, until Philippe appeared over her shoulder.

“I wonder what we’re looking at… or should I say who?”

Marie’s stomach dropped.

“Philippe, stop!” She spun around, aiming a shaper punch at his arm. Her face was already aflame.

“Ouch! Violent, aren’t we?” Philippe rubbed his arm, but his smirk only widened. 

“I expected better behaviour from you, Highness”

Both of them froze at the sound of a familiar voice. 

Porthos.

He and Aramis approached from down the hall, their footsteps echoing against the marble. Both bowed politely when they reached Marie and Philippe, but there was no mistaking the amused gleam in Porthos’ eye. 

“Causing more trouble, I see?” Porthos raised a brow. 

Before Marie could even open her mouth, Philippe struck. 

“Actually,” Philippe said with a wicked grin, “it seems that a certain musketeer has caught my dear sister’s eye.” 

Her stomach plummeted. 

Her eyes darted back to the window. Could she throw Philippe out of it without causing too much of a scandal?

“Oh yeah. Which One?” 

Porthos casually stepped towards the window, his broad frame blocking her view of the men down below. 

She sent a silent prayer for the ground to open and swallow her whole. 

Philippe, meanwhile, leaned in close, scanning the recruits like a predator stalking prey.

“Ah!” His finger shot out triumphantly. “That one second from the left. Tall. Dark curls.”

Marie could practically feel Aramis’ gaze shift, following Philipe’s line of sight.

“The Spanish one?” Porthos’ tone was light, but the grin tugging at the corner of his mouth was anything but. 

“Well, I can’t say you have bad taste, Princess.” He directed his statement towards Marie, but it was Aramis who he turned his gaze to. 

Marie’s face was on fire now.

“I wasn’t looking at him!” The words tumbled out in rush. “I was watching… I was watching which drills Captain D’Artagnan was teaching!”

Her eyes remind fixed on the floor. She couldn’t bear to meet any of their gazes. The weight of her humiliation was unbearable. She’d kill Philippe for this.

Her brother turned back to her with a satisfied expression.

“Hmm. Keep telling yourself that.”

Philippe’s laughter echoed down the corridor as he sauntered off, leaving her to drown in embarrassment. 

“If you’ll excuse me.”

Marie’s voice was barley above a whisper as she turned on her heel, desperate to escape. She didn’t wait for a response. Her only goal was to disappear- preferably for the rest of her life. 

She fled around the corner, pressing her back against the cool marble pillar. Her hands rubbed at her flushed face as she tried to steady her pounding heart. How was she ever going to face any musketeer now? 

And that’s when she heard it.

“Can’t say she doesn’t take after her mother.”

Aramis’ voice, low and distant, filtered down the corridor. 

Marie’s breath caught. 

“You look about five seconds away from murdering the poor lad.” 

Porthos’ amused chuckle followed. 

“I think,” Aramis replied softly, “a chat with D’Artagnan about ensuring that particular musketeer is never on Marie’s guard might be more… within the bounds of legality.”

Chapter Text

She was sixteen the first, and last, time she and Philippe snuck out of the palace to go to the garrison.

Philippe had struck up a friendship with some of the musketeers assigned to the palace guard; a friendship that came with perks.

He knew when the D’Artagnan would be away and the garrison less supervised. And it hadn’t taken much to convince her.

“It’s just a small gathering, Marie,” he’d said. 

“A few drinks. Some friendly conversation.” 

She knew it was a lie. They both had. 

***

The garrison had been alive that night. 

Music echoed off the stone walls, laughter filled the air, and wine flowed like water. 

It was wild, messy, and exhilarating. 

Marie, who had never been drunk in her life, had finally discovered why people took to drinking so easily. It was fun. 

Philippe, off-key and louder than anyone should be allowed to be, had joined in with the musicians. His rendition of a bawdy ballad had most of the men in tears of laughter. 

Meanwhile, Marie danced. Whoever could keep up with her was welcome to try, but few succeeded. Why did people bother going to boring palace balls when this was an option?

Then, of course, came the shooting contest. Because what else did one expect at a musketeer gathering? 

Bottles, fruit, even a few boots, anything they could balance on a poor volunteer’s head was fair game. Cheers and laughter erupted with every successful shot. 

And then there was Philippe. Pointing a musket at her. A bottle balanced precariously on her head. She said a silent thank you to her old dance tutor for developing such fine posture. 

If they had been sober, they both would have realised how staggeringly stupid they were being. But they weren’t. And that made it all the more thrilling. 

***

To everyone’s surprise, including her own, Marie had proven to be an excellent shot. A fact she loudly and repeatedly reminded the entire gathering. 

“Better than half of you lot!” She boasted, twirling her musket in her hand with a grin far too smug for someone who was half a dozen drinks deep.

“If you’re so good, lets up the stakes.”

A musketeer name Gaston had stepped forward, his eyes gleaming with mischief. 

“Shoot this apple off my head.”

“Easy.” Marie didn’t hesitate.

But then he held up a piece of fabric. 

“Blindfolded.”

Marie blinked. Sober Marie would have said absolutely not. But drunk Marie?

“Alright. You’re on.”

They shook hands, and Marie took her place. 

Gaston stood with his back against a post, the apple perched atop his head. Marie raised the musket, her finger hovering over the trigger.

“MARIE-JOSÈPHINE! WHAT IN GOD’S NAME ARE YOU DOING?”

Shit. 

A deathly silence fell over the garrison. The music stopped. The laughter died. Marie’s heart sank.

For a moment, she considered leaving the blindfold on. Maybe if she couldn’t see Aramis’ face, she wouldn’t see how utterly furious he was. 

But no. That wasn’t going to save her. She slowly lifted the fabric from her eyes. There he was. Aramis. His face was a mask of pure, unfiltered anger. D'Artagnan and Constance close beside him. 

“Upstairs. Both of you” He pointed over to Philippe 

His tone deadly. 

“Now.”

Neither of them dared to argue. 

"The rest of you, clean up this mess!" She heard D'Artagnan shout to the garrison. 

They stumbled their way into the captain’s office, the haze of wine giving way to a sobering realisation- 

They were in so much trouble. 

Both of them sat down on the bench like schoolchildren awaiting punishment, their heads bowed, avoiding eye contact. 

The door slammed behind them. 

Aramis stood there, arms crossed, eyes like a storm ready to break.

“I don’t think it’s really that ba-“ 

“Do.Not.Speak.” 

Philippe shut his mouth. 

Marie’s head had started to spin, and sitting down only made it worse. 

“It’s a good thing I was the one who noticed you were gone and not your mother.” 

Aramis’ voice was tight, laced with barley restrained fury as he paced the room. The movement made Marie’s head swim even more. 

“What were you thinking?!” 

He stopped in front of Philippe, who suddenly seemed far less confident. 

“Brining her here? She is your sister, Philippe. You’re supposed to protect her! And what do I find? Her a second away from blowing a man’s head off!”

“I wasn’t going to blow his head off!” Marie managed to mumble, her voice a slurred attempt at defence. 

Aramis’ gaze shifted to her. 

“I taught you better than this, Marie. If the King or your mother could see the shame you are bringing to this family with your behaviour. How could you be so careless?” 

The disappointment in his voice hit harder than any reprimand ever could. Her chest tightened, and she could feel the sting of tears building. 

Philippe was on his feet before she could process what was happening. 

“Don’t you dare speak to her like that! You’re not our father!”

Silence.

The room froze. None of them moved. Marie looked up to Aramis- and the pain she saw in his eyes broke her heart. 

The room spun faster. Too fast. Her stomach churned. 

“I… I really don’t feel well…”

Aramis was by her side in an instant. The anger melted away, replaced by concern. 

“Do you feel like you might be sick?”

Marie could only nod weakly.

“Don’t move.” Aramis was up and over to the door. 

“Constance!”

Moments later, Constance was at Marie’s side, bucket in hand, her expression a mix of amusement and sympathy. 

“Oh sweetheart… the wine finally catching up with you?”

She placed the bucket onto her lap. 

"Philippe, other room. Now." Aramis opened the door again, as Philippe dragged his feet along the floor. 

"Leave the door open a bit. The air will do her some good." He stopped to look back at Marie.

"Go on, she's in safe hands. See to your other one." With Aramis and Philippe gone, Marie slumped her head on the edge of the bucket as a form of pillow. 

“Did someone have too much to drink?” Constance teased her. Marie barley had time to nod before the inevitable happened. 

The next ten minutes were the worst of her life. Every time she thought the sickness had passed, it came back with a vengeance. 

Constance held the bucket and rubbed her back, whispering soothing words. 

“Does this happen every time?” Marie felt completely drained. 

“Not every time.” Constance gave her a small smile. “You’ll learn to pace yourself.”

“I’m never drinking again.” 

“That’s what they all say.” 

She heard two pair of boots making their way into the room. 

“How’s she doing?” D’Artagnan leant against the wall watching the scene before him.

“She’ll be fine. Just a bit too much over indulging. Sylvie at home?”

“She decided she didn’t want to deal with an angry Aramis on this occasion.” Athos replied. 

“Athos? No go away.” Marie tried to raise her head. “This is already embarrassing enough.” She really just wanted to go to bed. 

“She defiantly takes after her father.” Athos stated in a bland tone. D’Artagnan tried to disguise his chuckled into a cough as Constance gave him a look of warning. 

Marie who had started to drift off had fortunately missed the exchange. Constance gave her shoulder a little shake. 

“Come on, lets get you cleaned up a bit.” 

Constance wiped her face with a cool cloth, and for the first time that night, Marie felt something close to relief. 

“You know, Constance…” Marie mumbled. “You’re really beautiful. I hope people tell you that all the time.”

Constance laughed softly. 

“Are you just saying that because I’m currently wiping sick off your face?”

“No!” Marie tried to look indignant but failed miserably. “I mean it. I miss having you at the palace… and I know Mama does too.”

“I’ll try to visit more. I promise.”

“Please do.” 

Once she had been made more presentable, Athos helped her to stand keeping a hand under her arm to steady her. The room was spinning a little less than before. 

“Come on trouble maker. Time to get you back to the palace.” Athos helped her out of the office and into the hall. Marie could hear Philippe’s voice, quieter now, and Aramis. 

As they approached the room, she could see that Philippe had been crying. Aramis said something softly, then pulled Philippe into a tight embrace, pressing a kiss to the top of his head. 

For a moment, Marie forgot how terrible she felt. 

“Are we ready to depart.” Athos questioned. Aramis stepped back from Philippe giving him a firm pat of the back. 

“We’re ready. Is Porthos downstairs with the horses?” Aramis questioned. 

“Porthos is here too?” Marie looked up at Athos. 

“Of course, Your Highness. He was excited to see how well you would handle your wine.” 

Marie let out a groan. Maybe being drunk wasn’t as fun as she first thought. 

Chapter Text

Marie was seventeen when she first voiced her suspicions about Aramis to the King. 

The thought had been lurking in her mind for months, whispering in the quiet moments, refusing to let her rest.

It had started that night at the garrison. That brief, feeling moment- Philippe, raw with emotion. Armais, holding him close. 

At first she had dismissed it. She had been drunk, after all. Her mind had been a haze of laughter, wine, and reckless bravado. Surely, she had imagined it.

Philippe and Aramis had been in the throes of an argument; angry words exchanged, then reconciliation. That was all. Wasn’t it? Yet, the more she replayed the moment in her mind, the less it felt like a mere truce; the more it felt like a father comforting his son. 

The realisation had struck her one night, late, when the halls of the palace were still and the candlelight flickered in her chambers.

It was ridiculous.

It was dangerous. 

She had pushed the thought aside, told herself she was imagining things. But months passed; she couldn’t forget it. The similarities. Philippe’s unruly curls. The shape of his nose. The mischievous, onyx dark eyes that glittered with untamed energy. All so achingly familiar.

At first, she had rationalised it. There had to be an explanation. A distinct relative, perhaps. Some forgotten cousin who shared the same features as Aramis. One day, they would arrive at court, and Marie would finally be able to breathe again. But no one ever came. And the doubt remained. 

Then, one day, it clicked. 

She had been in the library for hours, poring over books, the air thick and stifling in the summer heat. She tried, in vain, to open a window. It wouldn’t budge. Five minutes, and still the thing didn’t move an inch. She let out a frustrated huff, pushing up her lace sleeve, bracing for another attempt.

The door creaked open behind her, laughter floating through. Louis’ easy, amused tone and Aramis laughing at something amusing he had said. Marie signed, relief washing over her. 

“Would one of you be so kind as to help me with this?”

She stepped back, expecting Aramis to step forward- but he wasn’t there. 

Only Louis, and Philippe. 

Marie froze. Her heart ponded in her chest at an uncomfortable rate. Her eyes flickered between them, over their shoulders, searching… 

Where was Aramis? 

She looked at Philippe. 

The angle of his jaw.

The way he stood, relaxed but alert. 

The same posture. The same mannerisms. 

Her heart stammered. Oh. 

There was no possible way for her to deny it any longer. 

***

She felt her world shatter in an instant. 

The realisation settled over her like a winter storm; cold, sudden, and paralysing. 

A numbness crept through her chest, her breath turning shallow, uneven. She blinked, but the image of Aramis and Philippe together over the years stayed burned into her mind. 

She knew. 

No written confession, no blood stained letter could confirm it more than the way her heart dropped when she had seen him in the library. Yet she had no proof. Only her gut. Her heart. Her grief. And they screamed the truth louder than anything else. 

What now? What could she possibly do with this truth? Expose or confront it? Pretend it never occurred to her? Every path was lined with ruin. 

Aramis. 

He had been the only true father figure she’d ever known; steadfast, gentle, ever-present. How could she despise him for loving them too much? But this wasn’t just love. This was treason. And treason, in court, was a death sentence. 

She wanted to scream. To sob. To throw something against the wall and shatter it, like her illusion of safety. But she did none of that. She just sat with her grief. Carried it, like a stone in her chest.  

For days, a quiet sadness followed her like a shadow. She moved through the palace with her head high, but inside, something was breaking. She was mourning. Not for a person, but for a life. 

A life she never realised she had wanted so desperately. A life away from the endless wishers and schemes of court. A life away from Paris, where her mother could be happy without shame. Where Louis wouldn’t have to marry for a political alliance. A life where she and Philippe weren’t royalty, but just children; whole and safe.  And Aramis could claim them with no consequences. 

She knew that world would never exist. Because in the one they lived in, the truth could ruin everything. 

***

Marie had barley slept in days. 

The weight of what she knew, or thought she knew, was a constant hum in the back of her skull, like the tolling of a far off bell that refused to stop. 

She tried to ignore it. She tried to pretend. But when she looked at Aramis and how his gaze always fell upon her mother, she couldn’t bear it anymore. 

She found Louis in an empty council chamber late in the afternoon, light from the high windows painting a soft glow around him. He was reading over a treaty from the Dutch, or pretending to, his expression calm as ever. But she knew her brother too well. There was tension in his shoulders. He had been expecting her. 

“Close the door,” he said as he sat back in his chair. 

Marie did. Slowly. Deliberately. 

She turned, hands clenched tightly at her sides, and looked him dead in the eye. 

“I know.” 

He didn’t flinch. Didn’t even look up from his reading. 

“You’ll need to more specific, little sister.” 

“Don’t do that.” Her voice cracked, eyes glazing over. “Don’t pretend with me.” 

At that, Louis lifted his gaze. His eyes were unreadable- a King’s mask. 

“Say it.” 

She hesitated. Just for a moment. 

Then- 

“Armais. He’s our father. Isn’t he?”

Silence. 

She felt sick to her stomach.

Louis inhaled slowly, placing down the papers. He folded his hands in his lap like he was preparing to conduct court. 

“You understand what you’re implying,” he said at last, his voice dangerously low. “You understand what that means.”

“I understand what it means to us, yes. But I also understand what it meant for her. For Mama. To live with that secret. To love someone and be forced to hide it every day of her life-” 

“Lower your voice.” Louis tone was sharp enough to slice through the air. Marie’s chest tightened, but she held his gaze. The tears that were falling down her face now turned to ones of anger. 

“You knew.”

Marie felt her throat close up, the betrayal blooming in her like frost. 

“You knew,” she repeated, softer this time. “All these years… you knew the truth and said nothing?”

Louis stood. Walked slowly toward the window. His voice was calm, but laced with something bitter underneath. 

“If I acknowledge it- if I named it- then everything changes. Our mother’s honour is questioned. Our legitimacy, and that of my future heir, is called into doubt. And Aramis? He'll not just be a former musketeer. He would be a man who would have lain with a married woman, a Queen, and fathered her children. That is treason, Marie.” 

“And what of Philippe? He’s our brother,” she shot back, the tears falling even more. “He deserved to know who his father is!”

Louis turned to face her fully. And for a moment, she didn’t see the King. She saw her bother- the boy who used to climb trees with her and sneak pastries from the kitchens. 

“I’m trying to keep us all alive.” 

Marie swallowed hard, blinking against the sting in her eyes. 

“This isn’t just about survival anymore, Louis. It’s about the truth. Mama didn’t hide that part of her life to protect herself. She did it to protect us. To protect Aramis. But she shouldn’t have had to. She shouldn't have had to be on her own for all that time.” 

A long silence followed. 

Louis stood, his gaze far away as if he finally realised just how much their mother has suffered over the years for them, for Aramis. When he spoke again, his voice was a whisper.

“She loved him.” 

Marie nodded. 

“She still does.” 

Louis looked away, his jaw clenched tight.

“I can’t change the past. But I can protect the future. So no- Philippe can never know. Not unless he discovers on his own, and do not push for that Marie. Even if he does… I will deny it.”

“Even if it breaks him?”

Louis’ mouth twisted into something hollow.

“Even then,” the mask of a ruler slipped back onto his face. “I command you, as your King, to never speak of this again.” 

Marie stood there a moment longer, trying to breathe through the storm inside her. She bowed to him and turned to leave. Her hand was on the door when she paused. 

“He looks just like him, but of course you know that.” Her voice was low. “Sometimes I think I see him in you too.” 

Louis didn’t reply. She didn’t wait for him to. 

She stepped out, closed the door gently behind her, and walked away- a little older, a little heavier, and with the truth still buried, deeper than ever. 

Chapter Text

It had been six months since Marie had learned the truth.

And in those months, she and Louis had never felt more like strangers.

She had pulled away from everyone. The excuses came easily enough- she told Philippe she was simply too busy with her studies to join their usual afternoon horse rides. That hadn’t stopped him from trying.

Each morning, he would appear in the library, asking the same question with relentless persistence:

“Do you want to have fun today, or are you still being miserable?”

He would perch at the end of the long oak table, taking no notice of the fact that he was sitting squarely on her papers. 

“I’m not being miserable,” Marie snapped, snatching a parchment back from under him. 

“Yes, you are,” Philippe countered, unimpressed. “You have been for weeks, and you still won’t tell me why.”

He grabbed the book out of her hands, forcing her to look at him.

“Is it… womanly issues?” He teased, eyebrows raised.

Without thinking, Marie hurled the nearest book at him, satisfaction blooming when it hit his arm with a heavy thud. 

“Ow!” Philippe cried, rubbing the spot indignantly as he scrambled back from her reach.

“Fine! I’ll leave you to your despair. Both you and Louis are unbearable lately- don’t come find me until you’re actually pleasant to be around!” He stormed out, making sure to slam the door behind him.

Marie dropped her head into hear hands, trying, and failing, to fight back another wave of tears. 

Louis had made her promise not to tell Philippe the truth about Aramis. And it had been clawing away at her ever since. 

Worse still, she had taken to avoiding Aramis completely. How could she face him and pretend nothing had changed? He was her father- and she had to act like he wasn’t. 

She didn’t even know how to feel about her mother. 

On one hand, both she and Aramis had committed treason and hidden a piece of Marie and Philippe’s life from them. 

On the other hand, they had loved each other so deeply that they had risked everything, their lives and honour, to give Marie and her brother theirs. 

She didn’t know whether it was the most idiotic thing she had ever heard of, or the most romantic. 

But the worst wound of all was Louis. 

There had been a coldness between them since the day she confronted him. When she looked at him now, she no longer saw her beloved brother- she saw the King. And she was just another one of his subjects. 

Their conversations had become careful, each word weighed like a weapon. It was as if he was waiting, daring her to break her promise and speak the truth. 

And now, he had thrown her into the fate she had always feared.

***

She had been summoned to his rooms at dawn, the palace still silent, the first light creeping over the grounds. 

“I have received a letter from our ambassador in Prussia,” Louis said, his voice casual, almost bored. “The Duke has agreed to an alliance. You will be married.”

All the air left Marie’s lungs. Her ears rang. The floor seemed to tilt beneath her. 

“Married?” She echoed faintly, as if from some far off place. “Louis, you promised. You promised you wouldn’t do this without asking me!”

Her skin burned, panic rising like a fast tide. The room seemed to close in around her. 

“Circumstances change,” Louis said coolly. “It will do you good to see the world beyond Paris. Besides, you have a duty to uphold.”

There was no warmth in his eyes. No remorse. A decision had been made, her future snatched from her hands.

Marie couldn’t bear to look at him. Couldn’t force the words through the lump in her throat. She fled the room, her footsteps hollow on the marble floors.

She had believed, foolishly, that Louis would never do this to her. That he was her brother before he was the King. 

Her feet carried her further through the halls, and before she could even think she found herself at Aramis’ office; pushing through the doors without knocking. 

Half a dozen councillors turned in surprise. Marie froze- but her eyes locked onto Aramis’, and everything inside her crumbled.

“Gentlemen,” Aramis said, rising immediately, “let us reconvene in an hour.”

The councillors bowed to her as they left. Once the doors shut, Marie sank to the floor, sobs racking her body. 

Aramis crossed the room in swift strides, kneeling in front of her, his hands warm and steady as they gripped hers. 

“Marie,” he said, voice rough with concern. “What is it?”

The dam broke. She told him everything- the arranged marriage, Louis’ coldness, the betrayal gnawing at her heart. Aramis listened without a word, but his face darkened with every word. His jaw tightened. His eyes burned with quiet fury. 

“This is not right.” He said finally, his voice low and dangerous. “He had no right to do this to you.”

Marie wiped at her cheeks, her breathing shaking. 

“But he’s the King,” she whispered, “He doesn’t need my consent.”

“You are not a pawn.” Aramis said fiercely, gripping her arms with reassurance. “Not to me. Not to anyone.”

“I will speak to him.”

“Aramis-“

“No,” he said, cutting her off. “He will listen to me. He must.”

***

That evening, Marie went to her mother’s rooms, desperate for comfort- but stopped just short of the door. Voices drifted through the slight gap.

She froze. Inside, her mother and Aramis were deep in conversation.

A part of her knew she should turn away, but she stayed. She had to stay. 

Through the crack, she could see her mother’s face, drawn with sadness. 

“You must understand, Aramis,” her mother said softly. “This is how it has always been. It is normal for a princess to be given into an arranged marriage. It is the life written for her.”

“I understand duty,” Aramis said, his voice low and harsh. “But not at the cost of her happiness.”

“You forget- it was once my fate too,” her mother said.

Aramis stepped into view, taking her arms with reverent care and placed a kiss upon her forehead.

“Ana, my love…” Marie pressed her hand to her mouth to keep silent. Her heart twisted painfully. 

“I would give anything,” Aramis whispered, “for you to have had the life you deserved. A husband worthy of you.” 

Her mother gave a small, sad laugh.

“I don’t know if I would have made the best wife to a Musketeer.”

“Well,” Aramis said with a slight smile, “judging by your embroidery skills, you’d need some more lessons before you could make neat work of a bullet hole.”

Her mother swatted his arm. 

“Is that so? Then you can mend your own shirts from now on.”

They shared a soft laugh, but the mood quickly sobered again.

“You’re afraid of losing her.” Her mother said quietly.

“I am,” Aramis admitted, his voice breaking.” She’s everything to me. What kind of man would I be if I can’t protect my own daughter?”

Daughter.

The word shattered something inside Marie. 

For the first time, she heard is spoken around- unhidden, unashamed. 

And it made her promise to Louis all the more unbearable. 

“When we were back in the convent.” Her mother gently placed her hand over Aramis’ heart, “I told you- I never regretted what happened between us. Not for one moment. And I never will. 

“You have shown me love I thought I would never know, gave me my children. I could never fault you for keeping them safe.” 

Aramis pulled her into his arms, cradling her against him.

“I will speak to Louis,” he said. “I will make him see reason. Marie deserves a voice in her own future.” 

“And I will love you,” he added in a low whisper, “until my dying breath.”

Marie backed away from the door, tears streaming freely now.

Maybe there was still hope.

***

The next day, Marie hid behind the velvet curtains of the council chamber. It was childish, maybe- but she had to know. 

She could hear them gathering: her mother, Louis, Aramis. Their voices rang sharply in the cold stone room.

“I’ve already made the arrangements,” Louis said, impatient. “To go back on my word now would insult half the nobility.”

“Let them be insulted,” Aramis snapped. 

Marie dared to peek through the curtain. Aramis stood rigid, fists clenched.

“You are condemning your sister to a life she is not ready for,” he argued. “Why now? Why like this?

“She has a duty,” Louis replied, his tone mechanical.

“No.” Aramis stepped closer. “Something happened between you. I see it in both of you. Tell me, Louis.” 

Louis looked away, silent.

“She needs to learn her place,” he said at last, so low Marie almost didn’t catch it. 

Aramis staggered back as if struck. Hands running threw his hair in frustration. Their mother stepped forward, taking Louis’ handing both of hers.

“I have taught you to be just, to be kind,” she said softly. “I have been proud of the man you have become. But that is not the man I see before me now.” She brought and hand under his chin, forcing him to meet her gaze.

“I don’t know what has happened between the two of you, but do not do something you will live to regret in the name of anger.” 

A moment of stillness passed over the room. At last, Louis exhaled and bowed his head. 

“If she truly does not wish it,” he began, “then I will call of the arrangement.”

Relief crashed over Marie like a breaking wave. She sagged against the wall, dizzy with the feeling. 

“Thank you.” Her mother said.

Louis only nodded, his face worn and older than his years. Aramis said nothing- but Marie saw the slight easing of his shoulders.

For now, she was free. 

***

Later that afternoon, Maire slipped into the palace gardens, needing space to breathe now that the world wasn’t crumbling at her feet.

The spring air was cool and sweet with the sent of wisteria, and she found herself wandering without aim, until the sound of footsteps behind her made her turn. 

Aramis. Of course, it would always be him. 

He slowed when she looked at him, as if not wanting to startle her.

“Marie,” he said softly. “I thought I might find you here.”

She blinked back the tears that threatened again, smiling weakly. 

“I just needed a moment.”

He nodded, his expression filled with a tenderness that made her heart ache. He moved closer to her, reaching out to brush a strand of hair away from her face. Just like he had done ever since she was a child. Only now, the gesture felt heavier, filled with unspoken words. 

“You are not something to be bargained with,” he said, “Not to me. Never to me.”

“I know,” she whispered. 

They stood there for a moment, the garden buzzing quietly with life around them, and Marie realised she had never felt safer than in his presence. 

Aramis searched her face, some silent war waging behind his dark eyes.

“You were brave,” he said. “To face all this. You are so much stronger than you know.”

Marie swallowed hard. She wanted to tell him that she knew. That she knew everything. But to speak it aloud now would destroy them all. 

Instead, she asked, “Did you really fight for me?”

A smiled touch his lips, sad and proud all at once.

“I would fight the whole world for you, little one.”

She felt herself smile back at him, and for the first time in weeks, she let herself believe everything might be all right. 

“Looks like you won’t be able to get rid of me that easily.” She teased. 

Armais let out a low laugh. 

“No,” he agreed quietly. “I fear things would be quiet dull without you around.” 

For a moment, neither of them moved. But in the back of her mind Marie felt it- the fragile thread tying them all together was fraying. Secrets had a way of unraveling everything. And when they finally broke, none of them would emerge untouched.

***

Beyond the gardens, where the scent of wisteria could not reach, Louis sat alone in his study, a half finished letter abandoned on the desk.

He stared out at the darling sky, fingers tapping restlessly.

He knew that when he made Marie promise to keep the secret buried, she would eventually out the truth. It was what had pushed his to arrange for the marriage, to take her away from court to somewhere she might learn to forget the whole thing. But he knew that was a selfish plan. And it had nearly cost him everything.

The fear gnawed at him still- not for war or rebellion, but for the family he had tried so hard to protect. 

Because he knew- 

The day was coming when Marie would no longer accept silence as an answer. 

And when that day came, there would be no more hiding. 

Chapter Text

It was the eve of her eighteenth birthday when everything changed.

The palace buzzed with frantic energy. Servants dashed through hallways carrying armfuls of garlands, musicians bickered over rehearsals, and the air was thick with the sweet scent of fresh pastries. 

Marie had lost count of how many seamstresses had accosted her for last minute fittings- or how many noblewomen had cornered her with unsolicited advice on “gracefully entering womanhood”.

It was too much. Far too much.

Without thinking, she fled. She slipped through the palace corridors, avoiding notice, her heart pounding. At the stables, she saddled her mare with trembling hands, swung into the saddle, and urged the horse into a gallop- away from the noise, the press of expectation, the suffocating weight of it all. 

She rode for hours, pushing farther into the countryside, until the world itself seemed to hush around her. The clamour in her head finally dulled, swallowed by the vast quiet of open fields and dense woods. 

That’s when she saw it- tucked between wild oak and tangled ivy; the familiar little chapel.

Marie slid from the saddle, leading her mare to a small trough where water trickled cool and fresh from a spring. She stroked the horse’s neck in thanks, then turned towards the worn stone steps and pushed open the heavy wooden door.

Inside, the air was cool and still, perfumed with old wood and lingering candle wax. Dust motes danced softly through shafts of coloured light from the stained glass windows. 

“Hello?” She called out. 

Her voice echoed against the stone, but no answer came. The priest must be away. Relief settled in her chest. She moved down the narrow aisle and slid into an old pew, the creak of the wood beneath her strangely comforting.

She removed her gloves and from her pocket, she drew her rosary and begun running the beads through her fingers; the familiar rhythm of silent prayer grounding her. 

It had been years since she last visited this place, yet the memories came easily. A tiny girl, overwhelmed by unfamiliar faces, had clung to the chapels shadows- until a man with a gentle smile knelt before her and opened his arms. A safe harbour when the world had felt so vast and frighting. That had been her earliest memory of Aramis. 

Marie pressed her palms together, resting them against her lips. Her thoughts turned heavy and dark, circling the secret she still carried. How much longer could she bear it? Would Philippe hate her for hiding it? Would he turn from Aramis in anger?

Her heart twisted painfully. Maybe if she told Philippe herself, if he heard it from her, it would be easier. Her promise to Louis be damned. She couldn’t carry this burden alone anymore. 

The door banged open beside her, startling her from her prayer. Boots struck the stone floor in hurried strides.

“Marie!”

She turned, breath catching in her throat. Aramis stood in the doorway, his chest heaving, eyes frantic until they found hers- and then softening with such raw relief it made her chest ache. 

“You gave half the palace a heart attack,” he said, voice rough with emotion, edged in tenderness. “The guards thought you’d been taken… or worse.” He broke off, stepping closer.

“I thought- don’t ever do that again.”

Marie lowered her gaze, guilt flooding her. 

“I’m sorry.” She whispered. 

He shook his head, already brushing the apology aside. His gaze swept the chapel, a flicker of recognition warming his features. When he looked back at her, he could see the discomfort in her face; waiting to be ushered back to the chaos of the palace. Maybe he could give her a little more time to enjoy the peace. 

“It had to be here.” He murmured almost to himself.

Marie tilted her head.

“You remember this place, don’t you?” Aramis said, sinking down beside her on the pew, his voice softening into something rich with memory. 

“You were so small. Hated all the strange faces. Hid yourself in the corners.” He smiled faintly.

“I tried to coax you out- and you ran straight into my arms without a second thought.”

Her throat tightened. She remembered that feeling, of belonging, of safety when she had felt so lost. 

Aramis turned to her fully now, his face open and unguarded. 

“That day has always been dear to me.” He said quietly.

Something cracked open inside her. Hands trembling, she reached for his. 

“I know” She breathed. “Aramis… I know you’re my father.” 

The words hung in the air between them, trembling, irreversible. 

Aramis stared at her, stricken- and then he gathered her into his arms with a fierce tenderness that stole her breath away. Marie clung to him, burying her face against the familiar scent of leather and sandalwood, the tears flowing freely now.

“I’m sorry I didn’t say anything sooner,” she sobbed. “I promised Louis- and I’ve been so scared. If the wrong people knew-“

“You have nothing to apologise for, Marie,” Aramis said fiercely. “Nothing. My brave, beautiful girl.”

They held onto each other, two hearts beating in fragile rhythm, as the world outside the chapel faded to nothing.

***

By the time they returned to the palace, dusk had settled.

No sooner had they stepped through the door leading to the family apartments than her mother descended upon them; skirts in one hand, her expression a mixture of terror and fury. 

“Marie!” Anne cried, crushing her daughter into a frantic embrace. “Where have you been? Do you have any idea the worry you’ve caused?”

“I’m sorry, Mama. I’m fine.” Marie Soothed, though she was nearly smothered against her mother’s shoulder. 

Aramis gently touched Anne’s back, steady and reassuring. 

“She just needed some air,” he said. “It’s been an overwhelming day.”

Anne glared at them both for a long moment, then sighed heavily, smoothing Marie’s hair.

“Well. Next time, tell someone.” She muttered. 

Marie managed a weak smile; guilt and relief warring inside her. 

***

She finally escaped her mother’s hovering when Aramis suggested she rest. As she was slipping away, he caught her arm. 

“I’ll speak to your mother about today,” he said in a hushed tone. “She needs to know.”

Panic shot through her. 

“Couldn’t we wait a few days? Please? I’ve worried her enough already-“

Aramis smiled faintly, squeezing her hand.

“When it comes to you and your brothers, I can’t keep secrets from her for long.”

He softened further.

“Go and rest, Marie. Let your father handle everything.”

Marie couldn’t help the smile that grew on her face. But she knew there was still something she had to do first. 

She went in search of Philippe.

***

She found him sprawled lazily across one of the drawing room couches, tossing grapes into the air and attempting to catch them in his mouth.

It was so absurdly normal the scene before her that for a moment, she forgot the weight of what she needed to say. 

“Philippe?” She said tightly.

He missed a grape; it bounced off his forehead and rolled onto the floor.

“Hm?”

“I need to tell you something important,” she said, sinking onto the couch beside him. Philippe arched a brow, finally sitting up with mild interest.

“It’s about Aramis…” the words tumbled out. “He’s our real father.” 

Philippe started at her- and the snorted.

“Yes,’ he said, far too casually. “I’m aware.”

Marie blinked, stunned.

“You…you what?”

Philippe grinned, utterly shameless.

“Figured it out ages ago. Confronted him about it, actually. Drunkenly, That night at the Garrison. He got all sentimental about it.” He pulled a face. “It’s bit hard to ignore when I look exactly like him.”

“You knew all this time and didn’t tell me?!” Marie gasped. 

Philippe shrugged elaborately.

“I knew you knew. I figured if you wanted to talk about it, you would. Plus, it was much more fun watching you panic.”

“You complete idiot!” She shrieked, grabbing a nearby cushion and walloping him with it.

He yelped and retaliated, swinging his own cushion wildly. Within seconds, they were both breathless with laughter. 

Everything had changed- and yet somehow, nothing had. The heavy weight Marie had carried for so long finally began to lift. 

And she knew that they had a father who loved them so dearly. 

***

Later that night, the palace had fallen silent. 

In the quiet of Aramis’ chambers, the fire casted a soft glow against the stone walls. 

Anne sat curled in a chair by the hearth, her hair tumbling in waves, and Aramis stood by the window, gazing over the moonlit gardens where their children had once played. 

“She looks so much like you,” He side breaking the quiet. “Especially when she smiles.”

Anne tilted her head.

“She has your mischief in her eyes though.” She said, reaching a hand out to him. 

Aramis crossed the room, dropped to one knee before her, and rested his arms in her lap. She threaded her fingers through his hair, smiling when he tilted his head to catch her lips in a soft, lingering kiss.

“She’s not a little girl anymore,” he murmured. “I know I’ve said it before- but today… today it felt real.”

Anne nodded, her eyes glimmering. 

“She carries herself with such grace. But she still holds your hand when no one’s watching. She still our little Marie.” 

A soft, wistful smile touched his lips.

“I remember the first time I held her,” he said. “She was so small compared to Louis and Philippe.”

Anne hummed in quiet agreement. They sat together in easy silence, the fire crackling softly, the call of an owl drifting through the window. 

“They’ll all have their battles,” Anne said at last. “Days when the world feels too heavy. But they’ll never have to face it alone.” 

“No,” Aramis said, his voice low and certain. “Not while I draw breath.”

Anne leaned down to press a kiss to his temple. 

“They’re lucky to have you.” She whispered.

“I’m their father.” He said simply, as if that explained everything. And perhaps it did. 

For in that hush, with embers glowing and the future unfolding before them, Aramis and Anne held onto that moment- and to the children they had raised to meet the world with fire in their hearts and grace in their souls.