How impossible it seemed, even now, that Aramis should always appear at just at the moment Anne needed him most. Staring up at him, her pulse loud in her ears, she was stunned enough that for a moment she was unable to speak.

It was most assuredly not all right; indeed, she wondered at how anything might be all right for either of them ever again.

"He knows," she finally said, voice tight, her eyes wide and searching. "Rochefort knows, he's- He's gone to tell the King. He- Oh god." She wrenched her gaze away, a hand fluttering up to cover her mouth. "He meant to make himself my lover."

How had she not seen? How had she not known?