Where she was never foolish enough to pretend she was the Queen's equal, months at the other woman's side and knowing that her presence, her advice, what comfort she might offer were valued had fought off much of the hopelessness Bonacieux had attempted to instill in her. No matter how he had pleaded with her and sworn that he loved her, that he could not live without her, he had delivered a thousand cutting words a day and left her in doubt of all that she was. Even had she not been too entirely in love and aware of her mortality too much to give up d'Artagnan once more in her attempting to leave her husband for any happiness she could find, she could not have returned to a life trapped beneath her husband's constant scrutiny and let herself wither away in hopelessness.

Aramis's words did not undo her so much as make her smile widely, her lips still pressed together as if in fear that she might cry at the sincerity of that compliment.

"How could I not love that?"