You weren’t like most women. In a world where delicate gowns and sweet smiles were expected, you preferred the company of animals to that of people, your quiet, awkward nature a stark contrast to the vibrant personalities of the courtiers you often found yourself near. Your clothes, a mismatched set of breeches, a simple shirt, sturdy boots, and a jacket that had seen better days, spoke volumes about your indifference to fashion. Your short, unruly hair was usually tied back in a hasty ponytail, giving you a more androgynous appearance than most would find appropriate for a woman. But none of that bothered you. It never had.

D'Artagnan had been your only friend, his energy and boisterous nature a sharp contrast to your calm and reserved disposition. You’d met when he had been sent to care for Buttercup, his horse, at the stables where you worked. You had spoiled the horse with treats and attention, a rare kindness that drew D'Artagnan in. From then on, he’d become your companion, both at work and in rare moments of rest.

One day, as you worked, cleaning the stables and brushing down the Queen’s prized mounts, D'Artagnan arrived with a tall, broad-shouldered man in tow, a stranger whose posture was filled with unspoken authority. The man’s eyes were dark and piercing, his presence commanding attention without uttering a word.

“This is Aramis,” D'Artagnan introduced with a grin, his eyes gleaming with some secret amusement. “I thought i might introduce my two friends.”

You stole a glance at Aramis, taking in the way his leather gloves contrasted against the well-worn fabric of his coat, an understated grace lingering beneath the rugged exterior of a soldier’s life. His gaze caught yours, dark eyes locking with yours in a search that felt both probing and calculating. You let your eyes drift over him once more, the motion casual, as if evaluating his character.