They stopped at Boulogne, around half an hour from Calais, to catch a breath before going on. Sitting in a corner of a tavern, a bowl of milk porridge in front of her, Annatoire just silently watched the grains shining like budding flowers while her maid enjoyed the meal, inwardly appreciating as she had finally and truly returned; English food was unrefined, Geneviève believed, especially the mash and eel in London shops.

"Is there anything interesting in London?", inquired Hélène curiously.

"Not much, just like Paris: people crowding the streets, the scent of river and rain all over the place...", recalled Geneviève their experience.

Annatoire, on the other hand, didn't pay attention to the conversation. She just stared blankly at the porridge bowl, thinking something the others couldn't tell. Milk porridge was food of the poor, wasn't it? If she had still been Hortense, she would have never thought of this day. Was it righteous of her to have left Reims? Were those words Marie said correct? That spoilt, hypocritical girl who believed a perfect marriage was the only future, knowing nothing of the burden an eldest child had to carry...

And the château, with the heiress disappeared, had been left into the hand of said child...

None of my concern right now, thought Annatoire, trying to brush the worry off her head, that Hortense was a goner to this world. It was hard to deny one's past, it seemed. Since they moved to the Palais as Queen Anne's new courtières, Hortense had made her handmaiden, Geneviève, vow to never break a secret. She initially intended to just veil her past for a while, but circumstances had caused her to abandon. That forsaken Hortense... henceforth shall never be mentioned once again.

The prideful chevalière bowed her head down low to the table, ear listening the unintelligible chatting around her but mind being a clouded mess. The price to be released from matrimonial chains was so much more than what she bargained for, as it appeared. In her mind now was a mess of regrets, incomplete decisions and uncertainties as well as fears; she couldn't figure out which fears were there, but one might seem how looking at her own grave felt like.
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Onwards to Amiens...

As they continued their journey back to Paris, the chevalières encountered d'Artagnan. Annatoire and Geneviève had been fortunate to leave for London unscathed, yet the same couldn't be said for the musketeers. Porthos fell behind first, having lost a duel in which he let his recklessness get the better of him; Aramis bought them time in an ambush, d'Artagnan had no clue if he was still alive; and if it wasn't for Athos, he and Planchet would have been successfully framed then arrested for counterfeiting with no way to retrieve the diamond studs.

"Here, I give you the letter, I'll go seeking my musketeer friends; my heart is burning with worries! See you back at Versailles, mesdemoiselles! Adieu!", exclaimed d'Artagnan, handing Geneviève the Duke of Buckingham's sealed letter addressed to Queen Anne. Before anyone could react, he disappeared into the current of countless wagons and carriages leaving and entering Amiens, leaving the three courtières dumbstruck with both the diamond studs and the new delivery.

"We... ought to split up...", suggested Annatoire.

"Nay, if we split up, how will the others do when one is ambushed?", rejected Hélène.

Little did they know, as they left Amiens, there was a small group following suit. Whether they were spies or Cardinal Richelieu's men, the chevalières had no idea. Also, they had no way to expect they were caught in a pair of pincers.

In Beauvais, just southwest of Amiens and only half a way left to Paris, someone was waiting for the deliverers of the Queen's diamond studs.
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Outskirts of Beauvais...

"I believe you should have been still in England..."

"Just for safe measures, comte", said a masked lady sitting in a carriage. Outside her window was a man with a scar on his face. He seemed noble enough, but everyone else looking at him would think otherwise. "They managed to return, so do I. But I managed to return before they did...", smiled she a devilish yet charming smirk. She had let the musketeers, especially d'Artagnan, escaped once, the same mistake would be impossible this time. She needed proofs for the Cardinal, Queen Anne would have no way to deny her affair with the Duke of Buckingham; though two studs in the diamond necklace were in her hands, getting the whole one proved to be safer for the plan. Also, His Eminence would be pleased if she brought home the letter the Duke wrote for Queen Anne as an additional gift; imagining the King's expression if said letter was shown to him... How amusing! It might be like when her late husband discovered her accursed past and...

She would have her revenge to-day. If not, someday soon.

The scarred man bid her goodbye and rode somewhere away. Perhaps he returned to Paris or onward to see when the musketeers were going to be arrived at the designated spot.

Shortly after the scarred man left, the lady ordered her charioteer to head toward Amiens. She had been prepared to have her hands stained, all in debt of her past sufferings; they must pay. The Queen would never be able to see her beloved diamond studs again and she would have her sweet revenge against France.

"Slow down a little, or else our horses will be exhausted before we can see Paris!", ordered Annatoire to her companions.

"Ay, just a short while till everything is fine", nodded Hélène, "Tell us about your London journey when we arrive, agree?"

"Since which time royal seamstresses loves gossiping as such?", teased Geneviève.

"Do you ever see us courtières going outside the Palais's border? Non! Surely one should love some gossips to pass the time..."

Just as they crossed a forested path, they encountered a carriage going the opposite way. Both the passenger and the charioteer were masked, and that definitely didn't escape the chevalières' attention. However, before they could get themselves out of potential troubles, trouble came. Noticing a glimpse of a pistol from inside the carriage aiming to one of them, Annatoire suddenly whipped Geneviève and Hélène's horses, causing them to sprint out of harm's way. She, by some pure chances, recognised the charioteer, a man under Jussac the captain of Cardinal Richelieu's guard; the person in the carriage if not the Cardinal's spy then someone trying to rob the diamond studs for some anarchist conspiracy, either way spelt doom. When it was her turn to gallop as fast as possible away, a pistol shot was heard and a jolt of pain rushed through her body. Never before had Annatoire experienced such feeling. The abrupt pain turned excruciating quite quickly and instinctively she looked directly in the direction of her assailant.

"Zounds! Not the musketeers! Where are they?!"

Annatoire could swear she had heard that voice somewhere. Somewhere in the Palais. Someone familiar enough to the ruling nobility living in Versailles. Someone she might have known...

Hearing the shot, Geneviève and Hélène turned over to see what happened, and all they caught in their eyes was the runaway carriage and their fellow chevalière galloping toward them with a miserable expression, clutching her left shoulder and leaning forward painfully.

"Non, not at this time! Why at this time!", cried Geneviève worriedly, lending a hand to keep her mistress from falling down.

"They must have been aiming... the musketeers... D'Artagnan and his fellows...", muttered Annatoire, recalling the words. "They must have mistaken us... for them..."

"Ay, but let us stop at Beauvais and take care for you first!", cried Hélène.

"Non, just go on! Priority of us now is not I, but...", before Annatoire could finish, she choked on a groan of pain.

Geneviève sighed to relieve somewhat the worries in her mind. Would this sacrifice be worth it? Nevertheless, she must keep them, all three of them, alive returning to see the diamond studs safely in the hands of Queen Anne. Geneviève had an unfulfilled promise to her grand uncle, she couldn't afford to have his protégée fallen now; denying her true identity or not, Annatoire's heart was still of Hortense's honour. What would become of the de Beaudelaire family if its heiress died on a street as an unknown commoner?

Delirious in pain, Annatoire wondered would it have been better if the shot had just finished her off right there. It was a shame to survive till this day anyway, she let her thoughts drift off into the waves of agony, let it put me out of my own misery...