Hey all!

So, I know, this might seem strange. I always thought Anne and d'Art would get along well if they had the chance, with both of them being in a "strange" place and all. Plus, she can be just as feisty as him when she wants to be. And with him teaching Constance...well, lets just say the thoughts went flying.

This is in no way supposed to be a romance, please keep that in mind! Just friendship.

This story was proof read by the AMAZING celticgal1041. Thank you so much luv! All other mistakes are my own.

This was written for the Idle Hands-Fete Des Mousquetaires March prompt by KarriNeves. To learn more, please refer to the challenge page for info.

I hope everyone enjoys!

Night had fallen over Paris. Lamps were burning through the windows of the houses lining the streets. Raucous laughter could be heard through the doors of the taverns scattered through out the city. A stray cat could be heard hissing at something it deemed nefarious in a darkened alleyway.

Nighttime was usually a peaceful time in the Palace. The King would be drinking a glass of wine before bed, snarling at the servants like a petulant child, sending them scurrying like mice. The other servants were running around finishing the last minute details of the chores not finished with the daylight, before readying for bed to start the whole routine again the next day. The Cardinal would be writing out paperwork, or planning some nefarious scheme by candlelight before heading to his own estate to retire for the day.

The halls around the bedrooms were darkened, most of the lamps having been snuffed out a while ago. You could hear the gently whistling wind if you listened carefully, coming from the fireplaces in each of the rooms, giving the area the sound of an eerie echo…

At the end of the hall, the second to last door held a single occupant; an unexpected one. The rooms surrounding it were empty as they should be, adding to the eerie feel of the place. It was dark, but that didn't deter the person from slipping into a pair of clothes, tucking hair into a hat that was pulled down low over their eyes and cracking the door open slightly to peer out and see if anyone else was in the vicinity.

Seeing that the hall was vacant, the person pulled the door open enough to slip through, shutting the door quietly behind them. The person, their dark clothes looking black in the practically non-existent light, tip-toed down the hall to keep the heels of their shoes from making noise before turning right.

The figure darted silently down the stairs, hugging the shadows along the wall to keep out of sight. They moved swiftly down another marble hall. They pushed through the door to the kitchen, thinking if they moved quickly, they could get through it before anyone noticed. After all, the servants were very busy.

"Oi! You there."

The figure froze at the head Chef's call. Their eyes darted around looking for an escape route, but found none that wouldn't give them away as a shady character.

"Take the rubbish outside; we'll deal with it in the morning."

The person gave a stiff nod, keeping their head down to hide their features. The head Chef turned around with a huff, already yelling at someone else. The person grabbed the handle and dragged the bucket behind them, the metal grinding against the floor.

When the kitchen door that exited out into the night clicked shut behind them, the person gave a sigh of relief, their body sagging against the closed door at their back. They'd been so close to being discovered.

After all, it wouldn't be good, in any way, if the staff discovered their Queen sneaking out into the night, dressed like a commoner.

Anne grimaced in disgust at the thought. If they had discovered it was her, someone would then tell the King, and then well...who knew what would happen. Her reputation would be ruined with the people thinking she was having an affair, (which was unfair, seeing as how her husband had a mistress), or was a spy for her native country and out to sabotage them.

The Queen shoved the bucket of rubbish out of the way, before scurrying off into the dark of the shadows cast by the looming building at her back. She slipped into the barn when one of the stable hands came out and hurried to the stall that held her horse, Isabelle.

Because she was used to riding bareback (secretly anyways), she just hopped onto the horse's back, her dainty hands gripping the mane firm. After calming the excited beast down with a shushing noise, she nudged her out of the stall and down the center walkway. The duo rode out the open back that led to the training arena. She spurred the horse into a gallop and made off into the woods, following a predetermined path.

Queen Anne glanced around at the open meadow, checking for her waiting company. Seeing only the one figure, as expected, she rode out at a trot. The horse's gait closed the distance between them quickly, so it seemed like only a moment before she was pulling up beside the young man awaiting her. She accepted the hand held out to her gratefully, swinging her leg over the horse and slid into his arms.

The young man took a step back respectfully, desperately trying to hide his slight discomfort at having her in his arms, and gave a slight bow.

"Your Majesty. I hope your ride here was uninterrupted."

Anne humphed and rolled her eyes at the man's formality, brushing her skirt off with brisk strokes, leaving the fabric crinkled in their wake.

"d'Artagnan, please. It's Anne, especially in this setting. We've been doing this for weeks now; when will you start calling me by my name?"

The Gascon blushed and stammered for a moment, giving all the reasons why he couldn't, shouldn't, before giving up and just nodding when he saw her determined glare. Anne nodded and grinned, her eyes alighting with something that was akin to mischief.

"So..." the Queen's words trailed off for a second, "what are we doing first this time?"

d'Artagnan shook his head in disbelief, but grinned anyway at her enthusiasm.

When the Queen had first approached him about giving her sword fighting lessons, having learned from Constance what they did in their spare time (he'd have to have a talk with her about keeping some things a secret. Like things that could get you into a lot of trouble), he'd been skeptical. To be honest, he'd had this idea of what the Queen would be like, all dainty and fancy like, and it didn't seem like sword fighting would be something within the realm of her capabilities or wants.

But, he'd agreed to do it anyway. Besides, who was he to deny the Queen her wish? So, they'd set up a meeting for that night. A trial run of sorts, just to see if this was something either of them could do. To his surprise, she'd been excellent, having known a few moves from hanging out with her brothers growing up, and had been a quick learner.

They'd been doing this ever since.

d'Artagnan passed an extra sword he'd had at his side to her, before unsheathing his own. The weight a familiar and reliable force.

The two a shared grin, and then Anne thrusted her sword at d'Artagnan. The Gascon stepped back, bringing his sword arm up to parry the attack. He sidestepped when the Queen swung her sword out again, hitting the place where he just stood.

Anne jumped back and to the side when the experienced swordsman sent his own thrust her way, skimming her dress, tearing it a little. She cursed and the young man laughed.

"Getting frustrated already, your Majesty?" His grin that appeared did little to dispense with the snide attitude. With a growl she swung her arm forward.

It was a little before dawn when Anne road back into the stable. She quickly slid off her horse, giving it a pat on the nose, before scurrying towards the still darkened Palace. She quickly slipped through the door, the same one she'd left through hours earlier. She scurried up the stairs, her bare feet silent on the hard floor, her shoes dangling from her hands.

With a quick glance down the hall to ensure it's vacancy, she ran down it and slipped into her room. Her fingers flying, she undid the laces on her dress and let it fall to the floor. She dispensed of her undergarments and slipped her nightgown over her head. She gathered the clothes on the floor and shoved them into a hidden canvas at the back of her wardrobe.

Making sure that the canvas was closed, she shut the door to her wardrobe and jumped under the turned-down covers of her bed. She settled in comfortably, rolling onto her side.

She fell asleep with a grin still on her face.