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She finally turns away from the mirror where she’s been studying her reflection for the last half hour, worrying at her lip, wringing her hands. There’s something heartily surreal about the whole concept and Constance imagines telling herself a year ago that she would be standing here today and she thinks she might have laughed, even if it did not quite reach her eyes…
But it is Athos who makes it seem real.
He smiles.
It’s not the usual half-smirk that tugs at his lips and finds itself thwarted by his own stubbornness. No, there’s joy in his gaze and the grin lights up his face and it brings a smile to her own features.
She is to be married.
Athos’ arrival means D’Artagnan must be waiting for her. She has a brief image of Aramis and Porthos, all grins and excitement, as the drag him into the church, unable to hide his anxiety, full of the same good-teasing that filled the air the night D’Artagnan had announced their engagement. His fellow Musketeers were almost as ecstatic as they were themselves.
Almost. She remembered the unbridled happiness in his eyes as he gazed at her, the soft kisses to her cheek, his arm never leaving her waist, as if all of this might prove a dream. That she would disappear if he did…
She wouldn’t. Not now. Not ever again. After today, she would be his and he would be hers.
"Thank you," she murmurs and her voice is raw, emotion lingering on the edge of it. She is nervous, but not for fear of her choice. Not like last time…
She will not dwell on that. Nor him. That is the past…
Out those doors is her future, bright and happy and full of everything she ever wanted. And Athos had come to take her to it.
She did not think he would agree when she had asked him. Indeed, it took him a full minute to close his mouth and hide his surprise before he could fully consider her request. To give her away. Her father was not here, and she did not particularly want him to be. In any case, they were her family now, and he had cared for her more than any of her brothers ever did.
They looked after each other, Constance and Athos, and she knew that would not change even now.
She appreciates his words; she feels beautiful. The dress she wears is… different from the simple one she had planned, knowing they could not afford something extravagant and believing they did not need it. But Her Majesty had insisted; Constance’s dress was to be made by her own tailor, and paid for by the Queen herself. She would hear no protests, holding up her hand and silencing them as only a Queen could.
She called it a wedding present.
She finally steps forward, taking his offered arm, his hat held tight in the other hand, before she hears the music strike up. She takes a deep breath, before holding her head high, unable to hide her grin as the doors open.
D’Artagnan stands at the altar, and for a moment, he does not turn. Her heart skips a beat, knowing what he is doing as she sees him set his shoulders, straighten his spine before turning to face her.
He’s breathtakingly handsome, standing tall and proud, the blue cape over his shoulder while the other bears the mark of his regiment. He clasps his gloved hands in front of him, unmoving on his spot as gaze drifts over her. Beside him, she can see Porthos and Aramis, the latter of which reaches over and clasps his shoulder. Their smiles are subdued for once, having no desire to break the spell he is under…
He is lost and it is all her doing. His lips parted, his eyes wide and full of such love, such tenderness it takes all her will not to let her tears fall there and then…
Athos places his hand over her own, as if knowing her thoughts and she tightens her hold on his arm, grateful as ever for his presence, now and always.
They reach the altar, and she is sure she is grinning like a mad fool but she cannot bring herself to care. Athos inclines his head to D’Artganan, who finally manages to rouse himself from his stupor to return it before he untangles her hand from his grasp. With a bow, he presses a kiss to her hand.
There’s a wholly uncharacteristic, yet not at all unwelcome grin on his lips as he straightens and joins his brothers.
D’Artagnan slowly takes her hand in his own.
And she finally feels at home…