"A year, at least," says Aramis, and he does not even have to try to sound as if he offers a long time, for a year feels like an age, one he may very well be mad by the end of with wanting.

"We will fill your time between now and then," he says, scooting closer to Athos, "And after. You will grow tired of us wanting you all the time, I know it." Aramis laughs, looking to Porthos. "We already speak of wearing you out."