The summer after the war with Spain had ended was a hot one. The heatwave was so oppressive in the city that the King left for the country, hoping for a more temperate climate. Anne would have accompanied His Majesty, except she did not wish to be confronted with his latest mistress. His visit to the country was of course twofold: The King wanted to escape the heat but more importantly, he wanted to revel in hedonistic pleasures. Anne would not be humiliated that way and so, despite the unbearable swelter, she felt happier remaining at court.
Perhaps because he felt some form of guilt, Louis had acquiesced to the Dauphin remaining in Paris with his mother. But where the King went, the courtiers and nobles flocked. The Louvre saw the mass exodus of most of its populace, as a sojourn to the countryside became instantly diverting. Truth be told, Anne was relieved to be left to her own devices. The opportunity was so scarce, she could barely believe her good fortune.
Sitting in the shade of the trees in the rose garden, Anne waved her fan, distracted and somewhat lethargic. Beside her, Constance looked up from her book, reaching for her own fan. The Dauphin play at their feet, grass stains on his stockings. But Anne let him play, knowing that the freedom to be so unceremonious would not last for much longer.
This kind of weather makes people do crazy things. Things they ought not to be doing." Constance was irritated. "Tavern brawls, fighting over wenches... it's like all sense has left Paris."
Anne smiled at her friend, her thoughts drifting in a different direction as her fan flapped faster.
"Just last night D'artagnan had a gash on his arm – from being shot at by Porthos while blindfolded!" Constance's outraged words began to recede as she became lost in her own thoughts.
She did agree with Constance. This weather seemed to have a strange effect on everyone. It certainly made her feel reckless and a little impulsive too, especially without the prying eyes of courtiers. She should regret her actions the night prior, but she did not. If anything, it was all she could think of, all she wanted to do again and again. Anne squirmed in her seat, uncomfortable as heat surged into her face. Taking a quick look at Constance, the other woman had gone back to her book, occasionally engaging the Dauphin.
Alone with her thoughts, Anne flashed back to her walk on the grounds the night before. After the Dauphin had been settled, it became a nightly ritual to take to the gardens. The heat was intense, but more so inside the palace. One thing the higher temperatures did do was intensify the smell of the roses in the gardens, making it a perfumed paradise in the late afternoon. So before dusk, while the sun began its daily decent, she enjoyed strolling through the rose orchids, savouring the quiet. With the palace fairly empty, she even managed it without an entourage on occasion - the night before had been one such circumstance.
Exiting the palace courtyard, Anne recognised the retreating form of a Musketeer. Her Musketeer.
"Monsieur Aramis!" she called out. He stiffened and turned, reminding her of the time she had stopped him in roughly the same spot after Ninon's trial.
"Your Majesty." He bowed, his eyes however, still fixed on her.
"You return to the garrison?" Did she sound a little breathless? She knew her cheeks were warm with illicit excitement.
"Yes Majesty. Minister Treville requested a word." His smile was a little formal and awkward but she noticed his eyes kept coming back to her, as if he tried not to look, but couldn't help himself. "I leave momentarily."
It was unusual, impossible really, but they were alone. Knowing the circumstance would not remain such for a great deal longer, Anne could only blame the simmering heat for boldness.
"I plan on a walk in the rose garden. It is beautiful this time of day." Her eyes swept across the courtyard before settling back on him. "I am unaccompanied and," she paused again her voice lowering, "I will remain as such."
"Is that wise, Majesty?" His voice had deepened and he cleared his throat. Anne realised that the game of seduction was not so difficult after all. It left her feeling fairly giddy.
"Possibly not." She changed tactic. "Have you seen the fontaine de lumiére?" When he shook his head in the negative, she continued. "It is on the southern side of the rose orchid. His Majesty had it constructed as a personal space where he might think, reflect without unwanted opinions and prying ears. Or eyes."
His jaw tightened as he tried to discern whether she meant what he thought she meant. Anne's eyes lingered on his lips long enough to ensure that he knew exactly what she was thinking before turning to leave. After a few paces, she looked back, smiling across her shoulder. He still stood routed to the spot but she noticed his hands had fisted at his sides.
Walking along the pebbled path, Anne had no idea whether Aramis followed or not. She knew her heartbeat increased its pace with every step she took, becoming so loud she could barely hear the gentle crunch of the earth beneath her satin pumps. Unable to stand it any longer, she glanced back to crushing disappointment. There was no one in sight. Heady power turned to disheartening depression.
Walking into the royal sanctuary, she stepped from the pebbled path onto the soft grass. The hedgerows were high, but a stone wall also enclosed the area into a horseshoe. In the centre was a marble gazebo, the columns white and cool to the touch. Creeping vines wound their way around the pillars, bougainvillea in riotous pink threading its way through in elegant design. Beside the stone edifice, an intricate water feature bubbled away, the angelic cherubs reaching towards the heavens in supplication. The entire enclave was quite romantic, she realised, the perfumed air pregnant with the smell of roses.
One sweet memory was all she had. One memory in this lifetime. Did she not deserve another? The King took his pleasure where he could find it, a succession of beautiful women to warm his bed, provide amusement and please him in ways she was never able to. Truth be told, she was no longer inclined to try. Her heart now yearned for only one and truly, he could never be hers.
Anne fought the embarrassed flush that stained her cheeks at her boldness with Aramis and went to the fountain, allowing the cool water to flow across her wrists. What must he think of her? Separated for so long by circumstance and a war, they barely had the opportunity to pass more than a handful of words to each other since his return. She ached, inside, tears of disappointment flooding her eyes until the water running across her wrists became a disjointed kaleidoscope of watercolours. Perhaps happiness was not meant for her. Or God offered it in bouts, enough to sustain her from day to day, but leave her never quite fulfilled.
"Your Majesty."
Startled, she saw Aramis, quickly turning her back to him. Dabbing at her cheeks with the back of her hands, her embarrassment increased tenfold.
"Your Majesty," he said again, this time closer. She felt his hand on her shoulder and stiffened, her entire body reacting to his nearness. But when he turned her gently, she offered no opposition because as impossible as it was, close to him was always where she wanted to be.
"I'm sorry. It took me a while to get here." His hands cupped her face and her eyes, blue and rimmed with tears, rose to meet his own. His expression was filled with an apology, his eyes earnest.
"I'm sorry," he whispered as his lips pressed to her forehead, each moist eye lid, until finally it descended towards her mouth.
"I'm sorry." One final whisper against her lips just before he claimed it.
Her response was instant, a moan of unbridled joy passing her lips as she pressed into him. It felt like home, like her entire being had been balanced upon a precipice until they touched again - a preordained moment of utter bliss. Her arms wound around his neck without reservation as he changed the angle of their kiss, getting closer. The world went hazy and everything was him. A gentle kiss became so much more – desperate, deep and passionate. It felt as though nothing in the world existed outside of this moment and nothing would ever again. Coherent thought fled and all that was left in its wake was the taste of his lips, the smell of leather and musk, and the thrill of his arms wrapped tightly around her, his fingers a gentle lovers caress.
Anne could barely breathe and reluctantly forced their lips apart to try and respirate. Her harsh breathing beat like the incessant thump of a drum, resonating outwards into the quiet night. His lips, a blazing inferno, moved across her cheek, down her neck and back up, nuzzling her ear. Anne gasped as his teeth scraped the sensitive skin behind her ear, his chuckle at her reaction unbelievably seductive, reducing her knees to a quivering mass.
Their lips collided again and he walked her backwards, her body now pressed against a cool, marble column. Yes, she thought as his beard scraped across her lower jaw. Yes. Her hands combed through his hair, sending his hat fluttering silently to the ground beside them. His arms hoisted her up a little so that their mouths were aligned and she felt the buckle of his belt press into her. Right then her entire body erupted with fervour. The need for him, to be close to him, became so overwhelming she felt desperation claw at her.
"I've missed you," she whispered as her lips pressed to his brow, her arms wrapping tightly around his shoulders. Tears burned the back of her throat and she pressed her lips together to try and halt them. How finely balanced her emotions were – turning from passion to tears in the blink of an eye.
Lowering her to the ground, Aramis drew back, gently moving her dishevelled hair off her forehead and behind her ear. Their ardour cooled.
"Shhh..." he soothed when he saw her tears. "Shhh."
"This is all we will ever have," she said, resting their foreheads together. It did not seem fair.
"I know."
"Sometimes Aramis, I cannot bare it," she confessed. She had told no one that, not even Constance.
"But you will," he said with encouragement, taking her hands in his and kissing them most ardently. "It is who you are. Your duty comes before everything else."
"As does yours." When he nodded, she amended. "Our duty."
"There," Aramis teased. "Does that not make it more bearable? You are not alone."
Anne felt laughter bubble inside of her. "Perhaps. Just a little."
His lips pressed to her temple and she closed her eyes, holding him close. The garden was quiet and it felt good to be held this way. It felt as though they were normal.
"We do what we must," he said into the darkness. "But every once and a while, if careful, even a Queen and her Musketeer might break their promises."
"Thank God for it." Her Musketeer. Anne smiled.
"You must go," he said eventually. She had been out for a while now. Soon someone would come looking for her. She burrowed into his arms for a moment longer.
"The King will not return for some weeks yet," she murmured.
"What are you suggesting your Majesty?" She could hear the smile in his voice.
"Only that my Musketeer might consider becoming a little more creative about finding opportunities to break his promise..."
His brows rose but there was a smirk on his face. "Only when it's safe," he admonished gently.
"Always." She cupped his cheek. "Goodnight Aramis."
"Goodnight." He pressed a kiss to her palm before letting her go.
"Your Majesty. Your Majesty!" Anne returned to the present and looked at Constance. "You seemed lost in thought. Are you alright? Should we return-"
Anne reached for Constance's hand and squeezed it reassuringly. "I am fine. I was just... lost in thought as you say. You were mentioning..." she urged, "about D'artagnan?"
Constance shook her head, resigned. "Men." She rolled her eyes. "Let's hope for rain soon... perhaps with it sanity will prevail."
"Perhaps." Anne smiled, furtively hugging her secret close. "But not too soon I hope." At Constance's querying look, Anne recovered and said. "Look at my son for example. If the King were here, he would not enjoy his time out of doors nearly as much."
"As I said," Constance huffed. "Men."
Anne smiled, broad and happy. "Yes, men indeed."
Dear Ruth, I know you said 'tryst' but I went with make out session instead. xxx