Disclaimer: I hold no rights to anything Musketeer and I'm certainly not Dumas because that isn't actually possible.
To say the Queen was covert in her affections, thought Aramis, was an understatement. He couldn't begrudge her it though, nor did he discourage it (save in the fleeting moments where he cursed his loyalty to his King). The Queen had a role to play, she was to bear Louis an heir and secure the future of France, and thus Aramis was unable to resent the infrequency of her warmth.
In the rare moments during the later years of their courtship, when he was tangled in her soft sheets and watching her sleep peacefully, he would wonder whether the secrecy and betrayal of her husband (whom she did not love and had made no secret of it) was the foundation for their relations. If it were, he tried his hardest to find no fault in it. So she didn't love him? So it was all a matter of lust and carnal pleasure? So be it. These thoughts, these dalliances, were followed by days when he was at his most pious.
In truth he flitted between wanting to submerge himself in the cleansing religion he did love so dearly and throwing himself headfirst into his work as a Musketeer. On days, usually the ones following his Queen's kind embrace, he would desire the religious life, perhaps to cleanse his soul from the sins he so willingly committed. But then there was the adrenaline fuelled days, where he worked in perfect synchrony with Athos and Porthos, his friends that were, in truth, more similar to brothers and whom he could hardly picture leaving.
He was often conflicted such.
It was a Wednesday when the Queen met his cursory glance; he'd been assigned with her wellbeing (a common occurrence, rarely one of note) and, naturally, felt a lot more protective of the royal than the standard Musketeer.
He was on edge (this she knew) it was obvious enough if you knew what to look for. His hand would repeatedly toy with the handle of his sword, reassuring himself that it was there and easy to access; he would adjust his uniform, making sure he was at his smartest (for, though Aramis didn't admit it, being in such high company wasn't first nature and made him somewhat uncomfortable) and his eyes would dart to her with a nervous frequency, lest she damaged herself in the mere moments between his previous surveillance.
Her gaze was frank, an eyebrow raised and there was humour dancing in her eyes – it was an extremely impersonal expression that took Aramis aback immediately. The shock on his face was so obvious that Anne couldn't help but laugh at him (he was offended by this), his pride hurt but his pride would always heal and the day was so dull that any humour to break the monotony was appreciated.
She made her way past him, heading towards her private chamber away from the prying eyes of her maids who of late bored her more often than not. He followed her into the room beyond the door, as she expected and, more importantly, was socially expected by the people on the other side of the door. If her bodyguard didn't follow her then there would be more speculation, Aramis (in this instance) was supposed to be in her private rooms and she allowed an open smile at the irony of it.
"My lady," he begun as he marched towards her once the door was firmly shut. "Why do you mock me?"
She smiled indulgently, her poor love's pride was clearly thoroughly bruised by her mirth, "mock you, Aramis? I did not mock you."
"Then what was that?" he demanded. "Why the wry glances and the open mirth as I follow your husband's order to guard your life?"
"Because, my sweet," she replied as she drew him closer into her arms. He relented easily and she knew all would soon be forgiven. "I know you would guard my life without his invitation and I love you for it."
Aramis, unsurprisingly had no answer for her but, as she pressed herself against him and he began to fumble with the complicated dress he'd grown so adept at relieving her of, it didn't really matter anyway.
AN: *shrugs* I don't know, this is the first time I've written for a different fandom or something that wasn't my own and it felt weird. If I had a pound for every time I wrote Marauders instead of Musketeers...