In the weeks that followed their lamented parting, Aramis caught only tantalising glimpses of her.
Once in the palace gardens, at a distance, close, but not close enough. He'd caught himself staring at her figure, able to perceive exactly who she was among the milieu of women in attendance. Her laughter carried, melodious, the sound mingling with the gentle rush of water being expelled from the fountain he stood beside, discreetly watching. He had not been able to discern any change to her shape from his vantage. It silently thrilled him to know that every transformation to her body would be because his son necessitated it.
Once they passed each other in the courtyard and it took all his self-preservation not to stare at the glorious swell of her abdomen. He would have said something, anything, but Athos was at his side and with a courteous bow and a gracious, if a little gruff, "your Majesty," he had shuffled Aramis along until he had put as much distance between musketeer and queen that the palatial grounds could muster.
Aramis imagined he'd seen her attempt at conversation then, but he had been ushered from sight so quickly, neither had the opportunity to do more than nod in the other's direction, their eyes clawing at the other until even their shadows had departed. What little he saw he drank in the sight of until he felt dizzy from the frantic exercise.
She had looked well, healthy and happy. The knowledge simultaneously comforted and haunted. The thought that she was contented pleased him. And yet the idea what she could so easily forget… He knew he had no right, but he'd made peace with the fact that he was no longer rational about his complicated feelings. And so he continued his devout resolution to bury it so deep that he'd convinced himself it no longer mattered.
And finally, he saw her once in the throne room when he and Athos awaited an audience with the King.
"Aramis!" She had taken them by surprise, entering without her usual entourage, only one lady.
He bowed low, keeping his eyes to the floor while his nerves sharpened. Beside him, Athos had stiffened to a board, his bow perfectly regimental.
"Your Majesty," Athos began. "We await an audience with the King."
"Monsieur Athos, the King has been detained by other matters of state. I am afraid His Majesty might be a little while."
"We shall return then," Athos said, already in a bow, already backing from the room, an arm on Aramis's shoulder, "at a time more convenient."
Aramis felt a rush of irritation but he knew Athos meant well. He could not look at her. He would not look at her. But then… he looked at her.
Well into her sixth month of confinement, her stomach was large and round, a clear sign of her pregnancy. It was the first time he had allowed himself to really look at her in months, the only time she was close enough in reality. And she was perfect.
She had halted in the doorway, but now after the surprise had worn off, she hesitated a moment before moving towards them.
"Please Monsieur, a moment of your time," she said, although she addressed Athos. Aramis's brow knitted as he turned to his friend. Athos looked as confused, shrugging his shoulders.
Anne turned to her lady-in-waiting and made a request they were not privy too. The lady curtseyed and left, drawing the door closed behind her. He was powerless to stop his heartrate from picking up a little.
"Are you sure that is the best idea, your Majesty?" He nodded towards the door and gave her a lopsided grin.
She smiled back and he felt a load lift from his shoulders.
"Are you afraid to be in a room alone with me Sir Aramis? I am a pregnant, defenceless woman. You have nothing to fear."
He was sure he heard Athos snort, but surely the musketeer had better manners than that, especially in the presence of a queen.
His eyes were drawn back to her pregnant form. He had everything to fear because all he felt for her came rushing back. Feelings he had believed, convinced himself were buried, surfaced instantly - nothing had been buried, his feelings as real and present as ever.
Athos, sensing the flirtatious tension between them gestured to her form. "You look well your Majesty."
She acknowledged the compliment, stopping in a circle of light directly before them. Aramis realised he had forgotten the exact shade of her eyes, the blue startling him now with its intensity.
"The experience has been different," she admitted. "I have not suffered overmuch with morning sickness. The physician is astounded at what he calls my boundless energy."
"This is a sign that the child is healthy?" Aramis asked. The question was a rush, out before he could stop it. If looks could kill, he would have been stone dead. Athos would have his hide later. Aramis was not aware how important the answer to the question was, how very much he wanted this child to be born healthy.
Her eyes were soft when they met his, rendering Athos's presence almost irrelevant. "It is a very good sign."
The spell between them was broken by Athos clearing his throat, but also by the return of the queen's lady. She passed her a note before discreetly moving out of eye line.
She turned to Athos. "Monsieur Athos, I do believe I have a letter here from a common acquaintance."
"Your Majesty, it is an honour to think that we might have such a connection in common, and yet I cannot fathom who it could be."
"Comtesse Ninon de Larroque."
Aramis turned to Athos, his brow raised in amusement, happy to see his friend in discomfort for a change. "Ah, the rebellious Comtesse?"
Athos's expression gave nothing away but years of knowing him meant that Aramis was able to read much into the indiscernible shift of his shoulders and the muted look shot in his direction.
"If memory serves your Majesty, the Comtesse had her title and lands stripped from her and then exiled from Paris. She is believed dead by her acquaintances."
"The Cardinal has done many things I do not approve of. Neither does the King. His Majesty has granted her a pardon and I have been trying to convince her to return to Paris. There will be some explaining to do of course, but I do not see it as a great hardship."
"She is returning to Paris?" Aramis saw his friend swallow and knew there was a lot more to this story.
"I am not sure if Ninon wishes to return to the city. Teaching suits her."
Aramis was surprised that they corresponded and said so.
"She is a woman of intelligence and perception. Even a queen can learn new things." He was silently impressed by her interest in a woman with very modern ideals.
"For you, from Comtesse de Larroque." She passed the letter to Athos who was clearly taken aback. "Marie, if you would show Sir Athos to the adjacent alcove? I am sure he would appreciate a moment to read his letter in private."
Athos could not argue with a queen's edict and so bowed tautly, threw Aramis a final look before leaving them alone. The door was shut and they were alone, the receding footsteps of their departed guests the only echo. And then they just stared at each other.
"Anne," he said eventually, carefully, using her given name. He only ever used it the night he had murmured it over and over as he had trailed blazing kisses across her body. The light flush on her face told him she remembered too. "What are we doing?"
"I'm not quite sure." Her eyes are bright. "I am absolutely sure however, that I'm being foolish and impudent. But perhaps it is excused by a pregnant woman's state of mind."
"I will have to be the practical one then," he said. "The irony does not escape me your Majesty. I am not known for my talent with the practicalities of life." He didn't know that his little grin was charming.
"Perhaps," she said, but moved closer to him. For a moment, she seemed unsure, then made a decision. "But before practicality stifles courage, I would request you give me your hand."
Aramis frowned. "My hand-?"
"Quickly," she said urgently. "Remove your glove."
Confused, he offered her his unencumbered hand and realised her intent too late; terrified and superbly excited at the same time. Anne watched his face as she placed his palm on the side of her large stomach, covering it with her hands. His heart raced, blood raging in his ears. His eyes flicked to hers, a frown between his brows. And then he felt it.
"Aramis?"
Unconsciously, he stepped closer, placing his free hand on the curve of her waistline as his other rested beneath her own. He felt it, his son kicking.
"You feel that?" she whispered, her voice low but eager.
He couldn't speak because his throat had painfully constricted. So he nodded, bowing his head and closing his eyes for a moment to regain his composure. A lock of unruly hair had fallen across his forehead and she used one of her hands to gently push it back. Her touch soothed and persecuted.
"What do you wish for him?" she asked softly.
Aramis met her gaze and answered truthfully. It wasn't something he had to think about. He had been reciting these prayers since the day he had found out he had fathered a child he would never be able to claim as his own.
"To be an excellent marksman." She smiled at that. "To ride a horse, really ride, not preen about like the k-" He was about to say king. Her knowing, if amused glance said she knew too. She graciously let it go.
"What else?"
"To love and respect women, all women, especially his mother."
"How progressive of you," she said with a big smile.
"You are not the only one who has been inspired by Ninon de Larroque," he teased. He could not help himself. It felt good to be with her this way. "And your wishes?"
She stared straight into his soul. "That he is kind, courageous, fair, a gracious ruler. That he never forgets that he is a servant of France and that all his actions are governed by what is best for his people. That he finds happiness in marriage – finds love."
"You want for him what you never had."
She shook her head and squeezed his hand. The child kicked again and he chuckled, he could not help himself. "Perhaps not in my own marriage. But I have known love, dear Aramis. And I would not be human if I did not wish such joy for our child."
Our child. It was his undoing. Aramis stepped back from her then. He was torturing himself. Staying away from her had merit. Her eyes were moist and he felt guilty. But he knew that they were only making things worse. He adopted Athos's stiff, regimental form and bowed low, the silence stretching between them more than he could bear.
"Your Majesty." At the door, her voice rang out, clear but a little breathless. He closed his eyes, pinched them shut in fact.
"Is it possible Sir, to be the queen of countries, to want for nothing and yet wish with all your might that your life was something other than what it is? Is it not selfish, disrespectful to God, blasphemous even, when He has given and blessed with so much?" Her voice trailed off. He let out a long breath, his shoulders once again heavy with the weight of longing.
"I am not wicked Aramis," she continued. "I have been faithful to my husband and never laid eyes upon another with thoughts of straying from my vows. Yet I find myself entertaining fantasies that things could be different. That this miracle, this child, would be raised in a different kind of home. One where the love was strong, where I would wake up beside my husband every morning and find the comfort of slumber in his arms at nightfall. Where ceremony did not dictate or govern actions; but faith, honour and love triumphed duty. Where happiness was a prerequisite to the burden of obligation."
He had no answer because his life was ruled by his obligation to the King. His loyalty to the King.
A hand touched his shoulder and his heart leapt into his throat. "Are you happy Aramis?" She was beside him. She was touching him. With bravery he did not feel, he turned to look at her.
"Most days, I am." Her eyes were wet and he unravelled. Wiping at her tears, he spoke truthfully. "But then I catch a glimpse of you and I wonder how happiness is defined. It exhilarates me when chasing the enemy, an honest pistol fight… or tavern brawl." He grinned and she caught a glimpse of the rogue beneath the stifling burden of duty. "Yet when I see you across the vast expanse of the lawn, with all but acres separating us, I feel a kind of happiness, such that it overwhelms."
She cupped his cheek and he leaned into her touch. "How do we part ways, Monsieur?"
Aramis leaned forward, planting a soft kiss to her forehead. He heard her exhale, her breath expelling in a rush. He could relate. They both heard footsteps approach and took respectable steps back. He turned to leave once more.
"May I write to you?" It was a softly uttered request, her eyes begging he acquiesce. They knew they were courting trouble, both keenly aware of the dangers. And evidently he realised with insight, they both loved more than they cared.
He opened the door and stepped through, spotting Athos at the end of the corridor. With a smile for her only, he whispered, "If it pleases your Majesty."