Alabaster (\ˈa-lə-ˌbas-tər\): adj. "pale yellowish pink to yellowish gray"
Anne of Austria's been showered with jewels before by powerful men; been gifted gold and silver rope and exquisite robes; been wooed with presents of land and palaces; but she's never woken up to the scent of lilacs and flower chains strung across her windows like pretty, painted scarves before.
When her attendants come in to help her dress, she has them braid some of the blossoms into her hair. She wants to carry their colors with her all day.
"Thank you," she murmurs to her First Minister over lunch, aware of the voracious eyes of the court on them. "For the... gift."
He dips his head slightly, mouth curling up slightly and dark gaze sultry as he peeks up at her through infuriatingly long eyelashes. "Anything for my queen." As she reaches for a glass of wine, believing the conversation to be complete, he speaks again. "I do so love to see her in a good mood in the mornings." His voice drops an octave and she fights back the instinct to squirm under his hot stare. Her fingers itch to run over his smirking lips.
"I'm in quite a good mood," she gets out instead. "I had a very comfortable night."
"Comfortable wasn't quite what I was going for," he purrs, and she flushes, glancing around to check for listening ears. His nearness intoxicates, though, and she finds herself leaning into his powerful, lithe frame despite her caution.
She can't help but respond to his insinuation. "Maybe I wasn't quite as comfortable as I could have been," she whispers into his ear. "I was very distracted from my rest, you know."
"Maybe you need more rest," Aramis hums, voice rumbling against the side of her neck. "Maybe right now would be a good time to retire for a siesta." He shoots her a small, private smile and takes her hand under the table. "Ven conmigo, querida reina. Me permite a cuidarte."
"Pushy man," she grumbles at him, then gasps when he purposefully scrapes his thumbnail over the pulse in her wrist. "Vale, vale, me voy!"
"Good." The marksman leans in one more time to speak into her ear, nearly caressing the shell of her ear with his lips. "Because I didn't get to make you at all as uncomfortable as I wanted to last night."
He smells like lilacs and freedom and she suddenly wants him so much she feels she might die. As gracefully as she can, she rises, allowing the diners time to stand with her as she sweeps regally from the room. "Come, Minister. We have much to discuss."
Their heels click softly on the tiled floors as they walk to her rooms. Ushering him inside, she gently pushes the doors shut behind them and turns to face him. "I—"
Before she can blink, his mouth is on hers and his hands are under her skirts and she's moaning in a manner completely inappropriate for a monarch, but he's doing that thing with his tongue again and she can't even think straight—
"So, Majesty," he rasps into her ear again as his hands rise higher under her gown, "I take it you liked the flowers?"
She leans back to fix him with a sloe-eyed stare that has his knees turning to liquid. "Aramis?"
"Yes?"
"Shut up and kiss me."
"Yes, Majesty."
Anne of Austria's been offered exotic plants and animals in exchange for her favor; been flattered by soft silks and spices; had weapons drawn in her honor; but when she sees the man who spent his night weaving flowers so they were the first thing she'd see in the morning, she knows she'd give all the riches in the world to wake up by his side.