Aramis ends up being the one to teach Louis about God.

"Aramis," the little king interrupts him at prayer one day, "why do we like God so much?" When Aramis opens his eyes to look at the boy, Louis flushes. "I mean— I know I love God, and He loves me, but I'm just not sure why." He bites his lip. "I didn't want to ask Father Jacques because I thought he would be mad at me for not understanding."

Aramis stands from where he's kneeling in front of the altar, groaning as his knees creak. Not quite so young anymore, eh? "Come, sit." He nods at one of the frontmost pews. "What brought this on?"

"I saw Mamá crying when she prayed," Louis tells him in a rush, "and I asked her if it hurt, and she said, no, it just filled her with so much feeling she had to cry. And then she hugged me." He adds the last part with a seven-year-old's disdain for his mother's weirdness.

"I see." He does. Anne has always had a profound connection to her God; they both maintain very private relationships with their faith, choosing to pray alone, but he knows how much solace she takes in speaking to God and receiving His comfort. "I only know what I think, Majesty, but I think the reason I love God is that I believe His message is the most beautiful thing in the world."

"His message?" Louis blinks. "Like, 'thou shalt not kill?'"

"That one certainly doesn't hurt," allows Aramis, "but I mean His message that the way to Heaven is by discovering the spirit of God in each other. In freeing the captive, in clothing the naked and feeding the hungry. We find salvation in love, and there is nothing God wants more for us than to seek out that love."

"Oh." Louis looks contemplative, then brightens. "That makes a lot of sense. God just wants us to care for each other?"

"God just wants us to care for each other," the First Minister confirms softly with a smile. "And He wants each of us to discover the meaning in His message in our own way, at our own pace. Your Mamá finds that through her prayer, as do I."

Louis' eyes stretch wide. "Where should I look?"

"He is here," Aramis lets a finger brush against the little king's forehead, "when you think of the wonder in the world today. And he is here—" he gestures to his eyes— "when you see the love shared between two people. And he is here—" and he presses a gentle hand to Louis' heart— "when you offer that sense of wonder to and share that love with as many people as you can."

"I think those are all very nice places to find God," the little king says matter-of-factly. "No wonder Mamá cries. Loving God seems very busy."

"It's very worth it for me." Aramis closes his eyes and lets his hand run over the crucifix he still wears, dangling between his collarbones. "Sometimes, God's love has been all I've had."

"You have me," his not-son informs him a tad snarkily, "and you have Mamá. Who likes to kiss you, and you seem to like kissing her back, too." The First Minister spins, mouth opening to tell off the small monarch for his sass before catching Louis' impish grin. "Is that part of God's love too, Aramis?"

We raised one too smart for his own good, Ana. "Sí, solito," Aramis concedes quietly at his not-son's small smile, and the warmth that settles in his stomach when Louis takes his hand doesn't fade. "That's part of God's love too."