"The queen is with child."

The words ricocheted around his mind like ammunition expelled from a musket. Three months, three months since he had lain with her, three months to try and forget a woman he had no business dreaming about, a queen he had no right wanting for his own. He had even managed to avoid coming to court - until today.

It had not been difficult maintaining a cursory distance. With the investigation into the Cardinal underway, there were always errands to attend. And with Athos aware of what pained him, the older Musketeer ensured that should such errands need attention, that he be assigned to it when an audience with the King was requested.

Athos also proved a veritable wealth of suggestions to distract him from what really ailed. "Madam de Darrieux has been covertly batting her lashes in your direction. She might prove a diversion."

Aramis had raised a brow in his friend's direction. "Charming that you noticed such a thing," he had replied drolly.

"Go at it, eh Aramis?" Porthos had said, a large grin and a slap to the shoulder as an accompaniment.

But a diversion she wasn't. In fact, he took a few women to his bed. And each left him equally unsatisfied.

She is not any woman. She is the Queen. I would suggest setting your sights a lot lower. He tried. He tried daily. But how did he do that when he had already sampled perfection?

A few days prior, the Cardinal had been trapped by his own game and Aramis had been forced to feign indifference when she walked into the hall to bear witness to Richelieu's confession. Athos had voiced stern warnings before their departure in preparation of their first encounter since parting in the palace throne room months ago. His intentions had been pure in attempting to heed those admonitions.

But his resolve quivered slightly when he swore he could smell the lavender essence that coated her hair when she walked past him in the corridor, the scent wrapping itself around him as he stood by her side. But experience of late proved that his senses could not be trusted. During sparring practice he had landed in the dirt and when he closed his eyes, he was convinced he could smell her scent too. Dirt and royal eau de parfam; they were nothing alike.

"I sense her everywhere, Athos. I cannot eat, or sleep without thought of her," Aramis had said after Athos had cautioned him to get his head in gear. He had been in awe of her impressive performance when dealing with the Cardinal.

"Unthink it!" Athos growled. "I did not think it necessary to have to reiterate this. She is not a her!" he emphasised. "She is the Queen of France! Looking at her is cause for treason. What you have already done seals your fate with an executioner. This is not some dalliance in which you attempt to thwart the Cardinal! Your very life is on the line."

Aramis felt his temper and frustration merge as he forcefully pushed Athos up against a wall. "I know this! But she is not like the others!" he admitted without thought. "She's…"

Realisation dawned on Athos's face. Realisation and pity. Beneath his breath he cussed fiercely. "You're in love with her?"

Aramis let him go, both breathing heavily from the exertion. Truthfully, he didn't know. Was he? He had no reply.

"You must gain control of yourself. This can only lead to heartache for all involved."

Aramis's thoughts returned to the present, focused on keeping his gaze steady when his heart was exploding inside his chest.

"The queen is with child."

A panic he had not felt before flooded his gut, almost rendering his knees weak. With calm he did not feel, his gaze swung to his friend, the only other person in the world who knew the possible gravity of the statement. Athos's gaze caught his briefly, the look there displeased, latent anger simmering behind hooded eyes, completely aware of what this joyous news might mean for them should anyone suspect his 'involvement' – the hangman's noose.

His mind had not yet caught up to the ramifications of the King's edict when his eyes collided with hers as she passed him. To Aramis, time stood still when her soft blue eyes caught his, holding for a moment before her progress made it impossible to hold her gaze any longer. He could not read her, his own anxious state perhaps the reason for it. But her lavendar scent was a cruel comfort.

As they filed from the room, Athos pulled him aside, slipping behind a pillar to share a hushed caution. "I should have known your dalliance would end in ruin." It was a lazy drawl, deceptively calm.

Aramis had no witty reply, as was his usual nature. He too knew that at present, should the child be his, he walked a fine line between life and certain death. "Let's not be hasty, Athos. The child may yet-"

Athos's direct stare put an end to the rest of his thought as his voice trailed off. "You easily dispense advice to Porthos on the particularities of women. Yet you forget Aramis, I just witnessed the way the Queen looked at you. Dear God, the child is yours!" The last part was an almost silent hiss. Under different circumstances, he might have been highly amused at Athos's irate state. But the matter before them called not for humour. Instead, he knew his friend spoke truthfully and with deep concern.

"Monsieur Aramis," a woman called. Aramis turned from his friend and recognised one of Anne's ladies standing a little way across the now empty hall. Athos rolled his eyes when he stepped forward toward the woman.

"I cannot simply ignore her," he whispered.

"You could damned try," came the hushed reply.

"The Queen requests an audience before you leave the palace." She looked towards Athos. "In private if you please."

Athos brushed past him. "I'll await you out front. Do not dally long." His tone conveyed a stern warning and Aramis nodded, his expression grim.

He followed the lady, each step he took echoing off the marble floors until all he heard was the incessant ringing of his stilted footsteps. Everything looked brighter, magnified – sights, sounds. In many ways, he knew not if what awaited him was heaven or hell. Perhaps a special kind of purgatory for one such as he.

He saw the queen standing ahead, a chaperone discreetly moving off to the side, offering them some, if not much privacy.

With large windows in front of her, she looked radiant in the late afternoon sun. He swallowed an attack of longing, knowing how she looked with her hair down, her skin kissed by the sun, her lips swollen from his kisses, but also adorned by flickering candlelight. Truth be told, he preferred the intimacy of the latter.

She did not turn to look at him, but had no doubt heard his halting footsteps.

"I am convinced this baby will be born strong and healthy," she said, her voice echoing off the circular room. She turned to look at him then, walking to the centre of the room. "Like his father." His eyes caught her small hands as they protectively embraced her abdomen. Foolish emotion filled his gut. Like his father. He swallowed.

"It will be a boy," she continued. "I am certain of it."

He knew a little of pregnant women, loving women as much as he did. She already had the radiance of a woman nurturing life. A part of me.

His hands needed something to do, so Aramis toyed with the brim of his hat, stepping steadily towards her. "I pray he will have his mother's great wisdom. And judgement."

She smiled into his eyes and his heart squeezed. "And his father's courage."

And then his heart broke. By saying nothing, but by saying everything, Anne, Queen of France admitted that the child she carried belonged to the both of them. He could have fallen to his knees and begged at that moment - begged for her love, her eternal devotion, begged that she would acquiesce to any manner of things that could never be.

It took every ounce of courage to pull his emotions to heel. With sincerity, loyalty, but the deepest regret, he vowed: "I will watch over your son and guard him with all my strength and heart." He saw her eyes glaze and watched her blink back her own sentiment. "I will lay down my life for him, if necessary. He will have no more devoted servant." He realised he meant every word.

His eyes bore into hers and he was sure she wanted to say something that wasn't the polite, correct thing to say. But an innate awareness that they were not alone, never really alone, seemed to school her tongue. Instead she said, It is only what I would expect from a king's musketeer." Her mouth spoke thus, her eyes pleaded that he understand her true meaning: it is only what I would expect from a father.

"God go with you, Aramis." He took her hand then and bowed low over it, their eyes never leaving each other. With her ladies behind her, she squeezed his hand and he returned the pressure, pressing his lips to soft skin.

This has to be enough, he told himself, unsatisfied with the knowledge that this felt like goodbye, like time they never even had had run out. This woman carried his child and yet he would never be a father. The light glisten in her eyes told him she knew his sorrow and felt the regret just as keenly.

Enough now, he whispered silently as he straightened. Perhaps with time, he would find acceptance in what had become the greatest injustice of his life.

She swept past him, her ladies already stepping forward. "I will never be sorry Aramis," she whispered so low, he barely caught it. And then she was gone.

He looked after her, unaware of the yearning etched so clearly - so openly - on his face, the sadness radiating from his eyes, the stooped curve of his shoulders. A man defeated.

Aramis stood alone, with no one to hear his declaration. "Neither will I, Your Majesty. Neither will I."

a/n: aiming for a 3 part, multi-chapter. thanks for reading x