Chapter Text
Five days had passed since that night.
Anne lay in her bed feeling sullied. She could not help but stare at the canopy above her where Louis' emblem was embroidered. A reminder of who she was or at least of who she was supposed to be. She closed her eyes. Her royal spouse had just left her bed and her chambers. Punctual as clockwork, he had appeared at her bedchamber to fulfil his marital duties. While these visits had been rather unpleasant in the past, this time her husband had been downright repugnant to her. Louis' clumsy caresses had repelled rather than aroused her and she had never been so glad when he was done after a short time. She was sorry, Louis was her husband and as a good wife and devout Catholic she should love and cherish him, but she could not. Lying with Louis had felt wrong and shabby, while Aramis....
Anne bit her lips. Her mind knew that what she and the musketeer had shared five days ago in the secluded convent must be reprehensible in the eyes of God and the world. Her heart said something quite different. Lying with Aramis had felt good and right - and she was sure it wasn't just because Aramis was clearly more sensitive, more enduring, and certainly more experienced than Louis in matters of physical love. She was not naïve. She knew Aramis' reputation for being a squire of dames. Still, what she had felt between the two of them had been more than carnal lust, of that she was certain. Although even the sheer physical pleasures Aramis had given her had more than surprised her in their intensity and beauty. Anne had not known that a man could evoke such sensations in a woman, in her - and now she was forever lost and spoilt for a husband who showed her only a minimum of affection, respect and empathy. Aramis had been all with her, had seen Anne, the human being, not just a vessel for royal seed. That night in the convent had been about the two of them, two lost souls who had found and comforted each other. Their union had been almost something sacred. With Louis, it had been about completing a chore of duty and finally producing an heir. This time she had felt the repulsive shabbiness of this ... mating ... more than ever before. How could one and the same physical act be associated with such different sensations? And above all: why did she love the wrong man?
Anne jolted up from her thoughts. She sat up and clutched her knees. Where had that word come from? Love. She could not love Aramis! She was the queen, and he was a musketeer with a notoriety. No matter what he had given her that night and how much that gift meant to her, she had a duty to love her husband.
Only, she couldn't. She hadn't been able to before and now the very thought of her husband and his caresses was repugnant to her.
No, no more thinking about Louis and no more thinking about Aramis and the mess the musketeer had made of her feelings. She got up, went to her washstand, and began to wash Louis' seed and scent off her.
And afterwards, perhaps, she would think a little about Aramis again. His tender smile, his bright eyes, his soft lips, his...
Oh dear God, she was lost.