a/n: This one shot is entirely the brainchild of the lovely heart-knows-no-shame on tumblr. She posted a prompt of sorts in the annamis tag. I hope I've done her vision justice.

Aramis hesitated at the threshold of the Dauphin's rooms, composing himself and trying to dim the eagerness that emitted off him like the blazing summer sun. He knew he was playing at a dangerous game, one that – if Athos were correct – would most certainly end badly for everyone involved. But how did he stop himself from trying to get to know his son? How did he stem the hope that in some place, deep inside, the little boy would know him, even if that recognition pertained not to his true lineage but to some yet unknown connection?

Inside, he heard Marguerite move around, talking to the boy. He'd been silently thrilled when she sent word that he might visit with her this evening, eager to see the Dauphin. The tone of her note however had suggested the evening might conclude with something more than a mere visit. She was lovely, but his attraction he was ashamed to admit, had more to do with her position in his son's life than her feminine charms. He was regretful of deceiving her, but there was no other recourse. At least this way he might have some small excuse to be found in the company of the young Dauphin without raising undue suspicion.

Collecting himself, Aramis knocked once, very lightly, before stepping through the doorway. Marguerite was pacing with the young prince, the child fussing a little.

"Aramis, what are you-" her expression changed from surprise to embarrassment. "I'd sent word for you to come… I am sorry. This is really not an opportune time."

He frowned, removing his hat and stepping closer. "Is everything alright? Might I be of any assistance?"

"No, I thank you. The Dauphin is just a little unsettled, still recovering from his illness." The child whimpered and she changed his position, holding him over her shoulder.

"He is well though?" he asked sharply, too sharply he realized when her surprised gaze found him. He tried to relax into a smile. "I would not want you anxious with worry."

She flushed and smiled at him. "It was a trying time, especially for the Queen. She loves him so."

Aramis felt his heart tumble at the mention of her. They'd shared no words, no confidences, barely a look if he were honest, since the day their son had been conceived. He understood the need for discretion, but to be so near to her, to both of them, and have no right, no claim to even smile simply in their direction had become his greatest torment.

"He is precious," Aramis whispered, looking across at the small boy, "and already beloved by many."

He heard footsteps echo across the marble outside the room and Marguerite glanced towards the door.

"You are expecting someone?" he asked. His palms itched to reach for the child, the baby's soft cries calling to him.

"Only Constance. I've asked her to sit with the Dauphin for a while this afternoon. I must see to an errand in the village and would prefer to see it settled by my hand."

"Anything I might assist with?"

Her smile was apologetic. "It is a personal matter – family - but I thank you."

Aramis set his hat down on a nearby table. "I could watch him…" he began, "and wait for Madame Bonacieux."

"Don't be silly Aramis." Marguerite sent him an exasperated look, shaking her head, but leaned in close to lightly kiss his cheek.

Aramis recognised the opportunity as one that might never be presented in so simple a manner. Gently, he pressed his suit. "Madame Bonacieux is nothing if not efficient," he offered. "She should be along momentarily. Besides," he said with a mischievous grin, oozing charm, "I'm a King's Musketeer. There is no one more capable of protecting him. He will be in safe hands." Aramis showed her his large palms and gestured towards the baby.

Marguerite bit her lip, contemplating his offer. "I really should wait…" Her eyes darted back towards the door. The earlier footsteps had long since receded.

"Go Marguerite. I'm sure I shan't be with the Dauphin for no more than a few minutes before Madame Bonacieux arrives to relieve me of the duty."

"He fusses a little."

Aramis saw her indecision and pressed gently, recognising that victory was within his grasp. "And I have proved capable of soothing him, yes?" He stepped even closer to her, rubbing her shoulder in soothing circles. He would go to hell for this he knew. But right now, he cared only for his son and the opportunity to visit with him unattended.

"Well, I suppose a few minutes will do no harm. And you are a brave Musketeer." Her smile was flirtatious and Aramis reminded himself to smile back. Already his arms reached for the child, his eyes drawn to the sweet face.

"He's grown," Aramis whispered as he settled the fussing baby into the crook of his arm. It felt as though he fit there perfectly. "There now," he crooned softly, "I've got you," he finished in Spanish.

"He is strong," Marguerite said, "with surprisingly long limbs. He will be a tall young man." She proceeded to remind him not to leave the rooms, and that she'd send a reminder to Constance before she left for the village. Aramis heard very little of it even as he nodded diligently.

"Alone at last," he whispered softly to the child as Marguerite departed. His sleepy lips fluttered once, twice, a third time before he stretched, his eyes opening and fixing on his new, unfamiliar caregiver.

How did he love this person so fiercely when he knew him so little? He swayed gently, his lips curved into a broad smile. Aramis whispered low endearments in Spanish, the little baby staring at him intently as he tried to discern any likeness in the child's features. He was too young, Aramis knew, but he was convinced his hair was the exact shade of his own.

"You shall be tall and strong," he continued in his native language. "Just like your grandfather and his father before him."

Outside the room, Anne caught herself, releasing her astonishment with a low, controlled breath. She really should intervene, but allowed herself just a moment to watch the handsome musketeer hold her son. Their son. The crippling anxiety she lived with daily threatened to smother her and she took another calming breath. No one knew, she reminded herself. There was no danger. No one knew - but them.

She watched him pace slowly to and fro, singing a Spanish lullaby in a low, deep voice. It touched something within her, rendering her immobile as she committed the tender scene to memory. She felt as though she were intruding on a moment deeply private, something shared between him and a child he could never know as his own. Unguarded as he was, the love Aramis felt for the boy was unmistakably etched on his face, but also in the protective stance and the loving tone of his voice. The realisation was sobering and so Anne pushed through the door.

"Sir Aramis, what are you doing with my son?" Her words were clipped, cold almost, but her eyes were vulnerable, panicked, confused.

My son was our son, the words that would never be uttered aloud. Between them sentiment seemed to flow, unspoken, forbidden, their eyes communicating in ways their voices never could.

"Your Majesty," he inclined his head in deference. "I offered to relieve Marguerite for but a moment. Madame Bonacieux will be along momentarily."

Anne nodded, her throat constricted with apprehension, panic but also the thrill of being alone with him, even if it were dangerous and forbidden. Her eyes raked across all of him – his tall, strong physique, his capable hands, his handsome face, those dark eyes and his wild, untamable hair. He was as elemental as a force of nature and she felt the answering call within herself. Dear God, she realised, she loved him still.

His eyes were soft, intense, probing and she looked away, her heart constricting with an irrational but overwhelming need launch herself into his arms. She'd convinced herself that the intense passion that had raged between them had perhaps been nothing more than an exaggeration born from an erroneous memory formed so long ago. But she'd been wrong. Because even now, with all but the world separating them, alone in this room, she felt the yearning thrum between them.

The baby mewed and their attentions were drawn to him. Aramis stepped forward, ready to pass the child to her, but strangely, she was reluctant to see him from the Musketeer's arms. His eyes moved to her questioningly when she didn't immediately take the Dauphin and their gazes locked. It felt as though the earth moved around them.

"Anne," he whispered and she shook her head, stepping close, her fingers brushing across his lips to still the flow of words. Slowly, but deliberately, she shook her head again.

"Its too dangerous," she whispered urgently. "Please, Aramis."

The Dauphin waved his arms, his little hands bumping against Anne's wrists. Her fingers slipped from Aramis's lips as they both looked at their son. Their smiles were immediate, spontaneous and for a moment, unreservedly happy.

"He has recovered fully?" Aramis asked.

Anne nodded, sobering a little, but her lips still curved in the vestiges of a smile. "He is resilient, with a strong will to live."

"A day does not pass when I do not think of him," Aramis confessed quickly, urgently, his eyes burning with sincerity. And regret. "I pray for his health and happiness. And your own."

The radiant smile of moments earlier became a teary one as Anne looked to their child and then back to him. She couldn't stop the words she knew would damn them both to suffer in silence.

"I sometimes wish, when I'm alone, when I do not need to school my features and hide my desires from an endless parade of prying eyes, that things could be different. For him," her hand touched the baby's and his fingers wrapped around hers, "for me and for you my dear, dear Aramis."

Just one moment, she told herself. Just a moment. Private. Stolen. She leaned in and their foreheads touched. His lips grazed her cheek, his rough beard tickling her ear as his lips moved until finally, finally, it found hers in a warm, sweet kiss. They'd shared a blazing passion. But this was different. The meeting of their lips was so many things all at once - soft comfort, tangible sorrow but also love. Yes, there was love.

The baby mewed again and they broke apart. Aramis passed her the child and for one final moment, their eyes held. Behind them a voice cleared and startled, they broke apart. Anne turned away in mortification as Aramis looked into the shocked, disapproving, the enlightened face of Constance.

"I should leave. Your Majesty." Aramis bowed stiffly, aiming a hard, beseeching look at Constance before the door clicked shut behind him.

Anne turned to look at her most trusted lady, her demeanor flushed, guilty, her heart in her throat. She felt like an animal caged, any direction she turned blocked.

"Constance…" She had no idea what to say, how to explain what she should never have seen, what should never have happened. How much had she seen? The kiss? More?

"No, no." Constance shook her head, a blur of motion as she began straightening the covers in the crib. "I need no explanation, your Majesty. If you'll excuse me, I'll just see what's keeping Marguerite."

Anne smiled weakly, grateful for her discretion but deeply unsettled as she watched Constance leave. She had to be more careful. What if it had been Marguerite and not Constance who had seen them? Anne looked at her sleeping son. What had she done? How would she ever succeed in hiding her secret?

And despite the danger, how did she not regret her night with a Musketeer that had lead to her son's existence?