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[versigny]

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[ open to random pms if you'd like to plot beforehand! otherwise, feel free to throw something up. (: ]

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[versigny]

[ Margaery's no stranger to proximity - she has pressed many cheeks to her own with little care for how clean they are, but Aramis, in all his golden glow, is not a vulnerable mother, or an orphaned child. and so the line of her back stiffens; imperceptible to those watching, but not at all to her dance partner, who will surely feel it with the placement of his hand.

it is not a response of fear, rather, but irritation in knowing that he's right. she has allowed herself to be more affected by the intimidation than she'd like to admit. when he smiles at her, he'll get the vague satisfaction of seeing the begrudging acknowledgment in her eyes, a brief, sharpened gaze that's immediately mitigated by the responding smile that remains as soft as ever. ]

You speak true.

[ and with excellent timing: the music calls for a brief interlude where she swirls under his arm as they walk, timed to easy beats so she's only pleasantly flushed, not dizzy, when they resume their dance.

by then, she has let go of her irritation entirely. ]

For someone who won't tell me his name, you're rather invested in the security of a royal marriage that you would not directly benefit from. And you know my grandmother well.

[ she studies Aramis, steadying her perception by making sure all her facts are in order before she quietly ventures a guess: ]

You're the man they call Monsieur de Philippe. The Minister of Intelligence.

[centers]

( under his hand, bloody and callused, he feels her back stiffen but he gives no indication of his notice, not even when as her gaze sharpens. the queen asks why he, an uninvolved bystander, would be so invested in a matter where he would not receive any direct benefits. but isn't it obvious? the happiness and security of the monarchy is of utmost importance for a minister. what is that saying — "happy king, happy life?" not exactly but the fact remains that the monarchy acts as a barometer to which the general public can set their moods. if the king looks happy then his people will be too.

most pertinently, however, is the matter of an heir. although constantin has lived a hundred generations and, by the grace of the twelve, he lives another generation, ornefluer still needs an heir. someone the people can pin their hopes onto. one less worry. perhaps, then, aramis can be forgiven for involving himself in an unrelated and personal matter.

his smile widens but, if she knew him better, she'd recognize that it sharpened instead. his white sharp teeth peeks out from behind his lips and curled golden mustache. ) What gave it away — my dashing good looks or elegant dancing?

( the music begins to ramp up to its final crescendo: in the ballet, the petals and leaves falling from the trees transforms wilhelmina's simple blue dress into a lush and gorgeous gown the color of the sea after a storm. at this gathering, aramis drops his hand from the queen's back to twirl her around. the music is almost over. the dance is almost over. any help that he can provide her at this time is almost over. she will soon have to face the ornefluerian courtiers again by herself. )

happy to end it here if you are? 🎀

[versigny]

[ he speaks as one who has deflected for a long time - someone confident enough in his abilities to reduce his charms to nothing more than the easily observed traits and talents. her smile widens to match his, as Margaery is only too happy to play along with his game for now. now that she knows her estimation is correct, their entire interaction makes so much more sense in hindsight - ]

Both. But mostly, the boldness.

[ it's a compliment. he is so obviously a man who shepherds the sheep, unafraid of their endless babbling and never stooping so low as to be one of them. unless on purpose. Monsieur de Philippe is more than she'd expected, and she's mildly startled to realize that it's a discovery she's pleased by.

en garde. ]

I thank you for your insight, and will endeavor to take your advice at the earliest opportunity.

[ the soft trills of the orchestra come to an end, signaling that dancers should take a step back and either curtsy or bow depending on their manner of dress. Margaery places a hand over her chest as a quiet extension of her gratitude as she curtsies, keeping her smile light and airy despite the natural tension that exists between them. she's forced to admit to herself that, at the very least, he's invigorated her sense of purpose. ]

Until next time, monsieur.

[ although her desire to dance has not yet disappeared. even if theirs has come to an end, the Minister of Intelligence will at least have the pleasure of watching the Queen directly approach obviously disgruntled nobles and politely request a dance, with a bland smile spared for the wives standing beside them. should the King ever return, the atmosphere will certainly be more charged than before. ]