Spring from the earth, But return in a bit, Safety intention? To wit, lone armpit

Wall by wall, I build my new house after the sweltering heat. The air is made all the sweeter, the scents of warm spices leading the perfumed charge. I carefully portion out dollops of mortar, and line my footpath with cheery stones. The outside I paint and dust with snow, and add garnish with whorled tiles. What did I build with?

Could you? Would you? Should you? Do you want an outcome at all? Schrodinger can reveal the answer when you’re ready.

Common in ladies, almost never in males, distinct inkblot spots, patchwork, head to coat-tails. Internationally lucky and beloved by lots, Don't call creature's name, But the paint-job of blots!

I am both worn by a tree, and a symbol of royalty. Even a coin can describe me. What am I?