Disclaimer: None of the characters are mine. I'm just borrowing them for a little while. No copyright infringement is intended.


I.

A smile threatened to appear in Catherine's lips as she caught Henry devouring her with his eyes. She had to double-check; were her eyes deceiving her now, or were those looks directed to someone else? No, it was impossible. She'd been right the first time. Indeed, it was her he was looking at. He wasn't even trying to hide it, even if they were in the chapel attending their eldest son's wedding, surrounded by most of France's noblemen. Having her husband's sudden interest wasn't something she had expected, but if she was completely sincere with herself it wasn't a completely unwelcome surprise.

She straightened her back ever so slightly and held her head high. She looked straight into his eyes daringly and slowly quirked an eyebrow as one of the corners of her lips rose into a half-smile. She shouldn't be encouraging him. She knew perfectly well it wasn't wise of her to do so. It was probably the most stupid thing she could do, considering what he had her go through as of late. She should have ignored him, but she couldn't help it.

Yes, it was all kinds of wrong, but right then, standing in front of him, waiting for their son's bride to make her appearance, she couldn't care less. She was alive; her head and neck were still attached to her shoulders, and that was much more than she believed she would have by now. For an instant she had almost forgotten than if it hadn't been for Francis and Marie de Guise having appeared out of nowhere, helping her pull all the right strings, she would already be without her head. That simple thought sent a chill down her spine now.

Catherine closed her eyes for an instant. When she opened them again and met Henry's, she found herself almost gasping for air as her own fingers softly brushed against the side of her neck. Suddenly, her corset felt too tight. Suddenly, a frightful fear threatened to take over her. She shut her eyes tightly and took a deep breath, trying to control her breathing; death had been really close this time, but she was safe now.

She immediately removed the slightly trembling hand from her neck and brought it to lay on her stomach, where she linked it with her other hand to steady the trembling, hoping she'd been quick enough to hide it so no one had a chance to notice her weakness. With another deep breath, she slowly opened her eyes again.

Her husband was still staring at her. He'd most likely witnessed her vulnerability, but he didn't seem to matter. Desire was still written all over his face. Knowing him, he might even find her vulnerability appealing, or maybe he didn't even care. Either way, he seemed to have forgotten that he was the one who had almost had her killed.

For once, Catherine wouldn't mind to go along with her husband's delusion; she'd gladly forget that her children had nearly been left motherless by their own father's hand. It was easy to try to forget all of that for a while, even if it was just for a day, and enjoy her husband's unexpected interest in her.

For once, with Diane away in Paris, maybe she stood a real chance. That woman had always been there. Catherine had been the third person in her marriage from the very beginning. Yes, she was the wife, but she was the one that barely got her husband's attention. Their marriage had soon become little more than a mere duty to him. When his older brother died and he became the Dauphin, he had the duty to visit her bed to produce an heir. But it wasn't her bed the one he visited when he looked for passion, affection or love; it was that of Diane. It was Diane who he confided his worries and secrets to, not Catherine. Diane was the one he asked for advice, not her. It was never Catherine. Bearing his children; that was the only use he had for her, and even in that simple task she had failed for almost a decade.

Over the years, she'd learnt to hide the hurt and damage. She'd had to. Showing vulnerability would have only brought her down. That's why she would never admit to anyone how deep the scars of years of betrayal, humiliation and loneliness actually run. It was easier to just pretend that it didn't bother her. It was easier to keep the wall up and pretend that Henry didn't affect her the way he did. It was easier to just pretend that the thought of Henry standing in front of her, looking at her like a wild animal about to capture its prey, the way he usually looked at his mistresses, even desiring her, didn't make her heart race and her legs go weak.

He smirked and, suddenly, his eyes left hers. She followed his eyes travelling down the aisle and felt a pang of jealousy as they lay in his young mistress. The sting on her heart only grew stronger as his eyes followed the young harlot as she gracefully walked towards the altar, behind the Scottish queen, her chin held up with pride and a smug smile stuck in her pretty little face. Henry's eyes travelled from his mistress' breasts to her small waist, and then lost themselves in the sway of her hips. His harlot had put in a little show especially for him, she was sure of that, and he had fallen for it. Suddenly, she was forgotten.

Before giving her enough time to recover, Henry's eyes met Catherine's once more. She hadn't been quick enough; she had let down her guard long enough for him to catch a glimpse of the hurt and anger harboured in her eyes. He had seen through the cracks of her usual mask of indifference. In any other occasion, that would've mortified her, but not that day. Her head was bursting with old memories and, at the same time, trying to process everything that had been going on the last few days and right then. She couldn't actually think of the possible consequences her slip could bring. The last time she'd allowed her vulnerability to show in front of him, not so long ago, she'd ended up in his bed. That time, she had some control over it, even if it was small; she'd chosen to be open with him. This time, she didn't, and it made her suddenly feel exposed and violated; anyone who'd been watching her could've noticed, it wasn't just Henry.

But Henry was staring right into her eyes, giving her a playful smile. For an instant, she thought it had been a product of her imagination. She blinked, but it only became wider. Then, she understood it. Henry had taken her vulnerability as an invitation to start one of his games.

She broke off the eye contact, confused, as her eyes travelled to the altar, where her son and his bride were about to sign off their names in their wedding contract. She needed a break from Henry; she needed to get herself together.

A wide smile quickly crept into her lips as she watched the quills of the bride and groom moving upon the paper. Francis, her little boy, her first-born, was married. She still remembered the joy she felt the first time she had felt him move within her; she was finally giving France the child it needed, she was finally securing her position in court, but, most importantly, she realized she had finally done it. She was finally carrying a child; her husband's child. She remembered brushing a tear from her cheek and saying a silent prayer, resting her hand on her belly. The doctors and midwives had already confirmed she was indeed with child, but it wasn't until she felt that kick that she had actually believed it. She hadn't wanted to disappoint him, but she had finally made it; maybe that would make things right between them.

The memory left her with tears burning in her eyes; how naïve and foolish she'd been back then... How little had she known her husband, even after ten years of marriage. No; she wouldn't spill them. She had her children. She loved them. She would do anything for them. They were her happiness.

And now, her eldest son was married; he'd grown up. Even though she still remembered holding him in her arms for the first time, he was a man now. He'd soon bless her with grandchildren to love and cherish. She'd make sure they got the best education and that they had their every necessity covered, but she'd also allow herself to spoil them the way she'd never been able to spoil her own children. She would take care of them, the way the old king Francis, her husband's father, had taken care of her ever since she arrived from Italy. Unlike his son, King Francis had always enjoyed her company.

For an instant, she forgot about everything that was troubling her and allowed herself a sincere smile. Becoming a grandmother was something she really looked forward to. She would be a real good one; no matter what some people thought about her, her family was always her priority. She'd do anything for them. She loved her family with her whole heart.

And, she thought bitterly as her eyes met Henry's, still set on her, burning her, that also included her husband. No matter how he'd treated her over the years, no matter the mistresses and humiliation, no matter how low he held her opinions or his disdain towards her as of late, she still loved him. No matter how miserable it made her feel, she loved him.

Catherine was a fool, and she was well aware of it. When it came to Henry, she was still that fourteen-year-old Florentine girl who'd just arrived to the French court with little to no idea of what would become of her. Back then, even if the uncertainty of her future did indeed frighten her, it had been the memories of her past what had kept her awake during the nights. Henry had soon become her knight in shining armour, saving her from a life in Italy surrounded by the traumatic memories of a broken childhood; what had happened in Florence had made her tough and had turned her into the woman she was now, but it had also made her vulnerable. Before learning about Diane, she had been the happiest woman in court. She considered herself lucky for having him as husband. She loved him with her whole heart. She believed one day he would love her the way she loved him.

To her, Henry was still that same handsome prince who had first made her forget about the horrors she had faced. Her cold mask of indifference, though she'd mastered it over the years, only served to protect her pride because, no matter how hard she tried to hide it, she would never be able to protect herself from him. If he willed to play a game with her, she would always play along, as far as he wished to take it. It always ended up being painful, but she had grown used to it over the years. And, when he finished with her, she would secretly treasure the good moments and silently pick the pieces of her broken heart and try to mend it, as he resumed running behind some other woman's skirts.

Despite everything, she'd play his game for as long as he wanted to, with the hope that someday he might stop running away from her. Even if it didn't happen, she'd continue playing. She'd never stop playing.

To him, it probably was little more than a game he played from time to time with his wife when he got tired of his mistresses. But for Catherine… For her, it was something else; she had her whole heart invested there. Her heart was still vulnerable when it came to Henry. She would never learn.