Chapter 10

The Queen of France sat by the fire, watching the flames dance, following a rhythm of their own, no pattern, no constraints. Just the wood giving them life and the sparks flying high, sizzling in the air in response to the draft caught in the chimney. Such a beautiful glow and yet Catherine shivered.

"Come to bed," her husband's voice reached her ears. He had watched her standing by the fire for a while, lost in thoughts while he sifted through his bible to look for a passage to give him hope. "You'll catch cold there with your arms so bare."

She smiled. "I'll be right there." It was a lie, but not one told on purpose. She wanted to be with him, lie in his arms, have nothing but his heat to keep her warm and the little piece of cloth that was her nightgown. But she couldn't move, could not shake that feeling of a storm coming towards them, especially after what he had told her only moments ago. His memories of Spain, his father's debts paid by him and his brother without their consent. Oh the pain they both must've had gone through, two young boys suffering for their father's sins, scarring them for the rest of their lives.

"I didn't tell you so you would entertain my demons now along with yours," the King hopped off the bed to embrace his wife from behind, showing her how cold, indeed, her entire body already was.

"I cannot help but wonder how things could've been for us had we confided in each other when we were still young," Catherine admitted under her breath.

"We are still young, my Queen," Henry laughed. "Even if our children disagree."

"Not young enough," she tilted her head to meet his eyes, smiling sadly, while his hands rubbed her skin gently for warmth.

"What's going on in that enigmatic mind of yours," the King leaned down to kiss her softly.

"It's just a feeling I have that I cannot shake," the Queen shrugged.

"Please explain yourself," he said, his hands lying still on her shoulders for a moment for reassurance.

"You'll call me superstitious," Catherine sighed. "Quite honestly, I don't know what to make of it either."

Pulling her closer to share the warmth of his dressing gown with her, Henry whispered, "Catherine, trust me."

Nestling into his embrace, she shook her head, "You keep saying that, but..."

"I know I cannot take back the past, but I can try and redeem myself." the King let out a sigh. This wasn't easy for him. "Nostradamus, for one, he saved your life. I still don't trust his motives, but I might have to open my mind to your faith in him and his expertise."

"This isn't about something Nostradamus has envisioned," Catherine was gentle in her reply. "It's something a lot less fathomable. A gut feeling I have that great harm will come to us."

"It's just the aftermath of your poisoning, my love," Henry brushed his lips over her hair. "It has affected your nerves, quite understandably."

"This isn't nerves, Henry. I'm not hysterical," the Queen stayed calm despite her bubbling frustration. "It's like that feeling I had when Louis died. I didn't foresee his death or else I would have tried to prevent it, but I knew that something wasn't right."

"You never mentioned anything to me."

"As if you'd listened at the time," Catherine turned around in his embrace to look into his eyes.

"I was as devastated about the death of our son as you were," the King said quietly, his heart aching for the pain he saw washing over her face at the memory.

"Were you really," she asked without accusation.

"It was a time I don't remember with much fondness," Henry admitted, unable to control his voice. "Charles had just been born and you immersed yourself into his care to overcome the grief you couldn't hide over his brother's passing. It was just you and our children then. That's when I first saw you putting them first, before us and everybody else, including yourself. There was no room for me, even if I had found a way to reach out to you."

"I don't remember you trying," Catherine choked down a tear. She didn't want to grow bitter now that she saw how hard her husband was trying to make sense of the marriage they had led for so many years.

"I held your hand all through the funeral," the husband reached out to caress his wife's cheek, his eyes brimming over with emotion.

"I remember that," Catherine nodded. "It gave me strength." She paused. "But after..."

"I didn't know what to say to you," an honest admission, pride pushed aside by guilt.

"Until that night," a small smile played around her lips at the distant memory.

"Until that night when I found you unable to withhold your grief from me. Your voice so full of pain, your eyes red from crying." The King's eyes filled with tears. "It was the only way I knew how to make you better."

"You reminded me I was alive," the Queen barely whispered.

"I made love to you." This fingers fondled her cheeks so lightly, as if afraid the memory would vanish if he touched her for real. "That's what it was for me."

"And gave me another child."

"Another son," Henry smiled.

"Properly named."

"I never understood why you called him Henry," the King admitted to his Queen.

"Why wouldn't you?" Catherine wiped away the tear his eyes had released without his consent.

"Because we made love and then you pushed me away again," he whispered. "You didn't seem to need me or care about my presence. You've always been fine living your life without me in it."

"Your memories differ from mine completely, Henry," the wife replied under her breath, her gaze saddened but not angry like she used to be. "It was you who fled into Diane's arms every time things got complicated between us or a pregnancy of mine was announced to you. It was your time of happiness with her, away from me. So don't embellish our marriage now, please." Catherine placed a soft kiss onto her husband's lips. "We had good times but most of them were bad. And I'm beginning to understand why that was."

Standing in silence for a while, the King held his Queen safely tucked away in his arms, her words resonating with him on a level he still hadn't gotten used to. Absent-minded he caressed her and indulged in the feeling of her breath teasing his skin. When his wife wrapped her arms around his torso to absorb as much heat from him as she could, the King of France finally spoke again, his voice as raw as the emotions her words evoked, "I wish I had realized how much I hurt you, Catherine." Her face pressed against him snuggling close, he felt her eyes shut, her lashes tickling his chest. "How many times your heart broke because of something I did."

Taking in a deep breath, the Queen of France remained silent in her husband's embrace, her mind unable to find the right words to express her anguish and hope.

"Please let me try and fix it." Henry brushed his lips over her hair, then continued softly, "I once told you your heart was black. That you were cold, incapable of love." His voice broke. "All those things I said," he paused. "I cannot blame you for pushing me away all those years ago. I may never really have allowed you to pull me close."

Still unable to find the words to express herself, Catherine hid in her husband's arms and brought her lips to his chest instead, releasing her tenderness in a kiss, then two, then three.

"I want us to do better now, Catherine," the King promised, his eyes fluttering shut. "I want you to be my wife. Not only for show, but on the throne." He paused, unable to withstand her treatment. "Your throne. Ours."

Against his skin, Catherine smiled.

"I want you by my side, like you've always been and only you," he raved amidst a moan. "My ally, my rightful queen, always fighting for the best of France. My partner in crime."

"Quite literally," Catherine quipped, trying to keep her own feelings from overwhelming her.

"Let's strike a deal," Henry suddenly said, pulling away just to look into her eyes darkened by doubt. "I'll tell you a secret and you tell me one of yours. It must be grave, so we will never be tempted to use it against each other in a moment of weakness or rage."

"Henry, I can't," the Queen of France shook her head. "You already know enough as it is. I see what it does to you, knowing about Florence. I won't put you through any more nightmares."

"I know trust doesn't come easily to you," the King assured his wife still in his arms. "And I understand now why that is. But you can trust me, my Queen, because the secret I have in store for you could cost me my life."

"Then I don't want to know it," Catherine tried to resist. "I don't want to have that kind of power over you."

"By taking my heart you've already enforced your claim of power over me, my Queen, intentionally or not." His lips teased hers for a tender kiss growing deep.

"I don't want to hurt you," the Queen whispered as she broke away, unwillingly, to catch her breath.

"You won't," Henry promised. "Nothing could hurt me more than knowing you shared a bed with a man I considered my friend. And I already know that you did. Everything else pales in comparison."

"Don't be so sure, darling," her words vibrated against his lips as he renewed their kiss.

"Trust me," the King insisted. "I'll say it as often as you must hear it to believe. I love you, my Queen, and I'll prove it to you by trusting you with my life."

They stood entangled for a while, sharing kisses so tender they let Catherine hope her husband would forget about his childlike request. Trust, that concept so many people had paid a price for that was too high. She wasn't willing to do the same, not ever, not now. And yet, his lips probing hers, his hands finding that spot on her spine that made her purr like a cat. The honesty she had seen shining in his eyes paired with something she couldn't quite place.

"I killed my brother," he suddenly blurt out, stopping her cold.

"What?" The Queen of France pulled away from her King to get some distance and pace the room.

Giving her some time to collect herself, Henry watched her with concern. So many emotions washing over her face, haunting him like a ghost.

"I always thought you believed the gossip and blamed me for the death of your brother," Catherine finally gasped as she lowered herself onto her bed to allow her husband's revelation to sink in.

"You didn't even have a hunch?" Henry was honestly surprised. Rarely had he seen his Medici wife so shaken.

"Contrary to popular belief I wasn't born ruthless," she muttered. "I only grew hard. But you... Killing your own brother?" She paused. "Why?"

"At the time I thought I would spare him," the King offered helplessly, his wife's question catching him off guard.

"Spare him from what," the Queen glared at him in disbelief, her voice suggesting she wanted to understand his motives rather than judge.

"Francis was too weak to be king. Mentally, physically. He wouldn't have lasted a year on the throne," Henry reasoned half with himself. "But it wasn't mercy that made me take his life, Catherine. I know that now." He waited for her soothing words, but when none came he added, "And now you fear me." His heart sank.

"Henry," the wife answered calmly, hurting for her husband while the Queen feared for her King. Stroking his head as he came to kneel in front of her, resting his face in her lap, Catherine sat in silence for a while, sorting her thoughts. "My first-born child, the daughter I had with Richard, is still alive," she finally offered. "Nostradamus told me after you had him imprisoned. She's been living in the darkness somewhere, here in the castle." She inhaled deeply, unable to stop the tears from welling up while her voice remained steady for a while. "Upon learning about her existence, my heart broke for her, Henry, for her misery, her pain. She was an innocent born into this world but she has endured so many wrongs." Catherine held her breath. "But look at what life has done to us, all the torture, the abuse. How it has prevented us from living a life enchanted by our blessings, our love. So I'm asking you, how can a soul be healthy after growing up in the shadows, unwanted from the start, discarded even by her mother?" She paused. "The moment Nostradamus told me about her, all I could think of was how to put her down. How to end her suffering, the life she didn't ask to lead." The Queen's tears were falling freely now, her control gone as her voice began to quiver, "So how could I possibly fear you and what you did while thinking this about my own flesh and blood? It's myself I am afraid of, Henry. I gave birth to her, she is my child and all I can think is how she'd better be off dead."

Pulling her down to sit next to him on the floor, the King gathered his Queen in his arms, allowing her to shed her tears without constraints. Trust me, he had meant what he had said but seeing her now, crumbling in his arms, he wished he had listened to her reluctance to share more of their pain. And yet... Feeling her tears flowing so freely, he noticed something had changed. For the first time really in their marriage, he didn't feel like running away from himself. He didn't crave to be elsewhere and avoid confronting his ghosts. Instead, he wanted his wife to get better, no matter what it would take. And although seeing her so broken killed him inside, it also triggered an urge to be by her side. To chase away her demons and replace bad memories with good. "I love you, Catherine," he finally whispered, unable to breathe. "I always will." And tomorrow I'll prove it to you, he added without speaking the words.

The night had been short but peaceful sleeping in her husband's arms. No dreams she could recall, no nightmares at that, no tossing either, just a few hours of uninterrupted slumber to rejuvenate her soul and heal it, if only just a little. His embrace had done the trick, had helped her sleep without her even knowing how she had ended up in bed. Surrounded by his scent now, Catherine slowly came to her senses as regret filled her mind. His scent only lingered on his pillow, no arms to caress her awake, no lips to kiss but his voice somewhere in the distance. As her mind fought that state of nocturnal unconsciousness she had so blissfully enjoyed, she heard his voice disappear, then footsteps so close she couldn't help but open her eyes to see who it was.

"Good morning, your Majesty," Beatrice greeted her with an honest smile. "The King has asked us to draw you a bath when you wake up. It will be ready at your convenience."

"Why so formal," Catherine de Medici asked her long-time lady while stretching her limbs. "Are we trying to impress someone?"

"After everything I've seen change around here in the past two weeks, I prefer being on the safe side." Beatrice's smile broadened, then vanished again at the memory of her own chattiness with the King.

"On the safe side you'll always be with me," Catherine replied truthfully.

"On yours maybe, but what do I know about the King?"

"The King has always had his mood swings," the Queen masked her doubts about the longevity of her husband's devotion towards her with a hearty laugh. "You think I'm one of them?"

"I didn't mean that," her lady lowered her head, sorry for her remark gone out of hand.

"It's all right, Beatrice. I know you didn't. But one tends to wonder, I understand." Catherine sighed. "Where is my husband for instance? What's driven him out of bed so early in the morning?"

"Court business he said and asked me to tell you to join him in the throne room once you've readied yourself for the day," Beatrice curtsied. "I don't know why I just did that." She blushed. "I'm truly sorry, but there was something in the King's behavior as he just left, something in his gaze..."

Squinting her eyes, the Queen of France pulled herself up and eased into the part she had so often played as the dutiful wife. "We better not leave him waiting then," she simply said and shot Beatrice a look not even her most loyal lady was able to read after years of practice.

"So, do I understand you correctly," the King of France asked unamused, his voice growling through the throne room despite his best efforts to keep it hushed from the few people surrounding them, mainly their guards. "You are asking me to release Lady Kenna in exchange for your silence?"

"I wanted to approach you with the evidence before, but you've been rather busy," the Queen of Scots replied with a playful shrug.

"So while I corrected an unfortunate mistake, you investigated the Queen of France," the King sent mental daggers through the young girl standing before him with the audacity of a teen but the power of a catholic queen. "To get what you want, my son's hand in marriage."

"That was your plan originally," Mary responded without flinching. "Must I remind you?"

"Must I remind you that you had no authority looking into my wife's past," the King's eyes met Bash's in his anger, forcing him to join the conversation with his former fiancée. "Acquiring the help of my unlawful son who may be considered a usurper if your actions became common knowledge. Is that what you want?"

"You would not dare expose him," the Scottish Queen held his gaze, completely sure of herself.

"I exiled the rightful heir to my throne and was ready to kill my wife in order to add England to my realm," the King of France glared at her with eyes so dark, the young queen had to look away. "Are you really prepared to challenge me on that?"

"Kenna is innocent," Mary argued stubbornly. "I will do whatever it takes to set her free."

"Even if it costs my wife her livelihood and my son his life?"

"Your wife's fate is in your hands," the Queen of Scots stood her ground. "You can pardon her from whatever verdict Rome decides befits her."

"Just listen to her, Francis," the King of France signalled the Dauphin to join their little chat. "Always so keen on accusing your mother of being so hardhearted, ruthless even. Now look who's talking!" Henry shook his head. "I want to see the evidence you've gathered before I agree to any deal."

"All right," Mary nodded and told her guard to present the witness Bash urged her not to reveal with a pleading look on his face. But his gaze was ignored despite the proverbial axe already dangling over his head. "Meet the midwife who was present when your wife gave birth to another man's child."

Swallowing the hatred he felt creeping up inside of him over the spiteful remark the Queen of Scots had just dropped in dire hope to jam a wedge between him and his Queen again for her own benefit, the King approached the woman kneeling before him. "Is it true," he asked sternly. "Where you there on the night my wife bore her child? The one she was told had tied?"

"Yes, your Majesty," the middle-aged woman stuttered.

"How did you know the child wasn't mine," he pressed her for details, unwilling to believe her claims just like that.

"The child had a birthmark on her cheek," the midwife offered unhappily. "Matching the lover's."

"Was the Queen told about the mark," Henry's voice almost broke asking this.

"She was and she was devastated to learn it wasn't your child she had born," she confirmed his faintest hopes. "She was afraid for her life, your Majesty, but also saddened that it wasn't an heir to your throne."

"Why was the Queen told her child had died," the King closed his eyes, torturing himself with the question he didn't really have to know the answer to but wanted to on his wife's behalf.

"Because she was reluctant to part from her newborn child," the midwife answered truthfully. "She rejected the babe at first but you could tell she couldn't bring herself to give her up for good. So the medicus promised he would be able to remove the birthmark without any harm coming to the child. We all knew it was a lie, just the Queen believed him in her despair. A bastard daughter did not threaten your line, your Majesty, so she wanted to raise the child as yours."

"But she did not get a chance to do that," the King of France glared at the woman still kneeling in front of him.

"The medicus did terrible things to the poor child, deforming her for life," the midwife admitted distraught. "So it was decided to inform the Queen her child had died."

"Leaving her grieving for her child," Henry said through gritted teeth. "Filling her heart with guilt, without a chance to say goodbye."

"I'm not sure the Queen lost too many thoughts about her firstborn daughter," the midwife was unwise enough to utter. "Once her tears had dried, she focused on bearing you an heir and removed the lover from her life who could've given her secret away."

"And now, only you are left to tell the tale," the King of France whispered, his voice threateningly low.

"I never told a soul, your Majesty, I swear to you," the woman begged, then cried out as the King's sword hit her neck and cut her head off with one forceful blow.

"And we both know that is a lie," the King shouted, tears of anger filling his eyes. "So who else wants to tell the tale of my wife's misfortune?" Waving his sword up high in the air, he looked into the fearful eyes of Bash, Mary and Francis. "Any volunteers," he asked, his chest heaving in anguish. "No? Good. So let's make one thing clear. If one word of this leaves this room, another head will roll and I don't care whose it is." Glaring at Mary, he continued under his breath, "I don't care that you are a queen or that you're going to marry my son one day. This is France, not Scotland, so as long as you are a guest in this castle you will stay out of my business or anybody else's in this family. Are we clear on this?" He growled. "You have no authority over anything that's going on in French court. And that includes any prisoners under suspicion of treason or ill-will towards the Queen of France."

Returning to his throne, the King rolled his head to relax his neck and fight the headache that was threatening to overwhelm him. As he looked up, he spotted his wife standing in a short distance, eyeing him with concern but also tears of gratitude or pain, he wasn't sure. If her heart beat as fast as his, probably both. "Now have the guards remove the corpse and gather everyone. I have an announcement to make," he added and held out his hand to welcome his wife on the throne right next to his.

As the Queen of France claimed her throne, the King took her hand in his in a tender caress. As the crowd gathered in front of them, awaiting the news their King was to deliver, he stood, gently pulling his Queen up to take her place beside him.

"You all know what day it is today," he started. "A day once dear to me, a beloved tradition." Looking into the faces of many hopeful servants, he went on without remorse, "A wrong I have decided to set right." Lifting up his wife's hand to brush his lips over her fingers, Henry smiled, then continued glaring at her instead of the crowd, "The Queen of the Bean is no more. There is but one Queen of France and none other shall ever take her place again from this day onward. That's what I pledge to you today, my Queen, with everybody in this room to bear witness if needed."