Watching from the side, I see my son spin his new bride and catch her firmly in his arms. Both of their faces glow with a happiness I have rarely seen in life, much less at Court. To think that I was determined to keep this joy from the two of them – that, in my own way, I might have yet tainted it to some extent – the emotion overtakes me, catching in my throat.

A woman walks by and the scent of lilies stirs a memory I can't quite place. As it is winter, surely none of the flower can now be found – it must be her perfume, spritzed on for the celebration.

With a bit of contemplation, it dawns on me that I left this very hall eight years ago on a midsummer's eve to tuck my son into bed. On such days, the sun warmed the lilies in the gardens by day, releasing their fragrance to waft through the air at night.

The clink and chatter of my surroundings grows dim as my mind recalls that night of so many years past, as if I were there myself and not partaking in my son's wedding feast.

The noise from the hall retreats behind as I enter the corridor and turn my feet toward the nursery. Music and laughter and revelry. Surely, I have tarried too long already to find my son still awake.

But as I step into the set of rooms set aside for the children, I discover they stand empty. Not even the nursemaid, Nicole, can be found.

"Nicole?" I cry out faintly, trying to keep panic at bay. If something had gone wrong, I remind myself, someone would have fetched me from the evening's festivities. They have always been faithful to do so in the past, and there is no reason to expect they wouldn't have done the same tonight had there been need.

"Nicole?" I ask again, this time a little louder. Near the window, I spy the young woman step forward and place a finger to her lips – beckoning me with her other hand to come closer, but quietly.

I move to join her at her perch close to the window, which has been propped open to accommodate the night breeze on this summer night.

"What is it?" I whisper as I draw near but, reaching the window, I detect two young voices paired with the distant strains of music from the hall.

"Why, mademoiselle, you are a beautiful dancer!" My son speaks first, his courtly manners on display.

"Why, thank you, garçon!" the girl-queen responds, the essence of polite refinement. "I have been practicing."

Peering through the panes, we stifle our laughter as we witness the dauphin and his betrothed out on the balcony, attempting to keep time with the music and remember the steps to the allemande their dancing instructor taught them last week. I note their attempts to maneuver in some of their finest clothes. Nicole confides softly that, tonight, they wanted to pretend.

"I do so desperately wish we were older," Mary laments her youth. "When we are older, I hope we get to go to all the feasts and dance."

"But we won't be able to see the stars when we dance inside, Mary." My son may only have eight years to his credit, but he already knows how to be charming. He straightens, attempting to wrestle Mary's hand into the correct position. "Besides, when we are older, others will get to dance with you, too – and I don't think I will like that very much."

My heart seizes in my chest at Francis' words, as it realizes there might be hope for the two of them to have a marriage that doesn't live and die solely with politics. From the moment the ink on the treaty papers dried two years ago, my only desire has been for him to be able to love this precocious dark-eyed beauty of a girl.

"I don't know that I would like that very much either," Mary's resignedly responds, shifting her attention to counting off the steps to the dance.

Yes, perhaps more lies in their future than simply being a king and a queen. Perhaps they can truly know what it is to be just a man and his wife. Moisture threatens to spill from my eyes.

"Is it 'un-deux-trois-quatre' or 'un-et-deux-trois-et-quatre'?" Mary questions as Francis detaches his hand from her one hand in order to show her.

"Ah!" she exclaims in understanding, her feet discovering the pattern. "Merci, garçon." They continue with their dance until the music regrettably halts in the distance.

"That will be all for tonight, mes enfants," clucks Nicole's soothing voice. I startle, not having noticed Nicole slip out onto the balcony to collect the two little ones. "The time has come to retire to your rooms and sleep."

I follow behind as she walks them to Francis' rooms, where she leaves me to my nightly ritual of bidding goodnight to my son and then departs with Mary for the girl's quarters.

"We practiced our dancing tonight, maman!" Francis gushes as I come near to pull back the covers and pull them up around him. "Out on the balcony, under the stars. And I didn't step on Mary's toes once!" His enthusiasm can't be missed, though his eyes have begun to droop, obviously battling against the fatigue of the day.

"That is wonderful, Francis. I'm glad you enjoyed your evening."

"Oh, I did, maman!" he exclaims before turning inquisitive. "Do you think I will get to dance with Mary when we are older?"

I chuckle, bringing the last of the covers up under his chin. "But of course, mon fils. When you are older, your father and I intend for you to dance with Mary whenever the festivities call for dancing."

"Good," his quiet voice trails off as he settles deeper into the tick. "I would really like that ... "

Lost already to slumber, I smile at his small frame engulfed by the bed. I reach for the candle at his bedside and extinguish it with a puff of air before I leave him.

A kitchen boy ducks around me, carrying a tray of food for the tables and stirring me from my recollections. As I look out over those milling about, I marvel. This almost didn't happen.

I recognize that in my own foolishness and fears, I nearly cost him the very thing he hoped for most as a child – the opportunity to devote his heart to Mary and, of course, to dance with her. And I also nearly destroyed his good heart and will to live in the process.

The joy and wide smiles that now fill their faces fit more with the courante than the grave sobriety of the allemande they are dancing, but no one will chastise them for giving into the expectation and hope the occasion calls for. Not tonight. Tonight, they start again.

It is theirs, this night – a night for them to forgive; to enjoy something long hoped for; and, of course, to put to use the steps they practiced long ago under the starlit ceiling of the balcony.

The music ends, signalling the close of the movement. Across the room, I see Nostradamus standing by the doors. His lateness to the festivities can be forgiven. My heart is too grateful and overfull to condemn him for his errors. His gift, while too often proving true, has been shown to be mercurial at times. I make my way to him, intending to thank him for coming to me – even at the risk of his life – and for once more allowing my son and his bride the chance to have their entire lives before them in this moment.

As I walk toward him, I watch the newlyweds step aside for a rest at the side of the hall. Mary clings tightly to Francis' hand, nestled close to his side. She leans in and whispers something into his ear. It is all a mother could ask for, really; though I suspect he won't be letting her dance with anyone else – at least not anytime soon.

Author's Notes: This was written for our F/M thread challenge, which attempts to keep us busy during hiatuses. It was a nice change from the grueling pace of "Harbor." We get 48 hours after the prompt is released to write something. The prompt this time is "dancing (with the stars)", with the "with the stars" being something of a joke (but I decided to use it anyway). This is set during 113, if you couldn't tell. And if the language isn't quite right, I apologize. I do my best with my rudimentary understanding of Romance languages and my two years of French as a child. I've tried to keep it simple for that reason ... No verbs! :)

Special thanks to lovewillrememberxo for her assistance in making sure Francis addressed his mother with the right level of formality!

Disclaimer: I have no claim of ownership on "Reign" or its characters - that belongs to the CW, CBS and Laurie McCarthy. I just like the chance to play!