Disclaimer: I neither own Reign, nor profit from this story.

Henry carried on like this for several weeks.

Demanding nothing, but privately giving frequently, and publicly acting more like a jovial companion and less like the husband-King she had come to expect.

Come evening he would continue to join her in her bed but still made no move to further their physical relationship aside from kisses that were usually sweet, though sometimes passionate.

The man certainly knew how to kiss and if she allowed herself she might even be persuaded by that alone.

One morning he was apparently leaning more on the side of passion and this time allowed his hands to wander too. Without thinking she began to respond to him and the little voice in her mind that had been begging to be let free for weeks began getting louder and louder.

Could it be this simple?

Could she simply let go, was it even possible?

"Henry…" she managed to get just one word out amidst his caresses.

"Henry," this time a little stronger, though as of yet to no avail. The man seemed firmly committed to whatever mission he had set himself on, though he had not moved forward in his current trajectory as he normally would have.

Henry was nothing if not direct, but up until now he had kept his usual enthusiasm in check. Even this very moment Catherine knew that he was holding back.

"Henry please," she tried once more.

His lips had moved on to…other pursuits and so her words were no longer hindered by his, but the puppy dog look he gave he, looking up from where he now rested a little farther down on her torso than where he had started.

"Yes my love, is this too much for you? I would have stopped earlier, but you seemed to be enjoying yourself. We can however stop if that is your wish."

'Curse this man,' she thought. He knew that she had always enjoyed this side of being a married woman, and exactly how to encourage her in such pursuits.

"Henry, really I…"

But he didn't even let her finish.

"Of course my love," he answered leaning up to leave a final chaste kiss on her lips. Extraditing himself from the mess of limbs and sheets he had managed to tangle them in he rose to leave Catherine and her bed.

"How long?" Catherine asked, pleading clearly evident in her voice.

"How long what my love?" Henry asked in answer to her particularly vague question.

"How much longer will you remain Henry? How much longer until you tire of me again and I am returned to my state of solitude?"

The pain in her voice nearly squeezed the breath out of him.

He knew it wasn't an unreasonable question. If there was once constant in their marriage besides her whit and long memory, it was his near constant infidelity.

He wasn't even sure he could be her husband faithfully, he had just never been willing to admit it before.

"I don't know."

Turning her face from him, she already felt the knife begin to slice through her.

And this was why, she reminded herself, she had been holding back.

"I don't know, because I don't know how to stop myself, or even if I can. I have indulged in my privilege as King for so long, I don't know if I even know how to be any different."

"Well at least you're being honest."

"Catherine I…"

"Henry, please just let us get this over with. You will be satisfied and I can begin to return to my normal life, our normal lives. Together but apart."

This time her words were like daggers in his chest.

The pain that he caused had become her normal. He knew it, in the deepest darkest parts of his mind he knew that he was the cause of much of her suffering in recent years.

He never wanted this.

Never wanted to become the source of pain for his sweet Italian bride.

When they were both young, they had shared such high hopes for their union. Her French was still not quite refined in those days and so most of their conversations were frequently lightened by mistakes she made while tying to convey her thoughts and ideas.

It all seemed to easy then. So easy and so without consequence.

Now they both lived in a world of consequences, many of which they brought directly onto themselves.

Could they ever go back?

Feeling frustrated, and not knowing what else he could do he turned to face her directly and finally did what he probably should have done a while ago.

"Catherine what can I do?"

Smiling wistfully at his actually asking her advice she answered honestly.

"Henry I don't know. Some things that are broken can never be fixed, never be unbroken, never be whole again."

Nodding his head in temporary acceptance Henry turned to leave. It would appear that for the moment they were both standstill, perhaps even a loss. In the mean time he could see no benefit to standing in the middle of her room and contemplating such depressing thoughts.

As she watched him walk away, Catherine felt torn. Glad that this charade seemed to finally be over she was equally as heartbroken at the inevitability of her marriage that had once again been lain out clearly for them both to see. 'They were never meant to be' was what kept echoing in her mind. The mantra dutifully holding together what little sanity she still had left in tact.

Shaking her head and moving to begin getting ready for the day, she prayed fleetingly that this would finally be the end to his whole thing.

She could at least hope for that.

-/-/-/-

Later that day Catherine returned to her rooms, or at least what should have been her rooms, but it seemed that someone had taken it upon themselves to order almost all of her belongings removed.

The only thing that remained was a single side table which currently had a note perched on its smooth surface.

Walking over with quite an agitated cadence in her step she grabbed the note off the furniture hurriedly and ripped open the seal.

Of course it was Henry, no one else would have had the audacity to do such a thing.

Oh he would pay for this.

When she was finally calm enough to actually read the words her eyes devoured them so quickly that she nearly missed the entire contents of the note.

'Catherine,

After this morning's conversation I could think of only one solution and that is return to what once was. To when we were carefree and happy, when we were young.

I know that you no longer believe in fairytales, but I remember a time when our love was nothing but. Upon reading this you are cordially invited to join me in the place where our fairytale first began.

I am sure you are at this moment quite angry with me, but I bid you give me this one last chance, I believe it will be worth the effort.

Your forever love,

Prince Henry'

'Hah!' she thought, 'so he thinks he can fix this by pretending to turn back the hands of time? He must be an even greater fool than I realized.'

Deciding that she wanted this whole to do to be over Catherine hastily made her way out of her rooms and down to a corridor she had not visited in many years. It was the location of their wedding suite, and her living quarters for the first three years of their marriage.

Still running on the anger that her bare rooms had sparked and which Henry's forwardness had only further enraged Catherine burst through several door into the room that was once her bedroom.

It was as if she'd walked through a portal in time.

Everything was just as it was all those years ago. Henry must have had her ladies dig through years of storage to find each and every piece as much of them had been in disuse for a very long time.

Some of the details were obscured as evening had already begin to fall and Henry had apparently ordered the smallest of candles to be placed all over the room casting much of it into shadow.

Honestly, the audacity of the man.

"If I cannot fix what has been broken, perhaps we can simply start again."

Henry's voice came from behind her, sounding equal parts hopeful and sure as he approached her slowly.

"You are the love of my life Catherine, and I am not willing to give up on you so easily."

Shaking her head and turning to face him she answered, not really caring what he thought except that he might think this plan of his to be more effort than they…than she was worth.

Perhaps the salvation of what they were, or even of her pitiful soul, might have been worth something many years ago. But now? After all this time, the bitterness and the anger?

No this was one ghost best left undisturbed.

Unfortunately Henry had apparently decided to try and wake the beast, and she needed to stop him.

Now.

Deciding on her course of action she continued.

"I have never known you to be such a stupid fool Henry until now."

"Perhaps I am Cara," he answered, "but I find the prospect of simply letting you go to be equally as stupid, and so I am at least choosing to try."

"To try? Henry we have tried…several times! You may be willing to play the fool, but I am not." she retorted. She was all fire and surety on the outside, but inside she could finally feel what she had been longing for so long.

Nothing.

It was wonderful, it was all she had hoped for.

And now that it had finally happened, it was terrifying.

Gasping for breath she turned away from him and tried to search for something, anything to hold onto. Anger, loathing, even a spec of sadness.

Nothing.

Suddenly his hands were on her shoulders. Nothing more, nothing less. Just the firm steady touch of his large warm hands.

"You my love are worth it."

Her own self recrimination spoken audibly were almost too much. Shaking her head she tried once again to keep the tears at bay.

She could not do this.

"Henry please I…"

But before she could finish he had turned her around and captured her lips with his. Hands moving to hold her behind her shoulders and around her waist he held her there in suspension for a moment.

A moment in time.

Then all of a sudden he bent down and picked her up under her knees. Now listlessly lost in her own mind and the sensations he was evoking she melted into his advance taking hold of his touch as the only thing now concretely linking her to reality. Tears gathered in the corners of her eyes but stubbornly refused to fall. He carried her to the bed, slowly, carefully. Eventually laid her down ever so gently, never breaking contact once.

This time he simply continued in his pursuit though he would've stopped in a moment if she had asked.

The lover of France was for tonight hers alone.

-/-/-/-

Laying in his arms some time later Catherine was still uncertain and remained distant.

As much as she desired her husband, she was certain this was not what she needed to be convinced that this was a good idea.

Then again perhaps she never would.

But as Henry turned her chin to face him she found it hard to even consider rebuilding the walls that metaphorically lay broken at their feet.

He had taken them down a block at a time without her noticing.

Now searching his face she could see only hope and sincerity in his eyes. Now that was new.

Perhaps she could do this, or at least allow him to.

He was probably right, that there was nothing he could ever say to convince her.

Leaning in to kiss her on the lips, the contact barely lasted a moment before he pulled back and spoke gently, "to new beginnings."

As he cradled her in his hold she found that she had nothing to say.

Then again, perhaps the time for words were past. Perhaps it was time to simply trust.

As Catherine tried to allow her mind to relax into slumber she found that she simply did not have the strength to fight this, to fight Henry.

Long ago she had come to the conclusion that something in the whirlwind that was her life would eventually have to give, but never would she ever have thought that this would be that thing. To let go of her own strength and be held by whatever forces lay beyond.

In this particular case it was to be wooed once again by her husband.

If she had told her younger self that this would even be happening she never would have believed it. But here she was, a middle aged married woman scared so deeply by the man sleeping next to her that she never thought she could return from her seemingly eternal state of anger and bitterness.

Never until now.

Not that she felt any degree of real affection for this arrogant man, but she could honestly say that at least in this moment, she felt neither anger nor bitterness.

It was astonishing, but true.

Perhaps that was a bit of an overstatement to suggest that all of her affection was long deceased. In her own way she had never stopped loving him and she still cared for him as her husband.

Some days he just made it so very difficult.

Then again perhaps even she could be redeemed. To learn and to live.

To try to love just one last time.