Chapter One

Catherine sank into the chair at her vanity, and drew a long, shuddering breath. She did not know what was the matter with her. There had been so many tiring matters of state to attend to, and she had not been sleeping well of late, but there seemed more to it than just tiredness. Perhaps it was an accumulation of recent events? She really felt quite overwhelmed.

There had been so much that she had had to bear lately. She had barely readjusted to life outside of the tower, where she had existed precariously during her recent imprisonment. She had done her best to put it behind her, of course. Walls and facades were her expertise after all, and she was well practiced at it, no matter the source or the emotion she had to bury to achieve it.

And yet today she felt, uncomfortably... unsteady, emotionally. Vulnerable, as if her emotions sat on a knife edge. It was an unpleasantly insecure feeling, that she might not have her usual ability to control her emotions at any given moment.

She reached for her hand mirror, something solid and grounding, and occupied herself with the soothingly habitual activity of arranging the loose tendrils of soft curls at her temples and neckline. Laying down the mirror, she squared her shoulders and lifted her chin slightly as she inhaled deeply again, this time with fresh determination, willing strength and courage into her lungs to permeate her being, before she stood and crossed the room to her desk. She had letters of varying importance to sign and seal, two of which had to be given to one of her guards without delay, before leaving her chambers to deliver one to her husband in person. A hot bath with soothing fragranced oils would have been much preferable, but as duty was calling... She sank heavily into the chair, and lifted the quill from its place.

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At the swish of her skirts as she entered the map room, Henry's back stiffened. Her very presence caused him so much internal conflict – he both loved and hated this impossible woman - but for the time being, his overwhelming reaction to his wife was anger and spite, to cover for the hurt and humiliation that lay beneath, which he had no intention of revealing.

"Catherine." His tone was tired and bitter. "Am I to get no respite from you today?"

"Forgive the intrusion, gentlemen." The Queen maintained her unaffected exterior, squashing down the sharp discomfort of being humiliated by her husband addressing her in such a manner before others. She stopped in front of the King and held out the letter. "This was the document you requested to see. It could not wait until morning, otherwise I would not have disturbed you."

He took it from her hand without making eye contact, and tossed it onto the desk. Glancing briefly at it, he retorted, "Looking for a way to secure your gold? Now that your loyal Medici family have disowned you?" The King's advisors surrounding the desk shifted uncomfortably, averting their eyes from the royal couple. They knew, as did all of French court, that this was a painful subject for them both – the reason for the Queen's rejection by her family being her recently exposed affair with the King's closest friend, long ago, which had brought forth a bastard child. Of course, the man in question had been executed almost immediately, and the Queen's execution had been planned to take place shortly thereafter – had it not been for the return of the Dauphin to court, and his marriage to the Queen of Scots, thus changing the fate of the Queen of France. The tension in the room was palpable.

Catherine lifted her chin slightly, an action she sometimes used to remind the rest of her being to tighten up emotionally, be less penetrable to hurts, insults, threats. Nobody need know just how grieved she was to lose the support and presence of her family, never mind the shame of their sudden cold withdrawal. Biting back rising emotion, Catherine answered her husband coolly, "You know it is prudent to make secure the finances that could one day protect your own sons as they rule France in your absence."

Henry gave a bitter laugh, "Yes, in my absence. I expect you are counting the days, wife, are you not? Your Medici money, your own flesh and blood on the throne… What more could you ever want?"

Catherine stiffened her jaw, and held herself as tall and as dignified as she was able, struggling to maintain her appearance of calm. Why must he press her so in front of others, and why on earth must she find it so hard to be strong today? How could he ever know what she might want? Money and power – yes, she didn't mind admitting that it gave her a thrill, and it felt exhilarating to hold the reins of such authority, and to feel secure was also something that she greatly desired, but what more?! What more could she ever want? SO much more. She felt a rise of anger and hurt that he thought she was that shallow. She wanted happiness – that elusive state that she had all but lost hope of ever truly obtaining. She wanted love. She wanted him, the way he used to be, the way she would never be able to have again. She wanted peace, and no walls between them. Grandchildren to dote on, time away from the castle to just BE. She wanted to find joy in life. She wanted so much more than Henry would ever know she could be longing for.

She stepped back from him and folded her hands carefully. "This is not a discussion for tonight, Henry. It is late and I'm going to retire to my chambers." She turned on her heel and walked towards the doors as the guard opened them for her.

"An excellent idea, Catherine!" Henry called after her as she swept through the doors. "Guard, summon the lady Kenna to my chambers. I shall retire shortly and I think I should like my bed warmed, ready for when I arrive."

Catherine inhaled sharply, but kept walking, the guard's obedient, "Yes, your Majesty" fading behind her as she put distance between herself and her churlish husband. She knew he had called out for Kenna as she left to spite her, knowing she would hear, because he knew how she would hate hearing that he was planning to bed Diane's latest replacement – not that he'd ever truly replace Diane. Catherine, yes, but never Diane. He knew she would hate that the nobles and guards would hear it in her presence too. Anger burned at her throat, her chest felt tight, and her carefully folded hands were now twisted fingers pressed painfully white together against her corset as she forged ahead to her chambers.

Once behind her closed doors, she leaned her tired forehead against the cool smooth stone of the mantel at her fireplace. The fire would need tending soon, its flames flickering low and embers glowing red, and she knew that she could not yet allow herself the relief of taking off her mask. She needed to – oh how she needed to, it seemed exceptionally heavy to wear today – but she was not yet finished with contact with other people for the day. She sighed a deep, tired sigh, and called her ladies in to ready her for bed.