I am revising some of my chapters and where better to start but at the beginning? Thank you for all of the support that I have received from my readers and I love each and everyone of you! This was my first fan-fiction so I wanted to do right by my first child.

Disclaimer: I don't own Reign and profit in no way financially. This is a fan story from my own mind because I wasn't satisfied with how the show started going.

That Voice. Her Voice. Catherine's Voice! He always heard her voice in his dreams. It was as if she was haunting him but his Catherine was still very much alive. It didn't matter how drunk he became or how many women he invited into his bed. His dreams were always reserved for her, and whatever fantasies his mind decided to torment him with. He heard her soft, melodic tone when she spoke to their children, her harsh, mostly stern, falsetto when he angered her to the breaking point. Even after all these years he still heard her sighs of pleasure from when they were young and still in love. Sadly, they were from long before his ego, and her fear had torn them apart. Even now he wondered if Catherine's moans of ecstasy would be the same after all these years. It didn't matter how many women he brought to their limit he always compared their screams of rapturous bliss to his wife. Catherine was a passionate woman in all things, as her hot-headed Medici blood would allow nothing less, and their early years of love-making had been no different.

His affair with Diane had changed everything that they had. Selfish reasoning on his part had driven him back to his mistress's bed. Catherine had never forgiven him his adulteries, and he had been unwilling to give up his lifestyle. Now in every face of every woman he flirted with he searched for his wife, his Catherine. He looked for a piece of her smile, a glimpse of her fire, a deep buried passion behind hazel eyes. He supposed he had never really stopped loving her. A man with his pride and position could never easily admit he had been wrong for years, even to himself, but his heart seemed to speak to him un-beckoned at night when his mind was unguarded and easily teased by memories of a happier, more pleasant time.

Tonight his dreams hadn't been filled with her moans of pleasure, or soft reassurances to their children, or even her berating tone when he did some ridiculous act to get her attention. They had been filled with her desperate little cries for help, and the vulnerable look in her eyes in the nightmare that still haunted him. He had awakened in a cold sweat after dreaming of her being grabbed from behind as she was gagged and blind-folded. He was still unable to get her screams of desperation out of his head. Henry sighed in frustration as he rolled his present bedmate away from him, and sat up on the side of the bed. Although he knew it was just a dream he still felt something was terribly wrong. How he wished he was at home in his own castle so he could be assured of his wife's safety instead of here in Paris with… What was her name again? He would have to send for word of Catherine's safety immediately.

It was a strange feeling that after all these years of the bitter war between them why he still cared about her wellbeing. In the very least he should be happy if he could be rid of her, and her wicked mind games. He had every reason in the world to feel contempt for the woman she had become. She had been a thorn in his side for years. Aside from her political scheming against him and her family's prodding for her to deeper ingrain herself and her Italian customs into French culture, she had betrayed him with his closest friend. Her affair with Richard coming to light had torn what small bit of their broken marriage that had been rekindled in his bed apart. The thought that she had given birth to another man's child still gnawed at his raw heart. How could she have ever betrayed him in such a way? Her first child should have been his, not the dead man whose face still haunted him as well. When he had first found out he had seen them together in his mind every night, that swine kissing and touching what wasn't his as Catherine willingly gave herself to another. Had Catherine ever loved Richard? He had never asked her. He hadn't wanted to know that answer. Some things were better left unknown.

What was this sudden fear that attacked him so completely? He felt as if he would be swallowed wholly into it's cold, cruel embrace if something had taken her away from him, but it made little sense to his sleep deprived mind. At the very least her scheming and undermining of his authority should give him a little glee from her pain. Instead he felt an unfounded fear that she wouldn't be there to greet him with that bitter expression he'd grown accustomed to. They might not share a bed anymore but she would always hold his heart, even if he hated admitting it to himself. He would just have to send a rider out to assuage his fears. It might have just been a dream, but she was still his Queen and without her strength he wouldn't be half the man he was today.