oh, the weapon you make of my heart (Reign ; Kenna/Catherine BECAUSE WHY NOT)
I have absolutely no idea where this randomness came from, but by golly, it was fun to write. Catherine being snarky and horrible is the light of my TV life, and I dunno, I’m just rooting for Kenna to win at something somehow, poor girl. She is basically the Jerry Gergich of Reign at this point.
Happy Femslash February!
Title is a line from Phildel’s super delicious “Afraid of the Dark.”
oh, the weapon you make of my heart - Reign ; Kenna/Catherine ; 2,000 words. Kenna cannot shake the feeling that there's something to be learned from the queen.
+
The day comes when the King passes by, throwing Kenna one unmoved glance like he is throwing scraps to dogs. It bites into her bones; she had not expected to lose him so quickly, and there he goes, like she is nothing.
‘You’ll have to work harder than that,’ the queen murmurs into Kenna’s ear.
Kenna knows she ought not to reply. But she hates it: standing here silenced, a pretty thing too foolish for Catherine’s games. ‘What do you mean?’ she asks carefully.
‘Your heart has practically split in two for everyone to see. Tsk tsk. You cannot show how he wounds you. I promise you, it won’t stir a bit of sympathy in him. He is a curiously cold man, my husband. It only makes you look pathetic, poor dear.’ She brushes her fingers across Kenna’s cheek. Perhaps she means it to be motherly, but Kenna doubts it. ‘Youth and beauty will only get you so far.’
The touch sends a ripple of defiance through her. ‘At least I still have plenty of both.’
Catherine laughs, surprised. Kenna feels a stab of pleasure at the sound. ‘You’re trying. Good for you.’
+
Here is a secret that Kenna can never tell, even if sometimes she hides it poorly:
She has no real desire to be selfless and true. She wants her own glory. Lola is all strength and loyalty; Greer is pricklier, but her allegiance is Mary’s through and through.
Kenna loves Mary, and believes in her, but (here is the wicked truth) she loves herself more.
And so in that way, Kenna understands Catherine.
‘How can she be so cruel?’ Mary muses one late night, the four of them squeezed into one bed like they’re still children. Kenna says nothing and pretends to be as baffled as her friends, her friends with their sweet pure hearts.
+
After Mary and Bash come home, after Lola has put the queen in her place with the letter, there is no real need for the ladies in waiting to keep guarding Catherine.
Kenna keeps at it anyway.
She cannot shake the feeling that there’s something to be learned.
+
‘I do wonder what it is you’re trying to accomplish,’ the queen muses, her voice distant and echoing in the big empty cell.
Kenna says nothing. Turns a page in the book she is not reading.
‘Whatever it is, it’s extremely unlikely you’ll succeed.’ There is the sound of footsteps, and Catherine’s voice becomes nearer and sharper. ‘In case you hadn’t noticed, you’re rather a twit.’
Kenna turns another page.
‘And you cannot expect to flutter your lashes and part your legs and have the whole world bow down to you. That only works on men, I’m afraid.’
‘Does it?’ Kenna says at last. She meant to choose her words carefully, but these spring to her mind in full bloom, natural as a kiss.
‘What?’
‘You just seem very interested in telling me I’m beautiful. That’s all.’
The queen is quiet for longer than expected. Kenna closes her book and rests it on the stone floor.
‘Why yes, my dear,’ she says, finally. ‘It so happens that beautiful is all you are. In a way, I’m doing you a kindness to keep reminding you. A brighter girl would take that as a cue to develop some additional skills.’
‘I see.’
‘Have you given any thought to what I said about leaving Mary’s service? I meant it. It would be good for you. You could surely win and keep the affection of some lesser nobleman who would give you pretty things, children ... a gentle life for a simple girl.’
Kenna closes her eyes. Draws a quiet, calming breath. Then she says, ‘I do not want a gentle life.’
‘Don’t you? Don’t you wish for luxury? That’s why you set your sights on Henry, is it not?’
‘He set his sights on me,’ Kenna says, ‘and I chose to let him keep looking.’
‘You chose nothing, you darling fool. Your virtue was his the second he looked at you. He would not take no for an answer.’
‘I made him wait.’ A mistake. It sounds childish.
Catherine’s sharp laugh rings through her cell. ‘And what good it’s done you.’
Irritated, Kenna asks, ‘Did he ever touch you like he wanted to be doing it?’
‘Oh yes.’ The words are taunting, almost a sigh; Kenna realizes too late that she would rather not hear them. Of course, Catherine is counting on that.
‘That’s hard to imagine.’ Kenna stands slowly. Catherine is leaning with lazy grace against the window, her fingers resting between the bars. Kenna almost admires that: how little the queen respects her own cage.
Kenna pauses before her. She tilts her head slightly. Lets the firelight from the sconces play upon her hair and the line of her neck. ‘When was the last time he - the last time anyone - touched you? Years ago, I should think.’ Lightly, she rests her fingers over Catherine’s.
Catherine stares down at their hands, then meets her gaze a moment too late. ‘You have such faith in your abilities.’
Kenna widens her eyes. Flutters her lashes, just like a pretty fool should. ‘I don’t know what you mean.’
‘Forgive me if I don’t believe you. In this area and this area alone, I suspect you have some expertise.’ She is, Kenna thinks, a little too forceful; shaken beneath the scorn. ‘So you won’t rest until you’ve whored your way through the royal family? The king isn’t enough for you? He’d be most displeased to hear it. Never mind that you’re not enough for him: these sorts of things never do go both ways.’
Primly, knowing she has won for now, Kenna says, ‘Nothing is enough for me. You and I have that in common, I think. Goodnight.’
This time, Catherine has no jibe to call after her.
Kenna smiles to herself as she walks away, proud.
+
When the King does return, Kenna tries again because she must. She threw her life away on his promises; she will be respected as his only mistress if it is the last thing she does.
Apparently, her conduct is not suitable to everyone. Least of all the King.
‘You can’t keep doing this,’ Mary chides later in those old-as-God tones she uses to sound like a queen. ‘I understand that he’s hurt you, Kenna. Truly I do. But what did you expect? He is not a kind man.’
Kenna blinks furiously, hating the lump in her throat. ‘But he promised-’
‘And a promise does not mean much to a man like him. We must think of Scotland and of France. Love cannot influence the decisions we make.’ Easy for her to say, pledging her unending love to Francis one day and kissing Bash the next. But Queen Mary would never admit that she is just as much a lovestruck fool. ‘You must accept that, and keep in mind what’s really important.’
It’s as if Kenna is a child, being scolded. Greer and Lola remain dutifully silent, their eyes on the floor. Such obedient servants.
Cowards, Kenna thinks, full of spite.
+
To no one’s delight, the queen has been released for good behavior. It would have been so easy to implicate her in the plots against Bash - the forged letters were a stroke of genius and Kenna knows it. Finally, she contributed something important.
But Mary is merciful to a fault. She will have to grow out of that, Kenna knows, but she’s not about to say as much. Let Mary find that out on her own, if she’s so very wise.
Kenna pays a visit to Catherine’s chambers.
The queen is standing beside a bird cage, cooing fond nonsense to the canaries inside. It’s well known around the castle that the queen’s little birds never live for long.
She is all courtesy when she realizes she has a visitor. ‘Ah. My favorite jailer. Hello again.’
It would be so easy to tell Mary’s secrets. To become indispensable to this woman who thinks so little of her. Kenna knows she could do it. After all, a spy in Mary’s inner circle is a rare and precious commodity. Aylee would never have betrayed Mary, no matter what Catherine might have believed. Aylee never would have betrayed Mary, and she died for it.
Kenna nearly died for being Henry’s mistress, and even that meant nothing to him. She will not take such risks again.
And she has not forgotten how Catherine stared too long at Kenna’s hand on top of her own; how her fingers twitched with wanting. She is a lonely woman, the queen, and there is a spark there somewhere that wants to catch fire. It would not be so hard to ignite it.
‘What brings you here?’ Catherine asks. ‘Shouldn’t you be - oh, I don’t know - brushing your hair? Weeping over Henry? Making a spectacle of yourself yet again before the whole court? It’s a shame I missed your last public display. I hear it was excruciating.’
‘We aren’t so different,’ Kenna says, as she had planned to. Her voice sounds very certain, if not quite old-as-God like Mary’s.
‘Ha!’ the queen barks, so loudly it sends the canaries twittering. After a moment, she puts on a mockingly poised expression and waves an elegant hand. ‘Forgive me. Do continue.’
‘Henry grew tired of you too.’
All of the smug amusement vanishes from Catherine’s face, leaving anger. And pain.
Kenna feels a flicker of fear.
The queen crosses the room, sure as death, and does not stop until she is so close that Kenna can see every fine line on her face.
Softly, Catherine says, ‘You know nothing about what happened between my husband and me. You, Kenna, are an insufferable chit, and Henry is only a patient man when it suits him, and then only for a little while. You asked too much of him, like an entitled little fool. He got sick of you. I assure you, child, there is no great story of love and loss there. Just a testament to your truly insipid character.’
‘And there is love and loss in your story?’ Kenna asks, doubtful. She whispers it without meaning to. It seems right, with Catherine standing so very close.
Simply, more honestly than Kenna knew her capable of, the queen answers. ‘Yes.’
For a moment, they only stare at each other. Sunlight pours in from the open window, kissing gold into the queen’s red hair. The caged birds sing, and Kenna feels caught, for a moment, in the silence and in Catherine’s fierce gaze.
‘I’m sure you’ve been telling yourself that for a very long time,’ Kenna forces herself to say at last. It is her turn. ‘The fact remains that he set you aside. He thought you were nothing. But you’re not nothing.’
The queen scoffs. ‘Obviously.’
‘Well.’ Kenna lifts her chin. ‘Neither am I.’
A slight, vicious smile lights Catherine’s face. She leans closer still. ‘Prove it.’
Kenna promises, ‘I will.’
Happy Femslash February!
Title is a line from Phildel’s super delicious “Afraid of the Dark.”
oh, the weapon you make of my heart - Reign ; Kenna/Catherine ; 2,000 words. Kenna cannot shake the feeling that there's something to be learned from the queen.
+
The day comes when the King passes by, throwing Kenna one unmoved glance like he is throwing scraps to dogs. It bites into her bones; she had not expected to lose him so quickly, and there he goes, like she is nothing.
‘You’ll have to work harder than that,’ the queen murmurs into Kenna’s ear.
Kenna knows she ought not to reply. But she hates it: standing here silenced, a pretty thing too foolish for Catherine’s games. ‘What do you mean?’ she asks carefully.
‘Your heart has practically split in two for everyone to see. Tsk tsk. You cannot show how he wounds you. I promise you, it won’t stir a bit of sympathy in him. He is a curiously cold man, my husband. It only makes you look pathetic, poor dear.’ She brushes her fingers across Kenna’s cheek. Perhaps she means it to be motherly, but Kenna doubts it. ‘Youth and beauty will only get you so far.’
The touch sends a ripple of defiance through her. ‘At least I still have plenty of both.’
Catherine laughs, surprised. Kenna feels a stab of pleasure at the sound. ‘You’re trying. Good for you.’
+
Here is a secret that Kenna can never tell, even if sometimes she hides it poorly:
She has no real desire to be selfless and true. She wants her own glory. Lola is all strength and loyalty; Greer is pricklier, but her allegiance is Mary’s through and through.
Kenna loves Mary, and believes in her, but (here is the wicked truth) she loves herself more.
And so in that way, Kenna understands Catherine.
‘How can she be so cruel?’ Mary muses one late night, the four of them squeezed into one bed like they’re still children. Kenna says nothing and pretends to be as baffled as her friends, her friends with their sweet pure hearts.
+
After Mary and Bash come home, after Lola has put the queen in her place with the letter, there is no real need for the ladies in waiting to keep guarding Catherine.
Kenna keeps at it anyway.
She cannot shake the feeling that there’s something to be learned.
+
‘I do wonder what it is you’re trying to accomplish,’ the queen muses, her voice distant and echoing in the big empty cell.
Kenna says nothing. Turns a page in the book she is not reading.
‘Whatever it is, it’s extremely unlikely you’ll succeed.’ There is the sound of footsteps, and Catherine’s voice becomes nearer and sharper. ‘In case you hadn’t noticed, you’re rather a twit.’
Kenna turns another page.
‘And you cannot expect to flutter your lashes and part your legs and have the whole world bow down to you. That only works on men, I’m afraid.’
‘Does it?’ Kenna says at last. She meant to choose her words carefully, but these spring to her mind in full bloom, natural as a kiss.
‘What?’
‘You just seem very interested in telling me I’m beautiful. That’s all.’
The queen is quiet for longer than expected. Kenna closes her book and rests it on the stone floor.
‘Why yes, my dear,’ she says, finally. ‘It so happens that beautiful is all you are. In a way, I’m doing you a kindness to keep reminding you. A brighter girl would take that as a cue to develop some additional skills.’
‘I see.’
‘Have you given any thought to what I said about leaving Mary’s service? I meant it. It would be good for you. You could surely win and keep the affection of some lesser nobleman who would give you pretty things, children ... a gentle life for a simple girl.’
Kenna closes her eyes. Draws a quiet, calming breath. Then she says, ‘I do not want a gentle life.’
‘Don’t you? Don’t you wish for luxury? That’s why you set your sights on Henry, is it not?’
‘He set his sights on me,’ Kenna says, ‘and I chose to let him keep looking.’
‘You chose nothing, you darling fool. Your virtue was his the second he looked at you. He would not take no for an answer.’
‘I made him wait.’ A mistake. It sounds childish.
Catherine’s sharp laugh rings through her cell. ‘And what good it’s done you.’
Irritated, Kenna asks, ‘Did he ever touch you like he wanted to be doing it?’
‘Oh yes.’ The words are taunting, almost a sigh; Kenna realizes too late that she would rather not hear them. Of course, Catherine is counting on that.
‘That’s hard to imagine.’ Kenna stands slowly. Catherine is leaning with lazy grace against the window, her fingers resting between the bars. Kenna almost admires that: how little the queen respects her own cage.
Kenna pauses before her. She tilts her head slightly. Lets the firelight from the sconces play upon her hair and the line of her neck. ‘When was the last time he - the last time anyone - touched you? Years ago, I should think.’ Lightly, she rests her fingers over Catherine’s.
Catherine stares down at their hands, then meets her gaze a moment too late. ‘You have such faith in your abilities.’
Kenna widens her eyes. Flutters her lashes, just like a pretty fool should. ‘I don’t know what you mean.’
‘Forgive me if I don’t believe you. In this area and this area alone, I suspect you have some expertise.’ She is, Kenna thinks, a little too forceful; shaken beneath the scorn. ‘So you won’t rest until you’ve whored your way through the royal family? The king isn’t enough for you? He’d be most displeased to hear it. Never mind that you’re not enough for him: these sorts of things never do go both ways.’
Primly, knowing she has won for now, Kenna says, ‘Nothing is enough for me. You and I have that in common, I think. Goodnight.’
This time, Catherine has no jibe to call after her.
Kenna smiles to herself as she walks away, proud.
+
When the King does return, Kenna tries again because she must. She threw her life away on his promises; she will be respected as his only mistress if it is the last thing she does.
Apparently, her conduct is not suitable to everyone. Least of all the King.
‘You can’t keep doing this,’ Mary chides later in those old-as-God tones she uses to sound like a queen. ‘I understand that he’s hurt you, Kenna. Truly I do. But what did you expect? He is not a kind man.’
Kenna blinks furiously, hating the lump in her throat. ‘But he promised-’
‘And a promise does not mean much to a man like him. We must think of Scotland and of France. Love cannot influence the decisions we make.’ Easy for her to say, pledging her unending love to Francis one day and kissing Bash the next. But Queen Mary would never admit that she is just as much a lovestruck fool. ‘You must accept that, and keep in mind what’s really important.’
It’s as if Kenna is a child, being scolded. Greer and Lola remain dutifully silent, their eyes on the floor. Such obedient servants.
Cowards, Kenna thinks, full of spite.
+
To no one’s delight, the queen has been released for good behavior. It would have been so easy to implicate her in the plots against Bash - the forged letters were a stroke of genius and Kenna knows it. Finally, she contributed something important.
But Mary is merciful to a fault. She will have to grow out of that, Kenna knows, but she’s not about to say as much. Let Mary find that out on her own, if she’s so very wise.
Kenna pays a visit to Catherine’s chambers.
The queen is standing beside a bird cage, cooing fond nonsense to the canaries inside. It’s well known around the castle that the queen’s little birds never live for long.
She is all courtesy when she realizes she has a visitor. ‘Ah. My favorite jailer. Hello again.’
It would be so easy to tell Mary’s secrets. To become indispensable to this woman who thinks so little of her. Kenna knows she could do it. After all, a spy in Mary’s inner circle is a rare and precious commodity. Aylee would never have betrayed Mary, no matter what Catherine might have believed. Aylee never would have betrayed Mary, and she died for it.
Kenna nearly died for being Henry’s mistress, and even that meant nothing to him. She will not take such risks again.
And she has not forgotten how Catherine stared too long at Kenna’s hand on top of her own; how her fingers twitched with wanting. She is a lonely woman, the queen, and there is a spark there somewhere that wants to catch fire. It would not be so hard to ignite it.
‘What brings you here?’ Catherine asks. ‘Shouldn’t you be - oh, I don’t know - brushing your hair? Weeping over Henry? Making a spectacle of yourself yet again before the whole court? It’s a shame I missed your last public display. I hear it was excruciating.’
‘We aren’t so different,’ Kenna says, as she had planned to. Her voice sounds very certain, if not quite old-as-God like Mary’s.
‘Ha!’ the queen barks, so loudly it sends the canaries twittering. After a moment, she puts on a mockingly poised expression and waves an elegant hand. ‘Forgive me. Do continue.’
‘Henry grew tired of you too.’
All of the smug amusement vanishes from Catherine’s face, leaving anger. And pain.
Kenna feels a flicker of fear.
The queen crosses the room, sure as death, and does not stop until she is so close that Kenna can see every fine line on her face.
Softly, Catherine says, ‘You know nothing about what happened between my husband and me. You, Kenna, are an insufferable chit, and Henry is only a patient man when it suits him, and then only for a little while. You asked too much of him, like an entitled little fool. He got sick of you. I assure you, child, there is no great story of love and loss there. Just a testament to your truly insipid character.’
‘And there is love and loss in your story?’ Kenna asks, doubtful. She whispers it without meaning to. It seems right, with Catherine standing so very close.
Simply, more honestly than Kenna knew her capable of, the queen answers. ‘Yes.’
For a moment, they only stare at each other. Sunlight pours in from the open window, kissing gold into the queen’s red hair. The caged birds sing, and Kenna feels caught, for a moment, in the silence and in Catherine’s fierce gaze.
‘I’m sure you’ve been telling yourself that for a very long time,’ Kenna forces herself to say at last. It is her turn. ‘The fact remains that he set you aside. He thought you were nothing. But you’re not nothing.’
The queen scoffs. ‘Obviously.’
‘Well.’ Kenna lifts her chin. ‘Neither am I.’
A slight, vicious smile lights Catherine’s face. She leans closer still. ‘Prove it.’
Kenna promises, ‘I will.’