Though vague, this very short story is the ending of The Tudors, season 2 episode 3. Not verbatim, of course. Rather, I wrote it to explore the mind of King Henry VIII himself and how he viewed his future through his skewed mind.

Enjoy. :3

-Ashalia Lufiende-

"My king..."

He was lying on his bed, staring at the ceiling, deep in his thoughts. The voice that spoke to him in his mind seemed far away. Too far, perhaps. Whether it was real or an illusion, he knew not. The man was in his mind, probing to the far reaches of the domain of his creation.

"My queen,"

And there she was, his lovely queen. Beautiful, nubile, and voluptuous; she was his morning and evening star. The king loved her dearly, and she to him. They were both young and foolish, but back then, those thoughts never once crossed his mind. She was his world, and he was given a mission; to crown this beautiful flower as his queen of love and beauty.

It was a difficult mission, but he was not one to give up so easily. As skillful as he was in bed with the lady, he was also an excellent tactician and speaker. Couple that with his position as the ruler, he was unstoppable. The lady stood no chance against him, nor did his assailants and protesters. In the end, he was king, and he gets what he wants.

It was a chase, a thrilling run, a stressful ordeal; all to reach that goal. And like any other man, he enjoyed challenging games very much.

"I am with child, my king," she bowed, "Your son,"

He was sure, he was so very sure that it was. The guests were invited, the christening arranged, the envoys sent to deliver the good news to the other rulers; he had them all arranged.

"A son?" he questioned, raising an eyebrow, "I am to have a son, you say?"

"An heir to your throne, beloved," she smiled, rubbing her hand over her bloated tummy, "The continuity of your legacy,"

The king rolled to the side of his bed, staring at his table filled with books. He was preparing. Yet...

There was a knock on the door. "Your Majesty," said a voice from behind it.

He looked up to the door, remembering who it was, and sighed; "Enter,"

The door opened...

"What is it?" she cried in desperation, "Please, tell me!"

Her dearest sister stood by her side, calming her down with her gentle caresses and coos. She smiled and whispered into her sister's ears of the child.

And as soon as she heard that, the queen of love and beauty fainted.

The king seemed to ignore whoever it was that entered the door. He rolled again and landed on his back, his eyes going back to the ceiling once more.

"What is it?" he demanded, stepping into the room.

The queen, in all her grace and beauty, announced it with pride; "A beautiful princess," despite her words and her demeanor, she was highly disappointed with herself.

He stared into her eyes, seeing all his hardwork and all the troubles he went through just sinking down the drain like it was all for nothing. This beautiful flower of his had conceived a princess when what he dreamed of was...

"My queen, you and I," he started slowly, swallowing the disappointment, swallowing the frustration that was about to burst forth from within him, "We are both young. There is still time," but even he doubted his own truth that he wanted to believe in.

He turned and left.

"Your Majesty," she bowed.

That was it, this was his downfall, again; he lost it.

He turned to look at a young woman, standing by his door. Smiling, he rose from his bed and approached her, scanning the woman's physique from top to bottom like a predator to its prey. She was a pretty little thing; scared, timid, and in awe of the king's presence.

Her body tensed as he moved in closer, his hands groping her small, lithe body. He touched the smoothness of her skin, letting his tongue run across it from the nape of her neck to her white shoulder. He heard her gasp, and in his grasp, he felt her shudder; she was ready.

Smirking, he moved his lips closer to her ears, breathing into it first before whispering his request to the woman; "Do you play chess, my lady?"

And there, in his arms, was his most prized possession; his queen of love and beauty. His, and his alone.

"I love you," he said to her, "You are my only one, my love, the only one I ever wanted,"

And she, his lovely queen, smiled gently in return as she caressed his cheeks, "Yours alone, my king?" apparently, she did not seem to understand his words. He had to further accentuate it to his beloved.

"Yours truly,"