Disclaiemer: I own nothing except my own characters. The rest belongs to Showtime and history. Hope you guys enjoy :)
June 1528, Hever Castle
Anne Boleyn looked up from her copy of 'Utopia' and took a long glance out of her bedroom window.
Her bed chamber boasted one of best views of the grounds around Hever Castle and she often took to reading on her window seat so she could admire the natural beauty of the garden below. The garden was enclosed behind a perimeter of box hedgerows that was determined to fence the cultivated beauty within. The place was filled with rose bushes strategically scattered around the grounds. Her mother had a penchant for roses and her father obliged her whims, allowing her to plant a rose bush for every member of the family and another two more for the two children they had lost in childhood.
The garden was a true delight to the senses. The flowers were a rainbow of colours with bluebells, lavender, daffodils, marigolds, freesia, dahlias and carnations sprouting from every crevice. Her mother's herb patch filled the air with the rich, earthy scents of rosemary, thyme and mint. A fountain trickled into a small pond that was filled with water hyacinths, algae and frog spawn. How Anne loved to watch the tadpoles turn into little frogs when she was a child. How she delighted in torturing her poor sister, Mary, by throwing frog spawn down her dress or helping her brother, George, hide a frog in her bed. They had tried putting fish into the pond on more than one occasion but each attempt was met with failure, and within a couple of days the shimmering, orange fish floated to the water's surface.
Anne sighed longingly as the sun's rays warmed her olive skin and she inhaled the sweet air deeply. How she hated to be cooped up on a beautiful afternoon such as this. The Sweating Sickness had struck the heart of England once more, resulting in her being shipped away from the royal court in London back home to her family. But it seemed that the damned epidemic had stalked her back to her ancestral seat and now it was doing its rounds in Kent.
Her family had decided to quarantine themselves from the rest of Kent society and nobody was allowed within yards of the castle grounds. Her father in particular had gotten himself worked up into a hysterical frenzy and had shut himself away in his own private chambers, instructing that the other members of the family were to do likewise. So now the free spirited Anne felt like a virtual prisoner in her own home.
She looked up at the cloudless, azure sky and wondered what her love was doing right at this moment? Something important no doubt, she thought, for her love was no mere mortal but the King of England himself. The very thought was still enough to catch her off guard.
How on Earth had she managed to capture herself a King? She couldn't believe her luck!
But then she would remind herself that she wasn't the first Boleyn to snag a King. Mary had shared Henry's bed long before his eye fell upon Anne. In fact, Mary had also been mistress to the King of France. Every one always praised Mary's beauty and Anne hated to admit it but she was deeply jealous of her sister.
Mary was petite with long, glossy chestnut hair and a huge pair of eyes that seemed to have been stolen from a doe. She walked with a natural spring in her step and always wore a mischievous smile on her face as though she knew a dirty secret that nobody else knew. She was flirtatious and giggly and it drove men crazy. Anne, in contrast, was swarthy with hair as black as a raven's feather. Her eyes were black and her chest was flat, especially compared to her voluptuous sister. But she had something that no one else had. She had mastered the fine art of using her eyes to seduce and could make a man stop in his tracks with her 'come hither' glances. Not only that, but she was witty, intelligent and most of all mysterious. She didn't wear her heart on her sleeve like all the other girls at court did. Often a man wondered what went on behind those deep, hawkish eyes of Anne Boleyn.
And when King Henry looked deep into those sparkling black eyes of hers, he was instantly captivated by them and the woman that lay behind them. He might have proclaimed her his prisoner, for they first met in a make shift castle during the Chateau Vert pageant. But in truth he was her prisoner. He couldn't tear his eyes off her and was determined to have her for his own. And the more he got to know her, the more he fell in love with her.
She was not like his other mistresses, who barely had a sensible thought in their heads. He was used to good time girls who were cheery, big bosomed and absent minded. But Anne was different. She was well read and philosophical. She was a do gooder and a reformist. She was witty and scholarly yet also vivacious and brilliant. She was sexy and seductive without being vulgar. She challenged him and loved to debate. She was the first person to ever say 'no' to him.
What had started off as an innocent crush soon turned into obsessive infatuation. And eventually, after a lot of careful nurturing from Anne and her relatives, Henry had found himself deeply and passionately in love with her. For Anne had learnt from her sister's mistakes. She was never going to be any man's mistress, especially not to a King who had a notorious reputation for being a red blooded womaniser. No, she learnt to stir Henry's passions but never give into them. She would accept nothing but marriage from a King who was already on the brink of annulment from his stuffy, old wife of nineteen years. She knew that if she bid her time she could be Queen of England.
She could almost feel the crown weighing down upon her head, the beautiful jewels glittering in the light as God's grace shone down upon her in Westminster Abbey. She often fantasized what it would be like. She envisioned herself sitting beside the King, dressed in a splendid golden gown, adorn in diamonds and pearls with an ermine cape wrapped snuggly over her shoulders. The crown was placed on her ebony tresses and they would pronounce her
"Anne, Queen of England"
All of the court would kneel down before her and humbly kiss her feet. And the bells would ring out throughout London and the crowds would cheer for their godly new Queen whilst clinking their tankards together and drinking to her good health.
The very thought sent a shiver up her spine.
She turned her attention to her book again though could barely gave it a second glance now. Her vivid imagination had made it almost impossible to focus on the drawling text. And there was still a niggling at the back of her mind.
The biggest obstacle to her future happiness right now was Henry's current Queen, Katherine. Henry had fretted over her for weeks, wringing his hands and muttering under his breath. Anne had tried to reassure him. If Henry wanted to annul the marriage, there was nothing that could stop him. The marriage was illegal in the first place and once the situation had been explained to her, pious Katherine would agree to dissolve their union. But Henry was not so confident. He called Anne a fool for underestimating the daughter of Isabella and Ferdinand. She was a strong character and was as stubborn as a mule.
Anne pondered for a moment, imaging how the dumpy, silver haired Queen had ever been considered a beauty in her youth. Surely she would not fight them on such a matter. She must know she would lose the case, even if it the marriage was deemed legal. She might be a Spanish Infanta, but Henry was the King of England. He could rig a court if he so wished! She doubted it would even get that far. Katherine was a proud woman. She probably wouldn't even let it get so far as to reach the humiliation of a show trial. She would retire quietly and go to a nunnery to serve God for the rest of her life.
A habit was far more becoming for the ageing Queen now any how.
And then the crown would be all hers.
She smirked her lopsided smirk triumphantly as she flicked the next page of her book over.
Three days later...
It had just turned nine o'clock and night had fully enveloped Hever castle as the sun sunk lazily below the horizon. Anne was pacing around her room, itching with a dormant energy. She was developing cabin fever and longed to go out for a stroll around the garden. Even though her window was pushed open as far as it would go, her room was unbearably stuffy and she craved the cool, night air that always smelt like burnt, crisp apples.
She knew she was meant to be under quarantine and she knew about her father's curfew. No one was allowed to go out after dark without his permission, especially the girls. But she couldn't stand it any more. It was driving her crazy!
Surely it would be better to go out and breathe in clean, fresh air than suffer the warm, polluted air from their already plagued house. Two days ago, one of their serving girls, Bridget, began to display symptoms of the Sweat and succumbed to her illness within the day. Now the whole family feared the house was infected and daren't come out from their rooms. Their mother was convinced she had caught the illness already and her father and brother were so terrified of catching it that they daren't go visit her just in case.
When Anne attempted to enter her room she was kindly thanked for her troubles but asked to go away and not disturb her again.
Well, now she was her chance she supposed. She might as well be bold and go out when she knew no one else would dare to leave their room. She proceeded down the back staircase and as quietly as she could pushed the bolt back from against the door and let it creak open. A fierce breeze whipped through her ebony hair as she took her first step out into the garden. The sky was a perfect inky blue and was pin pricked with sparkling white stars.
"What a perfect evening" she observed, enjoying the tranquility of the moment as she slid the door shut behind her and took in a deep, refreshing breath.
"Well, it would be perfect if Henry was at my side" she thought. She let out a long sigh of wanting, imaging her partner beside her engulfing her hand within his own giant one. She prayed that this epidemic would be over with soon. She never realised she would miss him this much. She even thought of giving herself to him once they were reunited. There was no need for coy games any longer. They were kindred spirits and destined to marry.
She knew they belonged together.
Mind, body and soul.
She began strolling in between the hedgerows, admiring the scents the flowers gave off in the evening air. The nightingales were still twittering their cheerful tunes and the owls hooted against the backdrop of the running water. A stream flowed behind the walled off garden and led to a beautiful meadow full of wild flowers and woodland creatures. She let her hands hover over the different plants, enjoying the velvet texture of the rose petals. She leant over to inhale the Lilacs, admiring the aroma they gave off during the night.
Crunch!
The noise brought her back to her senses and she whipped her head around to investigate where the noise had come from. Every thing was perfectly still. A little too still for her liking. Even the nightingales had stopped their chirping. An sense of foreboding overcame her. Ever cautious, she turned to go back into the house. She wasn't even going to stroll daintily up the garden path like a young lady ought to, but instead dash over the dew covered grass as way of a shortcut. Who cared if she dirtied her skirts or brought a bit of mud back into the house? That was why they had servants in the first place.
But she didn't even have the opportunity to set foot on the emerald lawn. A cold blast of wind came over her and chilled her to her very core. The blast was overwhelming, almost suffocating her as it rushed up her nostrils and down her throat. It numbed her brain and darkened her vision. She could feel herself falling into a dead faint and swore she felt something touch her. Something was brushing against her cheek.
Was it a stray branch grazing her as she fell forward?
No, it felt human. Like a hand. Unlike any hand she had ever felt before.
Cold.
Slimy.
Skeletal.
Was this the hand of Death greeting her?