Gold, Silver and Bronze Crowns

Sometimes I wonder what life would have been like if my younger brother had been the one destined to wear the crown of St. Edward in my stead. I see the way he looks at Catherine. It worries me. When I think of the endless possibilities that could have arisen had I died on that fateful day I fell victim to the sweating sickness.

Brother Andre lost all hope for a recovery. He hurried to inform my parents of the grievous news. He nearly beat his horse to death to get to Greenwich. Much to everyone's shock, my parents' misery turned to joy. Shortly after my father lost all self-restraint and was comforted by my mother's soft promises of more offspring, another messenger arrived. Only his message was one of hope, and not of sorrow.

"The Prince lives." Three simple words. No more was needed to lift the monarchs' spirits. Church bells rang throughout all London. People from all over the realm drove in loads, bringing their family members and their neighbors, to Canterbury. It didn't matter if they came by foot, carts or riding wild beasts. Their devotion caught the attention of other Christian kingdoms who saw in my recovery, a dangerous weapon that would be use by my father to further bolster our claim.

They were partly right. And I say partly because it took my father less than two days for him to order pamphlets to be distributed on every town, starting in his homestead in Wales, that this was proof that the Tudors were on God's graces. I, as my namesake, was the prince who was promised. The one destined to bring a new golden age into England.

"Arthur is God's herald." One pamphlet read, while another ended with "he is of the blood of the dragon. He is the King who will bring us into a new age of Camelot."

Empty promises that meant nothing. I wish people weren't so blinded by prophecy. If it weren't for Catherine, I wouldn't have made it this far. I owe that woman everything. And yet, I can't bring myself to look at her as a husband should a wife.

Henry could. And that self-awareness irked Arthur. She was his Mentis, his muse; the voice of reason in a world filled with religious heresy and superstition. The 16th century was a time of great change. Everyone felt it. Men gossiped among themselves more than women. Who'd be the next King to fall? Kings were no longer infallible. Though for some, they still were. Those that thought this way, were deemed heretics. A King was only as infallible as God made him. And just as the good Lord through his chosen one on Earth, the vicar of Christ, who wore the triple crown, could make him, he could easily unmake him.

Henry thought it was a cruel jape of fate. Arthur on the other hand viewed things differently. He was the King who'd bring the fabled Camelot, was he not? Then why, he asked his top councilors, did he need the permission of an old Italian fart who'd never given two shits about his realm except when it was convenient to him?

"Your husband is threading on dangerous ground, Catalina." Harry told his sister Queen.

"Do not call me that."

"It is the truth. You know it. I know it. Everyone with a brain knows it. Why do you refuse to acknowledge what is in front of you? You have never remained silent when Arthur did something that went against Christian principles." He pointed out.

Catherine wasn't comfortable with Harry's familiarity. They had discussed it before. Endless times now. Why must he insist?

The Duke of York did not wait for her answer. He got closer until her back hit the wall covered by rich tapestries depicting the fall of man when Adam listened to Eve and partook from the forbidden fruit.
"Sooner or later, questions will arise."

She grinned. "Courtiers are like vultures. They hover around dying animals then run like cowards when they discover their king is not the useful fool they thought him to be. Arthur is a good Christian King. You two studied from the same teachers; if anyone should be afraid of a Tudor breaking Church law they should be afraid of you."

"I've done my fair questioning but did the early church fathers not say that it is of the wise to question everything for only then can we uncover the true nature of our Lord and his son, our savior Jesus Christ?"

She chuckled. "You have a way with words, Harry. I see why my ladies fall for you every time."

He looked down at his feet, feeling ashamed.

"It is alright. I'm not ignorant to the ways of men. You forget I am the daughter of the greatest womanizer that ever ruled Spain. It's natural for young men to engage in trysts. I don't approve but it is in every man's nature."

"Not in this one. Your father was who he was. I was honored to have fought alongside him but Cat, I swear to you, if I were not marred by this sinful desire I have for you, I would not be in this predicament."

"Stop it. You're young, you can still choose from countless of the women throwing themselves at you or the eligible foreign brides who've heard of your sexual exploits-"

"Good God, exaggerate." Harry said, laughing at the wild stories that had been circulating about him. Not that he minded, it kept him away from being engaged with any of those uptight foreign royals whose looks and achievements fell short of Catherine's natural beauty and superlative grace.

Catherine ignored his minor interruption. "-and naturally, well … who can blame them for being so eager to marry the fabled Adonis, quite literally. The King of France's sister got angry when she found out you insulted her brother's envoys."

"Now speaking the truth is insulting? The woman has been married two times. She is a harpy. I've heard wilder tales about her than are being spread about me. All she cares about is power; when she found her daughter was near death, she was already planning for her replacement."

"Do not be so mean spirited, have pity. The woman has lost two children and two husbands, and on top of that, has had to contend with a bunch of greedy men who've always questioned her involvement in her brother's government."

"Pity? I pity the bloke who'll marry her who thankfully is not me." He sighed. "Why must we go on these rounds, you and me? Why can't we just admit our feelings and get over with it?"

"Because there is nothing to discuss. You are my brother-in-law. There is no us in this life or any other life." She was telling him to get over it but he couldn't. The more she pushed him away, the more his loins stirred when she was in his presence.

"Just once," Harry begged, grabbing her arm as she turned to leave. Before she protested, he pulled her to him. Their faces were so close that they could feel each other's breath. "Just once. And I promise you, I shall never bother you again."

Just once. She shouldn't but he had promised it was only once. Just once, and they'd never have to deal with this again. She'd be a liar to her heart if she said she hadn't thought about it, but a bigger liar to her entire being if she denied herself this pleasure.

Adultery was a sin. Only when a woman gives herself fully to another man. She wrestled with her mind. If this was so sinful, why did it feel so right? Why had her knees almost buckled when without giving it a second thought, she had given a quick nod and he immediately, without hesitation, pressed his lips against hers?

If this was a sin, let God damn her for all eternity because she wanted more than a lover's kiss.