Anne would be lying if she claimed she didn't know how she d ended up in such a situation.
She knew perfectly well what she had done, and how she had failed. She had been a temptress, and seduced the King into securing her a place as his wife, and ultimately, the Queen of England; whispered sweet nothings and lured a married man away from his wife.
Oh, how she hated to admit that. In truth, despite her allegations and what she'd always claimed to believe, she knew Katherine was dearly loved in the peoples hearts, and she knew, try as she might, she could never fully win them over as Katherine had. She did not bear the King a son, but she bore the country a love that they had returned with ever fibre.
And Anne never lived up to that. Or her sweet promises. She had failed to win the people over, and while in public she smiled and laughed merrily, this had always plagued her. And, oh, how she had failed to bring a Prince into the world; a gift that would make England safe. A gift that would make her safe.
During her pregnancy, she was overjoyed. She paraded around, flaunting the curve in her belly, a hand cradling it slightly; her prince, her promise. Labour pains started, painfully strong, and she knew her baby was healthy, her baby would live. She delivered it, stifling her screams as best she could to maintain her dignity, and not a baby had the baby been whisked away by the midwife and wrapped in soft cotton cloth, she had demanded to know the gender.
"A girl, Your Majesty." the woman had replied as cheerily as she could. "A healthy, beautiful baby girl."
It was a blur when the child had been placed in Anne's arms, and she had stared down at the tiny scrap of life numbly. The child had stared at her, with curious eyes that seemed knowing despite the fact that she was a newborn, and Anne, despite the bitter disappointment that had stirred in her, she loved her daughter.
Anne liked motherhood, she had decided. It was an utter delight to watch her beautiful baby girl grow up, and to spend hours upon hours playing with her. But, her heart still ached for a second child. A boy. A boy that would make her and her precious Elizabeth safe and their titles utterly secure.
Upon becoming pregnant a second time, Anne had sworn to Henry that it would be a boy. A prince. Her prince.
She had not expected the pains that night. No, too early. Too early. It had been a blur after that. In a flurry of silk skirts, her ladies had rushed in with the midwife and did everything they could that save the child. Helplessly, Anne had laid there, crying, begging, commanding them to save her baby.
"Your Majesty," the older woman's voice was full of remorse, "I'm so sorry. I did all I could, but I am afraid you've miscarried."
She tried after that, at least. She tried to pull herself together and put on a brave face. I will become pregnant again, she had told herself, I will have a son. Only, she had never managed that. Miscarriage, stillborn, and no living male heir. Nothing to show for her promises.
Downhill from there, she remembered bitterly. Jane Seymour, the seemingly naive pale girl, had attracted the attention of the King. The weeks after that still haunted Anne in the cruellest way. She recalled holding Elizabeth, running, running after the King, begging him. Perhaps it would sway him, perhaps.
"I loved you!" She had yelled after him, "I LOVED you. And I love you still. Please, after everything we've been to each other, after everything we were. One more chance. One more."
Henry had walked on, and Anne helplessly stood there, her daughter clinging to her, hoarsely calling after him. "Your Majesty. Your Majesty, I beseech you!" she fell to the ground, hugging Elizabeth. And it was then she knew her fate.
And now, as she walked to her imminent death, she ignored the taunts and walked with all the confidence she could muster. Determined to die a Queen, Anne composed herself and forgave the executioner. She was not to know what he thought of her, but perhaps it was only a job to him. Kneeling, she clasped her hands together and her vision was covered by the blindfold. She could only hear small murmurs from the crowd now, and it did not matter what they may be saying.
She thought of Elizabeth. What would happen to her baby, her darling girl? Please God, let her be cared for. And what of her sister, whom she'd treated so cruelly and needed with her so desperately? Would Jane succeed where both Katherine and Anne had failed? How was she to know. Maybe she would never. What was waiting for her in the next life?
Alas, death may be the greatest adventure.