He will always remember fuming with jealousy when Arthur got to marry the beautiful Spanish princess. Arthur who was plainer and quieter and got to have everything (the best tutors, the crown, the attention of the court).
It should be me, Henry thinks.
It should be me, he thinks when the twins are born. Edward, Prince of Wales. Edmund, Duke of York. Conceived on Arthur and Katherines wedding night. Henry is demoted one more step down the line of succession.
(He is not to go into the church after all, as it happens. Arthur and Katherine intercede for him and even this tastes bitter in Henry's mouth. It's not as though they can't afford to be generous).
He has to watch as Arthur and Katherine have son after son (William, Thomas, Owen, Jasper, Francis - all made Dukes, all royal princes and Henry thinks they should have been my sons. I should have been king and Katherine mine). And then their daughters.
Isabella takes after her maternal grandmother and namesake ('our la bella' Arthur calls her). Mary after her aunt (she is so beautiful and so kind and Henry watches Arthur hold her in his arms and call her his pearl and feels sick at how much Arthur does not deserve this).
Cecily is the last born child, born well after her siblings and she is everybody's jewel.
It is not so long later and Henry is watching his oldest nephew marry the woman he wants. Lady Anne Boleyn, the same age as Cecily (Cecily's best friend, in fact). Anne who is now the Duchess of Pembroke and Princess of Wales. Anne who is beauty and grace and intelligence and who has been likened to a swan (it becomes part of her personal badge - the Boleyn falcon and a swan and the Tudor rose).
Henry has never wanted anyone as much as he wants Anne.