SOMETHING BORROWED, SOMETHING BLUE
Jane Seymour is poised to triumph over Anne Boleyn. But how much is her triumph really worth? As the lustful king takes his pleasure, two beautiful women face the truth in very different ways. Please comment nicely!
"I will not!" Heavy golden plates clatter to the floor. "I will not attend the wedding of that bitch, that liar, that little tramp!" A crystal glass smashes to bits against the wall. "Why should I make merry at the wedding of a simpering little miss who used to work for Katherine of Aragon. I am the queen, do you hear? Me! Anne Boleyn is the Queen of England!"
Down the corridor, the shouts and angry clamor make everyone nervous. Jane Seymour puts down her embroidery with a sigh.
"She's at it again, isn't she?" The beautiful blonde in the ruffled white gown has been looking forward to the wedding. Secretly, she looks forward to dancing with the king. But when the worried old cleaning woman pokes her head into Jane's tiny room the young lady in waiting knows her duty. She's ready to sacrifice her happiness for others, as always.
"Please, Lady Jane. You're the only one who can manage her at times like these."
"You again!" Anne's green eyes narrow to slits as the blonde beauty with the big boobs enters her lavish bedchamber. "Others seek to replace me. Do you?"
"I serve at Your Majesty's pleasure," Jane keeps her golden head bowed and her blue eyes lowered as she approaches the angry, red-faced queen. "Would it please you to have me kneel down and clean the mess off the floor? The cook will gladly prepare anything you might like to eat."
"I'm not hungry," Anne tosses back, with a haughty sniff.
"But if you starve yourself, Your Majesty, won't the king simply find someone new?" Jane gives the skinny queen a sympathetic look. "You've already suffered so much, what with giving birth to the royal princess, and all the work of raising her and feeding her and fending off the unwanted and unneeded service of the interfering nursemaids. And Your Majesty has worked so hard at building schools, and helping the poor, and standing up to Cromwell, and . . ."
"Enough!" Anne has been standing with her arms folded, impatiently tapping her foot, but now she perches at the edge of her huge bed. "You may fix me something to eat and drink. You, Lady Jane, not one of the nosy old hags Henry keeps in service to watch me like a prisoner in the Tower!"
Lady Jane serves the queen's lunch with her own hands, keeping up a steady flow of childhood stories and harmless gossip while pouring the queen's wine and carving her meat and now and then laughing at one of Anne's rather lurid tales of the king's lovemaking.
"It would serve him right if I did turn up at the wedding," Anne says, sinking into the pillows with a lazy smile after her meal. "I think I'll wear that blue dress, you know, the French silk one with the wide sleeves and the shockingly low bodice." The queen yawns, suddenly looking and sounding very sleepy. After all, Jane thinks, she's had a busy morning throwing tantrums and making life miserable for the palace servants. "Henry adores the color blue . . . and he likes it when the ladies show off their necks, and arms, and their bosoms too. You have a beautiful bosom, Jane. Too bad you're not his type . . ."
"I'll have your favorite dress brushed and ready in no time." Jane's brisk footsteps echo on the stone floor as she walks over to the queen's private wardrobe. The shimmering blue dress is there, of course, but when the young lady-in-waiting looks back at the bed she sees it will not be needed after all. Anne is fast asleep. Jane's soft, soothing voice has lulled her into a deep slumber that offers escape from all her worries.
The right thing to do now is to hurry back to her room like a good little girl, and patiently resume her embroidery. Jane doesn't want to betray the brave, defiant, unhappy queen. She doesn't want to hurt anyone. But standing in front of the open wardrobe, looking at all the dresses, Jane can't help wondering what it would be like . . . what if just once . . .
"Damn it, where is she?" King Henry VIII is in no mood for games. He's steaming hot as he walks down the corridor to his wife's bedchamber, knowing that Anne is slowing everyone up out of spite. When he gets his hands on her . . .
"Your Majesty, the queen is resting quietly in her room." A vision suddenly appears before him, a demure vision in cool blue silk with a shy smile and the most alluring set of boobs.
"What are you doing in my wife's dress?" Henry fires the question at her like a bullet from a gun, expecting her to drop at his feet.
"I am so sorry, Your Majesty!" Jane's blue eyes are innocent. "The queen dozed off right after lunch, and I was only trying on the dress to make sure it was fit to wear for the wedding."
"I think it fits very well," Henry says, sensing the gentleness and kindness that Anne surrendered to just moments ago. "Why don't you come to the wedding in my queen's place? Anne will never know. A few hours of sleep will do her good."
"Oh, but I mustn't . . . mustn't . . . mm . . ." Jane tries to say no, but the king is already kissing her, enfolding her in his brawny arms and molding her soft, yearning body to his. Henry feels nothing but triumph. But gentle Jane knows this sweet embrace will cost her dearly. She feels no triumph, only a deep, tender sadness for the queen she must destroy.
Inside the bedroom, Anne Boleyn moans in her sleep. The king is making love to her in full view of the entire court. Her triumph is sweet. Her power over the king is total.
And her pleasure is endless.