A/N: In order to make this work, I had to change a lot of birthdates, death dates and families. I had to change the Boleyn family's name back to their historical original, Bowen. I hope nobody minds too much, and thanks for reading this story!
18 March 1511
Henry Tudor, Prince of Wales, didn't really like his new bride, and she knew it.
Anna Vasilyevna Boleynia, Tsarevna of Russia, didn't really like her new husband. Her brother, Ivan, the tsar of Russia, had insisted she marry this English prince, however, so she would do as she was told. The marriage was part of an alliance between Spain, the Holy Roman Empire, Portugal, Russia, England and Scotland. Through this, Anne was to be married to Henry Tudor, Prince of Wales, and would one day become Queen of England. A Spanish princess, Katherine of Aragon, was going to come to marry Arthur Tudor, the Duke of York. Margaret Tudor, Princess of England, was going to marry James IV of Scotland.
As she was only a girl, Anna was not informed about the entire treaty, only that she was to treat everyone in England with respect and be the best wife she could be to Prince Henry. Her name was changing from Anna Vasilyevna Boleynia, Tsarevna of Russia, to Anne Boleyn, Tsarevna of Russia, though most people would call her "princess," as that was what they referred to the daughters and sisters of kings, and a tsar was a king.
Anne would not deny that Prince Henry was handsome. He was tall, and only twenty years old to her sixteen. They had been betrothed for three years, and in that time had exchanged letters. Anne thought herself good at the English language, though she did struggle sometimes.
People smiled at Anne kindly at her wedding reception, speaking with unfamiliar words. She knew it would soon come time to do the one thing she dreaded most about being married – but she could not deny her husband this new right. She didn't not like him, she supposed, and she hoped they would be happy. She liked his friends, Charles Brandon, William Compton, and Anthony Knivert, to be sure. Prince Arthur was only a year her junior, and she liked him well enough as well. The English people and courtiers were kind to her and she would like them, once she understood them better.
She felt her husband take her hand.
"We ought to go to bed now, sweetheart," he said gently.
"Yes," Anne agreed, through her thudding heart. "We should." Simple sentences like this were easy for her, but it was long conversations in which she struggled. As she allowed herself to be lead out by this new husband, Anne felt the eyes of all the royal family on her. Prince Arthur and Princess Mary looked sympathetic – Princess Margaret had already left for Scotland – but Henry VII and his mother, Margaret Beaufort, looked formidable and intimidated. Unconsciously, Anne felt herself sink closer to Henry.
The next morning, Anne woke up dazedly. She was in an unfamiliar bed, and she felt strangely sore.
Ah, yes, now she remembered. Last night had been surprisingly enjoyable, albeit quite painful. But Henry was gentle, more than she had expected, and clearly had experience with what they were doing. Once he was finished, however, she had fallen asleep, and was not present now.
"Your Highness?" she heard a voice, and looked up to see Nan Saville, one of her ladies-in-waiting.
"Yes?" she said.
"What would Your Highness like to wear today?" the other woman questioned.
"Whatever would be appropriate," she declared, as she was not yet aware of what was appropriate to wear on what occasions in this strange country. Another lady, Madge Shelton came forward with a turquoise dress, and the two ladies helped Anne put it on.
Henry had to admit that he'd like spending the night with his new bride. He didn't like her, but she was certainly attractive. Her accent was unbearable, and her English more fragmented than she realized, but at least they hadn't spoken much that night. Once they had finished, she'd began to drift to sleep, and he had, as well.
Unlike her, he was not a virgin. She clearly was, he could tell that, she he'd ordered the ladies who had arrived to let her sleep in, and that she would very well be sore in the morning. He was trying to be kind, but she was not someone he wanted to spend his whole life with.
The accent and fragmented English were the worst. He wished that they would just go away, and wondered if Arthur's bride, Katherine of Aragon, would have an accent as well. He hoped he did, as he didn't want to be the only one who couldn't understand his wife.
He didn't know much about her. He did know she was energetic – too much, he decided. She had a seductive look about her, and her family was reputed to have tempers worse than his own.
They mystery to Henry was why everyone else loved her so much.
All of his friends, all of the courtiers, everyone who had seen her, declared that she was smart, witty, charming, intelligent, kind, athletic, elegant, regal, proper…. The list of compliments they showered her with went on and on.
But Henry didn't see it.
Even his father, Henry VII, and his grandmother, Margaret Beaufort, seemed to like her.
"She's a good one," Lady Margaret had declared. "Finest family in the world, except for ours… and she'll make a good Queen. The people already love her."
His father had agreed. "And she's probably fertile," he'd added. "She looks it, at least. A fine match for any prince. You should be proud to have her, son."
Henry was proud to have her in theory – tsarevna of Russia, the grandest princess in the world. But he simply couldn't stand her.
Not that he would ever let her know that, of course. He would treat her well in public and have little to do with her in private, and once they had a few sons he would leave her for mistresses who he liked better. As his father had pointed out, the people loved her already, and she was a fine match in terms of family connections and a dowry. He couldn't just set her aside – it would be political suicide and would jeopardize the entire peace treaty between England and all those other countries.
"Hello!" Charles Brandon called to his friend. "How was your night?"
"Cold," Henry laughed. "I spent it all in Russia." The boys laughed jubilantly. Henry knew that soon their days of idly hunting and riding and playing sports would be over. He and Anne were going to travel to Ludlow Castle as Prince and Princess of Wales. Of course, these youngsters would be his companions, as his advisors, along with some men his father would send, and both his and Anne's households. But they would be the governors of Wales, then, and fun and games would have to take the back seat.
4 May 1511
Anne, Princess of Wales, had never been sorry that she'd lived in Russia her whole life.
"It's so beautiful!" she marveled at the countryside of England. Moscow never had anything like this that she had seen, with these bright colors showing so early in springtime.
"England is much warmer than Russia, though colder than much of Europe," Sir Charles Brandon informed her, while her husband simple grunted at her side. All of his friends had been knighted before heading off to Ludlow, where they were going now.
"It's simply amazing!" Anne continued. "And the country in itself! Everything is so spread out! I imagine there were parts of Russia like that, too, but I never left Moscow unless I absolutely had to."
"Why not?" Sir William Compton asked incredulously.
"Ivan was paranoid," Anne rolled her eyes. "Before he became tsar, I was kept under lock and key with Ivan and our brother Yuri. Once he became tsar, he started to freak out. He gave Yuri and I every material item we ever wanted, but if we wanted to go riding or hunting, we had to take armed escorts and couldn't go very far as it was."
"I'm sorry to hear that, your Highness," Sir Anthony Knivert put in, not wanting to be the only one without the attention of the beautiful princess.
"I think I shall be happy at Ludlow," Anne declared optimistically. "And in all of England, I think I shall be happy. It is such a wonderful country."
Henry meanwhile, was angry at his friends. Why were they talking with her so much? Clearly it was a struggle for them to understand each other, so why did they even try? Women were supposed to look pretty and have babies, not talk everyone's ears off in their absurd accents!
Princess Anne was slowly growing closer to her attendants.
She had her favorites, naturally. Nan Saville, Madge Shelton, Margaret Wyatt, Bridget Wingfield, and Mary Bowen were a few of her favorites.
Even to those favorites, Anne could not express her newest dreams.
From childhood, Anne had been taught that children were the best part of a woman's life. Giving her husband children – no, sons – was her most important duty. For herself, she had always been fond of the little boys and girls running around the palace, the children of servants and courtiers, and one of the reasons she had wanted to marry was to have children.
And now her courses were late.
She did not send for a midwife yet, as she knew was the best way to discover if her hopes could possibly be true, nor did she voice the possibility to anyone. Of course, a few of her ladies must know – they did not say anything, but Anne could see from the looks on their faces whenever they made eye contact with her.
Anne might be with child!
A/N: So… I'll try to update as soon as possible, let me know if there's something you want to see in this story. Also, should Anne have this baby, or miscarry it?