Author Note: Hi! I haven't been writing for a while, but this story was sitting around on my laptop for a month or so, and I wanted to post it. But, as you can tell, I don't have a title! Please post a suggestions if you have one : ) Also, I want to know if you think Anne & Charles should be enemies, friends, or fall in love – or if I should even continue. Is it too similar to the other Anne/Charles fanfics? : / If you think I should delete it, do you have any fanfic ideas? I'd like to get writing again, and I was thinking of an Anne/Edward Seymour oneshot (haha, I like odd pairings :p ) Oh, and one last reminder: I'm 13 so if I've made any mistakes please let me know!

Well, sorry for that longish note! I hope you enjoy the story.

Chapter 1

May 28th, 1536

Anne still found it hard to believe what was happening. Now, she almost wished that the Duke of Suffolk had been silly enough to marry his ward almost directly after the Princess Margaret's death. Then, she wouldn't be fidgeting in the room behind the church, dreading every moment of what was to come. How could Henry do this to her? She knew that Mr. Brandon supported Katherine and Mary instead of her, and she was almost certain that he had subtly hinted that Mistress Jane Seymour was more "pure" than she. Hardly! What kind of "innocent maiden" would take someone's husband from under their nose? She knew that she was no saint, doing the exact same thing, but of course people interpreted what the two women did in different ways. Even though both had insisted on keeping their virginity, Anne was the temptress and Jane the pure one.

Her veil scratched at her long neck. Irritable, she moved her arm, trying to push it away. Well, whatever else she wanted to complain about, she did have to admit that the dress was prettier than the one she had been wearing at her and Henry's wedding ceremony. The sleeves were long and full, and she wore some of the jewels she still owned since the times when Henry had courted her. It was made of white satin, with golden embroidery – it reminded her of her coronation day, almost three years ago. How could Henry have already forgotten all those happy memories? He had done so for Katherine too, and although Anne couldn't regret her time with Henry, the love they shared, and the passion that created Elizabeth, she thought she might understand a bit what it felt like to have a simple lady in waiting rip away your place. Ladies in waiting – sometimes it felt like they truly were waiting, for her to make a mistake or for a chance to take her place in her husband's affections.

She knew her position was crumbling from underneath her after her miscarriage, but there was nothing she could do to stop it – none of her pleas did anything but echo in her mind, as Henry ignored her in favour of his new sweetheart. She had come to expect that Henry would find some way out of their marriage, and he did – their marriage was annulled due to her "close affinity to another woman known carnally to the King". Thus, she was the King's wife no more, and Elizabeth nothing but a bastard, even if she was the daughter of a King and a Marquess. However, she didn't think that Henry would feel the need to have her married off. And to Charles Brandon! Even if he didn't care about her feelings anymore, he knew that his friend hated her!

"Anne?"

It was her father, come to escort her up the aisle. She couldn't exactly tell what he was thinking – marriage to a duke was certainly higher than her original station, a simple daughter of a Knight, yet it was lower than her previous status of Queen of England.

She held out her arm to him, and he took it. The doors opened, showing the crowds watching – Henry was of course not there, probably spending time with his new wife, Queen Jane. She was glad she had not been at that ceremony, but she was stuck at this one with no way out.

Her future husband stood at the altar, facing towards the front of the church. Gracefully, she let go of her father's arm and walked the few remaining steps to the Duke's side. They both sank to their knees on the silk cushion, waiting for the Priest to begin.

Anne clutched her bouquet, looking down at the empty space on her ring finger. For 3 years, her and Henry's wedding ring had sat there, a symbol during the hard years of their marriage that Henry had loved her. After the annulment, it had been left bare, but now it would be covered again. With a gulp, she lifted her head up towards the priest. Already, the time seemed to have sped by, and Charles was reciting his vows.

"I, Charles Brandon, take thee, Anne Boleyn, to my lawful wedded wife, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better for worse, for richer for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, till death do us part, according to God's holy ordinance; and thereto I plight thee my troth."

As the new couple mingled throughout the room with the various guests, they avoided each other as much as they possibly could. Unfortunately for them, they were obliged to dance the first dance together. Their eyes refused to meet, even as their bodies brushed against each other. This reminded Charles of what would happen tonight. He wasn't quite sure what to do. He had never slept with a woman who did not want to be with him, and this particular woman had also been the reason behind the breaking with the Catholic Church, not to mention she had been… involved… with his closest friend for ten years.

As soon as the dance finished, he bumped into his ward, Catherine Brooke. They glanced at each other before she made a slight curtsy and walked by. Charles had been planning to propose to her before Henry decided to make a different proposal. Speaking of Henry, Charles couldn't wait to get back to him and away from his new wife.

Soon, the whole meal was finished and Anne left for his… their… room, no doubt to change into her bedclothes and await his presence. Taking a big swig of wine, he thought back to the first time he saw Anne Boleyn. It was at the masquerade, in honour of the Spanish envoys. He remembered how he had seen Henry's interest in her, his gaze staying focused on her throughout the whole dance. Back then he had believed it was a passing interest. Anne may have been a challenge, but he was certain she would eventually give in. He never would have imagined how much trouble one woman could cause. But now that she could no longer cause damage to the country and the royal family, she had fallen into his hands. Granted, it was not her fault, but it didn't make him any happier.

"Congratulations, your Grace," Anthony Knivert interrupted his thoughts.

"You know how I really feel about this marriage," Charles told him, looking in the eye. "I am only doing it because it is the king's wish, and I do not want the Marquess to attempt to gather support."

"You mean the Duchess."

Charles gave a slight nod.

"Well, you're now trapped in this marriage. The least you can do is try to make the most of it. You will be able to take as many mistresses as you like, without your wife getting upset," said Anthony.

You can love, perhaps for a year. A month. Even for an hour.

He shook the memories of Margaret out of his head. Margaret and him – that had been such a mistake. He thought it was love, but it wasn't. She hadn't died because of him, but he couldn't help but feel that he should shoulder some of the blame. At least with his new wife, he wouldn't have to worry about hurting her. Their marriage would be an empty shell. In a way, it was comforting not to have to control himself. But if Henry wasn't also his King… well, who would want to be married to someone who they openly hated?

"Well, good luck in the bedchamber," Anthony said, giving him a slight push out of the room. "Have fun."

Anne was sitting up in bed, reading a letter beside the glow of two candles, when she heard the door creak. She refused to look at him as he closed the door behind him. The letter was an old one, but she had kept it through the years and was glad she had now. It was from Mary, when she had become Mrs. Carey. It was a reminder that Mary had gotten through an arranged marriage, and so could she, even if she and her husband didn't exactly have a good history.

Charles awkwardly slid into bed beside her, and Anne knew that she couldn't avoid him anymore. She set the letter down on the table, reminding herself that once he was asleep she would get up and hide it somewhere else.

"Has the King asked that you return to court?" Anne decided to break the silence. She wasn't going to forget that he had most likely encouraged Henry's infidelities, but neither did she want to be walking on eggshells whenever he was around. She figured an easy way to maintain distance from him and yet make their marriage a little more normal was to ask a formal question.

"Yes, in a week."

"I assume I will be staying here?"

"The King is celebrating his new marriage and he and Queen Jane want the court to rejoice with them. As such, all the peers in the kingdom have been invited."

Anne digested this information. So, even after having their marriage declared null and both of them remarrying, Henry expected her to bow down to Lady Jane as her Queen? She would – Elizabeth mattered more than her pride. But she would never truly respect Jane.

And Henry. The last time she saw him was when she begged him for another chance. What would he say to her now? She could only hope he wouldn't make her talk to Jane while he and the Duke talked about whatever they spent their time doing.

"It is getting late," Charles said, observing Anne's face. Clearly she, like him, had expected that she would be staying at Suffolk Manor for at least a few months before showing her face at court again. But Henry wanted her there, probably so that he could show others that Anne acknowledged both his and her new marriages.

And so that her marriage could not be annulled, he wanted them to consummate it.

Charles was no novice at the art of making love to someone. But there was a key difference between doing it with a willing person, and with an unwilling one. Even in another arranged marriage, it wouldn't have been as tough. However, how could it not be awkward to do with your enemy?

But if the King wished it, he had to obey. There was no way he was going to let himself get exiled, with no one for company except his wife and servants.

Anne blew out the candles. The room was pitch black, except for the thin sliver of moonlight that landed at the foot of the bed. Charles slowly leaned over Anne, pressing his lips to hers.