Chapter I
June, 1530
Her mother had failed her.
The sainted Queen Catherine of Aragon had given up in her fight against King Henry VIII in his pursuit to marry the harlot, Anne Boleyn.
Princess Mary could not believe her ears once the Spanish ambassador, Eustace Chapuys sadly informed her of the news.
"No," said Mary stubbornly. "My mother would never have given up! She...she hates the harlot! She will never give up my rights willingly! She was bullied! She fought for my legitimacy all this way! Why would she stop now? It doesn't make sense!"
"The King asks me to give you this," said Chapuys, handing her a rolled up parchment.
Mary's hand shook as she took the roll of parchment.
She glanced at it and Chapuys nodded encouragingly.
Mary unrolled it, feeling as if her life was being peeled away like the layers of an onion. She paled as her blue eyes skimmed through it rapidly.
"My mother has truly given up," she said, closing her eyes in defeat. "She accepted an annulment only on the grounds of consanguinity and renounce her title of 'Queen of England' and will be willing to acknowledge Anne Boleyn as the King's wife after their marriage, and will write to her nephew, Charles V, Holy Roman Emperor, to cease in his efforts to support her. As a gesture of friendship and appreciation, my father, the King, has generously agreed to endow upon her the title and style of 'Her Royal Highness, Princess Catherine, Duchess of Lancaster' with the annuity of three hundred thousand pounds and three palaces of her own choosing. She will always have a place in Court, and will have precedence over every woman in Court with the exception of the Queen, me, and any daughter the Queen will have. He also said that part of the divorce agreement, I will be permitted to see my mother whenever I wish, and upon my mother's death, I will become the Duchess of Lancaster in my own right and will inherit her palaces and fortune. On one condition?"
"What is it, Princess? Your acknowledgement of Anne Boleyn as Queen?"
"No, Excellency. Not yet..." Her lips tightened.
"Princess Mary, what is it?"
"The King states that I will remain a princess of England and the heiress presumptive until the birth of his prince, and I will be allowed to see my mother and inherit her possessions only if I marry...if I marry Anne Boleyn's brother, George Boleyn, Viscount Rochford." She spat the last words out ferociously as if they were deadly poison.
Chapuys stared at her, astonished.
"That is the whore's doing!" he said angrily, his usual calm, expressionless face broken into rage. "She knew if she fails to have a son, her nephew, a Boleyn, will become King of England! You should be married to a royal prince, duke of king! Not a mere viscount!"
"George Boleyn wouldn't be a viscount," said Mary quietly, her eyes running across the parchment again. "If I accept marriage, the King will make him the 1st Marquess of Ormond and grant me a new title for my...obedience towards him."
"Princess, you cannot marry the whore's brother. What will your mother say?!"
"She would have known about this. She chose comfort to hardship."
"Your lady mother chose the best for you."
"I will never be queen. The King will have his precious son, and I will be cast into the shadows and in the eclipse of the Boleyns. The King will be so proud of his children with the harlot, and he will forget all about me and I will be killed by the harlot's father." A tear rolled down her cheek.
"The whore's mother only had one son. Perhaps if luck will hold, the King will have only daughters with his whore, and who will the people approve more of? A princess with royal blood on both sides, or a princess who is descended from merchants?"
Mary smiled wanly and laughed weakly.
"The King will never marry me off to a prince," she said, her voice betraying no fear or worry, but instead revealing a tone of queenly diplomacy and truth. "He is afraid a royal husband will invade England on my behalf upon his death. Married to his whore's brother will cement me in England. My mother loves England and does not want to see the kingdom in ashes."
Chapuys nodded, impressed with her words.
"My mother gave in because she wanted England prosperous and with no bloodshed," said Mary, regretting her earlier words of accusation towards her mother. "I will respect her wishes and ensure it was not in vain. I will marry George Boleyn and have his children. If I have to curtsey to Anne Boleyn and address her as queen, I shall do so, but deep in heart, I will always see my mother as the true Queen of England. I will always see her children as bastards. Always."
"I will always be by your side," promised Chapuys. "I vowed to serve Queen Catherine, and now I will transfer my services to you."
The doors opened and a smug-faced Thomas Boleyn, 1st Earl of Wiltshire strutted in, accompanied by two grim-faced guards.
"Your Royal Highness," he said, bowing mockingly. "Your Excellency."
"Lord Wiltshire," said Mary stiffly.
"The King has sent me here to deliver him your answer to the letter he had given His Excellency to pass on to you earlier."
"Give me another five minutes."
"Very well, Your Highness. If I may speak, be quick about it. The King is not a patient man, and he is expecting an answer, Princess." He could not wait to hear the Spaniard's daughter's stubborn, harsh remark about it. He wanted to threaten her so badly...
Wiltshire bowed and retreated.
Immediately, Mary turned to Chapuys.
"Tell the King I accept his terms," she whispered, in case Wiltshire was eavesdropping at the door. "I will marry George Boleyn and I accept the harl-Anne Boleyn as his future consort. Go! Tell him. I do not want Wiltshire to have the satisfaction of hearing me say it."
Chapuys nodded and left through another door.
Approximately five minutes later, Wiltshire returned, haughtier than ever.
"Your answer, Your Highness?" he said at once.
"I have already given it, Lord Wiltshire," said Mary sweetly. "His Excellency is already on his way to inform the King of my answer. You are too late, Lord Wiltshire."
She was delighted to see the smirk vanish from his face.
He shot her a furious look and stormed off, seething in anger at his stupidity for missing the one opportunity to see the King's proud daughter in tears and humiliation.
She will pay for this! Wiltshire vowed, as he headed towards the throne room. She may be the King's daughter, but it won't be long before I put that bitch in place. Grovelling and scrubbing the grounds at my Anne's feet as nothing more than a bastard.
King Henry VIII sat languidly on his throne, dreaming of his Anne at his side and the two of them surrounded by a large brood of red headed sons, all as strapping and healthy as he was in his youth. Of course there would be daughters, beautiful girls with hair as black as a raven's like their mother's, the enchanting Anne Boleyn.
The perfect family.
His perfect family.
"Your Majesty."
He blinked and saw Chapuys bowing in front of him. He was not a bit surprised that the Spanish ambassador would seek audience with him. Probably to hopelessly convince him to take back Catherine on the orders of the interfering Charles V.
"Excellency," said Henry VIII, prepared to zone out once he begins his almost weekly lecture. "What does the Holy Roman Emperor send you to say to me this time?"
"I bring a message from your daughter, the Princess Mary," Chapuys answered, watching the King's eyes widen in astonishment. "She wishes me to convey to you that she accepts the terms. She has said she is willing to marry George Boleyn if she keeps the title 'princess of England' and remains your heiress presumptive until the birth of a prince of Wales. She will retain her position in the line of succession, ahead of your future daughters."
"Of course. That is part of the deal. Is my daughter truly willing?"
"Yes, Your Majesty. Upon my word of honour, the Princess Mary has agreed to marry Viscount Rochford as the obedient daughter she is."
"Obedient daughter, eh? If my daughter is willing and obedient, I wish for her to sign this." He handed him another scroll of parchment.
Chapuys glanced at it suspiciously.
"Do not fear," said the King pompously. "It is nothing about Mary's illegitimacy. Before she marries Viscount Rochford, she must sign this paper, stating that she renounces the Pope as nothing more than a Roman bishop, and she acknowledges me as the Head of the Church of England. Once you return this to me, only then will I see her as my true daughter of my blood and marry her to Lord Rochford. If she refuses to sign it, I will send Wiltshire to take her to the Tower."
Chapuys's blood ran cold as his grip on the blasphemous parchment tightened.
"The Princess Mary must sign this?" he found himself stammer.
"Yes, Your Excellency," said the King, smirking as he saw Chapuys's composed expression falter. "That is all. She must agree that the Pope is nothing more than a Roman bishop. I can assure you that George Boleyn will ensure my daughter to be a devote Protestant in no time. You will not need to fear about a loss in religion for my daughter, Excellency."
Chapuys bowed silently and trudged out, more depressed than ever. In a flash, he found himself pinned against the wall and face to face with Wiltshire.
"I will not forget this!" hissed Wiltshire, before he could even speak. "I will send you back to that impoverished village you were born in, Chapuys! You may be a supporter of that Spanish cow and her daughter, but I will not allow you to keep strutting around like the peacock you are! How dare you deliver the message to the King?!"
"I hope you see the irony in that, Lord Wiltshire," said Chapuys dryly. "Threaten the Princess as much as you like, but it will not be forgotten."
He pushed Wiltshire away and walked off.
Wiltshire entered his chambers, more irritated than ever.
Waiting for him were his daughters, Lady Mary and Anne, his son George, and his brother-in-law, the powerful Thomas Howard, 3rd Duke of Norfolk.
"How was it?" inquired Norfolk. "Did she refuse or cry?"
"I do not know," muttered Wiltshire angrily. "That Spanish ambassador delivered the message before I could stop him. At least she will be soon married off to George, and we'll be able to keep a closer eye on her. I cannot wait till the day she is only Mary Boleyn, Viscountess Rochford."
"The King has a soft spot for his ah...his 'Pearl'," said Norfolk slyly, pouring himself a cup of fine French wine. "Even when George marries her, she will remain a princess of England and heiress presumptive to the throne. If that was not part of the deal, Catherine of Aragon would never have stopped fighting for her darling daughter's rights."
"What?!" spluttered Wiltshire, as red as a drunkard.
"You heard me. You should be pleased!"
"In what way will I be pleased?! I am robbed of the satisfaction of seeing that Spaniard's daughter kneel at my feet for my blessing!"
"Your daughter will marry the King of England, and your son and heir will marry the King's currently only daughter. If Anne happens to die in childbirth along with the child, and the King joins her shortly, the Spaniard's daughter will be queen, and your son will be her king. Either way, one of your children will be king or queen of England. There will always be a Boleyn-Howard on the throne."
"And what? The Princess will keep antagonising me?!"
"You seem to be the one antagonising her! Think about if, Wiltshire. If you continue being hostile towards your future daughter-in-law and she happens to become queen, what will happen?"
"I will be thrown in the Tower." He was bitter. Trust Norfolk to think of everything! "Anne will have a
son! She is perfectly healthy, beautiful, loved by the King...nothing will stop her having a son."
"I will!" said Anne fiercely, tossing her black hair to one side. "I will bear the King's son and he will be the next great king of England!"
Wiltshire nodded approvingly.
"That isn't enough!" said Norfolk sharply. "You may be fertile, but we need to take a page out of the Stanleys' book. We need a foot in each camp! You have clearly shown enmity to Princess Mary, so now we need a replacement! We need a Boleyn to be friends with her in case our plans go awry. Childbirth cannot be conquered by any woman no matter how hard she tries. If Princess Mary somehow becomes queen, we need to remain in her good books."
"I will," volunteered George, eager to meet the princess his father vehemently hated. "She is my betrothed, after all. She will despise Anne as she will replace Catherine of Aragon as queen, and our Mary was her father's mistress. I will be her husband, so wouldn't it make sense if I befriend her before we are married?" He looked around.
Norfolk nodded slowly in agreement.
"You?" said Anne uncertainly. "I need you here..."
"You have Mary," George replied with ease. "I will be with you once we jump safely over the Princess Mary milestone. Let us say the Princess falls for my charms. Perhaps then, she will be more...sympathetic in our cause to Anne as queen. Of course it will be hard, but I'm sure I can conquer it. You will thank me for this, dear sister. You too, uncle, father."
"Very well," said Norfolk dismissively. "Go and find her. Chapuys will be convincing her to sign that document by now. You better succeed, George."
George nodded and left, carrying the bag of Boleyn hopes on his shoulders.
He approached Mary's chambers and paused.
He only saw her from afar in Court feasts and never had the chance to speak to her. What kind of princess was she?
He knocked on the door hesitantly.
It flew open, almost knocking him to the ground.
"Lord Rochford," said Chapuys coldly, watching him stumble. "How surprising you are here! Did the King send you, or your clever uncle? Are you here to poison the Princess? It will do you no favours, you can trust me on that!"
"Excellency," said George, recovering from his initial shock. "I am here to see Princess Mary. I know I am one of the last people you want to see, but please. I suppose you rather see me more than my uncle or father? They will not take insults lightly."
"And you do?!" Chapuys fired at him.
"Chapuys, who is it?"
Reluctantly, he stepped aside and George faced the Princess herself.
She is quite pretty, he thought, as he bowed politely. Not as beautiful as Anne, but still pretty. Especially her auburn hair and sparkling blue eyes. She isn't Anne, but any man will find her attractive and an enchanting girl of fourteen. Only a fool would call her ugly.
"Lord Rochford," said Mary icily, her eyes fixing a glare on him. "What do you want? I already received a visit from your father, and now from you. If you are a gentleman, give me a minute to contemplate signing away my soul to live in a Court full of Howards and Boleyns or die."
George noticed a tear splattered parchment on the table beside her.
"You are a Catholic," he said, stating the obvious. "This must be...horrible for you."
"Kind of you to say so," said Mary sarcastically, crossing her arms. "And what are you? Born a Catholic and now a Protestant under the influence of your sister?"
"Please, Princess. I am not here to argue. I know we are to marry, and I want to tell you something that may influence your decision over this."
"Oh, so I am to trust you know, am I?"
"No. You hate me, I can understand that. I understand your pain of being separated from your mother, and forced to make a terrible decision. I promise you that once we marry, you will not have to see my uncle or father. If you want to live away from them and refuse to acknowledge yourself as a Boleyn, so be it. I will do anything to make you happy. Even if you don't believe me now, trust me that I am a man of honour. This parchment you have to sign...God will forgive you. It is your life at stake. When we live as husband and wife, I will allow you to pray as a Catholic. Do me one favour; be cordial to Anne. She is my dearest sister. Can you keep a secret, Princess?"
Mary raised an eyebrow.
"I am still a Catholic," said George quietly. "My sister is a Reformist and her head is filled with new ideas in religion, but I only pretend to agree with her. I am a Catholic as much as I was when I was a babe. On my life and soul, I swear it is true."
Mary nodded, calmer than before.
"I can pretend..." she said softly.
"Yes," encouraged George, who had no qualms against the poor princess. "In public, you are the obedient follower of the Church of England, in private, you are the devout daughter of Christ. Excellency, do you agree?"
Speechless, Chapuys managed a nod.
"I still hate you," said Mary, shooting George a poisonous glare.
"Very well," he said simply, to her surprise. "If you wish, I will leave you to your own devices after our marriage. I only wanted to tell you that my uncle and father do not control me. I will not allow them to harm you in anyway, and it will be best for you to sign that blasphemous parchment before the King sends you to the Tower. Good day, Your Highness."
He bowed gallantly and departed, leaving Mary and Chapuys staring after him, both of them donning expressions of uncertainty, bewilderment and admiration.
"What will you do, Princess?" Chapuys said finally. "Believe him?"
"He sounds genuine..." said Mary uncertainly. "My mother has given up and it is now up to me. This is a fair deal, and if George is a Catholic like he said he is, I think our marriage will be mutually happy. It is his sister I hate, not him. He is right though...I must sign this to live. Can you tell my mother? I rather her hear it from you than a Boleyn or Howard."
Chapuys nodded.
"What if she remarries?" wondered Mary. "If she marries and has a son, will he inherit her fortune or will I do so?"
"You will," said Chapuys promptly. "If she has any children in her remarriage, they will be given titles and land at the King's generosity. You are her heiress apparent."
"If I marry George, he will have my inheritance once my mother dies."
"No. That will not happen. We will deal with inheritance later. For now, you must return to the King's good books. As a wedding request, ask for the King to sign a letters' patent, stating that your mother's inheritance will only descend through her blood descendants and if inherited by a female, it will not be inherited by her husband."
"Will the King allow that?"
"You are his daughter, and it will save your mother from an early poisoning at the hands of a servant bribed by a Boleyn. Wiltshire and Norfolk are both equally ambitious, and if the whore does have a son, the two of them will turn their attention to making their children equally rich. I can assure you that their first goal is for George to steal your mother's fortune. Remember Edward IV of England's two brothers? They married the Neville heiresses and robbed their mother of her fortune. Sign this and I will give it to the King immediately. If you take too long, you will find it in the hands of a Howard."
Mary nodded. With a gloomy sigh and feeling a depressing grey cloud settling over her, she picked up the quill and scrawled her name on the poisonous paper.
"My life is over," she said sullenly, rolling it up and thrusting it at Chapuys. "The harlot's family rule England. If I die by poisoning, tell my mother that a death via poisoning will point directly at the Boleyns rather than disappear like the Princes in the Tower."
Chapuys nodded, bowed and left.
Three steps Mary noticed ended numerous conversations she had that year.
Ensuring the doors closed securely behind her, she knelt in front of the large cross nailed to a wall in her room and began praying. She prayed for the good health and safety for her mother, the strength and guidance to live through the troubled times to come and one thing she hardly receives. The much sought after gift of love.
She prayed for hours, ignoring the murmurs of her ladies.
Mary wondered if she inherited the 'saints' knees' her great grandmother, Lady Margaret Beaufort had often boasted of possessing. It had been hours and she felt no knee pains.
I must have made the right choice, thought Mary, blinking in a hazy daze. Or was this all a horrible nightmare and my parents are still married?
"Princess Mary. The King summons you to his presence immediately."
Her heart pounding, she turned around and almost cried in relief as it was only her father's regular messenger, not a Howard or Boleyn.
"Your Highness?" said the messenger, confused.
"Nothing," said Mary, praying a quick thanks that the Boleyns had not began their regime yet. "I will go and see him at once. He is in the throne room, is he not?" With a puzzled nod from the messenger, she continued. "Are you to accompany me?"
"Of course, Your Highness," answered the messenger, stepping aside for her to pass. "The King has ordered for you to be under the utmost protection at all times."
Personally, I don't think this is a good start, but you readers can be the judge of it :) I can assure you that Anne Boleyn won't be the villain in this story :) Please review!