Anne Boleyn is dead only for several days, but Henry already proposes to Jane Seymour, wishing to forget Anne and move on.

Although this one-shot written about the Henry/Jane pairing and their thoughts about Anne and her death, there is much about Anne Boleyn and Henry's feelings for the murdered Queen in this story.

Undoubtedly and unfortunately, I don't own any characters and the show.

Hope you will enjoy the story.

Any reviews are welcome. Constructive criticism is always welcome.

Engraved Forever

Only two days passed since Anne Boleyn had been beheaded on Tower Green. The air was fresh, pure and cool; the sky was endless blue and the sun had already appeared over the horizon. The sounds of singing birds resonated high among the trees in the royal garden and somewhere in a distance, on the borders of the sky and earth, where the red sunrise had just faded away. The world was becoming alive around the Palace of Whitehall, and life was going on in spite of the Queen's unfair death.

King Henry strictly forbade everyone to wear mourning for the death of Queen Anne, stating that it wasn't necessary to mourn for the death of the witch and the adulteress who had committed multiple and abominable crimes against the King and England. He commanded to burn Anne's clothes and all her things, even her most personal possessions. The royal goldsmith was ordered to destroy all Anne's expensive and exquisite jewelry, which Henry had given her during the long years of their tumultuous courtship and the short time of her queenship. All Anne's portraits and miniatures were destroyed as well. Henry wanted to forget Anne Boleyn and everything associated with her.

As the hands of the clock measured eight in the morning, King Henry appeared in the Presence Chamber with Lady Jane Seymour, their expressions happy and proud, as if nothing had happened to Anne. As the courtiers greeted the King and smiled at Jane, Henry dismissed everyone, wishing to be alone with his beloved Jane, whom he was going to make a marriage proposal today. Henry seated himself into a velvet-covered high-back armchair, letting Jane land on his knees. For a while, they sat quiet, only staring at each other and smiling as if they were mesmerized.

King Henry looked at Jane, his aquamarine eyes sparkling with joy. "Jane, you are my angel!"

Jane smiled shyly, her cheeks flushing in excitement. "Your Majesty is too kind to me."

"I am just telling you the truth," Henry replied. "You were sent to me to save me. You are the only one who can show me the light after life in the darkness for so many years."

Jane cast her eyes down. "Your Majesty, you are most kind. I don't deserve it."

"Jane, my Jane," Henry whispered in a silken, caressing voice. "You deserve all the best, sweetheart."

She smiled with a slow, timid smile. "Thank you."

"You are beautiful, Jane."

"Your Majesty is too kind."

He looked at her intently, his aquamarine eyes caressing her skin and undressing her, and she became embarrassed and blushed. He noticed it, and smiled at her. He didn't turn away and let his eyes dwell on each and every part of her lovely face because every time he turned his hungry eyes away to avoid making her too shy, he involuntarily fixed them upon her again next moment.

Henry gave Jane a long, attentive look. "Jane, sweetheart, will you marry me?" His voice was more than soft and tender as he proposed to her – it sounded like a lullaby to a small child. For a moment, he recalled that Anne Boleyn had died only two days ago, but he didn't want to postpone his wedding to Jane. He couldn't wait any longer to make Jane his wife and his Queen.

"Yes, I will," Jane replied with a timid smile. She gave her consent without any shadow of hesitation. "Your Majesty, I am most honored and happy to become your wife."

King Henry smiled broadly, looking into Jane's eyes. She looked like a delicate English beauty in her modest green muslin gown. Her long blonde hair was left down, half secured by a jeweled English hood; rubies and diamonds were weaved in her hair with the thinnest gold thread. She looked so different from Anne Boleyn who always wore luxurious and eccentric gowns in French style, every gown cut indecently low and attracting attention of everyone who had ever looked at the wanton seductress.

In contrast to Anne Boleyn, Jane deserved to be loved and worshiped by the King of England and the whole country. Jane was everything that Anne was not: she was quiet, reserved, mild, even-tempered, and humble, and she was willing to do what Henry asked or ordered, without asking any questions and throwing tantrums at him. Jane wasn't as well educated and intelligent as Anne was, but it wasn't the most important thing for the King. Henry thought that Jane had all qualities he needed to have in the Queen of England, and he was sure that his subjects would love her as much as he loved her.

Henry thanked God and providence that he had Jane in his life. He finally found an ideal woman who would give him a male heir and save the country from bloody civil wars for succession. Jane was his angel, his life, and his future, and he believed that he loved her more than he had ever loved any other woman, even Anne Boleyn. His love for Jane was pure, affectionate, and deep, coming from the depths of his heart; his love for her wasn't the product of witchcraft like his love for Anne was. She was his treasure and his happiness. He would love and worship her until his dying day.

Once Henry had loved Anne with all his heart, and he had believed that she loved him too. He had torn England apart for Anne and only for her, but she had made him a laughingstock of Europe when she had given birth to Elizabeth – she had given him a girl, not a boy as she had promised. Any girl was useless for Henry who was dreaming of having a son for many years. Anne had failed Henry, and later her two miscarriages had proved that God hadn't blessed their union. The final miscarriage of a male child, of almost four months gestation, in January 1536, had enraged Henry; he had been maddened with anger when she had accused him of causing that miscarriage by being not discreet enough and letting Jane sit on his knees. But what right did she have to tell him that if she had already been betraying him with her lovers, including her own brother George?

Anne's failure to give him a healthy son and her horrible betrayals of their love made Henry sick of that witch and everything associated with her. Henry had wanted Anne dead to pay for her crimes and betrayals. He hated and despised Anne with all his heart; his hatred for Anne was overpowering and festering, and there was nothing that could weaken or eradicate that hatred. But now Henry was free from Anne, and he didn't love her anymore; he would easily forget her and build a bright future with Jane. The memory of Anne Boleyn would be condemned to dark oblivion.

Marriage to Jane would make Henry happy. Soon the royal nursery would be filled with many princes; he wanted to have at least three sons with Jane. He expected Jane to give him the Prince of Wales and then the Duke of York within two years after their wedding. God definitely looked favorably at his marriage to Jane because Jane was not Anne, Henry thought. God would surely grant him a son who would be a perfect living copy of him and the greatest King who had ever ruled England.

Although he believed he loved Jane, Henry didn't think that he would be always faithful to her. He was a healthy and virile man and he loved beautiful ladies. He thought that any man could find the most delightful hours of his existence, the hours of love and of passion, in a bed with a young beauty. The Queen's bed was sacred, and any Queen had to be faithful to her wedding vows, which Anne neglected to do. Unlike his Queen, Henry had every right to have a mistress if he wanted another woman and if his Queen was unable to perform marital duties. Jane as his Queen would be respected and loved by him and everyone as the best and most delightful of his earthly possessions and his wife; she would understand that she couldn't have him for herself throughout her entire life.

Henry tenderly brushed a strand of Jane's blond hair behind her ear. "Do you need some time to think about my proposal, sweetheart?"

Jane shook her head, smiling. "No, I don't."

Henry took a deep breath, preparing himself to proceed to the marriage proposal. "Sweetheart, you will be my Queen very soon. I would be happy to marry you in two weeks." Though his voice seemed light and cheerful, for him it sounded as if the bell sounded its funeral knell in a lively manner.

Jane was truly amazed that he wanted to marry her so quickly. Yet, it was exactly what she needed and craved to have for so long. "We will do exactly as Your Majesty wishes."

Henry smiled with a satisfied smile, pleased with her obedience. "I promise that we will have a grand wedding ceremony, and then many majestic festivities will follow," he assured her passionately. He took her hand in his and kissed her palm, his lips tenderly touching her ivory skin. Then he captured her lips with his, fiercely claiming them. As he broke the kiss and pulled away, he whispered, looking into her grey eyes, "The whole England will celebrate our union! Nobody will forget this day!"

Jane was happy; her heart was blossoming, like nature always blossoms when spring changes winter. She felt her heart hammering harder and harder at the thought that she would become the Queen of England and the wife of her beloved Henry. Her entire life seemed to be bright and happy, her expectations of happiness with Henry growing luxuriantly, like the most exquisite flower in the majestic garden. She was so happy that the air seemed too soft and the slight breeze too balmy as it blew upon her skin and ruffled her long blonde hair on her head. Her life seemed too perfect as Henry's marriage proposal made her dream and imparted a splendid charm to the love she felt for him.

Jane smiled as her mind drifted off to the events of the past months. When King Henry had offered to serve her, like Lancelot had served Queen Guinevere so many centuries ago in the Arthurian times, Jane had found it difficult to be believe that the powerful King of England had turned his attention to her humble personality, that he had come to her and had pleaded for her favor, as if she had been a lady of a high station and he were a mere knight. Henry had told her that she had given him the honor by accepting his chivalrous love and deep devotion, and she had been flattered by his words. At that moment, Jane hadn't known whether the King would want to make her his Queen.

Jane hadn't thought of becoming the Queen before her father John Seymour and her brothers, Edward Seymour and Thomas Seymour, had told her that Henry had been tiring of Anne Boleyn and that there had been a good chance to win Henry's affections. Her family had taught her how to attract the King's attention and foment his passion, stating that she should have never given her virtue to anyone, including Henry, unless she had married that fortunate man. Her father and brothers had ordered Jane to tell Henry that she would keep her maidenhead only for her husband, making an emphasis on the fact that honor was more precious than the love she felt for the King. Jane had done as she had been taught, and the King had appreciated her words and had taken even greater fancy to her.

Through the teachings of her family, Jane had carefully nurtured Henry's growing affection for her. With great pleasure, Jane had allowed him to court her in decent ways, never letting him to cross the line and take her innocence. Jane had been playing with Henry's affections, using his displeasure with Anne's behavior and his disappointment in his marriage to the Harlot to the advantage of her family and herself; she played with Henry in the same way Anne Boleyn had played with him many years ago. Though she acted in accordance with the instructions of her relatives, Jane was also gradually falling in love with Henry, and she wished to be in his company as much as he craved her company.

When Anne Boleyn had lost her second child, Jane had begun to think that God hadn't wished to give Anne a son because she had been no more than Henry's concubine, not the rightful Queen of England. Her father and brothers had assured her that Jane had possessed a real chance to become the Queen and save the country from the Harlot and the ambitious Boleyns and Howards. Anne Boleyn's constant tantrums of jealousy had helped the Seymours and Jane in the realization of their most cherished dream to make Jane the Queen, and they had continued playing.

Jane Seymour didn't participate in the downfall of Anne and her relatives. When the horrible charges against Anne had been officially declared, Jane had been truly shocked. She had also been dumbfounded as she couldn't have believed that the Queen of England, even if the false Queen, had dared commit such terrible crimes; she had been especially shocked with the charge of incest.

Jane believed that Anne was guilty of all the crimes she had been charged with because Henry himself had told her that Anne's crimes were so vile and so sacrilegious that Anne had damned herself to burn in the hellfire forever. Her siblings had said that the Harlot had been finally punished for the crimes against England and God. Jane had no reason to believe otherwise, for it was her duty to listen to her family and her future husband, her lord and sovereign.

Jane didn't pity Anne as the evil woman had committed terrible sins and paid for them. Immediately after Anne's arrest and imprisonment at the Tower, Jane's father and brothers had assured her – even before Anne's trial – that Anne's fate had been sealed and soon Jane would become the Queen of England. Now Anne Boleyn was dead, and Henry proposed to Jane. At last, the Harlot was dead and no threat to her and her family. Jane won the battle with the Harlot and would be the Queen soon.

Jane was happy that King Henry loved and worshiped her. She was sure that she was destined to save England from the Harlot. She truly believed that it was her fate to become the Queen of England and the savior of the nation by giving Henry a son who would rule after him. She would do everything to help Princess Mary Tudor to be restored to the line of succession, Jane swore.

She was intending to make him a happy King and a happy man. She loved and respected Henry from the bottom of her heart, with a poetic fervor, with the tenderness of a wellborn English rose. She also knew that she loved Henry more than he loved her; she knew that all his efforts and hopes would never be centered entirely on making her happy. After all, Henry was the King of England, and he had many rights and duties to his kingdom and nation while Jane's duty was to obey and serve.

Jane was not Anne Boleyn and wasn't going to repeat Anne's mistakes. Monogamy was not in Henry's character in any relationship he had ever had, including in his future marriage to Jane, and Jane accepted that she would never be the only woman in Henry's life. He would probably stray from his marriage vows sooner or later, but she reconciled herself with that thought. She understood that for Henry the Earth was habitable and his life was bright only because he was the King of England and had power, as well as because there were many other lovely women whom he could take in his bed.

Jane gave Henry a dazzling smile. "Your Majesty, I am so happy today," she said truthfully.

Henry smiled back at her. "I am glad to hear this, sweetheart." He caressed her cheek with his thumb; then he bent his head as if to kiss her. "I love you, Jane," he whispered as his brushed hers.

"I love Your Majesty so much," Jane murmured.

Henry kissed Jane in her lips, and Jane eagerly responded to his kiss. He burned her up in his kiss, incinerating the vestiges of her naivety and devouring her innocence as a greedy, possessive lover. As his tongue dueled with hers, a powerful ache stirred in his loins, and he kissed her with greater desperation and hunger. At that moment, he wanted to strip her of her clothes and take her on the table, for there was no bed in the Presence Chamber; but he decided to wait until the wedding night.

Henry drew back from her, his eyes darkened with passion. "I love you so much," he spelled out slowly. "I want to make you happy, and you will make me happy."

"I will do everything Your Majesty wishes. I will obey and serve you," she blurted out, lowering her eyes, a faint blush rising to her cheeks.

He traced the line of her jaw, smiling at her shyness. "It is my responsibility to take care of you, Jane, from now and during our whole life," he stated, his voice low and husky.

Jane lifted her eyes and locked her gaze with his. "I will try my best to be a good wife to you."

"You will make me happy." Henry's words sounded like a mantra. "You will give England and me a Prince – many Princes." He planted a soft kiss on her lips, then glanced into her eyes. "I want you to give me a son as possible." His expression turned dreamy. "We will have many sons in our nursery."

Jane forced a smile, yet feeling a cold shiver running down her spine. "If God wills it, Your Majesty."

"You are pure and innocent like a lily," Henry said, wrapping his hand around her waist. "Our marriage will be true and legal in the eyes of God and law. There is nothing that can deprive of us our son."

"Yes, Your Majesty," Jane's voice coursed through the air.

She plastered a smile on her flushed face, struggling to maintain her composure in the light of Henry's talk about a son. Though she was sure that she would be able to conceive, carry to term and give birth to a healthy son, Henry's maddening devotion to have a male heir seemed frightening. She knew that she must quickly conceive a child to make Henry happy, strengthen her position of the Queen, and preserve the power her family accumulated. She prayed days and nights to give Henry a child.

Henry smiled at Jane, but this smile was a ghost of the sweet and delightful smile which he usually gave her. It was a shadowed smile that curved his lips but left his eyes untouched; there was no light in his eyes at that instant. It was a languid, melancholic smile, the smile of regret for something he had once craved to have but which was destined to remain only a dream. Fortunately for Henry, Jane didn't notice that momentary subtle change in him, for she didn't possess profound observational skills.

At that moment, Henry looked at Jane but he saw not the sweet blonde angel with pale skin and dull grey eyes – his mind reproduced the image of the blue-eyed, raven-haired beautiful seductress, which was haunting him since the day of her death. Henry could do nothing to get rid of her face he often imagined, of her laugher that sounded in his ears, and of everything he wished so much to forget.

Though physically dead, Anne was still alive in Henry's cold and cruel heart. The memories about Anne were soul-stirring for Henry. Every memory of Anne and all the years when he had loved her and she had supposedly loved him were ones of those painful and simultaneously delightful things that seem to permeate you deeply, deeper than into a heart and even a soul, and those things were unforgettable, like the memory of a great happiness and an utter bliss one can experience only once in life.

Henry knew that he would never be free from Anne's hold. Henry would have given up everything to be indifferent to Anne's tragic fate, to feel as if he were suddenly shut up in his own island, far from the din of the world, where Anne couldn't find him. But he was sure that Anne would never leave him alone. Instead, she would pursue him carefully and stubbornly until his death, and he felt as if he were a fugitive about to engage in a skirmish, feeling quite sure that he would be caught by Anne in the very end.

Anne was dead, but she left behind someone who resembled her in too many ways – she left behind her dear Elizabeth. Even if he somehow managed to bury Anne's memory and completely forget her, even if all the wounds on his bleeding heart are healed, she would never be gone from his life because there was Elizabeth, a sweet, bright, and precious child Anne had given Henry; he knew that Elizabeth was his daughter even if he had publicly declared the poor child Henry Norris's bastard. Sooner or later he would have to face Elizabeth, and he dreaded the moment of meeting with his daughter.

Anne was a woman who brought delight and pleasure, pain and fire with every movement and every word, and Henry could feel that keen, exquisite and deep pleasure of being with her even now, when she was dead – when she was killed at his order. He suffered from staying alone in the darkness as the memories of Anne came back to his tired mind. He suffered from them morally and physically, feeling as if something had been twisted inside him, and he ceased to breathe. Every time he thought of Anne, he felt the pain and the sting which treachery and deceit leave in their wake; he also was still tortured by a wild, all-absorbing longing for her; the pain of her alleged betrayal was unbearable, and he had to put a great deal of effort to hide his distress and sorrow.

Even the sound of Anne's name was still delicate and sensitive in spite of everything she had done to him. When he was alone in the solitude of his bedchamber, under the cover of the darkness, he often spoke her name aloud, with pain and yet feeling as if affectionate hands were caressing him as he called her. At night the sound of Anne's melodic laugher rang in his ears, and next night, and every night; it rang as much as he didn't desire through the darkness, making him seized with a strange and painful joy, awakened one could not tell why.

Henry shook his head to chase away the ghost of Anne Boleyn. He glanced at Jane and smiled at his bride, hoping that Jane would make him forget Anne and take away some of his pain. Jane was not Anne, but she was beautiful in her own way: she was beautiful in her innocence and simplicity, and she was music to his ears. Henry again told himself that he would have a bright and colorful life with his sweet Jane. Jane wasn't as passionate and seductive as Anne had always been, and there was no fire in her, but he was too tired of Anne's burning fire and he needed a kind of soothing balm on the wounds of his wounded heart – the heart injured by Anne's betrayals. The saddest thing was that Henry had inflicted all those wounds on himself by cruelly murdering Anne, the innocent Queen of England, though he didn't understand that and would probably never be able to realize.

In the few next days, Jane Seymour was very busy with the preparation of her wedding dress. The royal seamstresses spent countless hours locked in Jane's apartments and sewing her wedding gown. Jane swore that French influence in clothing style and at the court in general, which had flourished under Anne Boleyn, would be forgotten because she preferred everything to be purely English, including fashions, manners, and colors. She decided that she would never wear even a French hood that was so popular at the court because of the Harlot's reign. Jane liked rich fabrics, heavy with brocade and jewels, and she planned to wear a stunning dazzling white English wedding gown designed in English conservative style and made of heavy white brocade, with moderately square-cut neckline and the front embroiled with pearls and laced with gold.

Jane and her family lived in a perfect bliss. The Seymour family began to take benefit from the King's love for Jane very soon after the execution of Anne Boleyn. As a wedding gift, King Henry gave Jane a grant of more than one hundred manors in four counties, as well as a number of forests and hunting chases; the income from those possessions would support Jane during her marriage to the King. Henry also planned to elevate the status of Jane's family by elevating Edward Seymour to the Earl of Hertford and giving the title of Baron Seymour of Sudeley to Thomas Seymour.

Anne Boleyn was dead, but life will go on without her. Years will pass and seasons will change, marked by changes in weather and hours of daylight. Yet, there will never be a woman like Anne Boleyn – Anne will never be forgotten and no future wife of Henry will ever be her equal. And it will be Anne Boleyn whom Henry will remember with a nagging pain in his heart every time when he will dream of being young and happy again; he will miss Anne and her fire till his last day. The memory of Anne was engraved forever in the history of England and in the memory of King Henry VIII.