(Inspired by season 3 finale and some fanfics here. It has nothing to do with history. I hugely apologize for any mistakes I may make, because English is not my native language.)
Today I've heard the amazing news! My dear Frau Martha said it to me, choking with emotion and in such a low voice that it was more like a whisper, as if to say it out loud meant to betray some state secret. It turns out that the ambassadors of the King of England who have been at our court these past two weeks came not only to conclude a trade treaty as we all thought. They are looking for a bride for their sovereign. And that means, that means ... My brother has two of us, two sisters, Amelia and me, but since I'm older then ... I usually listen to the chatter of my nanny with half an ear, but now I try not to miss a word. "His Highness gave an audience and a very long one", I hear. "Long audience" lasted perhaps five - ten minutes, because my brother thinks it's beneath his dignity to talk with anyone longer, no matter how important the people are. The portrait has been mentioned. When Herren Ambassadors heard that our artist is sick, they immediately offered to send a personal portraitist of King Henry himself. What to think about it?
"Portrait - this is serious", my Frau Martha says and looks at me significantly. Poor creature, she has almost lost hope to ever see me walking down the aisle. And no wonder, because I am already twenty-four. My maids of honor say it's because our father died too early and did not have time to betroth us. As for our brother, well, William is always occupied with the urgent matters of state. And in general it's very difficult to arrange a profitable royal marriage. But I know another reason why I am still not married. Nobody will tell it to me, but I know. I just need to look in the mirror and then turn my eyes, well, at least to the maid standing next to me. I am not very pretty. No, not ugly, God forbid, but I am not the most beautiful woman in the world. And for men, I know, it is very important. Although for the royalty the lack of beauty of the bride has never been an obstacle, just look at my stepmother and some other women of our kin.
"But why", I dare to ask, "is King Henry interested in us? Why not France and not any relatives of the Emperor?"
"Well", my nanny gently pats my arm, "surely he has his reasons. Where should a good protestant search for a bride if not in Germany?" Yes, of course, England broke with Rome like many in our land and it's only natural for us to seek an alliance. "And besides ...", Frau Martha suddenly becomes silent. I wait for her to continue, but she nervously fingers the hem of her dress. Then, seeing my bewilderment, she takes herself in hand and smiles. "My darling, my dear, dear child. Every day I pray Lord to send you happiness, how can He not hear my prayers at last?"
In the evening, left alone, I think it over and finally understand the meaning of her words. This King Henry, my supposed fiancé, doesn't have the best reputation. He has already buried three wives, and not all of them died from natural cause. Of course, Anne Boleyn cheated on him (the scandal was so tremendous that its echo came to our remote country and even penetrated into my chambers, secluded from the world!) So no one could blame the king that he ripped from his heart the love he felt for her and sent an adulteress to the scaffold. And yet. Few girls would agree to marry a killer of his wife, if they have the opportunity to choose. And what about me? What would be my answer? I just begin to think about it, but then suddenly come to myself and cannot help laughing. What do I imagine? As if someone will ever ask my opinion!
Tonight I couldn't fall asleep for a long time and when at last I managed, strange dreams came to me. I am sitting next to my brother in our throne hall and the ambassadors of His Majesty the King of England are slowly approaching us. They are kneeling and one of them, the most senior and important, says: "Your Highness, may I be permitted to ask the hand of your sister for my sovereign?" William looks at me and everybody in the room looks at me, but I sit solemnly on my throne and don't know what I should say. Suddenly I notice that it is not our modest chamber, but something much grander - Whitehall, the residence of the King of England - and I am surrounded by unfamiliar lords and ladies. They bow and curtsy to me. And then I see him - King Henry. I know it's him, though I have never seen him. Who else could have such a powerful profile, such a majestic posture, such a brilliant smile? "My lady", he says, his voice sounds like music to my ears, "my sweet lady!" And then everything disappears - the throne hall, the courtiers, the palace - we are alone in the garden near the fountain. The moon shines, the water is flowing, lovely music is played somewhere in the distance. And now not a powerful ruler, but a gentle lover is standing in front of me, a lover begging for a single glance. He takes my hand and almost whispers: "Dare I hope?" And when I am going to answer, a woman suddenly emerges from behind his back and then another and another. They are looking at me threateningly, they are ready to wither me, they are approaching me step by step. I am speechless, I have a cold sweat, I retreat to the fountain. And when I am about to fall into it, my nightmare is over. I wake up trembling. I know what my dream means and who these women were.