Charles Brandon stood in the library that belonged to the Rupert Wallace of Norfolk. He waited the presence of the lord and paced back and forth quietly. It had been two months since His Majesties' request for a new mistress. It was no surprise to Charles that the king lost favour in Anne Boleyn—just like he had lost favour with Queen Katherine. While the queen was locked away in the Tower of London, His Majesties' eyes were fixed on Jane Seymour—a sweet girl and she was Catholic. Before Henry could do anything but proceed to marry Jane, Anne had to be rid of. So, until that happened—the only thing His Majesty could do was have a mistress to ease his sexual desires. He'd had two so far since the arrest of Anne Boleyn and now the Lord Norfolk's fifteen year old daughter would be next the next one. Charles wondered whether or not Charlotte would be easy with the king, like most of his mistresses. He heard a rumour or two that she had still been a virgin. An usher to Lord Wallace entered the room, bowing to the duke as he led in the Lord.

Rupert greeted Charles with a hand shake and a pat on the back before sitting behind his desk, sorting through his piles of papers and mess. The king had recently made him one of his advisors living abroad London…to keep things in check. An usher came in with a tray holding a silver pitcher of wine and two silver chalices. Rupert poured Charles' until it was full to the top in burgundy-red wine. He sat back and took in half the chalice of wine he had poured for himself. He set the chalice on the desk and folded his hands together before resting them on the edge of the desk.

"How is your wife, Your Grace, Anne Browne was it?" Rupert inquired his voice thick and gruff from the wine.

"She and I had gone our separate ways since the disintegration of the Catholic Church, my lord. She passed on."

"My condolences to Your Grace,"

Charles acknowledged Rupert with a nod and drank some of his wine.

"How is your daughter? Is she well?" Charles asked. "Is it not the anniversary of her birth today?"

"Yes, my daughter has aged another year this day, Your Grace. She is still fresh and young, fit for a king…" Rupert answered. Charles was slightly taken aback at Rupert's comment and shifted in his seat. "Does His Majesty like them as whores or virgins?"

"His Majesty…has no preference…" Charles answered, hesitantly; and, he cleared his throat. "As long as they can conceive,"

He had never met a man as crude as Rupert Wallace. In truth, many fathers wanted their daughters to be mistresses to kings, but something in his air was unwelcoming. Many daughters would be thrilled to be in the presence of a king and to be his mistress. Charles wondered if Charlotte even knew what her father had been planning. Charles looked out the stained glass windows and realized it was twilight. The moon was just rising over the horizon and Rupert rose when there was music heard in the large dining hall below them. The celebrations for Charlotte's birth had begun.

There was chatter coming from below and dancing. Rupert led Charles out and they came to the dining hall. Near the north wall, there was a long table with trays of delicacies and another one transversely where a few of the guests sat—and Lady Norfolk at near the middle. She was conversing with two gentlemen as Rupert walked up to her and sat down. Charles looked around the room and saw—who he presumed was Charlotte.

Her long, dark curls flowed down her back. A blue and silver coronet rested on her head—it draped over her hair with strings of pearls and around her neck was an elegant silver necklace with an emerald green pendant made of crystals and tear drop shaped pearls. Charles unconsciously stared at her and felt a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. For a brief moment, their eyes met and her brows furrowed in confusion. Charles gave her a small smile before walking over to the table her mother and father were placed at. Lady Wallace greeted him and Charles bowed to her graciously.

"Has His Majesty lost favour with Her Majesty, Queen Anne?" Rupert asked, quickly glancing at his wife to listen.

"Yes, it is said she no longer bleeds. He wants a son but she failed to do so." Charles answered. Lady Wallace frowned and was poured another chalice of wine.

"Here she comes, my husband," Lady Wallace whispered. Charlotte walked up beside Charles and greeted her father.

"Father," she said, with a curtsy. She quickly stole a glance at Charles and curtsied to him. "Your Grace,"

Charles took her hand and kissed it softly, causing her to blush. After, she pulled her hand back and continued blushing.

"I have the most wonderful news for you, my daughter." Rupert began. Charles watched as her features brightened. Her eyes widened and she was holding her breath. He felt envious of the king…she was so beautiful and young—innocent in the ways of men. "His Majesty has shown interest and great favour in you. He would like to meet you."

Charlotte's excitement and happiness faded from her eyes. "What?" she yelled. The hall fell into silence and whispers floated around the room. "Why?"

Charles was about to intercede but Rupert began.

"Because he is the king…and he has lost interest in Anne Boleyn; we should be departing Norfolk in a week to take our place at Windsor," he spat. Charlotte glared at her father.

"I will not," she gritted, bitterly. Charles continued to remain silent as he watched the father and daughter argue. Rupert rose from his seat and with the back of his hand; he smacked Charlotte's cheek fiercely. Charles winced as he heard the slap and glanced at Charlotte.

"You will do as I say and become a mistress to the King of England." Rupert snarled. Charles took a step towards Charlotte and was about to place a hand on her shoulder. "Do not touch the wench."

Rupert fumed at his daughter before storming around the table and shoving roughly past Charles. "You will regret ever defying me, Miss Wallace. You will go to the king and give him the son he so desires."

Rupert stormed out of the hall after that. The guests stood in silence and fear before clearing the banquet hall. Charlotte stood still as stone and Charles saw her hands trembling. Slowly, he walked up to her as tears slid down her cheeks. He placed his hand on the small of her back and handed her a handkerchief which she accepted. Charles felt a desire rush through him as her fingers brushed against his.

"Forgive me for being so rude and an impertinence to my family, Your Grace." Charlotte whispered, chuckling at herself for crying and sniffling.

"You have nothing to apologise for, my lady." Charles murmured. "Might I add you look very lovely this evening?"

Charlotte blushed and Charles watched as she looked down at her feet and giggled once.

"You may, thank you Your Grace," she said. She was about to return his handkerchief but he held his hand up.

"It is yours," he said, with a quick smile. Charles could feel his desire for her growing more rapidly. Gently, he took hold of her hand and kissed it softly. She was stunned by his actions and kept her hand in his for a few moments before he bowed to her. Once he stood tall again, he left the banquet hall. Why did everything and everyone always go to the King? As Charles walked down the corridors to the main doors, all he could see in his mind was Charlotte. His thoughts began undressing her…imagining her small frame and what she looked like underneath all that fabric…but he quickly shook those thoughts out. She would be the king's mistress now. What would she want anything to do with a Duke when she could have a king? Charles thought. He could feel his heart rapidly begin to pound at the thought of her. All he knew was he had to have her. Charles wanted her. And only her.

Author's Note: So! This is a little one shot based of A Jewel in Henry's Crown on Charles' view when he first met Charlotte. Tell me what you think =) Lots of love—

~Alex