Author's Note: Hi everyone! I've abandoned 'How Do You Solve a Problem Like Jane Seymour' because I've had total writer's block. I'll get back to it as soon as I feel inspired. In the mean time this is my newest story. This chapter is more for setting the scene than anything but next chapter will have dialogue and drama! Constructive reviews/criticism is strongly welcome. Hope you all enjoy!

Anne Boleyn, 1540

I never knew how close I came to losing my head five years ago. My womb had failed me once again and through my carelessness and fiery temper I alienated all those who had the power to save me. It was only by mere chance that I managed to seduce the King one last time on that glorious, warm March night after we had spent the evening dancing and drinking. We made love all night and I foolishly believed that I had won my husband's heart back but alas I was mistaken. The next morning when he awoke he cast me off as though I were some great big anchor weighing him. No, his heart belonged to one of my ladies, the conniving Mistress Seymour, whose family were plotting my downfall. I never realised how much danger I was in at the time. The King was tiring of me fast. My enemies whispered in his ear that I was barren, that I was incapable of producing a son, that I was a witch and an adulteress.

Fortunately, on the last day of April I discovered the most marvellous thing. I was with child once more. I knew that this surely was a sign from God. He had only punished me and my husband because we had done wrong in marrying when the King was still lawfully married to his first wife, but now that wrong had been corrected through her death, I was at last his true and lawful wife. I was so certain that the child in my belly would be a boy that I could not hide my excitement and I ran all the way to the King's study. When I told Henry the good news, he did not know what to say. His face was a mixture of pure joy and yet suspicion and anxiety. I did not know why at the time, but I later learnt from my cousin Sir Francis Bryan that he was instigating an investigation against me for adultery and that they had taken my sweet Mark Smeaton away to the Tower for interrogation. Whether Henry was anxious that the child was not his or whether he was angry that he had lost the only way me of ridding himself of me, I will never know. I still shudder at the thought of it.

On the six day of December 1536, I bore the King a healthy son, Nicholas, named in honour of the Saint's Day he was born on. He was such a beautiful child, strong and robust with chubby red cheeks and full pink lips. He had my dark hair but his father's bright blue eyes. He was the perfect blend of Tudor and Boleyn and I was certain he would have all the strength and handsomeness of his father and all the wit and charm of his mother. Henry was delighted with my achievement and the Christmas of 1536 was the merriest Yuletide that had ever existed in England and would probably the merriest that ever was.

But although we had a son, our marriage was no happier. A child did not put an end to the petty arguments we were susceptible to before. I may have had a son to cement my position now and one would dare plot against me , not even my darling husband, but still I could not move his heart like I once did all those years ago. He had grown weary of my temper, of my vicious tongue, of my stubborn heart and overbearing love which drove me to madness with jealousy. I tried to get rid of Mistress Seymour but he simply brought her back again and with no crown to hold out for any longer, she instead settled down and became his maitresse en titre.

I thought he would grow tired of her once she had whored herself out to him like the many women before her, but some how she managed to keep him interested. A mixture of coyness and sweetness alongside gentle and attainable flirtatiousness kept him hooked and she flaunted her new found power by wearing the many gowns and jewels he showered her with. He even gave her private apartments not far from his own so he could visit her day or night. It was not long before she bore him her own child, a son named Lionel, named after their common ancestor the First Duke of Clarence and son of King Edward III. They thought it was romantic how they were bound together by royal blood. They seemed to forget that I too had royal blood running through my veins even if it was not as fresh in my lineage as it was in theirs. Much to my anxiety, she was with child again only months after her first and my old worries came flooding back when the King began to complain excessively of his need for a Duke of York as well as a Prince of Wales. One son would not suffice so it would seem!

Luckily, with the birth of her second child, the poor Seymour creature died from child bed fever. As much as I was delighted with the removal of my most hated rival, I could not help but feel sympathy at her death knowing that she would not know the joys of seeing her children grow up into fine young courtiers. I also felt pity for those poor children of hers who would grow up without a mother. Only a mother can understand the plight of knowing what agony it is to be parted from your children or fearing that you cannot be there for her children when they are in need. Her death, however, affected Henry greatly and he went into a deep melancholy. He wore black and went into unofficial mourning for months whilst pining for her and moping around her old apartments as if he expected her to walk in any minute and embrace him whilst whispering in his ear that this had all been a joke devised by his fool Will Sommer. My spies told me that he used to spend hours sitting on her bed and would cling on to her gowns, smelling and touching the fabrics just so he could feel closer to her. He consoled himself in their children and he gave Lionel the title of his namesake, Duke of Clarence, and brought him into Nicholas' nursery to act as a companion. I was not happy about this arrangement and many time I tried to have the him from my son's company. I did not want my precious son mixing with the likes of bastards, but there was little I could do about it when the King insisted most earnestly that this was his wish. I had seen how dangerous my husband could be when I meddled in his business and so I decided that I would be more discreet and choose my battles more carefully, though nothing would stop me for expressing my beliefs and concerns.

It was about a year after Mistress Seymour's death that he started to return to his normal, jovial self once more. He held balls and feasts with much gusto and he began to treat me like a husband should treat a wife, with sweet words and passionate embraces. But once again our love was short lived. It seems it takes little to capture the attention of my husband and this time his head was turned by a kinswoman of mine. However, he was not unkind to me like he usually was in such circumstances, indeed we had fought very little in the upcoming months and this was partly the reason why I was so adamant that he was in love with me again. But I was sorely mistaken and instead of shouting and arguing like we used to, he simply ignored me. He completely forget about me and this hurt me more than anything he had put me through previously. I watched from afar as my pretty little cousin, Katherine Howard, enticed the King in front of my very eyes. I was powerless to stop her, just as I was powerless to stop Jane Seymour. In fact I would say even more so for my Uncle Norfolk told me that having another Howard girl in the King's bed was of more benefit than having just one and he forbade me from intervening. I tried with little success to get her away from him but once again I was betrayed by my own greedy family.

I can tell my husband is getting old. His women are getting younger, prettier, less intelligent. It seems he likes them vivacious and dim witted. Dear Katherine is always on her feet, dancing the evening away with as many gentlemen as she can find and showing off her fine figure in front of her King. She would speak innocent words to him in a seductive voice and he would melt before her. It did not matter to him that not a word of any good sense came out of them, he was too hypnotised by her sensual Howard mouth. I cannot help but feel a certain sense of deja vu as I remember that it was once I who was the vibrant, spirited girl who stole the King away from his ageing wife. I am only a few years away from forty now. As soon as I am incapable of producing children he will leave my bed forever. At least with Jane Seymour he occasionally came to my bed out of duty but with this harlot of a girl he has completely abandoned me.

But I will be strong. I have had many rivals in my life for the love of the King and in the end I have defeated all of them, even if it was only through death. He will soon tire of her, whether it be from his decreasing libido or that she no longer excites him like she used to do. He will return to me and find his loving companion once more. I will not be brought down by the likes of a silly little fool like her, she had best know that for her own sake, for I am not frightened of bringing down my own flesh and blood if needs be.

I am Anne Boleyn. Queen of England.