Henry's eyes widened in shock. He threw down the letter and shook his head fiercely.

'No, there is no way!' he thought, 'I cannot be the Prince of England! No they're lying, I cannot be …. I cannot be …'

He picked up the letter again an re-read it. He re-read it four more times until the words that were written in ink began to dance in his head taunting him with the possibility of being the truth. He slumped down and began to cry. Burying his head in is hands he refused to believe that his whole life had been a lie. He shook his head again. There was no way he was Henry, Duke of Cornwall. There was no way those clothes and that blanket had once belonged to him. And there was definitely no way his parents were King Henry and Queen Katherine.

But as his tears came to an abrupt stop he picked up the letter and read it again. And again, and again, until on his seventh time reading it, he started to believe what he was reading. The Susan and George he knew had never been liars, they had always told him the truth even if brutal when he had been growing up. He could not imagine why they would keep this from him, if this was his truth. Anger began to boil inside him consuming his thoughts until he got up and punched the wall making a small hole.

"I cannot believe it! Why would they do this? Why! They thought it God's way, but God condemns stealing and lying. Had I known, had I known!" he yelled into the empty space. Remembering the letter, he quickly reached down for the fourth drawer and fiercely opened it. The rusted handle broke off but Henry didn't even notice. His rage had always blinded him, that was one flaw he had never been able to get rid of no matter how desperately he had tried.

As he looked inside the drawer he found twenty-five fine purses of money in an array of silks, velvets, and satin, all either red or purple and tied with a golden string. He picked one up. It was heavy with money. Money that they had been paid to keep him! But if he had to be thankful for something it was that they had left him pretty well-off by the looks of it.

He poked around the first bag and pulled out fifty coins of pure gold and a little note. He unwrapped it quite carefully for having been quite upset and began to read it.

'Keep him well. Remember who he is, a true Prince. This will sure help.' It was written in an elegant scrawl, something that almost made him get up and punch the wall again when he realized that this note had confirmed everything George had claimed and had erased any doubts he had. After all this wasn't written by either George or any another regular townsfolk, the writing was too perfect, to aligned, this was written by the person who had sold him to George and Susan. The first person who had ripped him from his real parents and true life.

"Remember who he is a true Prince," Henry spat disgusted, "they obviously didn't remember, none of them did. It was a lie, my life was a lie!"

He pulled out all the bags of money and angrily placed them next to the blanket and robe. He was going to burn all of this, never in his life did he ever want to see them again. It was a symbol of betrayal by people he thought were trustworthy. As he reached in for the last five bags, he found a piece of parchment neatly folded underneath. He almost felt like leaving it there. If he were to read anything else by a man he once considered his Uncle, he would go into a rampage.

But despite what he felt like doing, he picked it up anyways and read it. To his surprise it was written in the near illiterate hand of Susan. Henry had remembered how Susan had told him that she had never gone to school, and how George had taught her how to read and write. As he read through the letter he knew that was why there were multiple misspellings.

"Henry,

My dear lyttle Henry, I knoe you must be enraged as of ryght now. I understand. But please forgyve us, we always tried to tell you. But fear …. Fear …. It always consumed us. We lyft you all the bags of monie that were payed to us to keep you. We never used a single cent, we promise. We kept it all for you, because we figured that one dai, when our deaths wuld come to take us, the last one lyft wuld tell you.

You must understand that we did not do it just for the monie. We did it so that we could have our own chyld. It was wroung of us to do so, but in those moments we did not think. We did not react and step back. We just took you. I fear that we repaied heavily for that sin.

That nyght, George told me to get ryd of your clothes, the lyttle robe that by now you have seen. That was the robe in which we took you, and that blanket, it was embroidered by your mothur, Quene Katheryne. Yes Henry, she is your mothur, your real mothur. I'm shure that George already told you that in that first letter that you read.

If you were to evur go back to your ryghtful place, I pray that you take those items with you. They will serve you a great deal if you ever met theyre majestyes. And as I'm shure George mentioned, if you were to evur go bakk, please my dear Henry, watch out for the vycyous snakke that payed us to keep you. Alas, I cannot mention hys name, even now I fear that that name is a curse placed upun all of us. I cannot blame hym for takyng you, for that was us, but he was the one who fyrst instilled the idea of the treason we commytted and the one that fyrst placed you in our arms.

My darlyng, I only want you to know that we always luved you, I always luved you. I was your mothur before I became your Aunt, and before I only became the woman that you now knoe thynk of me as.

Do not evur thynk we didn't wysh to tell you, because we did so very much wyth each passyng day. But you must understand that a sword was hung ovur our heads untyl the nyght of our indyvydual deaths.

I give you my blessyng dear chyld, even if you do not want it now. May God be wyth you forevur, and may he grant you the ryght of being Kyng.

Wyth all my luve and devotion for the true Prynce of England,

Susan."

As he read each word he could hear her voice. He could hear the parts she would have raised her voice at, the parts she would have lowered it, and if the ink stains weren't enough, he could hear the sadness and tears laced through the words.

He had loved her like a mother, he couldn't deny that even in his angry state. He had loved George too. And he looked around, he remembered every day he had spent with them and began to cry. What he felt inside was so confusing, so frustrating for a fifteen year old. He reasoned that in a way he couldn't have wished for better people to have raised him, even if they hadn't been the ones biologically destined to do so.

He could have had it worse, but he didn't. George and Susan could have treated him as a slave and made him work instead of paying and sending him to school. He could have worn tight-fitting clothes and torn boots, but Susan would not allow that as she had been the one to always procure him first and buy him the best things she could. Never once did he remember going hungry, they wouldn't and couldn't allow that, because they had loved him. He would never ever, see them the same way again, but he could never deny that they had not treated him right.

As he let the letter slip through his hands he lowered his gaze to rest on the robe and blanket. Calmly he took a deep breath in and picked up the blanket again. He traced his fingers over the small "H&K"

"Henry & Katherine," he breathed, "it's their initials intertwined." He placed the blanket on his lap and grabbed the robe. He ran his fingers down the fine fabric and gently rubbed each pearl. Tears began to once again form as he thought about the reason Susan hadn't thrown this away or sold it.

Because, as she had claimed, they had always planned on telling him and giving this back, they just never did because they feared death. He heavily sighed. "God, let me have an answer to this," he breathed as he got off the floor and dropped the robe.

He wiped his eyes and ran a hand through his matted hair. He would not go anywhere today as planned. He would just stay home and ponder on what he had just found out. He knew it was the truth, he felt it was the truth, but he would need time to process it. How much time he would need, he did not know, but he would fully, and truly accept this sudden revelation someday.

After all, why would two people go through the time to write him a letter revealing that he was the true Prince of England if their claims were false? Why would his Aunt's, as he considered her then, last words tell him that he was Henry, Duke of Cornwall had it not been the truth? Why would he find a note written in the scrawl of fine nobleman or noblewoman reminding Susan and George of the true prince that he was? And most importantly, why would he have a fine robe died in the color of royalty and a blanket with the king and queen's initials if it were not the truth?

Two months had passed and Henry still continued to live like a simple country man. During this time he had come to terms that, while yes he was the Duke of Cornwall he had no means as to get anyone to believe him save for that robe and blanket.

He had, however begun to once again involve himself in the daily life of a Kent countryman and had begun going back to church.

Every Sunday as he sat at the reserved Cornwallis family pew, and as he listened to Latin Mass he would mentally pray that God might send him the answer the problem that he now faced. But he knew that somehow, God was going to make everything all and into place, and he was going to make it happen.

And in fact, his prayers were answered on a Thursday morning in a way that Henry did not come to realize until much later.

That morning he was busy working on a new chair for Mrs. Hutchinson, the neighbor whom he now lived with. It had been too painful and too confusing for him to continue living in a place where George and Susan had raised him. It was a battlefield of conflicting emotions in that house, so he had politely asked Mrs. Hutchinson if he could take residence with her, with the promise of caring for her horses and giving her all his wages in exchange for a room and meals.

Mrs. Hutchinson had agreed, seeing as she was a widow and all her children were far away, and had gladly taken Henry in under her wing. It had turned out to be a good arrangement for both. Henry got a 'normal' house along with the opportunity to ride Mrs. Hutchinson's old horses and Mrs. Hutchinson got a sure source of money.

So he thought that making her a new set of chairs that he would give her as a present and would be seen as a sign of gratitude towards her. And frankly, this is what Henry liked to do. He loved his work and took pride in it. So as he worked along on that beautiful March day he didn't notice when a much older and a much more dignified man walked in.

"Excuse me," he began in a smooth voice, "may I know who is in charge of this shop? I have come here in search for a chest for my daughter, and I need to know where the owner keeps his inventory so that I may see if anything is worthy of my daughter's eyes."

Henry looked up and met his steely brown eyes before responding, "Mr. Johnson is in the back, sir. I'll go right away and get him for you."

As Henry turned to leave, the man curiously examined him. There was something about him that seemed familiar, but there was no chance he had ever met the boy before.

Henry walked into the back room just as Mr. Johnson had his hands full of different hammers and a bucket of splintered wood. "Uh, Mr. Johnson," he began, "is this a good time?"

Johnson turned around, "It is not a good time if it's not important, but if it's important then I'll have to make time now won't I Hal?" he dryly joked. Henry chuckled despite not finding it funny. If there was one way to keep Johnson happy, it was by laughing at his attempts to be witty and amusing.

"Well, I'm guessing it's important sir. There's a man outside looking for you. He looks pretty rich by the looks of his clothes. He's asking to see your inventory for a chest, he claims it's for his daughter."

Johnson nodded, two wispy white hairs bouncing as he did so, "Very well then, here hold this Hal," he said as he placed the bucket and hammers into Henry's arms. "Let me go see what he wants. Meanwhile, you go and put those up front on the back counter. Then you can continue doing whatever you were doing before. Unless this man brought several other interested folks along, I'm sure it's going to be a slow day like usual."

Henry nodded and followed Mr. Johnson as they both exited the back room and walked into the main little foyer. Henry did as he was told and placed all the different size and colored hammers on top of the back counter while Mr. Johnson introduced himself to the waiting man.

"Good morning, welcome to Johnson's Woodplace, how may I be of service my good sir?" he asked the man who was curiously inspecting an unfinished miniature wooden boat. The man's eyes slowly moved from the boat to face the dry looking older man.

"Ah, good morning," he began in that smooth voice. "I've come looking for a chest for my daughter, are you the man in charge?" The man eyed Mr. Johnson carefully. He was not used to common folk, but this shopkeeper seemed to be in good shape for one.

Johnson nodded, "Yes sir. A chest you say? Well we have one over there with the rest of my stuff. By the way it's nice to meet you Mr. ….?"

"Boleyn," he responded.

Johnson's eye widened a bit. What was this man doing in town? Sure everyone knew that the Boleyn family took residence at Hever here in Edenbridge, but rarely, if not ever, made an appearance in town.

The shop owner smiled, "Well it's a pleasure to be in your acquaintance Sir Boleyn, if you'll just follow me I'll take you to see the chest." Johnson walked towards the inventory room that was lazily covered by an old curtain. Henry's eyes had bolted up by then and he began to inspect the Boleyn man as he followed Mr. Johnson to the inventory room.

As they stepped in, Thomas Boleyn took notice of all the different types of chairs and tables the shop had. Some were basic and repetitive, other's did seem to have a fine mark of craftsmanship. He hoped the chest looked like the latter otherwise the trip down into this tired old town would have been in vain.

His attention was directed towards the back as he followed Johnson's finger. "There she is, one of the finest things ever made here. I'd say it's pretty sturdy and quite spacious on the inside. Of course, I'll let you decide Sir Boleyn."

Boleyn nodded. He walked towards the chest to get a closer look. There were four detailed carved lions, one on each of the four corners. From a distance and even up close they appeared to be in a pouncing position. He pursed his lips in a satisfied smirk. Anne would definitely like this detail, he thought.

He grabbed the lid by the simple silver handle. He opened it to find that the claim of spaciousness was true. It would hold at least all of Anne's finer shoes. He closed the lid up and examined the outside carvings. They were beautiful carvings of roses and spiraling vines, a feature he found to be in itself what made the chest have its finesse.

"How much for the chest?" he asked as turned around.

Johnson shrugged, "As much as you want to give me for it, the materials are basic, but the craftsmanship was long."

Boleyn looked back at the chest. The shop owner was right, the materials were pretty basic. The wood was not the finest, although it did seem to be built in a way that it would hold for years. He would not spend more than three pounds on this, it was not worth all that much, despite its beauty.

"Did you make this Sir?" he asked Mr. Johnson. Johnson shook his head.

"I was not the one who made it, it was the young man you met before me. He did everything himself. It took him almost a month, I thought him crazy. After all who needs such a fine chest in this town?"

"Well it would serve me well, how much would it cost you to have this made of wood such as mahogany and have the handle be inscribed with the initials 'AB'?

"The cost might double, especially since that is not a wood that can be obtained easily here in Edenbridge . The handle is a different story that will have to be discussed with the local blacksmith. It might come out to be pretty expensive Sir Boleyn."

Boleyn sighed. The chest was perfect, Anne would love it, but he would not pay for more than what something out of a simple shop like this one came out of. "I'm afraid that I'll be leaving the chest here then," he said in a dissatisfied tone.

Johnson nodded and suppressed a sigh as Boleyn walked out of the room and back into the foyer.

Henry having head everything, decided to play the part of dumb and deaf as he saw the two men come out of the room. Johnson stuck out his hand and Boleyn returned the gesture. Both men shook hands with Mr. Johnson saying, "It was a pleasure to have been in your assistance Sir Boleyn."

Boleyn had merely nodded and turned on his heel but not before shooting Henry a curious glance. But Henry, still playing dumb, decided not to have noticed that either.

When they both knew that Boleyn was way out of ear-shot, Johnson asked Henry the question he had been waiting for.

"You playing deaf again boy?"

It only took one day, and several demands from his tempered daughter to bring Thomas Boleyn back into Edenbrigde. Luckily for him the town was not to far from Hever to make the trip. On his way he thought of a way to possibly get that chest, without all the expense of money and dealing with stubborn townsfolk. Anne wanted it and he couldn't come back empty-handed. He had to be ever agreeable to his daughter, especially when she was currently in the attentions of the King.

Right now Anne was untouchable and she knew it and used it to her advantage. He could personally boast that he had taught her well, but sadly he didn't want to as it was costing him his sanity. Anne didn't want to be in the king's attentions, but it was crucial for their family that she be like Mary before her. Normally being a hard-hearted man he wouldn't give in to petty demands, but he felt like he at least owed Anne one thing.

On his way back down that dirt road that led to the mid-size shop, he had thought of every possible way to convince the man to sell him the dresser cheap, even with the finer materials and that inscribed silver handle. But for all of Thomas's charm and persuasion, he just knew he would never get that man to agree. Politicians recognized when a man was hard-headed, and Boleyn had instantly seen that Johnson was a man of character. Instead Boleyn decided not on some savvy persuasion, but rather on the last idea and resort that popped into his head.

******
"How much do you pay the young man who made the chest?" he asked as he came into the shop. It was right before sunrise, and young Henry had still not made his appearance.

"Monthly he gets about £ 13, of course it depends on certain factors, such as how much he did throughout the month, and how much was sold."

Boleyn nodded, "How much would it take to lease him off you, so he can become my temporary worker?"

"That would depend, Henry is the finest worker in my shop, but I cannot sell him. He has to decide to leave with you on his own."

"Does he have anything that could hold him back? Sick parents, a family perhaps?"

Johnson sadly shook his head. "The boy's caretaker, his Aunt passed away about two months back. And as far as I know, there is no Missus in the picture."

"I guess I'll just wait and see what he says," Boleyn agreed, "will he be long?"

"Nope, he's usually an early riser. If he's late I blame his horse, that old mare is a stubborn thing. If you want Sir Boleyn, you may go see the chest once more and thoroughly make your choice."

Boleyn gave him a curt nod and left towards the curtain hidden room. Once inside Johnson sighed. He was going to lose his best worker today, and that made him somewhat sad. No doubt Henry would say yes, recently the boy had his mind made up about leaving the town and heading down south, claiming he had estranged family there.

Just as Johnson was about to turn and head into the back room, the shop's front door opened to show a disheveled Henry. The young man coughed and sputtered a good morning, before Johnson could ask him what was wrong.

"Just that old mare," Henry claimed running a hand through his red hair, "it nearly threw me off. Now, I'm not the best rider, but I sure as hell say it wasn't my fault she started to go crazy on me."

Johnson gave a hearty laugh. "Why don't you just sell the thing, and make a quick shilling out of her?"

"Can't," Henry shook his head, "it belongs to Mrs. Hutchinson, one of the few things that's left of her husband. Besides, that horse was the one Mr. Hutchison taught me to ride in, I just can't sell it."

Johnson gave him a shrug of the shoulders. "Eh, if it's old, get rid of it, and buy something new. At least that's what I always say."

Henry grinned but shook his head. "I don't believe in selling something that belongs to someone else Mr. Johnson." The boy's blue eyes steeled over for bit before they returned to their usual relaxed state. "So …" he began, "has anyone come in?"

"Just Sir Boleyn, who came back with an interesting proposition for you."

"For me?" Henry asked bewildered.

"Of course you boy!" Johnson loudly claimed, "He liked the chest, he wants to find a way to take it back with him with it being too costly. At least that's what I gather from that tone of voice he's been using. I've met plenty of men that try to persuade me to sell them something cheap, Boleyn is no exception."

"What preposition does he have for me?" Henry posed trying to stop Johnson from unnecessarily rambling.

"Let him tell you, I'm sure he's going to come right out any minute."

And as if summoned, Thomas Boleyn walked right out of the inventory room with a huge, politicians smile plastered on his face. Henry dipped his head in respect as he came into the foyer. Once again Boleyn could have sworn he had seen this man somewhere else, but shook his head as he remembered what he was here for.

"Just the man I wanted to see," he claimed, "that's a beautiful chest you made there young man, tell me, would it be impossible for you to make another one using mahogany?"

Henry shrugged, placing one foot in front of the other as he took his thinking stance. Boleyn eyed him carefully.

"I might be able too," the boy finally admitted as he placed one of his hands behind his neck, "I've never worked with any other wood other than the native one that can be obtained here."

Henry gave Johnson a side glance, Johnson raised his eyebrows in amusement. How could anyone think that Henry would have worked with such an expensive and imported wood such as mahogany? Johnson tried to contain a chuckle. Henry might be a fine worker, but he was not a professional, and both he and Henry knew that. Still, his response did stop Boleyn from asking him to come work for him.

"Well how can you say you're not good then if you've never worked with it? Who knows, you might it easier than you think." Boleyn brought his head out forward, his eyes glistening with conviction.

"Well …." Henry paused. "I cannot just leave Mr. Johnson."

"No Henry, don't let me stop you, make your own choice," Johnson told him with an unusual warm smile. Henry furrowed his brows and gave it a thought. He couldn't just leave Mr. Johnson and his work behind. Although the premise of working for an important man did boost his ego a bit, he couldn't just leave in a heartbeat, especially after Mr. Johnson's generosity towards him.

"I …" he locked eyes with Boleyn before turning his head back to Johnson. Johnson mouthed a 'go for it boy,' and again smiled. Still Henry could not make up his mind.

Boleyn scowled. He was not a man of patience, and the boy was taking to long to make a simple choice.

"Go for it Henry," Johnson said breaking the tension, "I'll be fine, I have other workers, and though you will be sorely missed, this is your chance, don't let me stop you."

Henry's eyes darted up to look at the older man. Henry nodded at him. This was technically Johnson's way of saying he wasn't going to be mad with the choice he made, and the offer did have an appeal. And of course, he would be back so it wasn't a permanent thing.

Henry cleared his throat and deepened his voice a tad. "I will take you up on that offer then Sir Boleyn, when should I get ready to leave?"

Boleyn smiled, his smooth voice rang out with, "By tomorrow young man, I'll be back to fetch you. Will you come here in the morning?"

Henry cocked his head, yes he would come here to say goodbye and possibly give Mr. Johnson something as a temporary parting gift.

"Sure," he agreed, "I'll be here and ready to go with you."

***
That night Henry ate quietly while Mrs. Hutchison fiddled away her needle and handiwork. He had brought home the chair he had made her and that was the one she was sitting on. The clack of the old woman's needle was a steady rhythm for Henry as he ate.

Occasionally he would look out the window and catch a glimpse of the moon through the cloudy sky. He thought about the day. Today he had been given a great chance. If he got more money he could easily make the trip down to Richmond and stay there for a while. This would probably be the best choice he could ever make, if he got more money and maybe dressed the part of a Duke, he might be able to convince someone at least.

As he put his spoon down and swallowed his last bit of soup, he cleared his throat and began saying, "I have some good news and bad news Mrs. Hutchinson."

Mrs. Hutchinson looked up, her murky eyes finding Henry's vivid blue ones. "What's the good news Hal?"

"Well I was offered the chance to go work at Hever Castle, Sir Boleyn offered it himself."

"Did he now?" she questioned a smile playing on her thin lips. Henry grinned.

"Yes, I leave tomorrow, which is the bad news."

"Why is that bad Hal?"

"Because I'll be leaving you alone. I know how you need help around the house and with the stable, but I can't let this chance slip by. Who knows, I might even come back a really wealthy man from what Boleyn might pay me."

'Well a wealthier man anyways,' he thought with a grimace.

Mrs. Hutchinson gave him a soft laugh. "Then go ahead then, you have my blessing and I'm sure Susan would have given you the same."

'You have no idea,' he thought, 'except she gave me the blessing of becoming king.'

"Yes, I'm sure she would have," he agreed

Wooooo! I got a chapter down for this story, despite school & stuff. :p

I'm thinking of re-writing my other story, so I might not update that one for a while.

Anyways, I hope you liked it, (: R&R?

- Mimi (owls-and-asters)