A/N: Wow, I got so many more reviews than I thought I would! I'm glad you're all interested in this story!
Disclaimer: I own only the OCs, so far just the Lyons family.
12 July 1511
Henry, Prince of Wales, was absolutely furious.
No one would tell him what had happened – apparently, Anne had almost lost the baby. There had been some accident, according to Dr. Linacre, and now, though Anne was only four months along, she would be confined to bed rest for the remainder of her pregnancy.
Because of the scare, his grandmother, Lady Margaret Beaufort, had come down to help Anne carry her child to full term. Henry VII had decided that his child was more important than any could imagine, simply because if he was a boy, as they all hoped, he would be the King of England one day.
"What happened?" Henry growled angrily. His friends, who had looked up at him as he entered the room, glanced at each other anxiously. They all liked Anne, but they knew that Henry held some grudge against her – the loss of his bachelorship, perhaps – and didn't want to make any trouble for her.
"She did everything she should have," Charles Brandon finally said. "Her ladies were walking with her, and there were guards nearby and everything. Anyhow, we're not quite sure what was happening, but something startled her. She jumped back about a foot, and let out a shriek. Problem was, she landed on something slippery, and her foot slipped, and she fell down something terrible. Dr. Linacre was there, and thank goodness for it too, else she'd have lost the baby."
Henry muttered incoherently under his breath.
"Well," he grumbled, "At least I won't have to see much of her these next few months," he mumbled, trying to be optimistic.
"That's hardly nice," Lady Margaret Pole, the lady in charge of the household, scolded him. Lady Margaret had been born a princess, as her father was the brother of Edward IV, but when the Tudors took over she had gladly renounced her claim to the throne. Besides, her claim was nothing next to that of her cousin, Elizabeth of York, who was wife to Henry VII and mother of the Prince of Wales. "She's a sweet girl, Henry, and I don't know why you don't see it."
"You'd best not do anything to upset her, now," Lady Margaret Beaufort came in. "You want a son, an heir, don't you boy?"
"Yes," Henry grumbled reluctantly. "Very well, I shan't be mean, Grandmother."
Whether he would admit it or not, Henry was terrified of his grandmother, and he would do exactly as she told him to do for his entire life. She was just that sort of woman.
"You'll come visit every day," she added, "and cheer her up a bit. Your father did that with your mother, and she never had a miscarriage."
13 July 1511
"Oh, good, you're here," Lady Beaufort said approvingly to her grandson. "I thought you wouldn't be coming, and then I would have scolded you something fierce."
Henry shuddered at the thought of being reproached by his grandmother in front of his court. She hastened away, and he approached Anne's bed cautiously as her ladies curtsied to him. He ignored them.
Despite his strong dislike for her, Henry could not help but let out a boisterous laugh when he saw her disgruntled face.
"You look angry, sweetheart," he said, trying to explain his laugh.
"Angry?" she questioned, clearly in a temper. "I've got to stay in bed for five months! I'm not angry, I'm furious! Furious and bored," she finished, pouting when she was done. Despite her accent, Henry understood her perfectly, and her little speech had him laughing all the more.
"Don't be disgruntled," he told her, still laughing. "It doesn't become you. And it shall be worth the months of boredom once we have our son."
"Easy for you to say," Anne mumbled under her breath, and the only one who heard her was Mary Bowen, who was standing closest to her. Mary giggled, and everyone else looked confused.
"My father, brother and sister are going to be visiting soon," he told her, "So you'll have some more company."
"Oh, good," Anne smiled, and even Henry had to admit that she had a beautiful smile. "I do like Prince Arthur and Princess Mary! But the King scares me… almost as much as the Lady Beaufort does." This prompted a round of laughs from the others, most of who were also frightened of the King and his mother, though few would admit it.
"She likes you," Charles Brandon grumbled. "Imagine how frightening she is to those of us she doesn't like!"
"I haven't the slightest idea as to why she likes me," Anne announced, "Especially if she doesn't like any of you. I admit I've always thought myself a likeable person. I suppose it's simply because of my powerful brother, and that I'm carrying England's heir. But then, didn't she hate Elizabeth of York?"
"Yes, she did," William Compton told her amongst chuckles. "And it's likely she'll hate Katherine of Aragon, too. You're the only one she'd ever like, Your Highness."
"Well, if that's not flattery," she giggled. But Anne herself would switch the admiration of Lady Beaufort for that of her husband in a heartbeat. Perhaps he would like her when their child came, in five more months.
Five months, she told herself. That's all I shall have to endure.
15 July 1511
Prince Arthur, Duke of York, though his brother was being rather silly over this whole thing.
Anne was sweet, he thought, and if his brother didn't like her accent, or the customs, then he would just have to suck it up. Arthur himself would suck it up if he didn't like Katherine, the Spanish princess he would have to marry.
"I like Anne ever so much," Princess Mary announced, bouncing up and down in the seat next to him. "I'm awful glad she didn't lose the baby, because Henry would be ever so mad if she did. You know him and his tempers, Arthur. I think Father and Grandmother would be awful mad too, but Henry would be the worst."
"It's a mercy that she still has the baby," Arthur agreed, surprisingly not bitter about this child that would replace him as second heir to the throne. He knew his brother's temper well, and would not wish it to be unleashed on the sweet tsarevna who had come from Russia just to be his brother's bride.
"Arthur, what do you think they'll name the baby?" Mary jumped up and down eagerly.
"Henry, I suppose," Arthur guessed. He wouldn't put it past his brother to name his firstborn after himself. He wouldn't put it past Henry to have four or five sons and name them all after himself, if he could!
"Do you think they would name her after me, if the baby is a girl?" Mary inquired, hopeful eyes looking up at him.
"I don't know, Mary, you'll have to ask Henry that one," Arthur smiled indulgently at her. "But if he doesn't, or if he doesn't have a girl at all, then I promise to name my oldest daughter after you."
"Thank you, Arthur!" the excited princess cried, throwing her arms around her brother.
The carriage slowed to a stop, and Arthur looked out to see the desolation that was the principality of Wales. "Well," he sighed, taking his sister's hand, "We're here."
15 July 1511
"It's so very good to see Your Highnesses, and Your Majesty," Anne greeted her in-laws nervously.
"We were pleased to hear that the child was not lost," the King declared magnanimously. "And we intend to see to it that all precautions are taken to ensure that the child is born healthy and easily. I've brought my own court physician, Dr. Linacre, to remain here until the child is born."
"Thank you, Your Majesty," Anne said, unsure how to finish. She lay awkwardly on the bed, surrounded by her royal in-laws, until Princess Mary bounded up eagerly next to her.
"Does the baby kick you?" she asked, awed.
"Yes," Anne smiled indulgently at her husband's adorable sister, only eleven years old, and took the child's hand. "Put your hand here, and you can feel him kick. He's strong, isn't he?"
"Yes," the princess nodded eagerly. "What are you going to name him?"
"I haven't the slightest idea," Anne laughed. "Henry, perhaps, but you should ask your brother."
"I will," the princess announced, running off to find her oldest brother. The King nodded toward Anne and left, beckoning to his younger son. "Come, Arthur, we'd best be off. We can't stay long – only a night or two."
Arthur hovered back a moment to smile at Anne.
"I hope you have a son," he told her, "Because when you do, Katherine of Aragon shall be summoned for me to marry her. But if you have a girl, I promise to love me niece as much as I would my nephew."
"Thank you, Prince Arthur," Anne smiled back at him. "You are the first one to have said something like this to me. I appreciate your kindness." Arthur bowed and left after his father.
20 July 1511
"Father!" gasped Mistress Ruth Lyons, "How could you even ask that of me?"
"Now, Ruth," Sir Richard Lyons scolded his eldest daughter. "You must think of the good of the family. If you became the Prince of Wales' mistress, he would pay your dowry when you did marry, and likely find a better match for you in the long run than we ever could."
"But what about my eternal soul, Father?" begged the distressed girl. "I ought to remain pure until marriage – any woman must! You can't possibly expect me to sleep with a married man simply because he is a prince!"
"I can and I do," Sir Richard scolded. "You must think of the good of this family. Your brother would save the cost of your dowry, and likely your sisters would catch better husbands with some of the money from your dowry."
Lady Lyons had to put in her two cents, "I don't see what you're so worked up about. He's younger and handsomer than any man we could get for your husband." This was true, and Ruth could not deny it. She was being sent to Ludlow the next day to serve the Princess of Wales, and her father had ordered her to catch the Prince's eye.
"And there will be other girls with the same orders," Sir Richard had comforted her. "Most likely it will be another girl that the Prince invites to his bed, and you needn't worry yourself. But if you do catch his eye, now you know my wishes on the matter."
"Yes, Father," Ruth replied, tears coming to her eyes. Why must men be so insensitive? She felt a sense of dread that told her it would not be another girl to catch the Prince's eye.
21 July 1511
"A whole host of maidens are coming to join your wife's household," Sir William Compton told his friend, the Prince of Wales, jubilantly. "I'll bet some of them, at least, will be willing to have some fun with us bachelors! Why, Henry, shouldn't you be more excited?"
"What use is it?" Henry grumbled. "I'm married now – going to be a father!"
"Don't think all gloomy like that," William laughed. "Doesn't mean you can't have fun with a girl or two. You just pay their dowries like you've always done and they'll come running, like they always do. Just be a bit discreet, so Anne doesn't miscarry. Your father would probably forbid you from female company if she did."
Henry shuddered at the thought. He didn't like Anne any better than he ever had, but he only saw her for an hour or so every day, and he visits got shorter by the day. His friends enjoyed them tremendously – for some unknown reason, they liked Anne and her ladies. Henry simply could not understand why.
He would not admit that her accent and her English were improving. He would not admit that she was funny, and her expressions amused him to no end. He simply couldn't do it.
The boys were interrupted by a mass of teenage girls coming eagerly to the room to greet the Prince of Wales.
"Your Highness," they bowed daintily, each bowing her head. One girl, with long golden hair the mesmerizing blue eyes, knelt with the others but lifted her head to meet Henry's eyes. As he looked her, she held his gaze for a moment before turning hers to the floor.
"Look at that one," hissed William, pointing to another beauty – a brown haired, brown eyed one. He saw one, than another and another – until all he could think of was these lovely ladies that he could spend his nights with.
Perhaps having a pregnant wife wasn't so bad, after all.
29 August 1511
It seemed to Ruth that every girl in the Princess of Wales' household had slept in the Prince of Wales' bed.
Every girl, that was, except her. She saw how he tossed girls aside, without a second thought, and likely as not they wouldn't get their dowries paid by him, and none but their families would know of their disgrace by him. She was determined to last longer than that – she would be his mistress for a few months at least, long enough for him to have to pay a dowry for her, long enough, perhaps, that she might give him a son.
These Tudors, she knew, treasured their sons. She couldn't imagine that they would toss aside a healthy boy, leaving him unclaimed, when he could potentially bring honor to their names through great military feats, or through cleverness in the navy and shrewdness as a political advisor. They would raise him and educate him, place him above all others but legitimate heirs.
Of course, this last was an unrealistic wish, but Ruth was sure she would not suffer if she became the Prince of Wales' mistress and gave him a son to be proud of. Yes, that was what she would have to do.
She felt bad, of course, for the Prince was her mistress' husband, and like everyone Ruth was fond of the Princess of Wales, and did not cherish the thought of betraying her. But so many girls did so, and not even to their own advantage. Perhaps the princess would not mind, so long as no woman posed a threat to her and to her son? Ruth doubted it, but she hoped nonetheless.
A/N: I hoped you all liked it! I thought putting in a mistress would add a little twist to the story, so please tell me what you think. I love getting reviews, good or bad; it honestly just makes my day!