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Chapter 3

Henry was surprised to find his wife's chambers devoid of ladies. The only sound that came from the room was the roaring of the fire in the corner and Anne's soft murmurs to the babes lying in her arms. She was so engrossed by the tiny infants that she didn't notice that her husband was watching her from the grand doorway.

Henry had never seen the look in Anne's eyes before that she had in them now as she stared down at her children. She looked serene, her black orbs filled with unconditional love for the two babes, the two daughters she had just borne. Henry was captivated by the scene.

Motherhood was a side of Anne that he had never seen before. He had dreamed of a scene like this sense that faithful day when she agreed to be his wife. Anne would lie on the great bed where all the royal children were born, holding his long awaited son in his arm. Like the scene playing out before him, she would be too engrossed with their son to notice his arrival. He would walk closer to her bed, and she would beam up at him with her enchanting smile and announce, "Henry, would you like to meet your son?" . She would hand the child over to him once he sat next to her on the great bed and he would peer down at his child, the child that they would both unanimously agree to name Henry because of his striking resemblance to his father. They would call him Harry, so he would not be confused with his much older bastard son Henry Fitzroy, called Hal. He had dreamed of the christening of his child and the booming voice of the bishop as he declared "Lord, in your infinite grace, give a long and prosperous life to Henry, Duke of Cornwall and Prince of England!"

Henry was dragged back to reality by the sound of one of the babes crying, quite loudly. Anne cooed to the child in an attempt to stop her from crying, but to no avail.

"Little Ella, stop your fussing. My darling, there is no need to be so upset. Shhh, darling."

Henry stepped forward and cleared his throat. Anne looked up, her face turning pale at the presence "

"Henry" she said in a brave voice, much braver than she felt. She bowed her head to him to show respect, something her husband would usually laugh about and remind her that queens don't have to bow to their king, but under the circumstances, she found it necessary.

"Ella is a strange name for a Prince." He said coldly, staring her down with his crystal blue eyes.

Anne opened her mouth to speak, but no words came out. She firmly closed her mouth again. At a loss of what to say to sooth her husband's disappointment, she said, "I have named the other one Elizabeth, after our mothers, if that pleases your majesty."

"Elizabeth is a name for a Princess of England, not a prince."

"I..I have born you daughters, your majesty, two healthy daughters." Seeing that her husband's face was set into an undeniable scowl, she began, "I would like to name the other one Ella. She is very much like you, Henry. You could hold her if you'd like, or Elizabeth."

"My Queen, I would rather hold a prince." Henry said looking at her with distaste. Seeing the hurt in her eyes at his statement gave him pleasure. "Good, he thought, now I have hurt her as she has hurt me."

"There are no princes here, Henry, not today." Anne said quietly. "I am so sorry, next time surely we'll have a son. Maybe God just wants us to be patient…"

"Patient!" he interrupted with a new burst of anger, "I waited eight years to have a son off of you. And you dare to tell me to be patient!"

Anne paled even more, to where her face almost matched the color of the sheets on the bed. "Husband, I am sorry."

Anne was willing herself not to cry, not in front of him. She turned her face down, looking towards the babies. She had to be strong for their sake.

Seeing the distressed look on his wife's face, Henry felt a tinge of guilt. Anne was young; surely they would have a son next time. Was he right to say such things to Anne so shortly after her giving birth? Was she right in not giving him a son, was God?

Filled with a sudden surge of love for his wife at seeing her grief stricken face, he walked over to the side of the bed.

"Anne." He waited to continue until she had raised her face to him so he could look her in the eye. "Next time, we will have a son. We have waited eight years; we can wait another year to have a son. The birth of twins shows that you are fertile enough. We will have sons later." Henry wasn't sure if he was saying this more to comfort his wife or himself, but he said it none the less.

"Would you like to hold your daughters?" Anne repeated, saying the word daughters in almost a whisper, scared that the word daughters would break the spell that Henry seemed to be under.

He crawled into the great bed and sat down next to his wife and spread out his arms. He picked up the closest babe and cradled her in his arms. Looking down at the girl, it was obvious that she was a healthy child. If fact, she was healthier than any child he had ever fathered. She hardly whimpered as her father removed her from her mother's arms and placed her in his own. Looking at her, it was easy to tell who her parents were. She had his hair and the same eye shape, though they were a much darker blue than his own. She had Anne's face shape and, Henry thought, would have her eye color as she got older. She was a pretty child that was for sure.

"Which one is this?" he asked

"Elizabeth, if that pleases you."

"Elizabeth does suit her well. And she is the elder?

"Yes, by five minutes or so."

"So she is my heir, for now" he said, empathizing the ending of the statement.

Henry looked upon his other daughter's face. That one, he thought, was supposed to be my son. He wasn't quite sure if he even wanted to hold her or not. Elizabeth was his princess, the one that was supposed to supplant Mary. The babe resting in Anne's arm was supposed to be his prince. It was hard to look at the girl because she looked so much like the prince he envisioned in his dream. She looked just like him, and though she was smaller than his dream prince, she looked almost exactly like he had dreamed off. In every way, she was his prince. That is, except for the fact that she wasn't a boy. Looking over at this girl, who Anne had referred to as Ella, he couldn't help but feel severe disappointment, but also love. This was the child from his dreams.

"She is a beauty also" he said, referring to little Ella. "Ella isn't a traditional name for a princess."

"It's short for Eleanor." Anne said. "She looks much more like an Ella though, doesn't she?"

"I suppose." he said. "I must leave to arrange the celebrations in honor or the princesses." Henry placed little Elizabeth gently back into Anne's waiting arms.

As he began to walk out of the room, Anne called to him. "Wouldn't you like to hold Ella too? Before you go?"

He looked back at his wife and daughters. "I have business to attend to." He repeated before walking out of the room leaving behind his wife, holding his daughters, not wanting to look back at his disappointing "dream prince".

The moment her husband left the room, Anne let the first tears escape her eyes and roll down her cheeks.

It was late at night and all of the courtiers were fast asleep trying to put the long trying day behind. While the court slept, Mary Tudor lay awake, her mind racing. Mixed emotions stirred through the young woman, a scorned princess turned bastard, as she laid in her bed. She had been required to be at court when the so called Queen delivered her bastard "brother" as he was replacing her in the line of succession. However, the concubine had not given her a brother, but a sister, two sisters in fact. Mary was not sure how she felt about this. It wounded her pride, knowing that her father would place his bastard son as his heir above his only legitimate child, though she was a girl. It only made it worse that he was putting two bastard girls above her. Though Mary believed she could rule as well as any man, she could understand her father's want of a male heir to pass his throne on to. But how could he choose to pass it to Anne Boleyn's bastard daughters rather than herself, the daughter of his wife, Queen Katherine?

On the other hand, Mary had been in the room when the Harlot gave birth to the girls and it was very hard for her to stifle her giggle when the false Queen was told that she had a delivered another daughter. Mary could picture the look on her mother's face when one of her spies told her of the birth of the bastard girls. How she would laugh! It would give her mother much joy to know that the Harlot would be the laughing stock of all of Europe, after everything she had done to them, she deserved it.

Mary wished whole heartedly that she could be there when he mother received the news. She hadn't seen true joy on her mother's face in years, not since her father started courting the harlot. Mary knew her mother enough to know that she would rejoice in this piece of news. How Mary wished to give her such joy! Her mother deserved to hear it from her lips, or at least her hand

Mary looked to make sure her chamber mate, Lady Ursula, was sleeping, looking pulling out the last bit on ink that she had been hording. Mary crossed herself as she took a piece of Lady Ursula's writing paper, hoping that God would understand the reason behind the theft, before scrawling onto the paper in rushed handwriting.

To my mother Katherine, Queen of England

The Harlot has given birth to two girls. The King is sorely disappointed. We have not lost.

With love,

Mary, Princess of Wales

After storing the letter in a secret place, Mary blew out the candle and fell asleep shortly after, with a smug smile on her young face.

I introduced Mary to the story. I'm not sure if she was at court for the birth of Elizabeth in the show, but historically she was, so I wanted her to be there when Anne gave bith to little Elizabeth and Ella. Thanks for reading!