She spends perhaps two hours or so in her chambers alone, sending away even Susan Clarencius, her closest lady. This secret is one she must carry alone, for the moment. She needs the time to pray to God, to get all the shaking and sweating out of her body, the sobs of outrage (though they are surprisingly few). Otherwise in this state, she feels as though they would know she knows with one look at her face.

When she is finally composed, she pinches her cheeks to get some color in them, straightens her hood, and practices smiling until it is as natural as can be.

Tommy and George are napping when Mary steps into the nursery, but Elizabeth is awake and practicing her writing. Mary sits at the table and watches her, complimenting her by rote on her progress. The sunlight shines on her red hair as Bessie turns and tilts her head, and Mary knows that Elizabeth at least is her sister. Thomas, even sleeping, is the image of her father - no worries there. Which leaves George. She strokes one finger over his cheek. Even relaxed and asleep, he is definitely Cromwell's bastard son.

A bastard child being passed off as a legitimate prince. Not even her father's bastard off of a mistress, but the bastard offspring of two common-born adulterers, with not a drop of Tudor blood in him.

George snuffles and turns over in his sleep. Mary shuts her eyes and leaves.


She can never tell anyone.

Father might have cherished and feted her ever since his marriage to Anne, but that love will disappear in an instant the moment she speaks out. If he can condone himself being cuckolded and engage in sodomy, she cannot trust him. He could have her banished from court, if not imprisoned or silenced somehow else.

The scandal could very well rile up a civil war. There would be those who refuse to believe any ill of the Queen who gave them two princes and despise Mary for accusing her. Then there would be those anti-reformers who would leap at the opportunity to see Anne and Cromwell gone. If the unrest over the monasteries was alarming, this would be as bad as the Cousins' War. And she knows what happens to royal heirs whose legitimacy is disputed.

No matter how much Elizabeth and Tommy resemble Father and his side of the family, their paternity would be forever suspect. They could be imprisoned like their great-uncles the Princes in the Tower or even disposed of quietly. George would grow up under a cloud of shame at best, and wind up in an unmarked grave at worst.

Why has her father done this? What is so special about Cromwell that he would allow him to lay with his wife, bed him himself, allow him to get a child on his wife, and put that bastard in the line of succession?

Utter madness.

Mary almost wishes he could have just taken a mistress like a normal King!

Does he care that he is putting this child before Mary? That George will come before any other legitimate boys he may have?

For over a year, she had worked in close proximity with Cromwell, developing a respect for the man, and he had smiled at her, knowing full well what he was doing under her nose

What if Tommy dies young and George becomes King?

Oh God.

Cromwell is Lord Protector in the event of Father and Anne's deaths.

If Tommy comes to the throne before his majority, Cromwell will be virtually the most powerful man in England. Mary might be the Regent, but she is still a woman and there is no telling what such a turncoat might get up to.

Now she knows why her father chose him for Lord Protector instead of Anne's male kin and the real reason he chose the name for his Prince of Wales.


Who else knows?

Such a secret cannot be maintained without at least a few people being in on it. George and Jane Boleyn know, Mary is almost sure of it. Now that she knows what to listen for, she hears he jokes about "Your Majesty owing me a great deal" and "lessons in subtlety and decorum" for what they are and it makes her stomach curdle. So her father is not even discreet about his affair. Perhaps one day she could - reveal them in the act, somehow, should she ever summon up the courage.

She had thought Lord Rochford an honorable, if reformist, man, and she had regarded Lady Rochford as a friend. The betrayals will only pile up from here.

Other servants must know as well; neither a King nor a Queen is ever alone. Mary is both awed and terrified by how strong their loyalty must be, considering the secret has never been revealed.

Cromwell sends her a message asking if she would like to continue their work on the monasteries, and it is all she can do to compose a polite message back that she feels their collaboration has come to a natural end.

She needs to get away from court, where she sees Cromwell "advising" his royal masters at meals, where she sees the three of them take walks in the royal gardens, where George looks more and more like him every day. She is as lost as the day the Pope annulled her parents' marriage and her status went into limbo.

She needs her mother.

At least now Mary has the liberty to leave court whenever she wishes and depart for her mother's estates (now the Duchess of Derby).