After visiting court, weeks passed. Those weeks turned into months and those months turned to years. My bond with Mary was stronger than ever, growing with each passing day. My parents couldn't hide the strain in their relationship from me, although my sister wasn't aware, and every time we were at court, I showed my wit and intelligence to all. I did my best to comfort Mother, and endeared myself to Father, hoping that, if he was to still cast us aside, he would at least show more mercy.

Any time I thought of Father discarding us like we were nothing to him, well, it hurt. I wasn't even angered by the possibility of me being declared a bastard; in my old life, although it was sometimes frowned upon, people didn't make a huge deal about it. Most peoples' reaction were along the lines of "Whatever, who cares?"

No, what hurt me most was how I knew that although Father claimed we were important to him, he'd still break Mother's heart, leaving her to die alone in a pathetic manor by the moors, and leave Mary and I to fend for ourselves after throwing us into the claws of the Howard Boleyn clans.

Speaking of the Boleyns, they were the reason I was seated at my desk, trembling as I tried to pluck up my courage. Mary and I were six now, and while I should be at our embroidery lessons along with her, I had feigned illness and requested to return to my chambers. In truth, I wasn't lying. My stomach churned with nerves and my fists clenched at my sides. My heart raced furiously in my chest and my skin felt hot. I felt a bead of sweat roll from my brow. It was February 19, 1522. Historically, Anne Boleyn had officially arrived at court on March 4, 1522.

I was writing to my father in an attempt to convince him to let Mary and I visit court by that date. I needed to meet her. I needed to meet the woman who would be the one of deciding factors in the first ever European royal divorce. I needed to meet the woman who would play a key role in the Protestant Reformation of England. I needed to meet the woman who would tear my mother from her throne and celebrate her death. I needed to meet the woman who would cause my dear, little sister such agony and sorrow.

The historian in me knew my judgement of the future queen wasn't fair. But this had become personal since I'd been reborn; Anne could have just as easily agreed to become Father's mistress, as her own Papa had pushed her to be, instead of usurping my mother. I'd always sympathized with Mary, right up until she began burning protestants at least, and I'd admired Mother, but now that I knew them personally, well, a dark, twisted part of me despised Anne Boleyn. I hated how she didn't stop Father from harming her stepdaughter. I hated how she'd tried to humiliate my sister at every turn. But most of all, I hated Anne Boleyn because despite after everything she'd done or pushed my father to do, every time she watched on as he hurt Mother and Mary, I still respected her. I respected her and accepted she had deserved to be remembered and God, I even pitied her!

The guilt ate me alive at night, gnawing through my mind like a maggot does through flesh. I rubbed my temples and sighed; I had long ago come to the come to the conclusion that trying to plan for everything was taking a terrible toll on me. Nevertheless, for Mary's sake, for Mother's sake, and for my own, I was still trying.

After handing my letter to a pageboy, I laid on my bed, running a hand through my hair. The little violet band wrapped securely around my right wrist was so the staff and our caretakers could identify me and not mistake me for my royal sister.

My plan was to befriend Anne Boleyn. I would charm her and she would be loyal to me, no one else. Either she would give up on being Queen of England and if need be I could try and replace her with someone like Jane Seymour, or when she married Father she would be determined to protect me and Mary. Either way, Mary would be safe and I was trying to make a plan that would shield Mother as well.

Three days later, when Father's letter said we would in fact be permitted to return to court, I smiled. However, a deep unease ran through me not a moment later; things hadn't even started yet. This was just the calm before the storm.