Welcome to new reviewers Aixyutin. Sereminde, TwilightFan2 and silanadh. I'd like to wish all my reviewers a very happy New Year. Your reviews have been a fantastic source of encouragement during 2008, and I hope that you continue to enjoy my stories in 2009 and beyond. Thanks, guys. :-)

This Author's Note relates to a different story so, my apologies for going off-topic, in a manner of speaking.

On my travels through the World Wide Web, I stumbled upon the Prologue and first two chapters of "On The Edge Of A Golden World" posted on the Quizilla website, under the username 'LadyofRomance' and with the following Author's Note attached.

"A/N: So this is the start of the project I am going to be working on for a while a hope. I have been thinking about and planning this story for ages and it is the main reason why I joined quizilla. I enjoyed writing this and planning the rest so much and cannot wait to write more but I do really want to know what other people think of it so please rate/comment/message!!! Enjoy! Oh yes and for anyone who knows the Tudors then you will know thatthis story is name after the quote Anne said in the scene in the picture below... I just thought it was a ironically suitable title!"

My penname was nowhere to be seen. Needless to say, it was something of a surprise to see somebody else claim to have written my story.

"LadyofRomance" evidently posted these chapters in September, around two months after I posted them here. The links are in my profile.

As I'm sure you can all imagine, it is both puzzling and infuriating to see somebody else claim credit for my work so, if anybody has any information about this, could they please get in touch with me? I'd appreciate any help that any of you can offer.

"On The Edge Of A Golden World" has taken a lot of time and effort on my part and, frankly, I am less than inclined to invest any more time or effort in it as long as somebody else is claiming to have written it.

Chapter Ten

3rd June 1536

When Boleyn wrote to his eldest daughter, he asked her to meet him in the courtyard, wanting to speak with her before he brought her to Anne's rooms and to preserve some discretion. There were so many people who were watching Anne and her family with eager eyes, anxious to find out how things were between her and the King, and whether the Boleyns were still powerful or whether it was only a matter of time before they fell from grace again and he was not eager to add fuel to the fires by having the disowned daughter paraded through the court just yet.

When Mary arrived, he was pleased to note that his daughter was looking well. He had half-expected that she would look careworn and older than her years, had half-expected that her face would show the signs of the difficulty that he imagined that a life cut off from the court, left to fend for herself with a husband who had neither a fortune to his name or the prospect of one, would show in her countenance but instead Mary was blooming.

Her life in the country plainly agreed with her.

Mary was always different.

George and Anne were ambitious, thriving in the court atmosphere from an early age and, while they both enjoyed visiting Hever from time to time and while they were both fond of the little castle that had been their childhood home, he knew that neither of them would ever have been able to bear the idea of having to spend their whole lives there, never visiting the court.

In contrast, Mary preferred a quieter life and had not even taken advantage of the fact that, as the sister of the Queen of England, she could have had her pick of any number of noble suitors who would have been only too pleased to ally themselves with the Boleyn family. She could have been a countess, perhaps even a marchioness or duchess if she had played her cards wisely and asked her sister to find her a husband when Anne still stood high in the King's good graces and enjoyed his love but she remained at a distance from the rest of the family in some ways, never seeking out favours for herself, and she had chosen to marry for love, to marry a nobody.

Perhaps she was the wisest of them.

She might not be married to a rich man, or to a man with a title but, of all the family, Mary was the only Boleyn who was not clapped in the Tower and left to fear for her life in the dreadful May weeks when those foul allegations were laid against Anne and George, and when it became clear that their enemies meant to bring them down, by any means necessary.

She was safe, quietly hidden away in the country with her husband and her child.

Mary's gown was simple, of course, as he had expected; her husband was a poor man and Boleyn had kept his word, cutting off his daughter's allowance and refusing to pay so much as a penny to his new son-in-law as a dowry, so he could imagine that they would have more vital things to spend what little money they had on than new gowns. He would have to see to it that she was supplied with funds to ensure that she was able to attire herself suitably while she was at court. The last thing he needed or wanted was to provoke fresh gossip by allowing his daughter to appear at court looking like a poor relation. Even if it was known at court that Mary had been banished and that her family had cut her off without a penny, it was important for them to show that she was welcomed back and that the Boleyn family was united once more.

They had plenty of enemies who would be all too willing to exploit any perceived rift in the family for their own ends, so that they might try to bring them down.

Despite the plainness of her attire, however, Mary still looked lovely, her colour high and a small smile on her face as she entered the courtyard and spotted him, coming forward to greet him.

He would have been entirely satisfied with her appearance, but for one thing.

She was not alone.

A toddler, a tiny girl who could not have been more than two years of age, if she was even as old as that, was walking by her side, clinging tightly to Mary's hand. Like Mary's, the toddler's blue woollen gown was crumpled with travel and black curls escaped from underneath her white cap.

"Who is that?" It was not how he had intended to greet Mary, especially when he had asked her to come to court as a favour to him and to Anne, but Boleyn couldn't help blurting the question.

"This is your granddaughter, Father." Mary told him coolly, stiffening slightly at his sharp tone and tightening her grip on her child's hand. "Anne Stafford. We call her Annie. William and I cannot afford to engage a nursemaid for our daughter, so I was obliged to bring her here with me today." There was no trace of embarrassment in Mary's voice as she made her explanation for the toddler's presence, although both she and her father were well aware of the fact that any other courtier would have been deeply shamed to have to make such an admission. Poverty was not something that anybody of noble family would ever want to admit to, even if it was the truth. Courtiers borrowed heavily if they could not afford to meet their expenses, incurring debt out of pride and the need to appear prosperous rather than trying to make do without the necessary attendants, clothes and jewels their position demanded for the sake of economy. "This is your Grandpapa, Annie," she explained to the tiny girl, not giving her father a chance to refuse to acknowledge his grandchild, something she knew he would be capable of doing if he so chose.

Annie beamed up at Boleyn with the open affection of a toddler, waving at him with a small, plump hand. "H'lo G'ampa." She greeted him cheerfully.

Boleyn forced himself to smile, reaching down to pat her head. "Hello, Annie." He greeted her briefly before turning his attention to his daughter. "Thank you for coming here today, Mary." He told her, tucking his arm through hers and beginning to lead her into the palace, moving as quickly as Annie's pace allowed to avoid meeting anybody on their way.

"I would have come sooner, if I could." Mary responded, knowing that her father would understand her meaning. Even though she was Anne's sister, she had been banished from the court and could therefore not return whenever she pleased. She had had to wait until she received an invitation before she could set foot in Whitehall again and, if she was honest with herself, she had to admit that she felt irritated with her father for waiting a full two weeks since Anne's release to send word to her that she could come, instead of dispatching a messenger as soon as he possibly could.

Didn't he understand how worrying the past weeks and months were for her?

Didn't he understand that, even in the country, gossip about Anne's weakening position, particularly after she miscarried the long hoped-for prince, reached their ears, along with news of her arrest and of the fact that she and George were convicted of incest and condemned to death, on the King's orders?

Didn't he understand how she felt when she heard that her brother and sister were to die?

At first, Mary could not believe that it was true.

The last time she was at court, she could see for herself that the King's passion for Anne had cooled somewhat since the days of their great romance. It was known that he took mistresses – though he at least made an attempt to be discreet about it, more of an attempt than he had made with Katherine, when he brazenly seduced her own ladies under her nose – and that he was disappointed that her two pregnancies had yielded only a single living daughter and one stillborn child, leaving him without the son he needed to secure the survival of Tudor dynasty.

However, he was also making moves to ensure that Anne's position as Queen was secure, despite his disappointment, and to ensure that little Elizabeth was accepted as the lawful heir to the throne, ahead of her elder half-sister, until she had a brother, even going so far as to demand that every English subject should take an Oath swearing that they accepted his new wife and daughter as the rightful Queen and Princess, promising to punish those who refused so Mary had believed that the King's love for her sister was still deep, even if she was no longer the only woman in the world for whom he had eyes, and that she was safe.

It horrified her to learn that she was wrong.

It would have been bad enough if the King had sought to annul his marriage to Anne – and Mary was uncomfortably conscious of the fact that her liaison with the King all those years ago could have been used as grounds to dissolve his marriage to her sister, rendering her little niece a bastard and stripping her of her rights as a Princess – but she would never have predicted that he could have wanted Anne dead, especially when he had once loved her so much and after all he had done in order to make her his wife in the first place.

Even if he wanted to be rid of her, even if he had a third wife in mind, Mary had not thought that he would be capable of murder.

Anne had probably never imagined that to be a possibility either.

"How is Anne?" She asked her father in a low voice as they walked. She stopped and bent down to pick up little Annie when the toddler grew tired and began to clamour to be lifted up, settling her daughter on her hip before continuing on their way.

Boleyn lowered his voice before responding, glancing about to make sure that there was nobody within earshot. "It's been very difficult for her, as I'm sure you can imagine." He told her. "I've never seen Anne so quiet, or so remote. She barely says a word to the King, or to most of the court. She hardly ever leaves her apartment, unless she's going to the nursery to see Elizabeth. I'm worried about her, Mary. She won't talk to me about how she feels about what's happened. That's why I needed you to come."

Mary nodded comprehension. For a moment, she was very tempted to ask her father whether or not he had spoken up on Anne's behalf when the investigation and the trial first began but she could guess the answer to that question. Her father was not a man who would brave the anger of his sovereign, even on behalf of his own children. At least, if her father had not spoken for Anne then, her concern for her seemed to be genuine now, and that was more important.

"At least there's some good news." Boleyn remarked. "The King has made it clear that he still regards the Lady Mary as nothing but a bastard; he has ordered the obstinate girl to continue to wait on Elizabeth, whether she likes it or not, and refuses to receive her until she takes the Oath. He declared as much before the whole court when Lady Mary arrived from Hatfield."

"The poor girl." Mary was well aware of the fact that it was for Anne's sake and Elizabeth's that it had to be made plain to everybody that Mary was no longer a princess and no longer entitled to any place in the line of succession but that did not mean that she took any pleasure in knowing that the young girl who had been brought up to believe herself to be the Princess of Wales was being humiliated by being forced to act as a servant to her little half-sister, especially when she knew how the girl must be grieving for the loss of her beloved mother and that she did not need to suffer any more than she had already. Her desire to see to it that her sister's position and that of her niece were secure did not mean that she could not feel sympathy towards the Lady Mary, who had endured so much pain over the past years.

"That's what Anne said." Boleyn remarked, feeling rather mystified by her reaction towards what he regarded as excellent news. It seemed that both of his daughters were too soft for their own good, sympathizing with Mary over the hardships she would endure as a direct result of her own obstinacy and disobedience instead of wanting to ensure that the King did not waver in his stern stance towards her, for the sake of their family.

Although he was pleased to see the King make it clear that he had no intention of restoring his eldest daughter to the succession, whatever the Emperor might say about that, and although he was glad of the fact that Mary was to be taught her place by being brought back to court as Elizabeth's attendant, Boleyn was not entirely at ease about the situation, far from it.

The King could very easily change his mind and only a fool would discount that possibility. He was a proud man, and that might work in their favour, as he would be disinclined to go back on what he had said about Mary being a bastard but, at the same time, the possibility could not be discounted entirely. When it looked as though Jane Seymour was going to be Queen in the very near future, it was assumed that she would be able to persuade the King to disinherit little Elizabeth and restore Mary as heir, at least until she had a son... though Boleyn would have preferred to see Mary beheaded and any brat that Jane Seymour managed to bear tossed in the Thames before he saw either of them usurp his granddaughter's rights as the King's heir.

When the King decided to recall Mary, Boleyn felt some concern, even though she was being recalled as a servant and even though the King stated that he had no intention of restoring her, even if his refusal put his alliance with the Emperor at risk. It would be all too easy for the King to soften towards his eldest daughter if the wretched girl managed to get close to him again, reminding him of how much he had once loved and cherished the girl who was his only living child for so long, and if that happened he might change his mind about her status.

Boleyn knew better than to think that Anne was in the frame of mind to focus on charming the King, winning back his attention and affections and ensuring that he would not give the idea of Mary's restoration the slightest thought out of love for her. After everything that had happened, she could not be expected to sweeten her behaviour towards the King, not after the way he had hurt and betrayed her. It would be a long time before she was ready for friendly relations with her husband, let alone anything more than that.

It was therefore vital for him to ensure that none of the courtiers sought to work on the Lady Mary's behalf and against Anne and Elizabeth's interests. If he was able to convince them that he did not consider it even remotely possible that Mary's return to court could lead to a return to her former status, if he was able to make them believe that he did not consider that the wretched girl had any chance of posing a threat to his family's interests, that the idea was so laughable that he could publicly call her 'bastard' with impunity, they would not try to ally themselves with Mary.

Any courtier with sense would always ally himself with the rising star, shunning those who had fallen from grace for fear that they would be tainted by association. Although many might think it noble to stand by those who were weak and to try to aid them, however they could, few courtiers would be foolish and impractical enough to pledge their support to a lost cause, especially when there was a very real risk that they might find themselves dragged down by the person they sought to help and left to share in their disgrace.

Even if Anne and the King were not getting on especially well these days, it was vital that Boleyn be able to make the courtiers believe that she was still the one to support, and that it was her child who would one day succeed the King, not the Lady Mary.

Everything depended on it.

Anne was not by herself when they reached her apartment but Boleyn had not expected that she would be, she was too careful these days to allow that, always ensuring that she was properly attended. She rose when he entered, setting aside her embroidery and greeting him with a small smile that turned to an expression of astonishment when she saw that Mary was with him.

"I invited Mary to court for a visit." Boleyn explained before Anne could ask.

"Hello, Your Majesty." Mary greeted her sister, curtseying as gracefully as she could while balancing her child in her arms. When Anne did not say anything, seeming too surprised for speech, she continued. "This is my daughter, Anne Stafford – Annie." She introduced.

Annie wriggled in her mother's arms, holding her plump arms out to her aunt. "Kiss!" Her imperious demand drew a smile from her aunt, who walked over to kiss her chubby cheek.

"She's beautiful." Anne said, smiling at her niece before she looked up at her sister. "How are you, sister?" She asked quietly, more relieved to see Mary than she cared to say.

"I'm well." Mary didn't echo her sister's question. Even if Anne claimed that she was well, Mary wouldn't believe her. After all she had endured, she couldn't possibly have emerged unscathed. She noticed her father quietly dismissing most of Anne's ladies, although Nan Saville, Madge Shelton and Mistress Gainsford all remained behind, sitting discreetly by the windows. In her arms, Annie yawned deeply, resting her head on her shoulder. "She's tired," she told Anne, rubbing Annie's back. "Is there somewhere I can put her down for a nap?" She knew little Annie well enough to know that, although she was cheerful and sociable at the moment, it would only be a matter of minutes, a quarter of an hour at the very most, before she became overtired and cranky, and a tearful toddler certainly would not help Anne relax.

"Of course." Anne nodded automatically. "Elizabeth's taking her nap now. Annie can join her in the nursery. Lady Shelton." She beckoned for Madge to step forward. "Please bring my niece down to the Princess' nursery and tell them that she is to take a nap with Elizabeth – and let Lady Bryan know that I will be visiting this afternoon, when Elizabeth is awake." She added, although the message was an unnecessary one. She either visited the nursery or sent a message instructing that Elizabeth should be brought to her apartment to visit her every afternoon after her daughter's nap, enjoying the extra hours of play with her child and she doubted that Lady Bryan would expect that today would be any different.

"Yes, Your Majesty." Madge responded, curtseying.

Mary gave her cousin a smile before handing little Annie over to her. "Be a good girl, sweetheart." She told her daughter, waving as Madge carried her out of Anne's apartment. Once the toddler had been borne away, she put one arm around her sister's shoulders, steering her towards the chairs by the fire. Their father hung back, as though unsure whether he should join them or whether it would be better if he slipped away and left them alone. She nodded towards the door, almost imperceptibly and, for once, her father acknowledged the signal and nodded in response.

"Excuse me, Your Majesty." He said to Anne, inclining his head respectfully and waiting for her to signal permission before he backed out of the apartment.

"I would have been here sooner, I wanted to come as soon as I heard what was happening." Mary told Anne once they were seated. Although it was irritating to know that Nan and Mistress Gainsford would be remaining in the apartment, rather than leaving to give them some privacy as they would have before, both ladies seemed to respect the fact that the Boleyn sisters needed to speak privately and they remained at a distance, focusing on their sewing rather than on them. "Once Father sent his message to me, I came as quickly as I could."

"Thank you." Anne's voice was soft as she spoke, meeting Mary's eyes for a moment before lowering her gaze to stare into the heart of the fire. It was a relief to have her sister with her again, to know that there was one more person at the court that she could feel confident was on her side and would support her and Elizabeth but she also didn't know what to say to Mary now that she was here.

What could she say?

Mary would already know a great deal about what had happened, she would know that Henry had ordered her arrest and George's, along with the arrests of other men accused of being her lovers. She would know that they had been tried, with their own uncle presiding, and that they had been sentenced to death, locked up in the Tower with nothing to think about but their impending executions... until Henry decided that he couldn't go through with it.

Relating the facts of the situation would be a pointless exercise when her sister already knew the gist of the story, and she couldn't bring herself to tell Mary the kind of thoughts and feelings that had been running through her mind, either before her arrest, after her arrest, when she was awaiting her execution or after Henry had ordered her release, which is what their father had undoubtedly asked Mary to come to court to speak with her about.

It was too soon for her to feel ready to share that with anybody, even with the older sister who had been her closest confidante during her childhood, one of the only two people with whom she was able to share any of her secrets, knowing that she could confess to the most outrageous mischief and feel certain that neither of them would ever betray her to their nurse or governess.

George never spoke to her these days, never came near her.

He blamed her for what had happened, at least in part, she knew that.

She might have lost her brother and, although part of her longed to be able to confide in her sister, to tell Mary everything that had happened, to hear her sister comfort and reassure her and even to cry in Mary's arms, releasing the emotions that she had kept bridled until now, another part of her – the stronger part or the weaker? – couldn't allow her to do it.

So she said nothing.

She felt a warm hand encircle hers and looked up to see Mary looking at her, her expression sympathetic and her eyes bright with compassion.

"It's alright." Her sister's voice was gentle. "You're not ready to talk about it yet, are you? It's alright." She repeated reassuringly. "Whenever you want to talk, I'll be here."

The toddler in her arms was a solid weight and the distance between the Queen's apartment and the nursery was not an inconsiderable one so Madge Shelton was very glad when she reached her destination, nodding for one of the pages stationed outside the nursery to open the door for her, admitting her to the Princess' sunny nursery.

"This is Anne Stafford, Lady Bryan, Her Majesty's niece. She's called Annie." She explained when she saw Princess Elizabeth's governess looking at her quizzically, curious about the child's identity. "Her Majesty told me to bring her down here so that she could take a nap with the Princess, and she asked me to let you know that she will visit the nursery later, when the Princess is awake."

"Of course." Lady Bryan nodded before looking across the room at the young girl who was busy stitching at a tiny gown Madge recognized as belonging to Elizabeth, one that the little princess had torn yesterday during a romp with the Queen. "You may leave that mending for a few minutes, Lady Mary," the governess announced, as though she was conferring an enormous favour on the former princess. "Go into Princess Elizabeth's bedchamber, and turn down the covers on the other side of the bed for this little lady." She commanded, reaching out to take Annie from Madge and settling the toddler on her hip, tickling her under the chin and smiling at her. "Her Majesty may rest assured that we will take excellent care of little Mistress Stafford." She told Madge. "It will be our honour to care for the Queen's niece – will it not, Lady Mary?" The pointed question was directed at the King's daughter, who did not answer, except with a tightening of her mouth that suggested that she was far from honoured by the presence of another of Anne's kinswomen, even one as young as Annie.

The Lady Mary would have been quite content if the entire Boleyn family, and all those connected with them, were banished from court, forbidden ever to return.

Lady Bryan was accustomed by now to Mary's sullenness so she said no more as she followed her into Elizabeth's bedchamber, waiting until she had folded back the silken bedcovers and then settling the sleepy toddler next to her cousin, who yawned and turned over onto her side, reaching out to rest one arm over Annie, as she would have cuddled her doll to her. She tucked the covers closely around the two children, watching for a few moments to ensure that Annie was settling down to sleep and that Elizabeth had not been disturbed by the arrival of another child in her bed before she stole out of the room, motioning for Mary to follow her.

"Back to your sewing at once, Lady Mary." She said sharply when the girl hesitated for a brief moment before returning to her task. "Think not to avoid the task – there will be no shirking or laziness among the servants of the Princess Elizabeth while I am her governess." She declared sternly, looking first at the other ladies attending Elizabeth and then at Madge, as though she hoped that she would tell Anne about how well Princess Elizabeth's little household was being run, to reassure the Queen that the governess had matters well in hand.

"The Lady Elizabeth." Mary said mutinously, glancing in Madge's direction and seeing the expression on the young woman's face change from one of sympathy to one of shock, then one of outrage, clearly appalled to hear Mary refer to the daughter of her mistress by a title that would be fitting for a royal bastard rather than a princess. She didn't care if Lady Shelton ran straight to Anne with tales of how Mary had indicated that she considered Elizabeth to be a bastard – in fact, she wanted her to do just that. She wanted Anne to know that, no matter how she was treated, no matter what spells Anne cast on her father, she would never give in. She would never pretend that Elizabeth was anything other than the bastard she was. "I am the Princess."

"You're an impudent, disobedient, traitorous bastard and nothing more, girl." Lady Bryan instinctively lifted her hand, as though ready to box Mary's ears for daring to imply that her little charge was a bastard, but she lowered it after a moment, clearly thinking better of the gesture. One could not be certain how the King would react to the idea of his daughter being struck if word of it was carried to him, after all, and, though Mary was clearly out of favour with her father at the moment, things were still very uncertain... too uncertain for a mere governess to take the drastic step of striking a daughter of the King's.

Neither the lifting of her hand nor her hesitation was lost on Mary, however. The young girl permitted herself a small, triumphant smile, relieved to see that, for all Lady Bryan's bluster about having permission to hit her, the governess had either been given no such permission or else had been given the authority to strike her but dared not take advantage of it, for fear that she would be made to pay for daring to do so at a later date, when Mary's position was strong once more.

She was right to worry.

Once Mary was Princess of Wales again, she intended to see to it that Lady Bryan was punished for the disrespectful manner with which she had dared to treat the heir to the throne over the past few years. While Mary knew that the governess could not be blamed for the fact that she was ordered to serve as a maid to her half-sister, her father's bastard by Lady Anne, and while she knew that those at Hatfield would have been commanded never to address her by her true title of Princess and to ensure that she was made to work in her capacity as Elizabeth's attendant, instead of her position in the child's household being in name only, Lady Bryan's treatment of her was always disrespectful at best and cruel at worst.

Mary would not forget that.

Lady Bryan scowled when she saw this. It was her responsibility to keep order among the ladies of Elizabeth's little household and that responsibility extended to keeping her little charge's illegitimate half-sister in line and ensuring that the girl was taught her proper place in the household but what could she do when, though the Lady Mary might be dismissed as a bastard now, nobody could guarantee that she would not be restored as a princess one day, perhaps soon?

If she treated the girl too harshly, she was likely to have to pay the price for it if the Lady Mary was ever restored to her father's good graces, whether she was restored as a princess or not, as the King would be outraged by any tales of mistreatment, tales that would undoubtedly be richly embroidered upon if the Lady Mary was ever given a chance to tell them. However, if she treated the girl too leniently, allowing her to go her own way instead of curbing her and working to quash her pride and her vanity, then the King might become angry that his daughter was not learning her place, as he had ordered, and he would blame Lady Bryan for not having worked more diligently to cure his daughter of her obstinacy and force her to understand her new place in life.

It was a great honour for her to be the governess of the Princess Elizabeth and Lady Bryan took pride in that role and loved the small child she had been entrusted with the care of but, when her role also gave her the task of having to deal with the Lady Mary, it made her position a very difficult one, and she could never be certain how she ought to act in situations like today's.

If she struck Mary, and the King heard of it, she might find herself in trouble for that but, on the other hand, if Lady Shelton told the Queen of what had happened, reporting that she had heard the Lady Mary insult the Princess Elizabeth and that Lady Bryan had not punished her for daring to do so, the Queen would be angry with her for that.

Lady Bryan contented herself with a compromise. She raised her voice as she spoke again, so that all of Elizabeth's attendants could hear her words. "As punishment for her rudeness towards the Princess, the Lady Mary will tend to all of Her Highness' mending this week." She announced, before turning to Madge. "And as the Lady Mary is too foolish and too ill-bred to apologize for her bad behaviour, please offer Her Majesty the Queen my sincere apologies on her behalf – and tell her that if she wishes for me to punish the Lady Mary more severely, I will do so."

"Yes, Lady Bryan." Madge felt uncomfortable in the nursery and was eager to leave it, so she retreated from the room as quickly as good manners allowed.

She had no intention of telling her cousin of what had transpired in the nursery, of course.

Like all of Anne's ladies, she knew that her mistress was already very upset by the thought that her beloved child might have been declared a bastard so that her half-sister could be called a princess once more and, as she cared for her cousin, she did not want to have to hurt her by telling her that the Lady Mary had dared to insult Princess Elizabeth by implying that she was a bastard – an implication that meant that she viewed Anne herself as a concubine rather than as the rightful Queen of England. Queen Anne had endured so much pain over the past months already. Madge had no intention of adding to it by telling her what Lady Mary had said.

To judge by the exchange in the nursery, Lady Bryan was not a woman who would easily tolerate such behaviour from the Lady Mary and, as the governess seemed to have the matter well in hand, Madge could rest easily at the thought of keeping this from the Queen.

What Queen Anne did not know could not distress her.

Mary didn't allow herself to show any sign of anger or unhappiness at Lady Bryan's pronouncement of her punishment, nor did she voice a protest. Her father had commanded that she should serve as Elizabeth's attendant and that she should perform any tasks that the governess instructed her to and Mary freely acknowledged that, though she did not wish to, she had a duty to obey her father and to do as he commanded of her, which meant accepting the task that Lady Bryan had decreed for her, even though it was intended as a punishment for telling the truth and for refusing to denounce her birthright.

The other ladies who attended Elizabeth were only too pleased to hear Lady Bryan's edict, of course. Of all the tasks that Elizabeth's maids-in-waiting were called upon to perform, there was a general consensus that mending was one of the very dullest tasks, the task that none of them would ever willingly seek out. They were happy to fold up the garments they were sewing or darning and to place them in the workbasket at Mary's side, none of them whispering an offer to assist her once Lady Bryan was safely out of the way bringing Elizabeth for a walk, even though they knew that it would take her almost the whole day to finish the mending unaided. Not one of them hesitated for even a moment before doing so.

They were undoubtedly pleased to be able to relinquish the task, especially as Lady Bryan would ordinarily have insisted that they keep at their task until it was completed, even if that meant that they were obliged to sacrifice some of their leisure time in order to ensure that all of Elizabeth's mending was done, and done well. Lady Bryan was not a woman who would be slow to command that sloppy work should be unpicked and redone, until the result satisfied her exacting standards.

No pleas of other arrangements, or of a desire to walk in the gardens before the daylight was gone, or promises that they would finish their mending tomorrow, without fail, if they might only be allowed to leave it for today had ever had the power to move Lady Bryan.

This week would be a pleasant one for Elizabeth's ladies, a week free of needlework and a week where they would be allowed more leisure hours than they usually would be allowed – something that would be especially welcome when they were at court, with so many diversions available to them that they would not have at Hatfield. They were delighted with that and not one of them seemed to care that her freedom would come at Mary's expense.

Lady Bryan watched with stern eyes as the mending was placed in the basket by Mary's side, her hands folded in front of her as she regarded the young girl. Mary knew that she was waiting for her to apologize for what she had said, to take back her words about being Princess and to acknowledge, at last, that Elizabeth truly was the rightful Princess of England, in the hopes that if she admitted fault, she would win a remission of her punishment.

If she hoped for that, she would be disappointed.

Mary had not yielded when her father's agents had threatened that she would pay for her refusal to take the Oath with her life. She had not yielded when she was promised a return to court and to her father's good graces in exchange for acknowledging Anne Boleyn as Queen. She had not yielded when she knew that her mother was ill, that she might be dying, and that they would not be permitted to see one another until they both took the Oath, accepting that Mary's mother was never married to her father and that Mary herself was a bastard.

If she had not yielded in order that she might receive the final blessing of her dying mother, then Lady Bryan was a fool if she believed that Mary would yield in order to escape some sewing.

The liveried guard stationed outside the door leading to the King's Privy chamber banged his gavel on the floor three times, a ceremonial signal to let those within know that a visitor approached, then he announced the name in a clear voice. "Sir Anthony Knivert."

"Anthony!" Henry sprang to his feet as soon as his friend entered, not even giving Knivert a chance to make his bow before he clasped him by the hand and pulled him upright, clapping his other hand on his shoulder. Sir Thomas Audley was with him but he quietly gathered his papers together and, at Henry's signal, left the room. "Welcome back to court!" After the past few weeks, Henry was delighted to see an old friend again, somebody who was not around the court when Anne's trial was in progress and who, if he knew Knivert, would not be a man who would be overly curious about what had happened and try to coax the details from him.

Knivert had always liked Anne well enough; he was not so fond of her that he would be resentful about what had happened on her behalf but, at the same time, since he did not dislike her, he would never have tried to make trouble for her by accusing her of a crime she had not committed in the hopes that Henry would get rid of her.

He had supported Henry when he wished to marry Anne, even going so far as to offer his friend his sympathy and support when the strain of waiting made either Anne or Henry himself short-tempered, something that Henry was thankful for at the time, as he could sense that many of those he would have called his friends disapproved of his intentions and would have preferred to try to persuade him to return to Katherine and to resign himself to the idea of having no heir but Mary, if they dared to broach the issue.

He would never have allowed their opinion to alter his course of action, of course. He knew that his union with Katherine was a sinful one and that he would have been obliged to end it even if he had never met Anne, much less hoped to make her his wife, and even though he was still fond of Katherine and disliked the idea of causing her pain. However, that did not mean that it had not hurt to know that some of his own friends disapproved of what he was doing – or, worse still, that they believed he was doing it to satisfy his own desires rather than because it was the only right thing to do.

He had been very glad of Knivert's unfeigned and unwavering support.

Henry could still remember what Knivert had said the night after Anne, frustrated with the long delay, hurt by the scorn heaped on her by courtiers who viewed her as the reason for his desire to annul his marriage to Katherine and convinced that he would one day yield to Katherine's pleas to return to her and cast Anne aside, had left the court to return to Hever, despite his pleas that she remain; "Omnia vincit Amor... No one can resist love."

Although Knivert sometimes had a bizarre gift for putting his foot in his mouth but on other occasions, he had a knack for saying just the right thing and that had been one of those times.

He had not resided at court for quite some time now, as the management of the estates he inherited from his father had kept him occupied since before Henry married Anne but it would be good to have him back at court, to have somebody who was his friend but who was also quite warmly disposed towards Anne as well, and who might be able to advise him about what he ought to do about his wife now.

It was not that Henry did not believe what Brandon had said about genuinely believing that Anne's behaviour gave cause for concern when he broached the issue with him.

He was sure that the man who had been his close friend since boyhood would never have wanted to see him damn his soul by condemning an innocent woman, his blameless wife and the mother of his dear little daughter, to death and that, even if he disliked Anne, even if he blamed her for the troubles that had come to England for her sake and that had shadowed the country for years, Brandon would not have wanted to see her executed for a crime she had not committed, especially when she was the mother of a small child who would be hurt by the loss of her mother and left shamed by the knowledge of her supposed treason.

It would have been a difficult burden for little Elizabeth to have to live with, one that would have shadowed her childhood and the rest of her life, even if he had not annulled his marriage to her mother and deprived her of her status as princess and heir.

What royal marriage could he have found for Elizabeth if, in addition to being slandered as a bastard by the Bishop of Rome, she was the daughter of a convicted adulteress and traitor?

No prince would want or accept such a bride.

However, he was beginning to wonder whether Brandon's personal dislike of Anne, a dislike that he had never been able to conceal entirely, had predisposed him to believe that the charges were true when somebody like Knivert, who thought fairly highly of Anne, would have been slower to give credence to the idea that she might have taken other men to her bed and would have looked more closely at the allegations, entertaining a healthy degree of scepticism and wanting to be certain that there was truly cause for concern before he brought the matter to Henry's attention, knowing that once he took that step, Henry would have no choice but to order a formal investigation into the matter and wanting to make sure that they did not take such drastic measures if they did not truly need to.

If that was the case, and Brandon had allowed his personal feelings towards Anne to lead him to make his accusation without investigating it properly himself first – something that would have spared all concerned a great deal of trouble – then Henry knew that, while the other man might be a good friend and somebody whose counsel could be relied upon in other matters, he was not the man that he should speak to about so delicate a matter as his marriage.

As Brandon disliked Anne, he might not even want to see the royal couple reconciled, even if he knew that it hurt Henry to know that his wife was so angry with him.

He could already sense that Brandon disapproved of the fact that he had publicly denounced Mary as the bastard she was and of his refusal to consider the idea of her restoration. He might not have come out and said anything about it but Henry could sense that both Brandon and his wife would have liked to see Mary legitimised and restored as his first rightful heir ahead of Elizabeth.

It was as though he couldn't understand that, even if Anne and Elizabeth had not been an issue, he could never live a lie by pretending that he considered his daughter to be legitimate, any more than he could expose himself to public ridicule by rewarding Mary for her years of obstinacy and disobedience towards him, her father and her sovereign, by giving her exactly what she wanted.

No monarch could ever do such a thing to any subject, not even to his dearly loved child.

He was willing to be kind to Mary and generous to her, as a man should be to a loving and obedient daughter, but it would be on his terms, not on hers, Anne or no Anne.

Once she took the Oath, he would take steps to dramatically improve her circumstances and to ensure that it was clear to the court, to the country and even to her interfering cousin the Emperor that he would honour her as his daughter and provide for her as such, but until then, she would continue to be a servant and she would enjoy neither his love nor his protection.

"I suppose that you've heard about what happened." It wasn't a question. Henry doubted that there was any adult in his kingdom who did not know about what had happened with Anne, and he was sure that the vast majority would have heard the rumours that he had planned to make Jane England's next Queen once Anne was dead. He didn't think that Knivert would prove to be the exception to the rule. He had always had a knack for learning what was going on and, when he was at court, he was usually one of the best informed courtiers.

"I heard." Knivert responded quietly. "If I may... How are you, Your Majesty?" He asked tentatively. Henry looked at him in surprise, as though he was astonished that somebody should be asking about him instead of about Anne. "It must have been difficult for Your Majesty, to be led to believe that the Queen had betrayed you." Knivert prompted.

"It was." Henry agreed, pleased with the way the conversation was going. He sat down in one of the chairs at the table, waving for Knivert to take a seat and pouring them both a goblet of wine. "When I heard... if it had been anybody but Charles who told me about it, I wouldn't have believed that it could be true. Once I heard, I had to order a proper investigation – the honour of the Crown and the integrity of the succession was at stake."

"Of course you did." Knivert agreed. If he thought that it might have been wiser for Henry to content himself with a more discreet investigation, perhaps placing spies in Anne's household in order to monitor her behaviour and to make sure that there truly was cause for concern before taking the matter any further, his expression gave no indication of this.

"Cromwell and Rich handled the investigation but Cromwell was leading it. I believed that he would be fair and impartial, especially when he had known the Queen for so long," Henry continued, determinedly ignoring the fact that he had known that Anne and Cromwell had been at odds beforehand, and that Cromwell could have had ample motive to wish to get rid of Anne, by any means necessary. "Two men confessed, and Lord Rochford was implicated by his own wife – who would have thought that she'd lie about it? – so I had to order a trial. I couldn't just let the matter go, not after everything I heard about her." He insisted, as much to convince himself as to convince Knivert. "She doesn't understand what it was like to hear those things, how it made me feel – I even thought that Elizabeth might not be my child!" He added, remembering how devastating it was for him when that thought first struck him.

Had that been part of the reason why he had decided to have Cranmer annul their marriage?

For himself, it made little odds to him whether Anne went to her death as Queen of England, as Marquess of Pembroke or even as plain Lady Anne, and he was conscious of the fact that if she had not been his wife, then she could not have committed adultery and that her execution could be considered an unjust one but if there was a chance that Elizabeth was not his child, and he had truly believed that this might be the case, he could not have allowed his marriage to Anne to stand valid, which would mean that Elizabeth would continue to be honoured as Princess, even above Mary, whom he could be sure was his daughter... and, even if he was not married to Katherine, he knew that she would never have tried to pass another man's child off as his.

Knivert nodded, his expression sympathetic. "You trusted them. You didn't think that they'd lie to you, especially about something as important as this. Why would you think that they would?"

"I never would have believed that they would lie." Henry repeated, scowling petulantly. "Anne doesn't understand that. She blames me for what's happened, even though I've been trying to put things right for her, and for Elizabeth." Anne must have heard about his declaration that Mary was to be regarded as nothing but a bastard and as Elizabeth's servant by now, and she was certainly intelligent enough to be able to guess that he would have done this in order to ensure that there could be no question about their daughter's status but she had not come to him to thank him for what he was doing for her and for their child, she had not even sent him a note!

Would it have killed her to put pen to parchment to write a few words of thanks to him?

Didn't she realize that it hurt him to have to treat Mary so harshly, to know that it would hurt his eldest daughter if he made it clear to her that he was not prepared to love her as a father or to regard her as anything other than a servant of Elizabeth's until she declared herself to be a bastard? Couldn't she appreciate that he was prepared to do it for her sake?

"She's a woman, Your Majesty, they don't see things the way a man would, they can't help it, even the clever ones." Knivert said, trying to sound reassuring. "She's probably upset because she thought that you would protect her from the trial in the first place, and that you would have banished Charles when he suggested that she might be misbehaving."

That was what Henry had done when Brandon dared to hint that Anne had once been the lover of Thomas Wyatt and that she was not a virgin, as she had claimed to be when she refused to become Henry's mistress. Knivert had heard all about it from his friend, who was indignant at the thought that, despite his long-standing friendship with the King, Anne's word was automatically accepted over his, with the King refusing to believe a word against her, and that he was to be banished for offending her but he knew better than to remind Henry of that now.

"Believe me, I'm beginning to wish that I had." Henry said glumly, thinking that it would be so much easier for him now if he had defended Anne's good name then, berating Brandon for suggesting that she might have committed such revolting crimes, instead of subjecting her to the trial that had won her the hearts of what seemed like most of England.

Knivert opened his mouth to speak, wanting to ask how much truth there was to the rumours he had heard about Henry having selected the lady he intended to make the next Queen of England, before Anne was actually convicted of treason, even before Henry was told of the possibility of her guilt but he shut it before he could say a word, knowing his question would be unwelcome.

His movements did not escape Henry's notice, however, and he narrowed his eyes, sighing impatiently. "What is it, Anthony? There's something you want to ask, I can tell by looking at you. You might as well spit it out."

"Forgive me, Your Majesty, I did not mean to offend you…" Knivert apologized quickly, trying to frame a diplomatic query that would satisfy his friend. "It's just that… well, there were rumours, even down in the country, and I was wondering… it was said that your marriage to the Queen might be annulled… it was probably nothing, just a stupid rumour." He said hastily, seeing his friend's mouth tighten at his words. "You know how quickly they spread."

"It was just a misunderstanding." Henry stated firmly. "Archbishop Cranmer did look into the validity of my marriage, and he found it to be a true union – as I expected and hoped he would, of course," he lied. He frowned before continuing. "I wouldn't have asked him to look into it at all in the first place, if certain people had not suggested that I might have reason to doubt it."

When he presented her with the gold bracelet, plain and unadorned save for the jewelled miniature of himself hanging from it, a replacement for the locket that Anne had torn from her neck, Jane's smile was bright and she thanked him profusely for his generosity, insisting that she was unworthy of such a beautiful gift and of his notice. She blushed with becoming modesty when he contradicted her, telling her that he and the gift were the ones who were unworthy of her, allowing him to fasten the bracelet around her slender wrist.

Her father and her brother were in the room with them, of course. Henry would never have dreamed of risking Jane's reputation by seeing her alone, especially when more than a few of his courtiers had already taken note of his attentions to her. The two Seymour men were sitting at a table by the window, engrossed in a game of chess, so it was easy to forget that they were there and to speak freely with Jane.

She admired it for a moment but her expression became serious, troubled and Henry hastened to ask her what the matter was, anger surging through him at the thought that somebody might have made his sweet Jane unhappy. He inwardly resolved to have words with Anne if he learned that she was the cause, making it plain to her that, whatever her feelings on the matter, he expected her to treat Jane with the courtesy and respect that such a sweet and virtuous woman deserved to be treated with, or she would have to answer to him for it.

"What is it, sweetheart?" He asked gently, tilting her chin with one hand so that he could look down upon her face and her pale blue eyes. He wanted to kiss her but he would not do that without her permission. "Is something troubling you?"

"It's nothing, Your Majesty, truly," Jane tried to reassure him but it was plain to Henry that there was something worrying her. "It's just…" She hesitated, glancing towards her brother for the briefest of instants before she looked back at Henry and shared her thoughts. "I have heard my brother, and my Lord of Suffolk speaking and…" She hesitated again, as though afraid to continue.

She should never have had cause to fear speaking to him!

That day, Henry had thought that there was nothing that Jane could say that he would not want to hear. Any words from her lips would be angels' music to his ears.

"What is it?" He asked very gently, smiling to show that she could speak freely. He once told Anne that that was the true definition of love… why was he thinking of Anne?

"Forgive me, Your Majesty, I don't want to make trouble for anybody." Jane apologized before speaking her mind. "They said that there were some who doubted the validity of your marriage to Queen Anne – which surprised me, especially when Her Majesty has given you a sweet little daughter – and I wondered…" She seemed to sense that she had gone too far, trying to take back what she had said, insisting that she had never meant to suggest that there was any question in her mind about the validity of his marriage and that she did not have the learning to understand the matter, begging him to forget that she had spoken and fretting at the thought that good men might be punished because she had mentioned the matter to him.

He hastened to reassure her that he was not angry with her, that he could never be angry with her, and vowed that he would not punish those who had spoken but inwardly, he felt a thrill of excitement at her words. When Anne miscarried their son, when she dared to blame it on him, he felt furious with her and, in his anger, declared to Cromwell that he had been seduced into the marriage by sorcery and therefore considered it null and void.

Now, from Jane's lips, he was being given a sign.

Surely it was God's way of showing Henry the path He wished him to take.

Surely it was a sign that he should dissolve his marriage to Anne and take a new wife.

When Jane first mentioned the suggestions that his marriage to Anne might not be valid, it simply had not occurred to Henry that she might have had an ulterior motive for suggesting it. Even Anne had not been so brazen as to suggest that he should annul his union with Katherine for her sake; he had already decided to do so long before he asked her to be his, and she could not have known that he was considering the idea of freeing himself from Katherine in order to remarry when she refused to become his mistress, as it was a secret known only to him and to Wolsey. He believed that Jane had spoken without guile, that she was genuinely perturbed by the rumours she had heard and had only spoken of them to him because he pressed her.

Now he knew better.

Now he knew that the Seymours had hoped that he would set Anne aside and make Jane his Queen in her place, and that this was something that they had been planning for quite some time, probably since he first made his affections known to Jane, even though Anne carried his son at the time, a son that they were happy to see dead because his safe arrival would have secured Anne's place as Queen. They had their eyes on the Queen's crown for Jane and it was likely that they had coached her to broach the issue of the validity of his marriage with him, in the hope that they could plant doubts in his mind about Anne so that he would set her aside and marry Jane instead.

As frustrated as he was by Anne's behaviour and as difficult as it was to know that by taking her back, he might have given up his chance to have a legitimate son, Henry preferred to be married to her when he considered that, under other circumstances, he might now be married to Jane, innocently unaware of what a ruthless schemer she was.

"Does the Queen know that the Archbishop was investigating the validity of your marriage to her?" Knivert asked quietly, diplomatically broaching the question as though Cranmer was the one with whom Anne should be angry, if she had cause for anger, even though he was well aware of the fact that the timid Archbishop would never have dared to investigate the royal marriage unless it was indicated to him that this was Henry's wish, especially when he was known to hold a high opinion of Anne, his fellow reformer.

"She knows – though I don't know how she managed to figure it out." Henry answered, frowning. "She blames me for that too. She's angry with me because she thinks that I wanted Princess Elizabeth to be declared a bastard."

"It's understandable that she'd be upset." Knivert pointed out tentatively. He could sympathize with Anne in some ways, and understand why it would anger her to learn that her marriage might have been annulled. Any woman in her position would feel the same way, particularly one who was the mother of a child. Knivert was of the opinion that Katherine would not have fought as hard against the annulment of her marriage if she had not had a daughter whose position was in jeopardy if the marriage was annulled. "If the Archbishop had found against the marriage, then the little Princess would be disinherited. The Queen is probably frightened to think of what could have happened, even though it didn't; mothers are like that." He added knowledgeably, though he was unmarried and childless. "Even when it doesn't make sense."

"But I've tried to show her that she doesn't need to worry about Elizabeth's position!" Henry protested. "I've even ordered the Lady Mary to court to wait on Elizabeth, and commanded her to admit that she is a bastard and that Elizabeth is my heir. What more does she want?"

"But, see, you're not thinking like a woman, Your Majesty." Knivert pointed out, giving Henry a wry grin. "They see things differently. Maybe the Queen doesn't see that Princess Elizabeth's position is being made more secure because she doesn't see a tangible change to the situation; Elizabeth was already a princess and Mary was already a bastard to begin with, so she mightn't see that Elizabeth's position has improved unless she can see proof that it has."

"You think so?" Henry asked dubiously. Anne was clever, he knew that, so he would have thought that she would recognize what he was trying to do when he summoned Mary back to court to attend their daughter but, if Knivert was right, she might want something more from him, some kind of added reassurance that their daughter's position was safe. It made sense. Mary had acted as Elizabeth's attendant since their daughter was a baby, after all, so maybe Anne wasn't as convinced by the fact that the girl was waiting on Elizabeth at court instead of just at Hatfield as he had thought she would be.

"I think that she'll probably be happiest if she knows that her daughter is safe." Knivert said. "She'll probably come around a lot faster if you can show her that she is."

Henry nodded, thinking that Knivert's advice was perhaps the best suggestion he had heard for how he ought to deal with Anne's behaviour.

Brandon had been able to offer him little advice, except to suggest that it might be wiser not to indulge Anne in her sulkiness by pandering to her and suggesting that, if Henry ignored her petulant moods and made no attempt to try to coax her into speaking with him again, she would be the one to swallow her pride and come to him.

Brandon clearly had no idea how obstinate Anne could be when she set her mind to it; if she believed that she had a grievance against him, she would continue to shut herself away in her rooms and refuse to stir from them or to mingle with the court, opting to starve if her only alternative was to eat with her husband. Few others were able to offer constructive suggestions, and most of their ideas would only serve to make matters worse – like the remark he had overheard from Thomas Wriothesly, who was speaking to a few companions, unaware that his sovereign was within earshot, and who had advocated a good beating to bring Anne to her senses.

Even if Henry was willing to take that step, he knew his wife well enough to know that it would do his cause no good. Anne was already angry enough with him without making it worse.

Knivert was right.

If he wanted to persuade Anne to put the past behind them and to make a fresh start as man and wife and as King and Queen, Elizabeth was the key. Anne loved Elizabeth and would do anything for their child. He needed to show her that he felt the same way, that he viewed Elizabeth as England's only Princess and that he would protect her position, no matter what. He would not be able to allow himself to weaken towards Mary and be tempted to improve his daughter's position until she yielded to his will. He would have to make sure that every single English subject accepted Elizabeth as his sole legitimate heir, at least for now. Not even the prospect of an alliance with the Emperor could be allowed to sway him from his course, not if he wanted to fix this.

He reached out, laying a hand on Knivert's shoulder, grateful for his friend's counsel. "Thank you, Anthony. I think you're right."

If Anne wanted to see him make Elizabeth's position safe, that was what he would do.

"There was a prophecy, you know."

"What are you talking about?" Mary asked gently. "You never mentioned a prophecy."

Anne had been sitting in silence most of the evening, since the two little girls had been carried off to bed. She had played with Elizabeth and Annie for the afternoon, and they dined with the children in the nursery, but after that the sisters had spent the evening in Anne's room. Three of Anne's ladies were with them, sitting at the far end of the large chamber, each occupied with sewing or reading. Mary had some embroidery in her lap, as her sister did, but while she was stitching industrially, Anne had scarcely picked up her needle, her attention directed to the flames flickering in the fireplace instead of the fabric in her hands.

When she spoke, her voice had a soft, dreamy quality that made Mary shiver inwardly.

"It was years ago, before the King and I were married – just after Katherine was sent away." Anne smiled wistfully at the memory of the months immediately following the other woman's banishment from court. After so long spent living under the same roof as the woman who was steadfastly refusing to give up her claims that she was Henry's true wife, it had been such a relief to be free from Katherine's presence, and from the disapproving eyes of the ladies who attended her. With Katherine gone, Anne was Queen in everything but name, and few made the mistake of doubting that the title would soon be hers in truth, with many of the courtiers practically stampeding to her rooms to pledge their support to her, wanting to ensure that when she was Queen, she would think fondly of them and promote their interests. They were so happy in those days. How could everything have gone so wrong in such a short time? "I found it on my writing desk one day, after I came in from a walk with Henry."

"Found what?" Mary asked, puzzled.

"A book of prophecy – it wasn't really a book," Anne amended, seeing the puzzled expression on her sister's face. "There were three cards; one for the King, one for Katherine and one for me. My head was cut off." She chuckled humourlessly. "I didn't pay any attention to it at the time."

"You were right not to." Mary said firmly. "It was just somebody trying to frighten and upset you, that's all. It didn't mean anything, it's just a coincidence."

"Is it?" Anne asked bleakly, looking up to meet her sister's eyes. "Somebody wanted me to think that if I continued to come between Henry and the Princess Dowager, I would die for it. When we were riding in my coronation procession, somebody tried to shoot me – and when I was carrying Elizabeth! Last month, people accused me of adultery so that I would be executed to clear the way for that Seymour slut to take my place. It's not a coincidence, Mary, you know it's not. There are so many people who wanted to get rid of me, they can't all have given up on the idea, even after what's happened." Her eyes filled with tears but she bit down on her lower lip, hard, unwilling to allow them to escape. She couldn't be weak, even in front of her own sister. She had so many enemies lying in wait, eager for the opportunity to destroy her. She had to be strong if she was to have any hope of defending herself and her child against their malice. They clearly couldn't rely on Henry's protection any longer. "I never believed that Henry would be one of the people who wanted to see me dead, even when it got bad between us. I never thought that it would come to that."

"Anne..." Mary hesitated, unsure how best to frame her question. She didn't want to upset Anne and she certainly didn't want her sister to think that she was siding with the King in this matter but she also wanted to be fair to him, despite the temptation to believe the worst of him after what had happened. "Are you sure that the King... I mean, do you think that he wanted to see this happen? He set you free, after all, and proclaimed that you were innocent. Do you think it's possible that people like Cromwell were able to convince him that you were guilty and that he believed that you were when he made you stand trial?"

Anne snorted inelegantly. "I'm sure that he believed it. I'm sure that he wanted to believe it. It would have suited Henry very well if I was guilty; he'd be able to marry his slut as soon as my head was cut off. Nobody would have been able to claim that the marriage was invalid if Katherine and I were both dead and he knew it. He never came to talk to me about it, and he wouldn't even listen to me when I tried to talk to him. He just accepted everything that Brandon and Cromwell told him, even though he knows that they both hate me. He knew that the nobles acting as judges at the trial would want to deliver the verdict he wanted. They weren't interested in the truth, just in pleasing their King and he has to have known that that would happen."

Mary nodded involuntarily. What Anne was saying made a great deal of sense. Once it became known that the King wanted to get rid of her, her verdict would have been a foregone conclusion and her trial nothing more than a formality, an utter farce of justice with only one aim in mind: her death, with the deaths of the men accused with her as collateral damage, innocent sacrifices to achieve the King's ends.

"He did put a stop to it, though, before it was too late." She reminded Anne tentatively, shuddering inwardly at the thought that, but for the King's intercession, her brother and sister would be dead by now. Of course, there would have been no need for his intercession if he had not allowed such foul charges to be laid against them in the first place. She couldn't forget that part.

"Because his conscience got the better of him and wouldn't allow him to go through with it." Anne stated flatly, scowling. "Even Henry wasn't able to keep convincing himself that I was guilty, when he knew how ridiculous the whole thing was. It doesn't change the fact that he let it go as far as it did in the first place, or why he let it happen. I could understand it if Brandon and Cromwell had been able to put together a strong case, a case that was convincing enough to make Henry believe that I was guilty – it'd still hurt that he could ever believe that I would ever betray him like that but at least I would be able to understand why he believed it. But the charges were just nonsense, Mary, any fool could see that. Every commoner in the court could see that they didn't have any real evidence. They could see that it was just lies."

"But the King believed it."

"Because he wanted to. He wanted to believe that I was guilty so that he could get rid of me without having to have trial to investigate the validity of our marriage, after all the trouble he had when he wanted to dissolve his marriage to Katherine – though he was still planning on annulling it once I was gone so that he could declare Elizabeth a bastard," she added, her expression darkening with anger at the thought of Henry's greatest betrayal, "and because he wanted to believe it, he made himself believe it. He wouldn't talk to me because, deep down, he knew that I would tell him that I was innocent and that it was the truth. It wasn't what he wanted to hear. The truth didn't matter to him. All that mattered to him was what he wanted. He was willing to believe whatever they told him as long as it meant that he could get rid of me."

There was nothing that Mary could say. She set aside her sewing, moving to Anne's side and taking her sister in her arms, hugging her gently and wishing that there was something that she could say or do that would ease her obvious pain.

A couple of tears escaped from beneath Anne's eyelids but she brushed them away as quickly as they fell, as though she was ashamed to allow anybody, even Mary, to see her cry.

"I didn't believe the prophecy when I saw the cards." Anne said softly, more to herself than to Mary. "And if somebody had told me then – or even a few months ago – that Henry would ever be willing to let me die, I wouldn't have believed them. Even when he stopped loving me the way he used to, I never would have believed that he could hurt me like this."

TBC.