AN: Thank you everyone for your kind reviews. Here is the new chapter. There aren't many left to write for this story and since this story always has had smaller chapters it shouldn't take too long to finish this story off. Thank you all for your patience.

Disclaimer: I do not own The Tudors, never have and I never will.

Chapter Ten

2 May 1536

Her pains had started in the early morning much to the shock of everyone. The physician and midwives had both concluded that the baby should not be due for a few more weeks but it seemed that the baby had other plans – or that they had been wrong in their predictions.

As soon as she woke Nan from her slumber on the pallet beside her to tell her that the baby was coming, the whole birthing chamber became a place of flurry. Mary was called to her side and she arrived quickly. It would surely still be some time before the child was actually delivered, it had taken a few hours for Elizabeth to make her entrance into the world all those years ago, so Mary need not be there to hold her hand at that moment but she was glad for the calming tones of Mary's voice against those of her frantic ladies.

The whole birth seemed to go faster than Elizabeth's – it seemed to go past in a blur. Her labour pains increased in intensity and became closer and closer together and before she knew it, the midwife was telling her to push with all of her might. She gave two good pushes and the child remained with her though the midwife said it was coming. The midwife said that one more push should do it, that the child should be born so Anne closed her eyes and took a deep breath in before pushing with all her might.

The sound of a child's cries was music to Anne's ears.

As her own breathing settled, she looked up to her sister. It reminded her of the last time she was in this position. She could still remember Mary's sympathetic face as she told her that she had delivered a baby girl. Her sister's expression was different this time and Anne knew immediately what she had.

"A healthy baby boy, your majesty," said the midwife who was beaming ear to ear. "God be praised, a Prince for England."

"A king," whispered Anne to herself. She had birthed a King. He would be a King from now on. He would never know any different but most of all they would be safe. England would fight for Henry's son, whether they liked her or not. Elizabeth would safe as well. They could marry her to a French Prince as she could be happy, she would be happy if Anne had anything to do about it.

They cleaned her up quickly, knowing that she would want to see her son quickly. When he was placed within her arms she couldn't help the tears stream down her face. She had promised Henry a son – a boy to the very image of his father – and here he was looking up at her with his tiny eyes. He has his father's eyes, thought Anne. Her son looked so much like the father that he would never know, it made her heart hurt to realise that.

But her son would be the saviour of England – just like his father was.

3 May 1536

The news spread of England quickly, the bells chimed wherever they could to announce the arrival of the new Prince of England – no, the new King of England. No one knew his name yet but if Jane Seymour knew anything at all, it would be that the Dowager Queen would name him Henry after his father, there would be no other option of the new royal son – it would not be Edward, nor Thomas or George – it could only be Henry.

If only the King had lived, thought Jane lamenting to herself. Her name had been tarnished by the Boleyns when they dismissed her from court. She would probably never have a son of her own like Anne had just delivered; she would only be the spinster sister living of her sibling's meagre fortunes.

All Jane wanted to do was cry – to cry at the fact that Anne had the son, the Prince that should have been hers.

She had always been a good girl, virtuous and loving of God. A true Catholic, she thought to herself. She would never voice that out loud though, the new King's family would have a head on a spike if she ever did mention it outside of her mind. They had made the late King turn England heretical all for that woman, the Dowager Queen. They would be sure to make it worse now that they had a King all of their own to mould to their own whim. England would never return to the true faith with them in charge.

And the poor Princess Mary would have to now spend the rest of her days in exile, unless she managed to convince the Spanish King to fight for her but what use was that now. Jane was not a vapid as people thought she was. There would be hardly any support for the exiled Princess if she were to return – no one would want to risk their lives for the Princess.

It made Jane sad to think that people had so little compassion for their true Queen but that was the way with people. They were more interested with their own selfish interests and did not care if someone's heart got crushed in the process.

8 May 1536

As soon as Mary read the note she crumpled it up in her hand. Chapuys looked over at her with sad eyes and at this moment Mary was actually glad for the sympathy. Her hopes to do her mother proud, to be the Queen that she had always wanted her to be, had been dashed within moments of reading the letter that told her that she had a half-brother.

The concubine has given birth to a healthy boy, thought Mary as she held the tears forming in her eyes back. My mother was a true Queen, a Princess of Spain, the daughter of the Catholic Monarchs, why would God grant this heretical woman a healthy living son while all her mother had was her. Why could that woman... Anne... how could she have two healthy children while all her mother had was her?

Chapuys placed a gentle hand on her own hand in comfort. "I am so sorry Princess," said Chapuys, really sadness etched across his voice. Chapuys had been so good to her, and to her mother. He had been loyal to them, risking his life to see her spirited away to Spain, to the safety of her mother's family.

She would be ever grateful to him – yet she felt that she had let him down as well.

Sometimes she wondered if it would have been better to stay in England. Her people would have seen her as a fighter, a poor Princess locked in a tower and hidden from her birth right, just like those poor Princes in the Tower, the great-uncles she would never know. She was sure all they saw her now was as a Spaniard who ran away when danger came calling.

I cannot think like that, thought Mary, I know Mother would have wanted me safe. I am not safe in England... surely even Father would have wished for that.

She would have to continue to think that way otherwise the news would surely crush what was left of her weak spirit.

TBC.