For a moment, I could only stand there, frozen. Multiple emotions rushed through me at once. Rage, fear, pity, there were too many to identify. Mary tugged at my hand, pulling me from my whirlwind of emotions. Her eyes were full of concern. I forced myself to walk past Anne Boleyn to my mother. I curtsied before her and she smiled warmly. Mother motioned for chairs to be brought by her and once we got settled, she spoke.
"We have two new arrivals from the French court who you have not yet had the pleasure of meeting, Margaret," she said. She glanced at Anne and the woman who she'd been speaking with earlier. "These lovely ladies are Anne and Mary Boleyn. They are maids of honor." To a casual observer, my mother sounded perfectly pleasant. I, however, was not one such person and I stiffened when I heard the undertone of anger and hostility in Mother's voice. Glancing up at her, I saw the Queen's face to be slightly pained. And then, I remembered why.
Father had never been very subtle about his liaisons, sometimes even flaunting them Bessie Blount being a prime example, and at this time, historically at least, the elder Boleyn sister had been his mistress. To her credit, Mother was significantly more controlled than me; if it had been my husband's whore- and later I would feel a bit guilty for referring to Mary Boleyn as such- I would abuse any power I had over her. The tension in the room was thick and the two women before me looked extremely uncomfortable.
A part of me wanted to embarrass and humiliate the both of them, here and now. I didn't know how I would be able to, but, for a moment, my blood boiled and a desire to hurt them consumed me. The emotions faded as swiftly as they arrived and horror filled me. This wasn't who I was; I was better than that! But the anger still churned in my stomach, a remnant of my disturbing thoughts just moments before.
Only when I felt a tug on my hand did I realize that everyone was waiting for a reaction. Plastering a smile on my face, I rose to my feet. "Hello!" I chirped. "How are you?" Mother allowed them to rise and Anne Boleyn answered.
"We are quite well, Your Highness. May we assume the same goes for you?" I lifted my chin proudly and in a rather haughty voice I responded.
"Yes, you may Mistress Boleyn." Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Anne's mouth quirk up into a smile. I walked towards her, the plan to befriend her still firm in my mind. Seeing a deck of cards by the table, I tilted my head towards them.
"Would you like to play?" I asked. They nodded and as we began, everything resumed to as it had been. Mary sat by my side, holding my hand and I grinned at her.
"Mistress Boleyn, what is France like?" The sisters looked up.
"Pardon me, Your Highness, but to which of us is it you speak?" Mary Boleyn asked.
"Either of you."
"Well then," the elder Boleyn said, "France's weather is fairer than here in England. The French court is very festive as well; the French do enjoy their balls."
"And of the Dauphin?" I pressed. "You were a part of Queen Claude's household, I'm sure you must have at least seen him from afar." Anne smiled slyly.
"That depends Your Highness, on if you mean to think well of him or not." She blinked after that, as if surprised she'd said something so complicated to a child. To be fair, Mary was probably confused. I glanced at my twin and saw her eyebrows furrowed; my assumption, it seemed, had been correct. But Anne was not speaking to a child. I was mentally twenty six years old and I had the blood of some of the most ruthless monarchs in history running through my veins. Through my mother's line, there was the House of Trastámara directly. From my father's was the House of Plantagenet, although more distantly and running through a weaker line. All in all, once I aged in this life, woman or not, I wasn't going to be someone to be trifled with. Well, unless I was bastardized.
My right hand, which had lain across my lap, tightened into a fist. I looked down for a moment, trying to get control of myself, before noticing how my knuckles were white with the strain I was putting on them. Relaxing the limb, I inhaled deeply.
"Are you alright, Your Highness?" My eyes darkened when Mary Boleyn asked the question. My twin, who had been sitting boredly as we played, straightened to attention.
"Yes, thank you." Somehow, my voice had remained level. Focus, Margaret, I told myself. For Mother and for Mary. I glanced at the former for strength. She'd always carried herself with pride and poise, with a secret fire beneath the surface just waiting to be unveiled. As subtly as I could, I copied her sitting position.
Chin up slightly, shoulders and back straight, legs and arms relaxed. Hands in her lap and her eyes looking down her nose just a bit to remind everyone she was the Queen of England, no matter how kind she was towards them. I didn't know how to feel about that last part, though it probably had to do with her insecurity about her lack of a son.
My lips thinned. Mother shouldn't have to live this life; having an ass for a husband- and it was true, no matter how much I cared for Father- was bad enough, but him actively letting others to undermine her or doing so himself was more than that. It was downright dangerous for her. I suddenly felt guilty. How could I love someone who hurt and would continue to bring harm to those I cared for? I had opened my heart to Father and I couldn't exactly judge him for things he had not yet done, that was true enough, but I could resent him for his poor treatment of my dear mother.
"- Highness?" I blinked and saw the concerned faces of my sister and the Boleyns.
"Hm?"
"I do not think you are well, Your Highness, despite what you say," Mary Boleyn said. Anne's eyes snapped to her, blazing.
"Hush Mary!" she hissed. "Do you want all of England knowing this?" The elder Boleyn's face flushed. My sister didn't look away from me though. Her hand touched my cheek gently, in a way that reminded me of Mother. She said nothing but her tense posture told me everything I needed to know. My left hand wrapped around her free one, squeezing it gently. My twin relaxed; she was my strength and I hers. Without her, I was just half of myself.
A part of me knew I was becoming too dependent on Mary. It wasn't fair for either of us that I was leaning on her so completely. But since my meltdown, I had become vulnerable. When looking at Father, all I could see was the monster he was to become. All I could see was how terribly he treated his wife, the woman he had sworn to cherish. When looking at Mother, all I could see was the fallen warrior. The woman who after everything she had gone through would die miserable and alone, leaving her daughter to fend for herself.
Mary was different though. Maybe it was because we were twins, or because she was younger than them, I didn't know. All I was certain of was that when I looked at her, when I saw who she would become, I was filled with determination. I was alive, she could never become Queen. I was here, but if things continued as they had in history, she would still be bitter and full of spite and hate and hurt.
NO. That person, that's who my sister would have become. But I, I was going to save her from that. I had a plan, I was fighting for the people I loved- because I'd be damned if Mother had to suffer as terribly again- and I would battle until I was dead.
Meeting Anne Boleyn's gaze, I could feel my eyes flash. I would succeed. I had too. And my first step to doing so was getting to her. Keep your friends close and your enemies closer, after all.
"Mistresses Boleyn, I rather like the both of you. If I return to visit tomorrow, will you give me the honor of your company again?" The two glanced at each other in slight disbelief, and I could have sworn I saw guilt cross Mary Boleyn's face.
"Yes, Your Highness," Anne said carefully. "If you have not tired of us by the morrow, we will be very pleased to spend our time with you." I smiled, but if felt unnatural on my face, like when glue got on your hands.
"Excellent!" I exclaimed. That, I think, is when the wheels truly started to turn. I was about to walk right onto a battlefield and if I wasn't careful, I wouldn't even know what had hit me.
