Author's Note: Hello! Welcome back to The Bachelor! I hope everyone is enjoying it, though I don't get to work on it as much as I'd like to. I got to write my biggest part on Anne Boleyn so far, which was very exciting for me. You'll probably notice that it gets a little bit religious towards the end. My intention wasn't to make anyone uncomfortable, and the views expressed in that part of the story are just there to reflect the views of Catherine of Aragon, who was a strongly religious woman, as we all know. Anyhow, hope you enjoy Chapter 21, and pretty please review!

CHAPTER XXI

It came as no real surprise to Henry that Francis decided to pretend that there was nothing wrong when next they met. It was at a last pre-treaty signing council meeting, two days after the wrestling match; Henry brought his councillors and Francis brought his. Francis waltzed into the room as though he owned it, and embraced Henry. "Brother, I am pleased to see you look so well. I think you were out of sorts when last we saw each other."

Henry smiled at Francis. "Perhaps I was, brother, but I so often find that good company, more than anything else, can bring me out of any unpleasant temper."

"Ah, I am flattered," Francis laughed, and patted Henry's shoulder before walking away to join his councillors.

"Wasn't talking about you," Henry muttered. As Charles Brandon came to stand beside him, Henry leaned over and said quietly, "I find I can much more easily tolerate that man when I remember that I get to laugh behind his back at things he doesn't know."

"I cannot help but think of how entertaining it might be, if he knew what you were doing with his own sister," Charles snickered.

"Maybe I'll tell him, just as he's leaving," Henry winked, and managed to pull a straight face as he went to speak to the other king and councillors about the treaty.

The treaty signing occurred the next morning. The entire event, having been arranged personally by Wolsey, was chock-full of grandeur and eminence. The kings entered, bedecked in jewels and finery. Both were solemn-faced and serious, and seemed equally dedicated to maintaining the gravity of the situation. Francis was followed in by his French nobles, as well as Queen Claude and his sister, Marguerite. Henry's nobles followed him, and his sister Mary and former sister-in-law, Princess Catherine. All of the rivalry seemed forgotten as the two countries came together to complete the thing that had brought them all there in the first place- this treaty of peace and security. Wolsey beamed with pride, and his was nearly the only face in the room that was not as solemn as could be.

Wolsey set the treaty on the table before them, and each reached for a quill pen. Henry glanced at Francis, who was looking back at him, and they each hesitated a moment. Henry finally reached over and signed his "Henry Rex" with a flourish, and Francis followed with his own signature.

Everyone could now breathe a sigh of relief.

The banquet held after the affair was much more relaxed. At some point, the musicians were told to strike up a tune, and the courtiers began to dance as food and drink were served. Henry sat between his sister Mary, and Francis. Francis indulged in a great deal of drink, and he began to get quite giddy under its influence. "How pleased I am that there is this agreement of peace between us!" Francis exclaimed to Henry, "Perhaps we must soon rise up against Ferdinand of Spain, who troubles me greatly."

Henry glanced at Catherine, Ferdinand's own daughter, who sat well within range to hear Francis's hardly whispered words. Besides a bit of tightening around the mouth, Henry could see no reaction. Of course, she was trained to not react to anything in public. How she always managed to keep her temper so beautifully in company was something that impressed Henry greatly. She could hold her head high with dignity in the most undesirable situations. A very queenly quality, Henry considered to himself.

Francis watched Henry as he watched Catherine. "Of course I mean no disrespect to the dowager Princess of Wales. Indeed, I have nothing but the highest admiration for the beautiful Princess Catherine."

At this, Catherine turned her head, and gave Francis a small nod, but would not smile at him. She turned away, and silently cursed the presumptive nature of the French king.

Henry let out a polite laugh in Francis's direction, when his eyes caught sight of Marguerite. She saw him staring, and returned the look. She smiled sweetly, her mouth curving up charmingly at the corners, and she maintained steady eye contact. Henry didn't try to hide his attraction to her, and stared openly, with a playful grin on his lips.

This exchange also didn't escape Francis's detection, though it seemed to please him considerably less. He looked from his sister, to Henry, and then back again. Seeing her brother give her pointed looks, Marguerite had the decorum to lower her eyes.

Francis still didn't like the looks Henry was giving his sister, and so playfully hit his shoulder, to get his attention. "Do you see that young woman over there, dressed in purple and gold?"

Henry tore his eyes away from Marguerite, and turned to see who the French king was referring to. To his surprise, he saw the daughter of Thomas Boleyn who had so interested him only a few short weeks ago. She'd seemed to disappear amongst the hundreds of courtiers, slipping from his memory, but upon seeing her again, Henry couldn't help but be startled by her beauty. The gown she wore complimented her blonde curls, and she was the centre of attention in her group, which consisted more of gentlemen than of ladies. "I see her," Henry said.

"Her name is Mary Boleyn, the daughter of your ambassador, with her brother, George," Francis began to smile, "I used to call Mary my 'English mare' because I rode her so often!" He burst into laughter.

Henry recoiled slightly at the French king's brash and insolent quip. Again, he laughed politely as Francis settled back into his seat. Francis was satisfied; Henry wanted to make eyes at French women? Francis had had more than enough experience with English women.

Henry raised his eyebrows as he watched Mary Boleyn, as she stood up to dance. Was she just what everyone had told him she was? A Great Prostitute, an English mare? Was the sweet face of innocence a façade? Henry began to wonder about the women of his court. If Mary Boleyn could have the appearance of an untouched maiden to disguise her status as a fallen woman, who else could be hiding a dark secret?

Thomas Wyatt walked with quick, eager steps over the grassy hills near his home in Kent. His eyes searched the hills with anticipation. Thomas had been starting his days with a little more enthusiasm since the Boleyns had returned to Hever Castle. George and he became good friends, often spending days together hunting or discussing poetry and literature. Mary had been good fun before she went to court- always there for a laugh, and she was his kindest critic when it came to his poetry. Despite his affection for both George and Mary, Thomas couldn't deny that the Boleyn he held dearest in his heart, was black-eyed, beautiful Anne.

Anne had become his friend as eagerly as he became hers. Their characters were evenly matched. When Anne flew into a temper, as she often did, Thomas had the humour necessary to bring her out of it. It was no good fighting with Anne- Thomas learned quickly that the best thing to do was to let her calm down on her own. When she was bad she was horrid, but at her sweetest there was no limit to her charm. When she first learned he was a budding poet, she cried, "Oh, I love poems. Recite one for me, Master Wyatt!" After he recited what he considered his best, Anne had smiled her dear, crooked smile and said, "Would you write me a poem one day?" He replied without hesitation, and to her delight, that he'd already begun to compose half a dozen in her honour, on the spot.

So as he hurried towards Hever Castle that day, with George and Mary both at the court with their father, Thomas had no reason to deny that he came solely to see Anne.

He found her in the gardens of Hever, but he could tell that she hadn't been alone very long. He could see a carriage drawing away from the castle. Anne held a small rose in her hand, and he doubted she'd picked it herself, for she stared at it intently with a small smile on her face.

Thomas tossed himself on the bench, at her side. "Mistress Anne, what does distract you so? You didn't even hear me coming."

Anne looked up at him. "Hello Thomas. I didn't know you were coming today," she smiled, "I'm glad of it, though. George is expected at any time now."

"Who was that?" Thomas asked, motioning to the retreating carriage.

Anne glanced at it, and when she turned back to look at him, her eyes fairly danced. "Surely you've heard that Lord Henry Percy has been in Kent, visiting relations of some sort."

Thomas raised an eyebrow. "Henry Percy? Isn't he set to be duke of something-or-other?"

"Lord Percy will be the 6th Earl of Northumberland," Anne said.

"Oh," Thomas said, leaning back and crossing his arms sullenly, "What does he want at the humble Boleyn home?"

"He's been here quite a lot, actually, ever since we met," Anne laughed, "I think he may be forming an attachment to me."

Thomas narrowed his eyes. "Poor fellow."

Anne gave Thomas a sideways glance. "Would that be so terrible?"

"Oh, certainly not," Thomas said, but his tone left Anne unconvinced.

"Thomas, what is it?" Anne tilted her head with curiosity, "Tell me what you're thinking."

"Nothing, only-" Thomas hesitated.

"Tell me!" Anne insisted, grabbing his arm playfully.

"I would only hate to see you waste yourself on such a man!" Thomas admitted.

Anne leaned back, releasing his arm, and frowned. "What do you mean?"

"I've met Lord Percy, through those same relatives you did. Come, Anne! Doesn't he strike you as a bit dull? I think that if he spoke of anything besides his dogs and the weather, I'd die of shock," Thomas remarked.

"He isn't dull. Perhaps he doesn't prattle on as some people do, but when did that become such a terrible thing?" Anne asked. She watched Thomas's face as he shook his head at her. "What sort of man would you have me 'waste' myself on?" she asked, a bit sarcastically.

"I wouldn't have you waste yourself at all," Thomas said, "But if you must marry, as women are wont to do, marry a man who can keep up to you. Your wit and intelligence is such as I've never encountered in any other woman. Percy wouldn't be able to think as quickly or as cleverly as you do, and you would surely find him dull in time. Find a man who equals you in character. Percy doesn't."

"Is that so?" Anne said, raising an eyebrow, "Where would I find such a man?"

Thomas crossed his arms. "Not in Northumberland, surely."

Anne sighed. She liked Thomas, and appreciated everything he was. He was clever and kind, and he clearly enjoyed her company. But every now and again, Thomas would end up in a sort of melancholy, and Anne always felt an unpleasant obligation to lift him from it. His artistic temperament was, at times, too much to be borne. "Don't sulk, Tom. Perhaps you only mean to prevent me from entering a marriage such as your own, where you and she are so ill-suited. But I haven't had any declarations from Percy, nor may I ever. I only said he admires me, and how can you begrudge me that?"

"Nor will you have declarations from that mouse of a man," Thomas muttered.

Anne shook her head and grinned at him. "So what have you to worry about?"

Thomas looked deep into Anne's eyes. "I worry myself to death all the time, dreading the day that you find a husband."

Anne was slightly taken aback. She looked down at her hands, and twisted them for a moment, before looking back at him with dark, inquiring eyes. "How can you say that?" she asked quietly.

"How can I not?" he asked. Laughing suddenly, he took her hands and kissed the backs of them.

"Thomas, stop it. I don't like your games," Anne pulled her hands away and got to her feet, and began walking away from him, down the path.

Thomas leapt to his feet and dashed in front of her, cutting off her path. "I don't play games. I can only be honest and hope I don't make a fool of myself," Thomas took a deep breath and said, "I really must know what you think of me."

Anne tried to move around him, but he held fast to her arm. He surprised himself by his forwardness. A steely determination came into her eyes, and she pulled her arm away with great force. "I think you are a fool, and I've seen dozens of fools just like you, and believe me, I know how to handle them."

Thomas laughed at this and declared, "Nay, Mistress Anne, you've never seen the like of me- that I promise you."

Anne shifted her eyes away from him, and sighed, shaking her head. "Well, alright then." She looked him dead in the eyes now. "Prove it." And with that, she turned and made a beeline for the castle, ignoring George who walking into the gardens, expecting to be greeted warmly.

George blinked after his quickly retreating sister, and then shot a glare at Thomas. "What are you doing?" he demanded.

Thomas, unfazed by George's protectiveness, grinned merrily. "I think your dear sister has just given me permission to try and woo her!"

Catherine of Aragon watched from her window as the French company were preparing to leave. King Francis and his entourage of hundreds were finally on their way out of England. Catherine knew that Henry was overjoyed, though he tried to hide it when he was with Francis.

Catherine was dressing to see the French diplomats off. She wanted to look her best- in addition to being a representative of England, she was still a daughter of Spain, and she wanted to make sure Francis never forgot it. While she didn't have quite the amount of influence with Henry she'd have liked to, she still had more than Francis did, and she still spoke for the interests of her father, the Spanish king.

As she was dressing, she heard a few of her ladies chatting quietly in the next room. One voice, as usual, was a little louder than the others. "I am surprised at the French king, for not paying more attention to you, cousin Mary," Catharine Howard declared, "I'd heard you got to know each other very well in France."

"I did speak to King Francis when he was here," Mary Boleyn insisted softly, "He did not insult me by any means."

"Well he did not show you any especial fondness," Catharine continued.

"Nor would he, in the presence of his wife," Elizabeth Seymour cut in critically.

Both Mary Boleyn and Catharine Howard turned to look at Elizabeth Seymour, surprised by her sudden joining of the conversation. "Queen Claude was very kind to me when I was in her household," Mary retorted.

"As any gracious lady would be. And I'm sure the king was also kind to you, when he was here- but a king would never be anything more than polite to a lowly maid he had a dalliance with. I'm surprised that the Howards persist in believing that the best way for a woman to better herself is through affairs and not marriage. A Seymour girl would not be so foolish," Elizabeth said haughtily.

"But a Seymour man, on the other hand, has no qualms about having affairs," Lady Jane Parker broke in, "As your father demonstrated."

Elizabeth grew defensive at the mention of this shameful thing that was supposed to be a family secret, "All I know is that no one in my family was ever called The Great Prostitute."

A collective gasp echoed among the ladies present, and Mary Boleyn looked as though she didn't know what to say.

Elizabeth continued, "A person ought not be judged for their faults, I think, but for the level of repentance in their hearts. And you, Lady Mary, I daresay are as shameless here as you were in France!"

"Perhaps you've heard, Lady Elizabeth, that my cousin is engaged to Sir William Carey!" Catharine Howard exclaimed.

"And I have only ever been faithful to my betrothed," Mary added.

"For now, I suppose," Elizabeth shrugged, "But I've noticed a common theme among people- once a whore, always a whore."

Princess Catherine had been listening subtly the whole time, and now she called, "Lady Mary, bring my rosary to me, please."

Mary Boleyn, tears of shame and fury stinging her eyes, immediately went about serving the princess while the other ladies dispersed. She got the rosary from its place by Catherine's bed, and took it to her. "Your highness," Mary said as she held it out, and Catherine was touched by her shaking voice, a clear sign of her humiliation.

As Mary handed Catherine the rosary, Catherine grasped Mary's hand, with the rosary held fast between them. "Lady Mary, God loves all of his earthly children," she said in a soft voice, "And those who truly and honestly repent their sins will be welcomed by him into Heaven, regardless of the judgements of their peers," Catherine smiled, "It is a thought that comforts me deeply in times of trouble."

Mary looked into Catherine's eyes, and knew that the deeply religious princess spoke only to give Mary some support. Mary had never been very religious, though her family were all devout. Somehow, the princess's words about the loving kindness of God didn't feel like something shouted at her by a priest or zealot, and she allowed herself to be comforted a little by it.

Catherine, kind-hearted as she was, would come to find that this was one of the few and last times in her life when she would want to offer comfort and support to a Boleyn or Howard.

Edward Stafford, the Duke of Buckingham, watched King Henry and King Francis as they took their leave of one another. Buckingham rolled his eyes as each tried to stand up taller than the other, and made sure they stood in light that was sure to show off the glittering jewels that their outfits consisted of. In Buckingham's eyes, they were both dazzling examples of the vanity and self-importance that dominated Europe. He could hardly stand to watch without feeling ill.

Thomas Howard, the Duke of Norfolk, and his brother-in-law Sir Thomas Boleyn moved to stand beside Buckingham. Buckingham turned to them, and said scathingly, "What a display, think you not?"

"A display, your Grace?" Norfolk said.

"Yes. This visit was a golden opportunity for both England and France to review their policies- to make relations more easy between them. Europe would have been more stable- a better place for everyone. But look!" Buckingham looked again to the young monarchs and scoffed, "All they are interested in doing is dominating each other. This would never happen, had we a king who focused on politics, and not his own vanity."

"Your Grace is very critical of our king," Boleyn said carefully.

"Well, as a descendant of Edward II, with my own legitimate claim to the throne, naturally I am critical of how it is upheld, my lord," Buckingham answered.

Norfolk and Boleyn exchanged a glance, each wondering if it was in their interests to let Buckingham ramble on in this potentially treasonous way. "I was not aware of your significant disapproval of our king," Norfolk finally said.

Buckingham shook his head. "He is certainly not his father. He is young, though- I should very much like to see him mend his ways, or else move aside and let someone capable run this kingdom. And perhaps if he did not surround himself by men of low birth, he would find better council!"

Norfolk and Boleyn knew at once who Buckingham was referring to. Thomas Wolsey was standing only a few feet away from the king, bidding farewell to French diplomats himself. Norfolk's eyes narrowed at the sight of this butcher's son so close to two of the most powerful men in Europe- one of whom was so dangerously under Wolsey's influence.

"And if he had a potential wife who was not his once sister-in-law, I'm sure God would smile more upon his reign," Buckingham continued. Having found listeners, he was eager to make his opinions on the young king's reign completely known.

"I wonder if it is not jealousy that causes your Grace to speak so," Norfolk said.

"Jealousy?" Buckingham scoffed, "No, your Grace. My criticism is based on my confidence that there are others who are better suited to be king than Henry Tudor."

"Such as?" Boleyn prodded gently, "Yourself, for instance?"

"As I've already said," Buckingham shrugged, "My claim is legitimate."

Norfolk cleared his throat, glancing around to be sure no one was listening. "Treason, your Grace."

"No, just an observation," Buckingham said before walking away, glancing over his shoulder at the young kings.

Norfolk and Boleyn watched Buckingham stalk away. "We'll have to keep an eye on him," Norfolk commented.

"He'd do well to watch what he says, and to whom," Boleyn replied, "Others at court might not be as understanding as you or I."

"Hm," Norfolk said with a nod, "Well, we'll monitor the situation. Speaking of situations, Thomas, perhaps you've noticed King Henry has been paying particular attention to your daughter, Mary?"

"Certainly not!" Boleyn exclaimed, "I thought the king was having an affair with Francis's sister- an ill-kept secret indeed!"

"He was, to be sure, but she is leaving- and the king has been staring at Mary for weeks. Perhaps the time approaches to introduce her to him, formally?"

"Yes, perhaps so," Boleyn agreed readily.

Norfolk shook his head at his brother-in-law. "I never knew you to overlook something like this, Thomas. In France, when the king took notice of Mary, you took immediate control of the situation."

"Yes, but here I've been concentrating on a legitimate marriage for Mary- she's engaged to William Carey, you know, a member of the king's Privy Chamber. That said, for her to have the ear of another king would be of monumental importance to the Boleyn family," when Norfolk shot him a glance, Boleyn quickly stammered, "And-and the Howard family, naturally."

Norfolk nodded, "Naturally." He glanced from Mary, who was among Princess Catherine's ladies, back to the king, who was watching Francis and his entourage gallop away. "Put her in his way, Thomas, and we will surely reap the rewards in a little time. With Mary's beauty and experience, it cannot take long."