Yes, I know the last scene of this chapter and the beginning of the next is unlikely, but humour me. I've been dying to play with this pairing for years!

"You absolute idiot! Have you no sense at all? The Queen finds you in bed with another woman and you don't even think to apologise? Indeed, you have the gall to suggest that she treats your – your love child as her own daughter? Good God, brother, were you thinking at all?"

"She didn't find me in bed with her!"

"As good as! And you didn't even try to make things right! Christ, Henry, how stupid can you be?!" Margaret was spluttering, both incandescent and incoherent with fury. She was too angry to stay still, striding up and down her study with swift, sharp movements. It was the only way to stop herself striking her brother.

Henry shrugged, "I think Anne took it rather well, all things considered. She only slapped me once."

"Are you looking for a second?" Margaret snapped.

Henry opened his mouth to retort, but Margaret cut across him, "Actually, don't answer that. Save your breath. You'll need it for the fulsome apology you're going to start crafting the Queen."

"I'm not apologising to her! She drove me away! I did everything I could to keep her afloat after Cecily's death and she wouldn't take it! I wouldn't even have gone North in the first place if she'd been more reasonable!"

"Do you want the might of the Plantagenets behind you or not?" Margaret snarled bluntly, "Because the way you're going, you're going to lose it. Siblings or not, I am not throwing my power behind a falling horse."

"I don't need your help! I'm Prince Consort of England!"

"Her Grace annulled her first marriage for less than your blatant infidelity!"

"That marriage was never valid in the first place! Anne was five years underage when she was forced into those vows!"

Bluster though Henry might, however, Margaret knew she'd got through to him. The colour draining from his cheeks was proof of that. Capitalising on her victory, she threw open the door, dismissing him clearly enough without actually saying so.

"Think on it, brother. When you've calmed down, I'm sure you'll see that what I'm saying makes sense."

Henry growled under his breath and stalked from Margaret's rooms. How dare she summon him to her and chastise him like a green schoolboy? He should never have yielded to her request and gone to see her. Never.

Upon returning to his own rooms, however, he received a shock as rude as a bucket of cold water thrown over his head.

They were deserted.

For the first time in four years, his rooms were empty of hangers-on and attendants begging for favours.

They were deserted.

No.

He had been deserted.

"Anne annulled her first marriage for less."

Margaret's words came back to him and, for the first time, a wave of panic and shame regarding his actions in recent months overtook him. He'd had no idea that the fact that his and Anne's marriage wasn't what it had once been was such common knowledge. People were clearly assuming his star was on the wane.

Well, he'd be damned if he'd go down without a fight.

Fetching a quill, ink and parchment, he began drafting an apology to Anne.

"Bessie, come with me, darling."

Anne entered the schoolroom and summoned her niece to her side without so much as knocking. Lady Warwick looked almost scandalised, but knew better than to protest as Bessie jumped up and ran to Anne's side, delighted, as ever, at the chance to have a break from her lessons. Studying would never be one of young Lady Lancaster's favourite pastimes.

Running a hand over Bessie's hair, Anne dropped a kiss on the crown of her head and noted just how tall the child was becoming. She'd need new gowns soon enough. And fine ones too. Let Henry see that she didn't dote on the girl for his sake, she did so because it pleased her to spend time with such a charming little girl.

That thought in mind, she looked up at Lady Warwick, "Fetch Lady Lancaster's fur cloak. She'll need it on the river."

"Are we going somewhere, Aunt Anne? Are we?" Bessie's eyes lit up and she hopped up and down in her excitement. Lady Warwick tutted warningly, but Anne caught her eye and shook her head. Bessie was wonderful the way she was. She'd never have her lose her impulsivity, at least not in private. She beamed down at Bessie.

"We are indeed, sweetheart. But I'm not telling you where. I want it to be a surprise. Come on."

She bundled Bessie into her cloak and called to Sybil, Susan and Eliza, "Ladies. Let's go."

The quintet swept out of Sheen without a backward glance.

The Tower loomed large above the Thames, overshadowing the September sun. Bessie glanced up at it and shivered, nestling into Anne's side.

"I don't like looking up at it like this. It's scary."

"Is it?" Anne asked, surprised at the little girl's admission. It was so long since she'd seen the Tower through a child's eyes that she'd forgotten how foreboding the Tower could seem from a lower vantage point. She put her arm around Bessie's shoulders and gave her a little squeeze, "I suppose it is. But you've nothing to worry about. The Tower's only scary if you've done something really, really bad - bad enough to be imprisoned in here - and you never will, will you?"

"No!" Bessie shook her head vehemently, wide-eyed, and Anne laughed, "Well then. As I said, you've nothing to worry about. Besides, the Tower also has lovely bits to it. You'll see."

She ushered Bessie up the gangplank of the barge and into the courtyard of the Tower, watching as Bessie's eyes went wide at the bustle that immediately surrounded them, in this, the only palace in London that she had never been in before. Anne led the girl to the Menagerie, thrilling inwardly as Bessie gasped over the leopards, elephants, lions and bears that were kept there.

The elephants were Bessie's favourite. True, their size startled her at first, but after her initial alarm, she soon became enchanted with the great, gentle beasts. Before long, she was chattering easily to one of them, patting its trunk and offering it pieces of apple out of her hand. She giggled as the animal took them from her open palm, much like any horse would.

"It tickles!" she laughed. Anne smiled at her, "I see you've made friends with Melisende. I used to visit her too, when I was a girl, before I moved to Wales."

"Did you?" Bessie's eyes widened. Anne nodded, "She was just a baby then. In fact, I named her. I named her after my favourite Queen, Melisende of Jerusalem."

"And I'm sure she still remembers you, Madam," the Elephant Keeper put in, "Elephants have a good memory, so they say."

"Really?" Anne murmured, surprised. She glanced at Bessie, "Shall we see if the Keeper's right?"

Bessie nodded eagerly, and, chuckling, Anne moved up to stand beside her. She put out a hand and Melisende leaned down, sniffing at her fingers. To her surprise, the great head bent, coming to rest against her, in much the same way the much younger elephant had done when she was just a child.

"She does remember me," she exclaimed.

"Of course she would! Who wouldn't remember you, Aunt Anne?" Bessie laughed, "And now she'll remember me too!"

"You'll have to come and visit her again soon, won't you?"

Bessie bobbed her head in agreement and Anne fed Melisende a second piece of apple before touching Bessie's shoulder, "Come on, darling. There's one more place I want to show you before I send you home."

"Are you not coming back with me?" Bessie pouted and Anne shook her head, "I'm combining business and pleasure, I'm afraid, darling. I need to speak to the Constable and the Master of the Mint anyway. But there's no point you staying here for that. It would just be dull for you. No, there's one more special room I want to show you and then you can go home on the royal barge on your own. I'm sure you're a big enough girl for that now, aren't you?"

Bessie's jaw dropped. Even at just nine, she knew what an honour Anne was granting her by letting her ride in the royal barge without her being present, "I'll be like a Princess!" she gasped.

Anne ruffled her hair, "So you will be. And why not? Aren't you my most beloved niece, my little Lady Lancaster?"

Before Bessie could reply, she swept her off to the treasury. As she'd expected, the young girl's eyes lit up at the piles and piles of jewels gleaming in the torchlight.

"Oh, Aunt Anne, they're beautiful!" she exhaled, bolting off before Anne could stop her. Not that Anne tried very hard. She loved watching the little girl's magpie-like excitement as she dashed from trinket to trinket, picking up whatever piece caught her eye, only to discard it a moment later as something else interested her more. Not wishing to rush her, Anne drifted off as she watched her, half-planning the discussion she would have with the Master of the Mint if she had time.

"Aunt Anne?" Bessie called her back to herself, as she spun before her, "What do you think?"

She'd set a diamond tiara on her head, the delicate gold filigree vanishing into her riotous copper curls so that it looked as though the precious gems merely rested on her head of their own free will. A delicate necklace hung with flowers made of pearls and crystals sparkled around her neck, offset by the dark blue gown she was wearing. Anne laughed. They'd make a fine artist of the girl yet, it seemed. She certainly had an eye for colour.

"You look gorgeous, darling. Do you like those jewels?"

"Who wouldn't?" Bessie replied.

"Keep them," Anne smiled, reaching down to straighten the tiara, "They suit you."

"Can I? Really?" Bessie couldn't believe her luck.

Anne kissed her, "As long as you don't make a fuss about going home now, all right?"

With a lure like the jewels in her hands, Bessie would have promised Anne the world, never mind an easy thing like that. Squealing, she threw herself into Anne's arms. Anne caught her easily, hugging her to her.

It was moments like these that made her realise how much she longed for a daughter of her own. Bessie was such a wonderful child; surely any daughter of hers would be just as lovely. And surely, since she found Bessie's company so easy, she'd find it much easier to mother a daughter than she did her sons? Surely?

Anne stood at the window, watching Bessie be rowed back to Sheen on her private barge. Though she'd never have admitted it to the little girl, she'd retreated to the Tower for reasons other than business. First, it was the only London Palace she and Henry hadn't spent time at together since their marriage. Second, it was the most secure building in the country. No one could enter this building without her express permission. Not even the Prince Consort. And she had no intention of granting that. Hence, she'd be safe from Henry trying to force her hand before she was ready.

Or so she'd thought. She hadn't counted on the memories that assailed her the moment she stepped over the threshold of the suite of rooms that had been set aside for her use.

They were the rooms she had slept in before her coronation. Henry had been at her side constantly then. There was the room they'd danced a galliard in at midnight because they'd both been too excited to sleep. It was that window seat they'd sat in, making up silly poems and feeding one another sweetmeats like any other pair of teenage sweethearts. That table they'd played cards at for hours, pairing up against Sybil and Eliza and reading one another's cues so well that they'd rarely, if ever, lost a hand.

The moments crowded in upon her, a golden haze that served as a painful reminder of everything she'd lost.

Or had Henry been seeing other women even then? She didn't think so, but she couldn't be sure. A year ago, she'd never truly have dreamed that he might be unfaithful to her, yet his – his daughter's existence proved that his relationship with – with the Rose harlot had been going on for at least that long. And if he'd taken one girl, what was to stop him having taken more than one?

Anne's hand went to her neck. She fumbled the clasp for a moment, then removed the mother-of-pearl locket that hung there.

She flipped it open, gazing down at the miniature within it. Henry, standing tall and proud beside his favourite horse, a falcon on his wrist. He'd given it to her the day she'd gone into confinement with Cecily.

"To remind you of what you'll be missing," he'd teased.

Now the portrait merely gazed at her impassively as a fresh wave of misery welled up within her.

"Why, Henry? Why? What did she give you that I couldn't?"

The words were out before she could stop them, but the miniature said nothing in response. It only watched in silence as she sank to her knees, sobbing out a mountain of pain, regret and betrayal.

Charles Brandon hesitated outside the royal apartments, wondering whether or not he should knock. The Queen had dismissed her ladies, so perhaps she wanted to be alone. On the other hand, Her Grace was clearly crying bitterly, so she needed someone with her. He was loath to cause her any more distress by disobeying her, though. Then again, for Her Majesty to arrive so unexpectedly, even if it had been under the guise of spending a day with young Lady Lancaster…Something was obviously wrong, especially given how few attendants had come with them. It was almost as though the Queen had fled Court. As if she'd somehow been chased away from the very place that ought, by rights, to be her natural domain.

If that were the case, then surely, it was only his duty, as Her Grace's loyal subject, to do whatever he could to restore her to her rightful place, doubly so since Her Majesty had sought refuge within the Tower, which was his to command?

Thus bolstered, he knocked.

"Madam?" he called, "Is all well? Can I be of service, My Lady?"

At first, he got no answer. Knocking again, he pushed lightly on the door, knowing he was breaching protocol, but unable to leave Her Grace in such distress. To his surprise, the door yielded under his hand.

"Madam?" he repeated.

This time, Anne turned. For several long seconds, she did nothing but look at him. Charles began to become unnerved by her steady gaze and was about to beg her pardon for his rash behaviour and bow his way out of the room when she suddenly spoke.

"Am I no longer beautiful? Is that it? Is that why Henry found so much more pleasure in the Rose girl's bed than he did in mine?"

Charles froze. This was not on his list of expected daily duties. He stuttered, unable, for the life of him, to form a coherent answer. Anne rose and stepped towards him, one hand outstretched.

"Your silence worries me. I ask you again, Lord Brandon. Am I no longer beautiful?"

"No, My Lady. Your Grace knows that is not true."

And it wasn't. Even red-eyed and broken as she so clearly was, Anne Howard was still a remarkably striking woman. There was simply something in the way she held herself that commanded one's attention; some light in her eye that was both fierce and alluring.

"Then why? Why would Henry abandon me?"

"Because, Madam, His Highness is a fool."

The words were out before Charles could stop them. Anne chuckled lightly, stepping closer so that she could place her palm against his.

"And you, Lord Brandon?" she breathed. "Are you a fool?"

Charles's heart pounded. He suddenly felt as though he was in over his head. He was only too aware that something was afoot here that he couldn't for the life of him fathom. He swallowed, unable to speak. Anne gazed at him with those deep, dark eyes of hers. Without a word passing her lips, all of a sudden, it was as though the rest of the world had ceased to exist, let alone matter.

When he did speak at last, it was with a keen sense that his next few words would be momentous.

"I hope Your Majesty knows that I am not."

Anne smiled, a quick flash of brilliance that made Charles's heart stop, "That's the answer I was hoping for." Fast as a snake, she leaned in and kissed him, so quickly he scarcely had time to register what was happening.

"Prove it," she whispered, as she pulled away, "Come to bed with me."