The sun warmed the room, stretching tendrils between the hangings of the bed and tickling Anne's cheeks as she rolled over. She murmured, dragging her eyes open and blinking the sleep out of her lashes. She propped herself on one arm to look down at the man beside her, a mixture of resignation and tenderness in her eyes.

There was no future in their liaison, she knew that. Nor did she want there to be. She hadn't been in her right mind last night – she'd been full of hurt and betrayal and fury, all of which were the wrong emotions to begin a relationship with. After all, those who lived by the sword often died by the sword. Her father had told her that often enough. No. It would be best if she acted as though the last few hours had never been. Lord Brandon had restored her sense of self-worth and that was all she needed from him. She could go back to her life as Queen now. Go back to her role as Queen and forget this had ever happened.

Yet something in her balked at that idea. Instead, she curled back down in the bed, pillowing her head on Brandon's chest as he too began to wake. She hummed contentedly and he lifted his head to smile lazily at her, "Good morning."

His address was startlingly informal, but Anne couldn't bring herself to care. She mumbled in response and the two of them lay in comfortable silence for a while longer.

"Charles?" Anne asked at last.

"Hmm?"

"If you had a daughter, what would you name her?"

Brandon – Charles – chuckled, tweaking one of her ebony curls where it spilled over his bare skin, "Surely politics would suggest Sybil or Anne?"

"Oh, forget politics," Anne groaned, "Everything else around me is politics. What would you, Charles, name her?"

Charles hesitated, then scratched his head, "If I truly had a free choice? I'd name her Rachel. I like the idea of my daughter being so beautiful that men would be willing to serve for seven years to win her hand."

Now it was Anne's turn to laugh, "Well, you're not insecure in your confidence and good looks, are you?"

"You asked!" he protested, shoving her lightly and she laughed again, "I suppose I did. It's a pretty name."

They subsided back into silence, not needing words to communicate as they curled into one another.

All too soon, the interlude was shattered by a knock at the door.

"Lord Brandon? Forgive me, but you're being asked for."

A page's hesitant voice came through the door and Charles groaned, "Duty calls, My Lady."

The address was playful, but it recalled them both to their requisite roles regardless. Anne rolled off him and watched him dress, steeling herself to re-shoulder her own mantle as she did so.

Upon finishing, Charles glanced at her, "Shall I send my sister in to you on my way out?"

"I think that would probably be best, yes," Anne nodded.

They looked at one another then, long and hard. Suddenly, Charles came back to the bed in three quick strides. He threw himself to his knees beside it.

"I ask for your blessing, My Lady Queen!" he exclaimed.

"And I grant it gladly," Anne murmured, placing a hand on his bent head, "You have done me a great service tonight, Lord Brandon. You may rest assured that I will not forget it, even if I cannot speak of it openly."

So saying, she withdrew her hand, lest it linger on his hair for too long. He caught it and carried it to his mouth for a kiss.

"My Lady Queen," he repeated, before flinging himself upright again.

He strode from the room and Anne watched him go, sighing. Before she had truly had time to collect her thoughts, however, Sybil swept into the room.

Tactful, as she ever was when she needed to be, she said nothing about her brother, only, "I take it we're going back to Court, then?"

Anne exhaled, "Yes, Sybil. Back to Court."

Anne was just coming out of Mass, holding Bessie by the hand and surrounded by her ladies, when, out of the blue, Henry threw himself at her feet.

"Forgive me, Madam, for I have sinned!" he cried dramatically.

Anne froze. She almost wanted to sweep past him as if he wasn't there. But Bessie's hand tightened in hers and she looked down at the child. The big blue eyes were wide, half-fearful, half-longing. In that instant, Anne knew she couldn't ignore Henry, if only for Bessie's sake. The girl adored them both. Seeing them at odds like this couldn't be easy for her. Besides, they were in public. For appearances' sake, too, she would have to do her wayward husband the courtesy of hearing him out. Glancing down, she waved her hand and at least attempted to soften her features, "Say your piece, My Lord."

"I should never have bedded the Rose girl. I know that now. Nor should I have promised young Mistress Matilda riches which it is not within my power to give. I can only humbly apologise for my actions and beseech Your Majesty to understand that my desire to see Mistress Matilda comfortably provided for was born, not of pride, but of the natural overwhelming love that any father would feel for his daughter. As regards Mistress Sarah, I have no excuse other than, when I met her, I was still grieving our daughter Cecily. I wasn't in my right mind. Mistress Rose helped me recover, I'll not deny that, but now that I am recovered, I know that my rightful place is at Your Grace's side as your most loving and obedient husband. I can only hope and pray that Your Highness will look kindly upon my lapse of judgement and forgive me for it."

Having finished, Henry lifted his head, trying to catch her eye and read her face, but she avoided his searching gaze.

"I did not say you could rise," she snapped and, chastened, he dropped his head again. Anne looked down at him, torn. She still felt betrayed by him, there was no doubt about that, but she'd also missed him. She'd missed him more than she'd ever thought it would be possible for her to miss anyone.

"Besides," a little voice whispered in her ear, "It's not as if you haven't betrayed him too."

"Aunt Anne, please. Can't you see he's sorry?" Bessie broke into her musings and, startled, Anne switched her gaze to her. There was no guile in the girl's face at all. She was on the verge of tears, trembling as she fought to keep herself under control.

Instinctively, Anne reached out to pull her into her side, "It's all right, darling. It's all right," she crooned, before glaring at Henry for a moment.

"You're lucky, My Lord. You've a sweet advocate in my beloved niece Lady Lancaster, who wants nothing more than to see us reconciled. What's more, you chose the right time to speak to me, for does the Lord not say, "Forgive not seven times, but seventy times seven?"'

With that, she reached out and raised him to his feet, "You're my Consort. It's not good for the country to see us at odds. I fear we have both forgotten that in recent months."

It did not escape her that Henry had said nothing about what he intended to do with his mistress now, but since she intended to keep her night with Brandon a secret, she held her tongue, instead saying, "We'll dine together tonight, the three of us, shall we not?"

Nor did it escape Henry that this wasn't exactly an unbegrudged forgiveness on her part. However, he had enough sense to know that, even if he had no intention of giving up his mistress for anything short of a full pardon and excessively loving behaviour on Anne's side of things, saying so was not on the cards. He bowed his head and kissed her hand and then kissed Bessie's cheek, before stepping aside to let them past, "I look forward to it, Madam."

On the surface, therefore, all harmony was restored at last.

"You didn't have to forgive him. You do know that, don't you?" Sybil murmured later that night, as she brushed out Anne's dark wavy hair, "He'd have deserved it if you didn't."

"Sybil," Anne began, but, throwing caution to the winds, Sybil interrupted her.

"No, Anne," she cut in, disregarding protocol as she hadn't done since they were girls together in the schoolroom, "I can't understand why you're being so soft on him. Quite apart from the fact that Lord Southampton's actions are lese-majeste on a such a scale as has rarely been seen, he hurt you. He hurt you badly. You may not want to admit it, but I've never seen you so wild as you were when you came back from Chelsea. You don't act like that without good cause. If Prince John had treated you like that, you would never have let it go. You would have dragged him through the courts until you'd ruined him. Why is Lord Southampton any different?"

"I chose Henry," Anne pointed out. "I chose to marry him in a way I didn't choose John. I married him against the whole country's wishes, just weeks after I became Queen. Can you not see what damage it would do to my reputation if I now turned round and petitioned the Holy Mother for another annulment? I'd be seen as a woman who couldn't lie in the bed she'd made for herself. I'd be a laughing stock throughout the whole of Europe."

"You're a laughing stock now! What do you think the reaction in Europe will be when word gets out that you've forgiven your adulterous husband without so much as giving him a slap on the wrist? Anne, please! Think what you do!"

"I have." Anne snapped back, before making a colossal effort to tighten her control on herself, "Sybil. I value your counsel and you know that, but please. Let the matter be."

"No. Not until you tell me why you won't even consider petitioning for an annulment on the grounds of adultery. It would be an open and shut case! His Grace has fathered a child on another woman, for heaven's sake!"

"Maybe. But there's other factors to be considered."

"Such as what?" Sybil glared at Anne in the mirror, not caring what her conduct would look like to anyone else. It was common knowledge that she was Anne's oldest and closest friend. If she didn't challenge the Queen, no one would. Given the circumstances, protocol be damned!

"Bessie, for one. She's grown up at Court as a virtual Princess, safe in the knowledge that her uncle and I are deeply, deeply in love. Can you imagine what it would do to her, to have me drag Henry through the flamenical courts?"

"Elizabeth Sinclair doesn't matter! Not compared to Lord Southampton's behaviour. And even if she did, no one can say you haven't treated her with incredible generosity. She's Duchess of Lancaster! Anyway, she's a child. People would understand your being merciful to her. She doesn't have to fall with her uncle, not if you don't want her to. But you can't let Lord Southampton get away with this!"

"Bessie does matter, Sybil. She does," Anne snarled, before suddenly wilting, "But you're right. She's not my primary concern."

"Well, then, what is?" Sybil pressed.

Anne hesitated. Sybil waited, a thousand possibilities coursing through her mind. She was deeply intrigued to see Anne's reasoning.

What she wasn't prepared for was Anne to get up, seal the bedchamber door herself and then turn round, resignation in her eyes.

"You seem to have forgotten, Sybil, that I'm not the spotless girl I was when I annulled my marriage to John. Yes, Lord Southampton has been unfaithful to me, but so too have I been unfaithful to him."

Sybil's jaw dropped as Anne's hand crept to her stomach.

"You think… My brother?"

"I can't be sure yet. But I'm definitely late. And you know I've never been late in my life."

"But then…"

"Your brother could well be the father. But so could Henry. It could be either of them. Either of them, do you hear me?"

There was a deafening silence. Sybil gulped several times.

"That's why I can't destroy Henry. Queens are supposed to be virtuous, untouchable. The scandal of taking him back, despite everything, is nothing compared to the scandal that would arise if anyone so as much as suspected that I might have demeaned myself so much as to share the bed of a man, whom, for all his loyalty and other fine qualities, is most definitely not my husband."