Cookie for anyone who finds the Lion King reference. (I had to amend it a little).
January 21 1551
The Duke of York would soon be a man of twenty years but he had not lost his childhood love of mischief. He enjoyed disguising himself as various folk characters, Robin Hood being his favorite. He threw masquerade balls almost once a month much to his wife's annoyance.
Infanta Magdalena of Austria was Edward's opposite in nearly every way. She was serious where he was playful. While Edward was more relaxed and open-minded about how members of his household acted, Magdalena was stricter.
However, despite their differences, their marriage was not unpleasant and they did care about each other even there were things that annoyed them about each other.
"Be glad that you aren't married, Robin, for wives were only made to nag you for spending too much money and constantly reminding you that you have other duties besides dancing and jousting," Edward jested, not really meaning it. He supposed that having a masquerade ball every month was perhaps a bit extravagant but they were just so much fun. However Magdalena had a point and he knew that his wife, for all her stuffiness, had his best interests at heart.
"Oh? Do they not have any other use?" Robin asked, an eyebrow quirked as he smirked at the royal duke.
Edward grinned back. "I suppose you could say they warm your bed every so often," he agreed. "I would ask if you are seeking a bedmate but I have a feeling that I won't like the answer."
"And yet you choose to bring it up anyway. Bess would be appalled," Robin laughed, knowing that neither of them would dare to even mention this conversation to her.
"I shall not beat around the bush any longer, Robin, do you or do you not have any intentions to make an honest woman out of my sister?" Edward asked, choosing to do away with any sense of decorum or subtlety.
"Didn't you just tell me I was lucky not to be married," Robin pointed out, hoping very much that his friend wouldn't keep pressing the subject. Unfortunately, along with his need to partake in such extravagant pastimes, Edward had also inherited his father's stubbornness.
"Robert, answer me truthfully. I am tried of seeing you two pine after each other. Are you going to ask for Elizabeth's hand in marriage or not?" Edward demanded.
"I am the fourth son of a man who only gained his Earldom a few years ago, I'm not worthy of a princess and you know it," Robin said with a sigh. "She deserves better. She deserves to be a queen or an empress."
"Well of course she does," Edward agreed bluntly, causing his friend to shoot him a rather nonplussed look. "but she wants you and she's a Tudor; we always get what we want."
"You make it sound so simple but you forget that I would need your brother's permission."
"Pshaw. My Aunt Mary did not get my father's permission to marry the Duke of Suffolk and the worst he did was banish them for a little while," Edward told him. When Robert did not look convinced, Edward patted his back. "If it helps, I will shoulder most of the blame with George if you decide to elope."
"With all due respect, it did not," Robin deadpanned. After all, it wasn't Edward's head that would be in danger of being chopped off.
Edward sighed but decided to let the matter drop for now. After all, Elizabeth would be visiting for the next masquerade he was throwing and well their mother could attest that dances often led to romance.
February 16 1551
Pope Paul had died and his successor had reached out to George in hopes that the young king could be coaxed into bringing England back to the flock of Rome. With the Earl of Essex's death the year before perhaps he thought it would be possible to do so now that Thomas Cromwell, who was blamed for most of the late King Henry's reforms was no longer whispering in George's ear. Or perhaps he thought that George's Catholic wife would convince him to return to the so-called true faith.
Unfortunately for the new Pope Julius, George saw his words as nothing more but proof that the vicar of Rome saw the kings of Europe as dogs who would do his bidding if he gave them a treat.
George tossed the Pope's letter in the fire without a second thought. The Catholic Church was nothing more than a hotbed of corruption and hypocrisy.
One of George's first acts was to send his men to inspect every "religious artifacts" to see if it was the real deal or not. If they were found to be nothing more than cheap trinkets used to fleece the common people, they were thrown upon a bonfire while the charlatans-in-priest clothing were fined and jailed.
However, he made an exception for Thomas Becket's bones, unwilling to desecrate England's beloved saint. He did however dismantle the shrine and buried the bones in a tomb, for all to visit if they desired.
Both Marguerite and Elizabeth pushed for him to be lenient to those who still practiced the Catholic faith. But with religious tension growing in Europe, George feared he would have another Catholic rebellion on his hands especially if the new Pope decided to excommunicate him.
George was not unaware that harsh punishment towards English Catholics would only cause them to be more willing to rebel. For all his zeal with the reformation, George would act with a softer touch when it came to religion, only executing those who tried to force the issue.
George's dark thoughts were interrupted when a page arrived in his wife's livery. He nodded as the man bowed, signaling for him to speak.
"Your Majesty, the Queen has gone into labor," he announced, looking truly sad to be passing on this news.
The King needed no more information than that and he made his way to the Queen's apartments as fast as he could, paying no mind to the courtiers who barely had anytime to get out of his way.
It was far too early for the child to be born. While it was true that George had been born prematurely as well. He had only been a month early while this child would be closer to three months premature.
After Henry Francis' birth, Marguerite and he had not been blessed with another child, with the queen suffering two miscarriages early on. Thankfully the new Prince of Wales continued to thrive but if he remained the only member of fourth generation of the Tudor dynasty, it would spell disaster for England.
George stood in the Queen's apartments for a little over an hour, waiting for news and he nearly accosted the royal physician when the man exited the birth chambers.
"Tell me what happened!" George demanded, terrified that he would lose two important people today.
"Your Majesty, forgive me, but the child is very sickly, she might not live long," Dr. Thomas Wendy informed him.
"And my wife? Is she well?" George asked before cursing himself for asking such a stupid question. Their daughter might not live. Of course she wasn't all right.
After finishing his interrogation of the royal physician, George walked into the birth chambers to comfort his wife.
"You'll prove them all wrong, my darling girl. You will get stronger and you will grow up to be a beautiful princess," Marguerite whispered, the desperation in her voices rang clear as tears dripped down her cheeks onto the baby's face.
George sat down next to her, half-afraid to touch his daughter in case she crumbled like something made of sand. "She is beautiful," he agreed, kissing the top of his wife's hair. "What shall we name her? I was thinking perhaps we should name her after her lovely mother." The only acknowledgement George got from his wife was a nod of her head as she bit her lips to avoid a sob escaping. He quickly wrapped his arms around her. "Sweetheart, please I beg of you, don't cry. The doctor said there is a chance she might live and she is the daughter of the strongest woman I know."
"What if she doesn't live? What if I never have a living child ever again? Will history repeat?" Marguerite wondered almost hysterically, clutching their daughter close to them as if she were a lifeline and she might drown if she let go.
"What do you mean history will repeat?" George asked, his brow furrowed in confusion. Surely she couldn't mean what he thought she meant. Even if he fell out of love with her- a concept he could hardly fathom- Henry Francis had secured her position as Queen of England. "My love, please tell me if I have given you some reason to think that."
"No, you haven't. Forgive me, I am emotionally as well as physically drained and I am speaking wildly," Marguerite answered, turning her head away. "But you must admit there are some similarities between the two situations. You are devoted to me now but who knows what will happen in twenty years. Perhaps we will continue to suffer tragedy after tragedy and then someone new will come along and turn your head."
"Margot, look at me," George commanded, putting his hand under Marguerite's chin and turning her face so she could see the earnestness in his eyes. "My father was a vain man who believed that not having a son was a failure and as he could not blame himself he chose to blame his first wife instead. Although I cannot be upset that my mother and my father were married, I would never do what my father did. God forbid that our son dies and we only have daughters after him, I shall prepare them to be my heirs. As for you, I swear upon my life that twenty years will go by and I will love you just the same."
With that, he kissed her lovingly as they lay there with their newborn daughter, each praying she should live for those twenty years.
March 5 1551
Princess Margaret managed to live for almost a month. In fact, for a little while it seemed she was growing healthier each day but two nights ago she got sick with a chill and all that strength she had painstakingly built up evaporated and she died, devastating the royal court especially her parents and grandmother.
I now realize what you were so afraid of, sweet brother, all those years ago. I barely even knew her but I loved her. And it hurts so much that I will never get to know her or to watch her grow up. It is like Owen's death all over again but at least with him I had twelve years.
George sighed as he entered his manor, his thoughts filled with not only the sad events at court but also about Jane and the death of her and their two sons.
"Father!" John greeted him once he had entered, embracing him almost at once. "You've come to save me from being the only man here."
The Duke of Wiltshire glanced that Palace of Beaulieu's steward who only chuckled fondly. Of course both men knew what John meant but it was still a bit of an overstatement to say that John was surrounded by only women.
"John, as the only boy, you are supposed to act like a knight for your sisters and mother just like I was," George admonished him gently. After all he was certain that John was just attempting to coax his father into bring him to court more often.
"I'm sorry, Father, it is just been so boring without you," John explained, ducking as George extended his hand to ruffle his hair.
"Forgive us, sweet brother, for not being good enough to entertain you," the Duchess of Suffolk said coolly as she made her way down the stairs leading to the entrance hall along with her sisters and stepmother. John at least the decency to look embarrassed.
"My doves and my angels," George murmured his eyes lighting up as he rushed to greet his wife and his older daughters with a kiss on each of their cheeks before scooping up his youngest daughter in his arms. "I have missed you so."
"We missed you too Papa," Annie greeted him cheerfully. As the baby of the family, she was not only the apple of her parents' eyes but also her older half-sisters who made sure to come see her as often as they could.
"Now what have I done to deserve this family get together?" George asked. He noticed the sly looks between his children and his wife. "Is this a conspiracy? Are all of you conspiring against me?" he demanded in mock-horror. When Annie giggled, he looked at her with an overdramatic betrayed look. "Sweet child, tell me that you have not forsaken your beloved Papa and have conspired against him."
"Sorry Papa but I've been sworn to secrecy," Annie said in a regretful tone which was ruined by the grin on her face.
"Alas, alack, my heart breaks for I have been so bitterly betrayed by my flesh and blood," George declared.
"Janey's pregnant!" Marian exclaimed, unable to keep it to herself any longer. She ignored the glare sent by her sister.
George put Annie down so he could embrace Janey. "Is that so, my dove? Are you really to give me a grandchild?" he asked excitedly. When the Duchess of Suffolk nodded, he hugged her again. "I have never been so pleased to hear that."
"So do you forgive us for conspiring against you, Father?" John asked playfully.
"Of course I do for you have made me very happy," George laughed, kissing his daughter's cheek as he beamed at her in pride.
March 22 1551
Eric of Sweden and Fredrick of Denmark were vying for Princess Elizabeth's hand in marriage. Both men had written love letters to the Princess, expressing their awe at her beauty and how they were certain that the English ambassador had not been exaggerating when he spoke of her virtues.
Although she found nothing offensive about those letters (however if pressed she would note that there were distressing rumors about her Swedish suitor's state of mind that made her apprehensive about marrying him), neither of these princes could hope to live up to Robin who she had grown up with: their close childhood friendship had blossomed into romance.
"It will be Robert Dudley or I will never marry," Elizabeth proclaimed.
Anne could not help but look at her youngest daughter with pride for she was as fierce as her parents. She had the Tudor temper with all the righteous fire and daring of the Boleyns. And just like both of her Aunt Marys, she didn't care about the status of her beloved, she wanted to marry him.
Beside her, King George sighed, not quite as impressed with his sister's determination as his mother was. While there had been no formal betrothal agreement for Elizabeth despite there being no shortage of suitors, their father had made it clear that he wanted a good marriage for his emerald just as good as the one he had made for his two other daughters.
Had the dynastic match between his sister and the Archduke Maximillian actually happened as the late Earl of Essex had been hopeful it would, George was certain that Elizabeth would have done her duty and one day would have been the Holy Roman Empress, playing peacemaker between her husband's Catholic vassals along with his Protestant subjects.
He was sure if he put his foot down and demanded she either marry Fredrick or Eric, Elizabeth would fight him for a while but eventually she would do it even if she hated her brother for it.
The thought of his sister hating him was not what stopped him from flat out refusing her request to marry Robert Dudley-not entirely. Elizabeth had a knack for politics and like their sister, she was more neutral when it came to religion even if she leaned more towards Protestantism.
Her keen mind and pragmatism rivaled both their mother and the late Thomas Cromwell. She wasn't even twenty yet and she was among the few whose advice George trusted the most.
If he were to pick one of his siblings to be regent, it would not be Edward who would rather play than work and often stated to despise politics.
Elizabeth had the heart and the stomach of a king. And George was loath to lose such an intelligent mind to another country. Keeping his youngest sister with him would only be a bonus.
"I won't be making your husband-to-be a duke, Lisbeth. He will have to make do with an Earldom," George decided gravely.
"Oh George, you are wonderful," Elizabeth gushed, kissing his cheek, taking advantage of being in the King's private audience chamber to be affectionate with her brother. She then glanced at her mother, noticing she looked sad. "Mother, I know you and Father wanted me to be a queen but I—"
"I understand, sweetheart, I just wish I had it as easy as you," Anne admitted, hugging her daughter, her thoughts melancholy. She had given her heart to two Henrys, one who was forced to marry someone else and the other who she had to wait three years to marry. "As long as you are happy, I shall be happy for you."
Anne cannot help but think of Annette who was unhappy in her marriage to the Crown Prince of Spain instead of the French prince she wanted. It was strange to think that the daughter who would never be queen would be happier than the one who would eventually wear a crown.
March 31 1551
Robert Dudley was still at a loss at had just happened. He would never have gotten the courage to ask for Elizabeth's hand in marriage, viewing it as nothing more than a pipe dream.
"You are getting married to a coward, Bess," he said with a sigh as they sat in the garden together.
"No, not a coward but a realist," Elizabeth told him gently, her eyes filled with affection for her fiancé.
"How did you know His Majesty would agree?"
"George has felt guilty about sending Annette to Spain for a while now," Elizabeth began. The only reason her brother had allowed the marriage to go through was because their father had started the negotiations before he died and George had not wanted to break their father's word. "I was certain he would not want to force me to marry anyone I didn't want to."
"And what if he had refused, what would you have done then?" Robert asked, smiling as he pictured Elizabeth coming to him and begging him to run away with him. "Would you have asked me to elope instead."
"Would you have said no?" Elizabeth shot back. Even if he was willing to risk his life, perhaps he would have been turned off by a woman (even one he loved) being so forward.
"As if I could refuse my princess anything," Robert laughed, kissing her hand before moving to kiss her lips.
Losing his head would have been worth it for just a moment to call Princess Elizabeth his wife. Of course now he had his entire lifetime to call her that.
Unfortunately, their tender moment was interrupted when a familiar voice called their names.
"Robin, Lisbeth, do you mind if we join you?" Edward called as he and Magdalena made their way to the bench Robin and Elizabeth were currently sitting on, grinning from ear to ear, not seeming to notice what they had been doing a moment before.
"Before you answer, I feel I must warn you, he has an agenda," Magdalena remarked with an exasperated expression.
"Maddy, dearest Maddy, why must you ruin my fun?" Edward protested.
"Because you are intruding on a private moment," Magdalena pointed out, shooting Elizabeth an apologetic look.
Well as private as it could be with Kat Ashley standing a few feet away, ready to interrupt had the kiss became a bit too passionate. Of course if the moment had actually been private, the Spanish princess would have more likely been scandalized that Elizabeth and Robert were left without a chaperone, engaged or not.
"I just wanted to know if my support for their future marriage will be rewarded by a future nephew being named for his favorite uncle," Edward remarked, grinning even more widely if that was possible.
"Well George is a great name for a boy and it would give tribute to the King," Robert said, rubbing his chin thoughtful.
"I have always been fond of the name Owen myself," Elizabeth countered, her innocent tone ruined by the mischief in her eyes. She frowned slightly, thinking of her youngest brother who had died of tuberculosis two years ago. Naming her son Owen would be a good way to remember the third Tudor prince who had not been able to make his mark on history before he died.
"Ungrateful ingrates the both of you," Edward declared in mock rage. "I have been your champion and not one word of thanks."
"Your sister needs no champion, she is her own," Robert remarked fondly, giving Elizabeth a fond look that brought a blush to her cheeks.
"You needn't flatter me, Robin, you have already won my heart," Elizabeth told him, fighting to hide her smile.
"It's not flattery if it's true," Robert retorted.
The couple barely noticed Magdalena pulling her husband away or Kat deciding that she would much rather look at the roses bushes than keep a close eye on them.
May 10 1551
Spain
Annette had been married to the Spanish Prince for the past three years and she still felt like a stranger in a hostile land. Most of the courtiers regarded her with barely concealed contempt and she was aware that at least two of her ladies were spies paid by her husband-the only reason she allowed them to remain in her service was because she had nothing to hide and if Phillip or anyone at all for that matter wanted to waste their money trying to discover something bad about her, that was their prerogative. Although her sisters-in-law and father-in-law at least tried to be more welcoming, the only person she felt close to was her five-year-old stepson.
Infante Carlos' mother had died when he was just a baby and he had latched on to Annette as the only mother figure he had ever known. Much to his father's displeasure, he insisted on calling Annette Mama and refused to even acknowledge that she wasn't his birth mother. In fact, he would throw a fit if anyone ever called Annette his stepmother, not calming down until the person apologized for their words.
Carlos was a troubled child; Annette was aware of that but he loved Annette very much and she was certain that he would be overjoyed learning that he was due to get a sibling by the end of the year.
Unfortunately, his reaction was not the one she had hoped for.
"NO! NO! I don't want a brother! You can't do this to me!" he shouted, banging his fists on her dress. "NO!"
"Stop that! Stop that at once!" Annette exclaimed, grabbing his wrists, terrified that he might hit her enough to cause her to have a miscarriage.
"You see! You already love the baby more than me!" Carlos wailed, angry tears spilling down his face as he struggled to wrench himself from her grip either to run away or to continue hitting her. "You and Papa are trying to replace me!"
Annette dropped to her knees, let go of Carlos's wrists and embraced the boy, wanting to show him how much she loved him so he would understand that he was not being replaced. She began to sing Mary's lullaby as he continued to scream and hit her, allowing him to tire himself out.
Soon the only sound in the nursery was the Spanish lullaby Annette had loved so much. Once she finished, Carlos stayed in her arms his face buried into the crook of her neck, sniffling but otherwise very still.
"What is happening in here?" Emperor Charles demanded as he entered the nursery, a frown on his face. "Carlos, are you being bad?"
"No, Your Majesty, Carlos just fell and hurt himself so I was comforting him," Annette lied, unwilling to allow her stepson to be punished.
"Did you hear that Carlos? Your mother just lied for you. You caused her pain and could have hurt your sibling or worse and yet she was unwilling to allow you to be scolded. Do you have anything to say to her?" the Holy Roman Emperor demanded, giving his grandson a stern look.
"I'm sorry, Mama," Carlos said regretfully.
"It's all right, sweetheart, I forgive you," Annette assured him, kissing the top of his head.
"May I escort you back to your apartments, my lady," Charles offered, even though it was clearly a command and not a request.
After saying goodbye to Carlos, Annette took Charles' arm and allowed him to lead her through the corridors. She could tell by the look on the older man's face that he wanted to say something to her but didn't want to do so with some many others around.
Finally when they arrived at her apartments, he took her to her private audience chamber, instructing his grooms and her ladies to stay behind.
"That lullaby you were singing. Where did you learn it?" he asked, his tone melancholy as he averted his eyes.
Annette blinked at him in surprise. She had been expecting a rebuke for lying to him or for not admonishing Carlos for losing his temper especially when he could have caused her to miscarry.
"My sister taught it to me," Annette explained, doubting she would have to elaborate as to which sister she was talking about.
"She must have learned it from her mother. My mother used to sing it to me and my siblings a long time ago," Charles remarked, his tone as regretful as his grandson, perhaps remembering how his mother had to be locked up. "Isabel never sang it to our children so it has been a long time since I have heard that particular lullaby."
"Forgive me if I have overstepped," Annette began. After all, while she was Mary's family, she was not related to the children of Queen Joanna or Queen Maria of Portugal so perhaps the Holy Roman Emperor viewed her singing that lullaby as a personal offense.
"There is nothing to forgive," Charles assured her with a warm smile. "It was nice to hear it again so I thank you for bringing it back."
Annette smiled back, hoping this would be her first step into becoming part of the Spanish family. The second step, of course, would be the child she was carrying.
Whether she liked it or not, she would be the Queen of Spain one day and she would prefer to make the most of it including improving the opinion of those who did not like her.
June 5 1551
Annette was fuming. She knew people saw her mother as a whore. She knew people believed her mother had seduced her father to forsake his marriage with Katherine of Aragon. She knew that some people believed the same of her, even claiming that she had wished to do the same to Catherine de' Medici in order to steal the French crown.
However, she did not think that people would believe that she would try to seduce her father-in-law, a widower who was the grandfather of her unborn children. But no, once people started noticing the friendship between Annette and Emperor Charles rumors began to fly.
While it was true that she and Charles had become unlikely friends since that day he had overheard her singing his mother's lullaby and that they had been spending an awful lot of time together, it was all innocent. Annette had begun to see Charles as something of a father figure and she was certain that the Holy Roman Emperor saw her as one of his daughters.
But it seemed that there were those who were determined to see the worst in her and chief among them was her husband.
He didn't even have the decency to ask her behind closed doors, instead he confronted her in the very public corridors leading to the Great Hall. Luckily there weren't too many courtiers ambling about.
"Is it true?" Phillip demanded and Annette caught a whiff of alcohol on his breath, perhaps the reason why seemed not to be able to control his temper. "Have you made me a cuckold and with my own father no less?"
"I have no idea what you are talking about, my lord. If you wish to have a discussion perhaps it would be better to speak privately," Annette hissed, furious that Phillip would say such a thing and so publicly at that.
"Don't play dumb with me. My sainted mother was a better woman than you will ever be. Have you dared desecrate her memory by bewitching my father?" Phillip demanded, his voice rising.
"I will not dignify that with a response," Annette snarled, her cheeks red with anger and embarrassment. But when she tried to walk away, Phillip grabbed her arm.
"I am your husband and master. You will not leave until I am finished with you," he shouted, twisting her arm painfully.
"LET GO OF HER!" Carlos roared, charging at his father, headbutting his legs, causing him to drop Annette's arm out of surprise. "Don't you dare hurt my mama!" He then ran to Annette, hugging her around her waist, burying his face in her dress which only served to anger his father more.
"SHE IS NOT YOUR MOTHER!" Philip bellowed, looking as though he was about to slap his son. But the sight of his father standing next to his son's governess stopped him. Philip looked around, his face aghast as if he had just noticed that he was in a public place where there had been people who had seen and heard his outburst.
"I have often scolded Carlos when he acts most unseemly but I did not think I would have to do the same with his father," Emperor Charles said in a deathly soft voice. "And if you have any concerns about my conduct with your wife, Phillip, I would hope you would come to me with them instead of upsetting her when she carries your children."
"Forgive me, Father," Phillip said, lowering his eyes as he got down on his knees.
"It's not me you should be apologizing to," Charles said, his eyes narrowed.
Annette tried not to smirk as her husband turned to her, still on his knees and begged for her forgiveness.
June 26 1551
England
Elizabeth and Robert had chosen a small wedding ceremony, although with Anne and Edward planning it, it had still been quite extravagant.
They were due to spend their honeymoon in Calais in a fortnight but King George had insisted throwing a lavish banquet in their honor. This would also be the day Robert would be given his Earldom. He was not the only receiving a high honor though.
His father, John Dudley was now the Duke of Northumberland, the Lord of the Privy Seal was given the Earldom of Bedford and the King's cousin Henry Carey had been created the Earl of Hertford.
If Robert had any complaints of having to share his special day with so many others, he made none, waiting eagerly until it was his turn to walk up to the dais and kneel before the King and Queen of England.
"Sir Robert Dudley, by the orders of His Gracious King George, you shall be henceforth known as the Earl of Leicester," Sir William Cecil proclaimed, not looking pleased in the slightest.
It was well known that while the royal family had accepted the marriage between Robert and Princess Elizabeth, the rest of the court especially the members of the Privy council-barring the newly created Duke of Northumberland of course-were aghast at Elizabeth marrying so lowly.
According to Edward, George's councilors had tried to convince the young monarch to reconsider, some even insisting it would harm England's relations with Sweden and Denmark if their crown princes were snubbed for the fourth son of a social upstart not to mention the grandson of a traitor.
While the ambassadors of the aforementioned countries were not pleased with the new development, there was no talk of drastic actions to punish England for that snub. And considering, George's half-sister was the queen of Sweden, he would have had first hand knowledge if that was the case.
Robert smiled proudly as he took a seat next to his father who looked equally if not more pleased. However, John Dudley's smile turned into one of surprise when Princess Elizabeth's name was called. He looked quizzically at his son, wondering if Robert knew what was going on. Robert kept his eyes on his wife, knowing full well what was happening and not feeling an ounce of resentment because of it.
"Princess Elizabeth Tudor, by orders of His Gracious Majesty, King George, you are henceforth to be known as Princess Elizabeth Tudor, Duchess of Pembroke and Countess of Leicester," Cecil declared, sounding far more cheerful than he had when he had announced either of the Dudley's new titles.
Once the ceremony was complete, the King and Queen lead the court to the banquet hall. As the husband of a royal duchess, Robert was able to walk ahead of his father and even the Duke of Norfolk; he could practically feel the latter glaring a hole in his back.
"You are looking quite smug, my love," Elizabeth whispered, looking quite pleased herself.
"I am the most envied man in court and despite being simply an Earl I still outrank everyone aside from your brothers. I cannot help it, Liz," Robert replied, keeping his voice low. "I shall try very heard to keep it from going to my head but I make no promises."
"As long as we remain true to each other, I shall not mind," Elizabeth assured him.
"Now that is a promise I shall keep," Robert assured her.
"How are you feeling, Margot?" George asked his wife, studying her worriedly. Since the death of their daughter, he had noticed Marguerite seemed a little depressed, barely managing to stay through Elizabeth's wedding. Not even the presence of Henry-Francis was enough to cheer her up.
"I'm fine," Margot assured him with a weak smile.
"Are you sure? Because I can make an excuse," George told her. Even if the excuse was not believed, no one would stop him and Marguerite from leaving early.
"Please do not coddle me," Margot said, a little sharper than she meant to. She sighed when she saw George's affronted look. "Forgive me, I am just weary of everyone worrying about me. I know my spirits have been low but I shall improve soon, I promise."
"Margot, I know you put on a brave front-"
"And you do not!" Marguerite interrupted loudly, causing the room to fall silent as they all turned to stare at the Queen, startled by her outburst. Deciding there was absolutely no way, she could save face, the Queen decided to make a hasty exit followed by her ladies.
"I think Her Majesty and I shall retire early. Please continue with the festivities in our absence," George commanded before leaving the Great Hall as well, letting the courtiers speculate whether or not there were problems in the royal marriage.
"I swear if I hear anyone even mention Katherine of Aragon, they will be swiftly banished from court," Anne grumbled, eying the other tables critically, daring anyone to make any such remark. She had no doubt that George would have no objections if she did banished someone making comparisons between Margot and Henry's first wife.
"Do you really think they will?" Edward asked, half-wishing he could take George's seat so the conversation with the remainder of the royal family couldn't be overheard. But not even he dared to break court etiquette like that. Not to mention if he ever took George's seat, there would probably be a rumor that he intended on fighting his brother for the crown as if he wanted the responsibilities that came with being a king. "Everyone knows my brother has a type: a French woman who looks and acts like Marguerite and is named Marguerite."
"When the French King's older brother died, even in Spain it was whispered that your sister would seduce him into annulling his marriage to Queen Catherine so she could marry him instead. There are many people who like to see drama where there is none," Magdalena remarked disapprovingly.
"Let's not talk about such unpleasantness on Elizabeth and Robert's special day," Anne suggested, flinching at the thought of how her reputation had affected her oldest daughter.
"It is a special day, Mother, considering I have just learned that you will once again be a grandmother by next year," Edward announced with excitement, unable to keep the news to himself any longer.
Beside him, Magdalena did not look upset by her husband's slip of tongue, instead she beamed at the three people across the table.
"Really?" Anne exclaimed, her eyes lighting up.
"Will he or she be named Robert or Elizabeth?" Robin teased, remembering how insistent Edward was about their future unborn child being named Edward. Elizabeth playfully swatted his arm. "Congratulation, Ned."
"What did you mean by that?" George demanded as he strode into Marguerite's bedchamber.
"Mean by what?" Margot asked as she sat on the bed, facing away from him.
"That I put on a brave front," George reminded her.
"I meant that as King and Queen, we cannot show our vulnerability. We must not let ourselves be carried away by our emotions. You keep acting as though I can just let myself wallow in despair when you would never let yourself be so careless," Margot explained heatedly.
"We are human, Margot, just like everyone else. We cannot keep things bottled up until we break. I'm not asking you to not act like a queen, I'm asking you to be honest to your husband and lean on him when you need to," George told her, going over to her and kneeling in front of her. "Do you think you are alone in feeling sad over our daughter's death? Do you think I don't ache knowing that we had four children but we will see only one of them grow up? I want us to heal together not apart."
"I want to move forward and constantly remaindering of what we lost is not going to do that."
"I'm sorry. I had no intention of…" George began.
"I know," Margot interrupted him, kissing him softly. "I know."
"We are still young, sweetheart and soon we shall give our son both brothers and sisters," George predicted with a tearful smile on his face.
July 15 1551
The sweating sickness once again ravaged England. The last time it happened, it had nearly taken his kingly uncle, his father and his mother. Now it took his younger half-brothers.
Henry Brandon, the second Duke of Suffolk was no stranger to the loss of loved ones but the knowledge that his two brothers would never reach manhood was still a devastating blow.
His stepmother was inconsolable for she had lost her only children. Her wails of grief and despair had only subsided about an hour ago.
"She's sleeping now," Janey reported as she came down the stairs. "I have asked the servants to alert me should she wake up and need me."
Suffolk could not help but smile at his wife. It was well known that her stepmother never liked the Boleyns and she had not been kind to Jane when she first became Henry's bride, in fact she had begged him not to go through with the wedding when the Queen's nice became of age. Their interactions while polite were still ripe with tension.
It seemed now through this great tragedy, the two women had managed to find some common ground.
"Thank you for taking care of her, sweetheart," Henry said softly, taking his wife's hand in his while using his free hand to touch her swollen belly. "Although I am sad by those we have lost, at least we can experience some joy in the coming months."
Janey gave him a tearful smile. "If our baby is a girl, can we call her Mary?" she asked softly.
"Of course, we can," Henry assured her, squeezing her hand in comfort.
August 6 1551
Havering Palace was a nice royal residence, usually given to the Queen Consort or the Queen Dowager. However, despite becoming the Dowager Queen after Henry's death and giving up her apartments to her daughter-in-law, Anne was never one to fade out of existence, preferring to make use of her permanent lodgings at court.
That was until Mary Boleyn had fallen ill with the sweat. Anne had not left her sister's side, staying with her until the end.
"You know she wouldn't want us moping over her," George began as he and Anne walked through the park.
"I'm not moping," Anne snapped.
"I know that. I just meant-"
"I know what you meant, George. But the older we grow the more people we lose and it's hard," Anne said with a heavy sigh, counting how many friends and loved ones she had lost in the past five years alone.
"It is not easier to handle death when we are young," George pointed out with a grimace, thinking of the three deaths, almost thirty-years-ago that still haunted him to the point where he feared that he might lose Janey the same way he lost her namesake.
"I know but I just keep wondering whose next: you or me," Anne whispered.
"Don't, Anne, I beg of you. I can't handle thinking that," George implored her, a sudden note of hysteria in his voice. Anne quickly embraced him. They stood together in silence for a few minutes, struggling to contain their tears before George spoke again. "Anne, you know you can always come to Hever if you are ever feeling lonely."
After the death of Henry, Mary had moved to Havering Palace with her husband and younger children. With William Stafford as the Steward of Owen's household, Edward Stafford as one of his cousins' grooms and Anne Stafford was among Elizabeth's ladies, there were no family members at Havering to help Anne through this trying time.
George was not the only person to suggest Anne come live with them, worrying that her grief might get the better of her.
Her children of course-baring Annette for obvious reasons- even the newly married Elizabeth had sent her invitations to come stay with them. Kitty Howard, the Countess of Bristol, had stressed how happy she and Andrew would be if Anne wished to stay with them for a while.
Anne, not wanting to intrude, had turned all those invitations down but Hever was different. Hever had been her childhood home and it brought back so many lovely memories whenever she went there.
The memories of her and her sister playing in the fields, giggling as George did his best to catch up to them as they ran.
"All right, George, I'll go to Hever," Anne decided.
"Good because I know your goddaughter and namesake will be thrilled to see you," George told her with a sad smile.
November 19 1551
Sweden
King Gustav of Sweden was almost sixty and yet he had no intention of slowing down. There was a war brewing with Russia and Gustav was eager to lead his army against them. However, he needed allies and was looking towards Poland to help him, offering one of his sons for a Polish princess.
Mary was quite eager to agree considering the Polish princesses were related to his cousin Charles and therefore related to her mother even if it was just by marriage not by blood.
"I know I am a bit biased, my lord, but I do think that the Princess Katarina will make a fine wife for either Erik or Johan," she began. "The Polish ambassador swears that she is intelligent, beautiful…"
"As is every princess including your half-sister," Gustav interjected, a ghost of smile on his face.
Mary grimaced at the mention of Elizabeth, wondering what on earth her half-brother had been thinking allowing her marriage to the fourth son of man of little note. Although Erik was furious, no one had blamed Mary for her family snubbing a Swedish suitor for a virtual nobody.
"I do not deny that the ambassadors are never forthcoming about their master's children's shortcomings," Mary said, trying to banish the small voice in her mind that commented that their ambassador had probably made no mention of Erik's erratic behavior. When he had learned of Elizabeth's marriage the Dudley boy, he had declared he would either cut off his rival's head or send an assassin to poison him. In Mary's opinion Johan was a much better choice for King of Sweden let alone perspective husband of the Polish princess. However, she knew better than to say that.
"She is Catholic," Gustav pointed out. "If Erik marries her, people will be looking at both you and her with suspicious eyes."
"I cannot speak for the Princess Katrina but I have been in your country for well over a decade and I have not influenced our children to follow my religion nor would I ever," Mary said firmly.
"You may not try but we both know how much Johan wishes to please you," Gustav remarked. His tone was not accusatory as he knew his wife was terrified that her children might be kept away from her if it was thought she might be influencing them.
"I understand that but Johan will not be king, Erik will be so it will not be an issue if he marries Princess Katrina," Mary assured him. She quickly continued before Gustav could say anything else. "I was told by my ladies that you once looked towards the Swedish nobility for a second wife before you married me. If you are concerned that our son might be influenced too much by me than why not marry him to a daughter of a nobleman who you trust and follows your religion."
"Do you have a candidate in mind?" Gustav asked, a curious eyebrow quirked, doubting his wife had just thought of this in the spur of the moment.
"Katarina Gustavsdotter Stenbock," Mary answered, almost immediately, pleased that Gustav was receptive to her idea.
Although Sweden had been accepting of a Catholic woman as their queen, Gustav was right that she would be looked at with suspicious eyes if her son married a Catholic princess especially one that came a dynasty she was related to.
Katrina's aunt Margareta Leijonhufvud was not only the perspective bride of Gustav before he married Mary but she and Mary had become close friends to the point where Mary had become friendly with young Katrina as well.
If the worst happened-and Mary still loved the boy who had brought her flowers and asked to call her Mama when they were first introduced to call his downfall the worst case scenario-and Erik was too unstable to rule, forcing John to have usurp his brother's throne, it would better if John was married to a Prosatant woman so Sweden would trust John to not destroy their religion despite any Catholic sympathies he might have gotten from his mother.
Although Mary knew that her son deserved a princess as a wife and her wish that all heretics would return to the truth faith, she knew she would have to act more like her mother and try to make the best of what life had thrown at her.
"You have given me much to think about, Mary and I thank you for sharing your thoughts with me," Gustav said genuinely. He kissed her hand chastely. "I must think this over but I promise you we shall discuss this again."
"I am forever your humble servant," Mary told him, curtsying as she backed away, having recognized the dismissal in his words.
She had no doubt he would think of it and perhaps eventually he would agree. And if he agreed to the bride she had picked for John, perhaps he would also agree to the grooms she hoped her daughters would marry.
December 4 1551
Spain
Twins. Annette could not believe it. She had given birth to twins on her first try as well. Let her blasted husband complain about her now.
"I feel tired but triumphant," Annette jested weakly.
Archduchess Maria and Infanta Juana smiled her as they held their newborn niece and nephew.
"They are both beautiful, Anna, you should be very proud," Juana told her, beaming at her sister-in-law. Soon she would be off to Portugal to be married to her cousin Prince Phillip.
"I wonder if I am holding my daughter's husband in my arms," Maria remarked, her eyes shining with affection. When she spotted the frown of annoyance on Annette's face, her eyes narrowed. "What is it about that notion that displeases you? Is my daughter, Archduchess Anna who I named for you as well as her grandmother, not good enough for your son?"
"No but do you really thinking that your brother would approve of more of my blood marrying his blood. I won't be surprised if he decides to make my son a member of the clergy just to avoid marrying him off," Annette half-lied, not wanting to upset her sister-in-law by mentioning her wish for her son to marry a French princess or her daughter could marry a French prince.
She could tell by Maria's nonplussed expression and Juana's knowing smirk that they guessed her true thoughts but before either could comment, Philip entered the birthing chambers, a smirk upon his face.
"I hear that we have a son and a daughter, wife, it will please you to know that I have decided their names shall be Felipe and Maria," he announced.
Annette plastered a smile on her face, willing herself not to give in to her temper, knowing she could not afford to look like the bad guy.
She had no objections to naming her daughter Maria as it was her favorite sister's name and it would be nice to pay her sister-in-law back for not only naming her first-born daughter Anna but also making Annette godmother.
However, it was clear that not only was Phillip naming their daughter Maria after his first wife, he was doing so to taunt her. Annette refused to allow her husband to use their children to humiliate her.
"Those names do please me, husband, very much," Annette simpered, her voice dripping with sugary-sweetness. "but I am afraid I have already promised your father that I would name our son and daughter Ferdinando and Isabel."
She had made no such promises but she was certain if she brought the matter up with Emperor Charles, he would agree with her. From the angry scowl on Phillip's face, he was aware of that. After all, Ferdinando and Isabel were still beloved monarchs years after their death and all of Spain would be pleased that their great-great-grandchildren would bear their names.
"So be it. I shall have the announcements made up immediately," he told her, nodding his head in respect before leaving without even glancing at his newborn children.
"I hope Father knocks some sense into him," Maria muttered.
"He'll come around eventually," Juana said sweetly, giving Annette a sympathetic look.
"It matters not a wit to me what he does. I would rather focus on my children," Annette declared. "Speaking of whom. Perhaps Carlos would like to be introduced to his little siblings."
March 23 1552
England
The joust today was not just celebrating Edward's birthday but also the fact that he was a father of perhaps the most precious little girl. He had decided to call her Owena, a tribute to her late uncle.
King George had declined to joust, although he promised to be a fierce competitor at the tennis match his brother had planned for today as well.
Edward winked at the lovely ladies as he rode past them on his horse, enjoying their applause. George could not help but note that while his brother was a terrible flirt, he never had a mistress and despite his complaints about his wife (most of which were simply her trying to convince him to pay attention to his estate's affairs), he seemed quite put out when he asked for her favor and she declined.
"Forgive me, husband but I have misplaced my handkerchief and therefore have nothing to give you," Magdalena told him apologetically. She frowned when out of the corner of her eyes, she saw some ladies had not so discreetly taken out their favors, hoping to catch the Duke of York's eye.
"Fear not, dear lady, I shall make do with the favor you gave me on our wedding day," Edward declared much to those ladies' disappointment, waving the gantlet that covered his hand, alluding to his wedding ring.
Magdalena smiled at him, kissing his cheek for good luck as he rode to the end of the field. She shot the women who had been so eager to put themselves in front of her husband in hopes of catching his eyes a cold glare.
"It always is a pity when such handsome men are wasted on cold shrews," one of the ladies whispered loudly to her friend.
George opened his mouth to rebuke the lady who dared insult his sister-in-law who was a sensible woman trying to keep his carefree brother grounded but Magdalena quickly intervened, not wanting to cause a scene.
"Your Majesty, how is the Queen? Is she doing well?" she asked, ignoring the rude lady.
"Very well," George replied, smiling fondly. Marguerite was pregnant again and God willing this time, her pregnancy would end happier. She was not attending the joust today as the royal physician feared it would be too much excitement for her.
"Good I am glad. Henry Francis has written to me how happy he will be to accept both his cousin and his siblings at Hatfield," Magdalena remarked, smiling as she thought of her daughter.
George smiled as well, thinking of his son. Henry Francis was growing fast, soon to be six-years-old. Being the only child of his parents, not to mention being the Prince of Wales, it was quite hard not to spoil him. Thankfully, he had been surrounded by companions who were the younger children of minor gentlemen who hopefully would keep him grounded.
"It will be nice to have the royal nursery be full of children again," George said, his tone wistful. Some of his fondest memories were spending the first ten years of his life with his siblings.
Their conversation was interrupted when the joust began, causing them to turn their attention to the field where Edward and his opponent were waiting to charge at each other.
As soon as they received the signal, the two jousters raced towards each other their lances ready to strike. But just when Edward's lance hit his opponent's shield, he lost his balance and fell backwards off his horse, slamming into the ground below and with his foot still in the stirrup, he was dragged behind the horse until someone stopped it.
The crowd froze in mid-cheer as if they expected Edward to get back up on his horse, having only pretend to have lost his balance. When the Duke of York did not move from where he had fallen, murmurs of fear and worry rippled through the crowd of people.
King George was on his feet at once, running to his Edward's aide, praying that he would not loose another brother.
Thankfully he was still conscious but it was clear he was struggling to stay that way.
"George, I can't feel my legs. Why can't I feel my legs?" Edward asked, sounding hysterical.
"It's okay, Ned, you're going to be okay," George promised him as men rushed forward to put Edward on a gurney.
With the Duke of York's accident, all celebrations including the joust were quickly cancelled and everyone returned to the castle.
While the courtiers returned to their own apartments, Magdalena and George went to the tent where Cesare Adelmare and Thomas Gale were treating Edward. Magdalena seemed to be barely holding herself together. When given the okay by the physician she wasted no time running to her husband's side. George hung back, not only to give them space but to also question the doctors about his brother's condition.
"I am afraid his spinal cord has been damaged while he is alive, it is unlikely he will ever be able to walk again," Dr. Adelmare explained.
"Is there nothing we can do to help him?" George asked. His brother was only twenty-one-years-old, he did not deserve to lose his ability to move.
"I think this is God's punishment for not listening to you, Maddy," Edward laughed, a strained smile on his face, clearly trying to lighten the mood.
"Do not say that! How can you say that!" Magdalena cried, tears beginning to leak from her eyes as she placed her head on his chest. "I thought I was going to lose you."
"Not even a broken spine could keep me from you," Edward assured her, his smile slightly more genuine now.
"Ned, please, enough with your jokes. This is serious," Magdalena told him.
"No, I refuse to be serious. I refuse to act like my life is over. It's not over. I shall write and compose. I shall paint pictures, plan every celebration this court ever has. I shall debate with scholars, fund great expeditions, commission the building of great works. I am a Tudor, Madam, and the loss of legs will not stop me from being who I am!" Edward exclaimed passionately, his chest heaving.
A few minutes of silence passed between them as Magdalena realized what her husband needed.
"I suppose this means you will be planning another masquerade," Magdalena remarked, lifting her head to give Edward an appropriate disapproving look, letting out an exaggerated sigh of exasperation. "Honestly Edward, you could feed an entire country with the amount of money you spend. And what of taking an interest in statecraft? Don't you think it's time, you asked your brother for a position on his council? It wouldn't hurt to show some initiative."
"Maddy, Maddy, must you always ruin my fun?" Edward teased, a grin spreading across his face.
"Always," Magdalena replied with a tearful smile as Edward cupped her face with his hand, using his thumb to brush away the tears.
They weren't like George and Marguerite or Robert and Elizabeth. They weren't in love when they married and their relationship couldn't even be described as friends. They had just been two people who happened to be married.
But at some point, it stopped just being an odd sort of relationship where they would bicker lightly over whatever it was that had annoyed them but they respected each other enough to not outright hate each other.
At some point, Edward and Magdalena found themselves wanting to spend every waking hour in each other's company.
At some point they had fallen in love.
And now, even if their precious daughter had not been born and her uncle pressured her to seek an annulment from a marriage that would bear no fruit, Magdalena would have refused to go, unwilling to leave her husband.
"Do not cry, Maddy, I beg of you. It is not easy for me but I refuse to dwell on it. I am too young to brood over what could have been. Instead I will focus on proving every fool in the entire world who thinks that I am now useless wrong," Edward told her firmly.
"You are many things, my love, but you are not useless," Magdalena assured him as she pressed her forehead to his.
In the doorway King George had been waiting for them to finish their conversation so he could talk to Edward but he could see by their body language that they would not be done for a long time so he decided to slip away unnoticed.
As King George walked back to the castle, he couldn't help but feel a rush of bride for his brother who was determined to live his life despite the newfound restrictions he was facing.
George would make a commission of his own, asking for anyone to be able to help his brother be able to move around instead of being confined to a bed.
April 30 1552
"According to some merchants I spoke with: in the East, they have something called a wheel chair that can be used to transport those who cannot walk from place to place. I have already spoke with the King of Portugal asking if he can find something like that for you," George explained, deciding that talking to Edward would get his mind off of what was happening in his wife's chambers.
"I think my grooms will be pleased that they will not have to carry me from room to room," Edward jested, smirking at the four young men standing nearby in case he needed to be moved again. "It has been a hell of a month for them. For everything they have had to help me do, they deserve double their salary."
George was once again in awe of how Edward continued to be in high-spirits where most men in his situation would be grim. True, whenever things like hunts and jousts were mentioned, he could see the longing in Edward's eyes but he refused to wallow in self-pity something that everyone agreed was admirable.
"Magdalena tells me you have started writing a play," George remarked, wanting to change the subject for fear he might start gushing over how brave Edward was being, knowing that while the Duke of York was willing to joke about it, saying things like how strong he was made him uncomfortable and sometimes irritable. "May I inquire what it is you are writing about?"
"Well I was thinking of writing a tale where King Arthur dies early and Queen Guinevere must rule alone when she falls in love with Sir Lancelot," Edward explained. "In this story, Sir Galahad will be Queen Guinevere's brother who will be instrumental in helping the pair with their courtship and is reward with a nephew named for him."
"Will our relationship ever lose it's allure to you?" Robert asked bemused, an eyebrow raised.
"I have no idea what you're talking about. There is absolutely no connection to real life. Although I did have another idea about King Edward III and Philippa of Hainault but in the play they will have meet as children and King Edward will of course spend most of his days driving his siblings insane by reading every single letter she ever wrote to him like they are the most exciting piece of literature anyone has ever written," Edward continued mischievously, not even trying to conceal his smirk.
George threw his brother a glare, deciding not to respond to the thinly veiled jibe at his expense.
"I am sorry to interrupt but there is somebody who wishes to meet her father," the Duchess of Pembroke announced cheerfully.
The red-haired monarch's eyes lit up with joy and he immediately raced into his wife's chambers. He didn't care about the sex, as long as she was healthy nothing else mattered.
Marguerite had tears in her eyes as she rocked their daughter back and forth but unlike the year before, there was no desperation and devastation in her expression. Just love and joy.
Still neither of them would comment on how healthy the newborn looked least that would tempt fate and they were forced to bury another tiny coffin.
"She's beautiful," George breathed as he cuddle up close to his wife and daughter. "Henry Francis will be very happy to meet her." A part of him wanted to ask if they should name her Margret but he supposed that would tempt fate too. "Let's name her Anne after my mother and sister. She can be another Annette."
"I think that sounds wonderful," Marguerite agreed, resting her head on her husband's chest.
Prince Henry Francis of Wales beamed at the courtiers as he walked by them, waving at each one of them, greeting them excitedly.
He lapped up the attention eagerly, enjoying how they treated him but their praise was nothing compared to the sight of the two people waiting for him when he entered his mother's apartments. Not even bothering to greet anyone else he ran up to his Aunt Elizabeth, smiling broadly when she greeted him with a kiss, making sure to give her two in return.
Then he turned to his Uncle Edward and was about to give him the same treatment when he remembered what his governess said about Uncle Edward's accident and he pondered how he was supposed to greet his uncle now.
"Alas, I cannot rise to greet you, lad, so you best come here to me," Edward remarked, patting his lap. When Henry Francis still looked unsure, he grinned at the boy. "Franny, I promise you I won't feel a thing so come on now, up you go."
Not wanting to disappoint his uncle, Henry Francis did as he was told, climbing onto Edward's lap and wrapping his arms around his neck.
"Are you still going to teach me how to sword fight?" Henry Francis asked curiously, remembering how his uncle had told him that one day he would show Henry-Francis how to wield a real sword.
"I've still got two working arms, don't I?" Edward pointed out, giving his nephew a squeeze. "Now go on and see your parents. Be sure to tell your mother that I think you would make a wonderful Edward, the Black Prince."
"Uncle Edward, you're so odd," Henry Francis declared much to his governess' horror and everyone else's amusement.
"Oh you have no idea," Edward laughed as his nephew got off his lap and was taken to the bedchamber to see his parents and newborn sister.
"Princess Anne, I like that name," Henry Francis decided once he was told his new sister's name.
His governess had returned to outer chamber while Henry Francis was now on his mother's bed in between his father and mother.
"Well if the Prince of Wales approves than it is decided," Margot declared, tickling her son with her free hand.
"Now Henry-Francis, you are a big brother, do you know what that means?" George asked.
"It means I have a little sister," Henry Francis replied cheekily. His father lightly smacked his head. "I know what it means Papa, the Duke of Wiltshire already told me. It means I have to look out for them."
"That's right," George told him, smiling lovingly at his son.
"Is that Edward the Black Prince did? Uncle Edward said I would make a wonderful Edward the Black Prince," Henry Francis informed his parents.
Judging from his mother's confused expression and the eye-roll from his father, Henry Francis decided that no that was not what his Uncle Edward had meant.
May 19 1552
Anne had gotten sick almost three months ago and it was only due to her illness that she had not been able to travel to court to comfort her paralyzed son. Thankfully he had been brought to Hever so she could see him one last time before she died.
She would not get to say goodbye to Annette. How Anne wished she could have one minute with her oldest daughter, telling her how proud she was of her, promising her that despite being disappointed for all of five minutes, she had loved Annette more than she could express.
She wished she could tell George how amazed she was by his compassion and his loyalty. Despite his hatred of Catholics, he still allowed them to practice their faith, only executing them if they rebelled against him and refused to recant their traitorous ways. He was a noble king and a devoted husband.
Edward, her sweet, dear Edward. Henry was a proud man and she was certain if he was in Edward's place, he would have hated it, feeling weak and useless, believing he was less of a man for not only his disability but also for his lack of a son. Edward, on the other hand, did not care that he and Magdalena would have no children other than their daughter nor did the lose of being able to walk stop him from living his life to the fullest.
Her Owen was gone. The baby of the family. He had so much potential but alas he never got to utilize it. At least she would see him again soon.
And then there was Elizabeth. She could have been a queen but instead she chose to stay in England happy to be a duchess instead. However, she did not allow herself to slip in obscurity and had written many pamphlets about various subjects.
Anne was brought out of her thoughts by the door opening. She smiled when she saw Thomas Cranmer.
"I didn't know the Archbishop of Canterbury made house calls," Anne quipped, extending her hand for him to lay a kiss.
"I do when it concerns an old friend, Your Majesty," Cranmer replied, smiling sadly at her. "After all I used to be the Boleyn's chaplain before you raised me to where I am today so it's only right that I take your last confession."
"I'm not dead yet," Anne snapped, knowing it was only a matter of time. The doctor said her illness had become terminal.
George could barely look at her. And dear sweet Kitty had not been able to stop crying when she visited her.
As for her children, they seemed determined to ignore her illness and talk instead about everything else. Georgie told her about how he was certain that Annette looked like her two namesakes and how Edward was a terrible influence on Henry Francis, Elizabeth read the letter from the original Annette and Edward just joked how both of them were being so lazy lying around in bed all day.
Thinking of her four children and knowing she would see Owen and her other loved ones in heaven, Anne closed her eyes with a smile on her face.
Archbishop Thomas Cranmer wiped away his tears as he said a final prayer before declaring to those outside the room: "She who has been the Queen of England on Earth has become a Queen in Heaven"
So I just gave myself a writing lesson that everyone probably already knows. When you make a character, don't just do it for symbolism, give him some bearing on the plot. Half-way through writing this chapter I realized that Owen kept failing to show up so I had to kill him off, otherwise everyone would be wondering where he is.
A bit of a characterization note: Edward does not like unhappiness. He refuse to let other people (like his best friend and his sister) be unhappy and he sure as heck isn't going to be unhappy. Getting crippled sucks but Edward refused to see it like that. I hope I conveyed that he's not under-reacting to something devastating, he's refusing to be devastated by it (even if he feels it deep down).
Also about Mary, I want to point out that she has two relatives (Queen Joanna of Spain and King Henry V) who were deemed unsuitable for the throne, so she is not being unreasonable to think her son might be called to take the throne from his half-brother.
Speaking of unstable stepsons, thoughts on Carlos's interactions with Annette? By the by, although I went back and forth on the Annette being the Queen of France or Spain, I always had a scene where Emperor Charles overhears Annette singing the lullaby Mary taught her and recognizing it as his mother's lullaby. Those two scenes where he's nice are basically my apology for making him a villain in my other story.
Thoughts on Henry-Francis? His chapter is next and also the last chapter.