Disclaimer:I own nothing, but my OCs. All rights go to Showtime, the creator of The Tudors.

A/N: Hello everyone! Sorry I have been so late with this update. I had my wisdom teeth taken out so I have been out of it. Hello to my new favs/followers: pokumu, Belladonna007, Southern Nerd, Queen Azalea, LirelWood, ardently in love with her, TashaTivan, Roberta Lozano, UnitedLuck, SailorSedna052, Wednesday Harris, Tsukkancs, Vintage8787, FantasyMadameBrunette, teapotsandblood, Kaspaya17, rockangelice14, and Sambam15.

Ch. 23

My love is as a fever, longing still
For that which longer nurseth the disease,
Feeding on that which doth preserve the ill,
The uncertain sickly appetite to please.
My reason, the physician to my love,
Angry that his prescriptions are not kept,
Hath left me, and I desperate now approve
Desire is death, which physic did except.
Past cure I am, now reason is past care,
And frantic-mad with evermore unrest;
My thoughts and my discourse as madmen's are,
At random from the truth vainly express'd;
For I have sworn thee fair and thought thee bright,
Who art as black as hell, as dark as night.

~William Shakespeare, Sonnet CXLVII

Eltham Palace 28 December 1535

Henry and Grace stood next to the windows in his apartments that overlooked the gardens. They were watching the snow fall to the ground, a new layer of white covering the grounds which replaced the previous slush that had been melting. Henry wore his usual dark garments while Grace had donned a navy-blue gown with red undersleeves and a red underskirt. She had been wearing a French hood on her head, but Henry had removed it so that her curls were rolling down her back. She wore a simple set of pearl earrings, but around her neck lay the Tudor-rose necklace Henry had given her the year before.

Henry's arms were wrapped around Grace's middle, his face pressed into her hair as he took in her scent. Grace's head was tilted ever so slightly as he rubbed his face further into her neck. A small smile was on her face as she was content in his arms during that silent moment. It was just the two of them, only Henry and Grace, not the king and Lady Gloucester. All formalities had been cast aside, as they always were when they were alone.

"Are you happy, Grace?" Henry questioned as he lifted his hand to her chin and turned her face towards him.

"Of course I am," Grace spoke, her eyes fluttering up at him. "As is Mary. She is quite pleased with the rooms you have given her and has enjoyed her time at court. Her ladies have been most pleasant." Lady Dorothy Hastings and her sister Mary, the daughters of George Hastings, Earl of Huntingdon, had been appointed her ladies-in-waiting for her time at court and Mary was glad to have some girls of her own age accompanying her around court. "Thank you for returning her to court." She collected herself for a moment as she tried to decide how to word her next sentence. "I…I know that because of her position not only in your majesty's court, but also in the politics of the world that your decision was not without difficulty." Grace turned around in the king's arms, Henry's hand moving to her lower back as she raised herself up on her toes to place a chaste kiss on his lips. "Thank you."

"You know I'd do anything for you," Henry responded, drawing Grace closer to him and grasping her face lightly with his hands. He gently stroked her cheeks, carefully drawing his thumb over the smooth flesh. One hand returned to her back while the other drifted around to grip her throat. His eyes darkened at her surprised gasp and a look of passion appeared as his hold on Grace's throat tightened in an animalistic manner. Grace looked up at him in a seductive manner, her green eyes taunting him as she bit her lip. A growl erupted from his chest as he crashed his lips on hers, the lion within awakening.

The pair stepped apart as they began to take off their garments frantically. Henry reached for the laces of Grace's dress, untying them while Grace began to unbutton his doublet. He pushed her dress downwards, Grace aiding him until the dress sat in a pool around Grace's ankles. She was left in her corset and underskirt, Henry's eyes traveling up and down her body eagerly. He pulled her to him once more, guiding them to a chair. He sat down quite abruptly, dragging Grace down with him so that she had to straddle him.

Henry grabbed a fistful of hair, Grace's lips connecting with his as the pair moved against each other. Their bodies began to build friction, Henry moaning with each movement. Grace uttered innocent sounds of pleasure that rang in Henry's ear. He wanted more, one hand cupping her breasts while the other drifted downwards under her skirt. The movement startled Grace as Henry's hand was moving further up than it usually did. She stopped rubbing her body against his, green eyes connecting with blue.

Henry didn't utter a word, but in his eyes, Grace saw he was asking permission for him to continue. She merely nodded, biting her lip nervously as his hand caressed her upper thigh before drifting in between her legs towards her womanhood. His fingers touched her wetness immediately and he heard her sharp intake of breath. He started kissing her again to distract her from what he was doing, though he could tell she couldn't stop focusing on his fingers as he slid his fingers further into her. He found her clit, massaging the bundle of nerves gently. Grace relaxed, her legs loosening up from their tightness.

Henry was pleasantly surprised at her willingness, Grace's legs continuing to widen for him. He slid a finger into her, Grace muttering his name against his lips. She stopped kissing him, focusing on the pleasure that was building inside of her. Henry's head lowered to the top of her breasts as he began kissing and sucking on the skin there. Grace's hands were on the back of his neck, pulling roughly at the hairs on the nape of is neck. She pushed his head further into her breasts while her lower body pressed into his hand.

Henry moved his fingers in rhythmic pattern, his thumb sliding over Grace's clit while his pointer finger pumped in and out of her. His name spilled from her lips like orisons as her body jerked against his. Henry added another finger, pleased as her folds encased his fingers deliciously. She was so tight, so wet for him. He knew she was close and within a few seconds, she was tumbling over the edge. Grace cried out, her walls clenching tight around his fingers as he felt her first orgasm roll over her. Her body was shaking from the sensations she felt, having never experienced such a thing.

Henry just held Grace as she trembled in his arms, stroking her hair lightly as she buried her face in his shoulder. He could feel her breathing as she slumped against him, her body tired from its experience. He was satisfied at having given her such pleasure, not respecting anything from her in return. She had let him touch her. It was a gift very precious to him, though it may not seem so important to other men. He knew it was a huge step for her to allow him to do such a thing as only her husband should be allowed such a privilege and instead, she had given that privilege to him.

Buried in his thoughts, Henry almost didn't realize Grace was crying. Her body was trembling, but instead of pleasure, all she felt was guilt and the emotion wracked her body. Henry felt the wetness on his shoulder, his doublet having been taken off in the chaos. He interpreted her tears as ones of fear and he carefully pulled her back from his shoulder to look at her face. Grace tried to wipe her tears away, but it was no use. He had already seen them.

"Have I hurt you my darling?" Henry questioned in a gentle tone. He thought his actions had scared Grace and he worried she was thinking that he took advantage of her. His face held a desperate countenance as he stared into her eyes, searching for an answer. But Grace shook her head, feeling a lump in her throat as she tried to talk.

"It…It…It is a sin what we have done," Grace whispered, Henry barely hearing her. "I have committed a sin against God, against Anne. She is your wife and I…I have betrayed her by allowing you to touch me." Grace frantically pushed herself off Henry's lap, lying in a heap before him. She sprung to her feet, reaching for her dress. Tears clouded her eyes as she tried to dress herself, not noticing as Henry rose to his feet as well. He approached her cautiously, knowing that she was in an unstable state of mind. He reached for her tenderly, his hand touching her arm ever so slightly.

Grace froze at Henry's touch, looking up at him with her guilt-ridden face. Henry shook his head at her, stating "Grace, what we have done is not wrong. You have done nothing wrong." Grace ignored him, returning to the task at hand as she tried to redress herself. Henry became impatient, using a small amount of force to pull her to him. He grasped her face with his hands as he tried to calm her down again. "Sweetheart, you need to listen to me. You have committed no sin."

"But I have," Grace responded. The tears became more frequent as she spoke and her voice cracked. "Henry, what will Anne think? She must hate me." Her hands covered her face as she cried and Henry took her in his arms as he tried to comfort her. Her guilt had been buried inside her so long that now it completely enveloped her. Henry knew Grace had developed a close bond with his wife and he feared she would make herself sick with guilt over his relationship with her.

"She does not hate you, my love. She could never hate you," Henry muttered into Grace hair, kissing the top of her head. "Please don't cry. I can't bear to see you cry." He rubbed soothing circles on her back, Grace's tears stopping though her body still shook. He pulled away from her in order to look directly into her eyes. "Perhaps you should go and lie down for some time. I will come and visit you later." Grace nodded, allowing Henry to help her tie the laces on her dress. He gave her a light kiss as she departed. "I love you," he said before she exited his chambers. Grace said nothing. She couldn't say anything. She was too overcome with disgrace to mutter anything to him.

30 December 1535

Grace had remained silent, telling no one of her recent interaction with the king. She felt overcome with guilt, as if it would consume her from the inside out. She hadn't dare face Anne yet. She was too afraid to tell her what had occurred. However, she was currently in her chambers discussing King Francis' letter with her uncle. She was deeply concerned, as why he.

"His majesty wrote to me recently. I still have the letter." Grace handed the document to her uncle, his eyes scanning over the words carefully. Grace saw his eyes narrow at one particularly part, the same that Grace had dwelt over for many hours after she read it.

"He believes that you have the same enemies as the queen?" Grace shrugged at her uncle's words, her chin resting against her hand as she stared at him across the table. "But who?"

"I don't know who, nor does he apparently. He only advised me to be cautious."

"We must all be cautious. You must gain some allies at court," More responded. "Ambassador Chapuys has showed you his support, but who else has while at court.

"Strangely enough, the Duke of Norfolk has been kind to me," Grace replied.

"That is of some comfort. If he has shown no dislike towards you, it shows his support of your relationship with the queen, even the king in some regards. Who else?" More questioned.

"The Duke of Suffolk and his wife Catherine, the Poles, our Neville cousins…" Grace wracked her brain, trying to think of any particular courtiers that had been kind to her and her family, genuinely kind, as she knew most courtiers only served themselves. Yet, she did know those who hated her. "Master Cromwell hates me….and the Seymours support him."

"It would be natural for those who dislike the queen to dislike you as well. After all, the Seymours seem to be pushing their daughter in the king's direction as of recently. You must always remain aware of them. Be on your watch," More relayed.

"I always am uncle," Grace spoke, her eyes darkening at his words. She despised Cromwell for he always deemed his actions as ordered by the king. He was radicalizing the king's church too much for Grace's liking. She understood that the king wished to separate himself from the corruptness of the Catholic faith, but how could he do that when his new church promoted corruption itself?

"I only say this in order for you to be careful darling. I will not be here to always protect, nor will your father. If things continue the way they are, we must be prepared," More said in a serious voice. "We must not forget the Hatfield occurrence. We almost lost you and dare I say it, but I believe it was one of Anne's enemies."

"I understand uncle," Grace spoke, realizing the truth of her uncle's words. She needed to be cautious, not for her sake but for Anne's as well. If she wasn't, anything could happen.

1 January 1536

Grace was visiting Anne in her chambers, trying everything in her power to appear normal. She always visited Anne, yet because of her situation with the king, she had not been to Anne's rooms out of guilt. Anne studied her closely, knowing something was bothering her friend, but she didn't know what. They were sitting together, eating an early dinner with each other. Grace's ladies sat behind her, sewing while the other women talked while Anne's ladies did the same as well as waited on them. Jane Seymour was among them, holding a pitcher of wine in her hands and standing to the side of the two women. Both women had cast their gazes on her during dinner. Anne's sharp eyes held a threatening gaze in them while Grace's was more of caution than anything else.

"Grace, will you tell me what's bothering you?" Anne questioned. She was forward, as she always was. Grace shook her head, realizing she had been caught.

"There is nothing wrong your majesty," Grace answered, though her soft voice betrayed her. Anne waved her hand, dismissing her ladies. Jane faltered for a moment, not understanding the queen's motion. "The queen ordered you to leave Mistress Seymour. I suggest you do so." Grace's voice had a venomous edge to it, surprising Anne and all of her ladies. Grace never spoke in such a tone and it confirmed Anne's suspicions that something was bothering her friend. The ladies-in-waiting filtered out of the room, Grace's ladies among them.

With Anne and Grace now alone, the queen rose from her chair and approached Grace. Grace's eyes were cast down to the floor. She dare not look in her eyes, for fear they would betray her. "Grace," Anne muttered in a gentle tone, "Please tell me what was happened?" Her soothing voice brought Grace to the edge and she looked up at Anne, tears pouring from her green orbs. Anne was alarmed, taking Grace's hands in hers. "Grace?

"Anne…" Grace replied. She never informally addressed Anne, though Anne encouraged her to do so often. "I fear you may cast me out of your presence if I tell you what has happened."

Anne's forehead crinkled at her words while her eyebrows raised. "Grace, I could never do that. You are my most trusted confidant."

"But I have betrayed you!" Grace exclaimed, rising from her chair. The furniture fell to the ground at the force she exerted when she got up and Anne released her hand at the sound.

"What do you mean?" Anne backed away from Grace, eyeing her warily.

"I…" Grace stumbled over her words, trying to formulate the right way to tell Anne of her encounter. "I…The king…I allowed the king to touch me…intimately," she revealed. Anne was at a loss of words, a blank stare appearing on her face. Grace continued to cry silently, her hands rubbing roughly at her face. It was red from the motions as well as from the tears streaming down. "Please say something. Your silence is too much for me to bare."

Anne swallowed her pride, knowing this would have happened sooner or later. She was stung by the action, hurt that Henry and Grace would do such a thing, but she was not bothered by it like she thought she would be. Instead, she accepted, just as she accepted Henry's love for Grace. She knew Grace could not help being besotted by the king. After all, she had been in her position once before, when Catherine had been queen and she a lady-in-waiting. "Grace I must admit that your actions come as no surprise to me. It was bound to happen sooner or later. And though it does hurt, I am not angry with you."

Anne's reaction was not what Grace had expected, but the opposite. Her tears halted and she stared up at Anne with an astounded look. Her mind traveled in several directions, trying to figure out why Anne was not threatening her. Seeing her dilemma, Anne took Grace into her arms. "I know that you care for the king. Perhaps you even love him, but I know that whatever goes on between you and the king, that you would never betray Elizabeth or I."

"Anne, I would never do such a thing," Grace spoke. "And I never meant to care for the king. I hated him when I first arrived at court, and then…."

"I never meant to care for him either, but we are like moths, drawn to the burning flame. It's enchanting, it's empowering, its all-consuming. The kings has set his eye on you as he has me, and for that reason we are bound to each other," Anne explained. The two women remained absorbed in their embrace, holding on to each other for dear life. They were forever connected to each other, and they both understood their fate. If one of them rose to glory, the other would obtain the same while if one fell from grace, the other was soon to follow.

Kimbolton Castle 6 January 1536

Queen Catherine lay dying in her chambers, her illness finally overtaking her body. She was weak and lay helpless in her bed, her loyal Lady Elizabeth by her side. Sir Thomas More was also there, having been given leave by the king to visit her, though Henry did not know Catherine was on her death bed. He stared on in pity as well as devotion. He would stay with her until the end, displaying his never-ending loyalty to the true queen of England.

A priest stood before Catherine, dictating the last rites in Latin to her. Her remaining female servants were also present, weeping for their mistress. A page stood by her bedside, writing her will as quickly as he could in his shaky handwriting. She spoke, "I know that I must die. I ask that my debts be cleared and my servants be recompensed for the good service they have done for me. I wish to be buried in the convent of the Observant Friars and I would wish that 500 Masses be said for my soul. And that someone would visit Shrine of our Lady of Walsingham to pray on my behalf. For my daughter, Mary I leave my collar of gold I brought from Spain and my furs…"

Catherine's body was wracked with a coughing fit, Elizabeth and Thomas on either side of her as they tried to aid her. "Madam, let me help you," Elizabeth said.

"Thank you, my loyal and loving Elizabeth…And thank you dear Sir Thomas. I must write to the king." Again, she spoke weakly to the page. "My lord and dear husband I commend me unto you. The hour of my death draws fast on and my case being such the tender love I owe you forces me to put you in remembrance of the health and safeguard of your soul which you ought to prefer above all considerations of the world of flesh whatsoever for which you have cast me into many miseries and yourself into many cares. For my part I do pardon you all. Yea, and I do wish and pray dearly, God he will pardon you also. For the rest, I commend unto you our daughter, Mary, beseeching you to be a good father unto her as I have always desired. And lastly, I vow that mine eyes desire you above all things." She began to moan in pain, struggling to utter her last sentence. "Elizabeth, help me." She was in so much pain, but she still leaned forward to sign her name to her will. Elizabeth guided Catherine's hand to the parchment and helped her write her signature as best she could. Her wrist finally gave out from the effort and the feather slackened in her hand. Elizabeth reached for her mistress' hand while Thomas made the signal of the cross over his chest, kneeling beside Catherine's bedside. The others in the room followed suit.

The priest continued to pray in Latin, those around him saying their own private prayers. "In manus tuas commendo spritum meum," (In your hands I commend my soul). Catherine whispered on her dying lips. She gave out her last breath, her eyes still open as her soul departed her body.

Greenwich Palace 8 January 1536

Thomas More had a mission to fulfill. He had hurried to Greenwich after the death of Catherine. He needed to reach Grace before anyone else heard of the news of Catherine's death. It was nightfall when he arrived, the entire court settling into their rooms for the evening. A messenger had been sent ahead of him, delivering Catherine's letter to the king. More was sure Anne had heard the news, but he knew Anne would be ecstatic and not in the same mind as Henry. He also predicted that the king was reading the letter from Catherine when he arrived, but he didn't have the time to head to the king's chambers. Instead, he went straight to Grace.

Bursting into Grace's bedchamber, More came upon his niece in her nightgown. The sound of doors crashing open startled Grace and she turned to her uncle with wide eyes. "Uncle?" she questioned. "What is wrong?"

"Catherine is dead." The statement alone made Grace's blood curdle. She rose from her chair in front of the fire, snatching her robe from its place as she rushed to the king's chambers. Her uncle led her, casting his eye warily on their way to make sure no one saw. Grace's reputation would be at stake if someone saw them, but fortunately, no one was present in the dark halls of the palace.

When they arrived at the king's rooms, a page had been posted at the door to prevent anyone from entering. Grace ignored his pleas, giving him an ice cold look and dashing though the door. More held the page back as he protested, but More hushed him as Grace shut the door behind her. She was met with a sight of grief, Henry's back pressed against the wall next to the blazing fire and Catherine's letter in his hand. He appeared defeated, cries of sorrow erupting from his lips. He remained motionless, staring ahead as if he hadn't heard Grace enter the room. He didn't appear unmanly to her, but rather broken.

"Henry…" Grace whispered as she cautiously walked towards Henry. Her feet barely made any sounds as she pattered across the floor to him. He didn't move, even when she stood directly in front of him. Grace lowered herself to her knees, reaching her hand out to touch his knee. Henry finally turned to her, his eyes filled with such intense sorrow.

"She's dead. Catherine's dead," Henry spoke in a dispirited tone. Grace nodded her head, her green eyes displaying pity at his state.

"I know," Grace replied.

"Oh, God!" Henry broke out. "Catherine is dead and it's my fault."

"No, no you must not say that," Grace said. She reached for him, taking her face in his hands. "It is not your fault. How could you say that?"

"I…I sent her to that dreadful place. I sent her there to rot while I remained here. I denied her the right to see Mary. I was terrible to her. How could I be so dreadful to a woman who was devoted to me? To the woman who was my wife for so many years?" Henry began to cry into his hands, Grace unsure how to comfort him. She remained in front of him, speaking soothing words to him until his crying stopped. He reached forward for her, drawing her into his lap. He just sat there, his face pressed into her chest as Grace's hands ran through his hair. They didn't speak another word that night, Grace finally able to coax Henry to bed. When he finally consented, he wouldn't let her go once he had settled into bed. Instead, he pulled her in next to him, not wanting to be alone that night.

9 January 1536

The king was holding a celebration that day, an event planned out of the blue in response to his secret grief. He wore black, as a sign of mourning, while Anne wore the Spanish color, yellow. It was a drastic comparison, dark versus light, somber versus happy. Grace had convinced the king to allow Mary to attend her mother's funeral, though Grace remained behind with Anne to watch over the king in his current state. She would join Mary later and perhaps she could convince the king to do so as well.

In the morning, Grace had been the one to tell Mary of her father's plans, Mary having been informed of her mother's death the night before. Mary had showed Grace all that her mother had left her: her mother's rosary, furs, a collar of gold, and the document bearing the papal seal that proved that Henry's and Catherine's marriage was valid. Mary pronounced that she would never abandon her mother's cause, Grace saying nothing. Mary could only remain stubborn for so long until Henry's temper got the best of him.

Grace walked next to the queen as they made their way to the gardens where the celebration was taking place. Anne looked truly magnificent in a gown of gold and an elaborate headdress in her hair. Grace had chosen a less extravagant outfit for the event, but one that displayed her status. A floral pattern of gold and black over an underskirt of black perfectly blended the colors of mourning of Spain and England. She wore no headdress, only her cross necklace and gold earrings. But she was careful not to outshine the queen.

While they walked, Anne's ladies trailing behind, Anne kept casting her eye at Grace. She was nervous, extremely so as all eyes were on her because of the death of the queen. And Grace was her support. She was Henry's as well. Both were clinging on to her for strength, Henry in his mourning and Anne in her isolated power as queen.

While the trio walked throughout the gardens, they all spotted Elizabeth playing with the other children who had been brought to court. Grace's nieces were among them, both Elizabeths running side by side. The three chuckled at the display of the girls, Henry deciding to take place in their merriment.

"If you'll excuse me," the king spoke, bowing to Anne and Grace as they curtsied to him. They watched as he approached the princess, exclaiming, "Sweetheart. Come here." Elizabeth ran towards her father, running into his arms and allowing him to throw her up in the air. "My Elizabeth."

Meanwhile, the two women intertwined their arms as they made comments at the scene in front of them. The king adored his daughter and they were both glad he was showering Elizabeth with attention. They laughed as he played with the children, declaring, "Oh, guards, guards, protect me. Yeomen! En garde. You're going to the Tower. Protect me. Protect your king." Grace's older nieces joined in, clinging to Henry's legs as the young boys pretended to be soldiers.

"Ma…mama! Gracie!" Elizabeth yelled out. She waved to both women, an enchanting smile on her face. Grace and Anne waved back before making their rounds with the courtiers, as was expected of Anne.

"My papa," Elizabeth spoke, clinging to Henry as she wrapped her arms around his neck.

"My Elizabeth." Henry kissed the top of his younger daughter's red curled head. It was perfect father and daughter scene and truly showed the sweet-spot Henry held for his children.

"We are on the edge of a golden world, aren't we Grace?" Anne questioned as Grace and her leisurely walked around the festivities.

"Your golden world, majesty. It will be yours."

"Uncle," Anne voiced, the Duke of Norfolk coming into their path.

"Your majesty," Norfolk spoke, bowing to his niece. "Lady Neville," he muttered to Grace.

"My lord," Grace replied. An awkward silence fell across the group, Grace eyeing Norfolk.

"If you don't mind, I would like to talk to you Lady Neville, with her majesty's permission."

"Of course, uncle. Grace…" Norfolk held his hand out for Grace. She took it out of courtesy, looking toward Anne and sending her a reassuring look.

"Is there something you want, your grace?" Grace snatched her hands from the duke's grip, clasping her hands in front of her as they walked side by side.

"I think you know what I want." Norfolk was straight to the point. He wouldn't beat around the bush. "I propose an alliance between our families."

"You already know I am loyal to Anne. Now you want me to be loyal to your family?" Grace questioned. She gave the duke an incredulous look and went to brush past him, but he caught her arm with his hand.

"I know you are not a stupid girl. You're quite smart, just like Anne. You know what I mean."

"The Seymours," Grace said.

"Exactly," Norfolk spoke.

"Then trust me when I say this my lord. The Seymours will make an enemy out of me and my family if something happens to Anne. Do I make myself clear?" Grace asked.

"Of course, your grace." The conversation was over as soon as it began, Grace heading towards Anne who was waiting for her pateiently.

Peterborough Cathedral 15 January 1536

It was the day of Catherine' funeral, Grace having persuaded the king to travel with her to Peterborough Cathedral to pay his respects to his first wife. They traveled in a private carriage, no symbols of the royal family decorating its side. Black curtains had been drawn, blocking anyone's view who dared to look inside the mysterious carriage. Grace had not dared to say a word the entire ride to the cathedral, though it took about a third of the day to travel there. Henry was absorbed in his thoughts, as was Grace. Yet, the silence was comfortable between the two.

When they arrived, the bells of the cathedral were ringing, signaling the beginning of the funeral. The two emerged from the carriage, Henry holding his arm out to Grace as she exited the carriage. She took his arm as they approached the entrance of the cathedral. He was shaking, though he wouldn't admit that to Grace. She remained silent, staring up at his face as she watched a guilty expression cross his features. He still thought himself responsible for Catherine's death, even though it was revealed that she had a black tumor growing within her. Grace was relieved that the king felt somewhat responsible for his treatment towards her, but he had no part in her death. She just hoped he regained his senses enough to realize that.

They walked slowly into the cathedral, spotting Mary kneeling at the front. A long, black veil covered her body as she bowed her head in mourning. Quietly, Grace and Henry made their way towards Mary, kneeling alongside her in prayer. Henry kneeled between the women, Mary turning to her father in surprise. She had not expected him to be there, she had not expected him to care that her mother was dead. But, she was wrong. Here, the King of England knelt before her, reaching for her hand as they mourned together.

A/N: Comments?