To find my one
In a million
And now you're just a page
Torn from the story I'm building

The King woke that morning with a start when he noticed black hair fanned across his chest. Without even looking up to inspect his surroundings, Henry knew damn well where he was. She still smelled of pomegranates, just like her sigil. Henry looked up at the thin white curtains that hung from his wife's four-poster bed and sighed. This most definitely was not the outcome he had been expecting.

After staring at the bed's canopy for a few more moments, Henry had finally mustered up the courage to look down at his wife who was still sound asleep. Considering half of his torso was pinned down by Catherine's, the King was unable to leave her bed. Of course he could just shift her, but then that would have disturbed her and Henry was not ready to face her like this. Sighing softly to himself, the King relaxed back against the pillows and closed his eyes.

As he lay there in an attempt not to wake his wife, Henry found his mind wandering to his lovely Anne. The Anne who promised him many sons to secure his bloodline. The Anne who sent letters that made his toes curl. He could have already married her, they could have already been expecting a son. Except the Spanish Princess asleep on his chest refused to give up her Crown.

The King's pleasant thoughts of his fiancée were interrupted by that realization. Why hadn't Catherine accepted his very generous offer anyway? She was a pious woman, retiring in a nunnery seemed like the perfect solution. He would have provided for her there, paid her household well, and Mary would have kept the title as Princess of Wales.

Henry glanced back down at his wife, her slight exhales tickling his chest. It had been so long since he and his wife were intimate, even though they've been sharing a bed for nearly a month now. In an almost unconscious move, the King gently cupped the back of Catherine's head, holding her to his chest. He panicked when the Queen stirred in her sleep then immediately relaxed when she settled. The King stroked Catherine's hair softly, not realizing that he was.

The Queen felt her husband's fingers gently combing through her hair and she stilled. Her memory of the night before had been etched into her mind and Catherine smiled to herself. She felt loved for the first time in so long and the Queen basked in the early morning light that had started to seep in through the velvet curtains.

The Spaniard had no idea how long Henry had stayed in her bed, but Catherine still feigned sleep as she felt her husband slip out of bed as quietly as he could. Discreetly cracking one eye open, Catherine watched silently as Henry hastily pulled on his robe.

When she heard the door of her bedchambers close, Catherine finally sat up. Pressing a hand to her chest, the Queen inhaled deeply to calm herself down before any of her ladies came by. Just then, the door opened once more to reveal Lady Elizabeth Darrell, who gave her mistress a curtsy and Catherine hid a smile.

"Good morning, Madam," Elizabeth greeted and the Queen nodded in acknowledgment.

"Good morning to you, Lady Darrell." She responded softly. Sliding over to the nearest side, Catherine swung her legs out of the bed, Lady Darrell meeting her there with a red dressing gown.

Catherine said nothing as she sat down at her vanity, two of her other ladies had walked in soon after. The Queen remained silent as Lady Darrell began to brush out the tangles in her hair and the other two ladies started to lay out dresses and headpieces for Catherine to choose from.

The former Infanta suppressed a smile as she recalled the events from the previous night but her mood dampened almost immediately when she realized that it would have changed nothing between her and the King. Last night was lovely, yes. But it was a moment of weakness for the both of them. Catherine swallowed thickly as she came to the realization that it was a matter of convenience for her husband.

He didn't take her out of love, he hadn't for a while. It wasn't out of duty either, it was out of convenience. All because the Boleyn girl refused to bed the King until they were married. A woman saving herself for marriage was a respectable belief, yes. But Catherine's respect for the girl diminished when Henry was the man she was saving herself for.

The Queen watched Elizabeth through the mirror as she pinned back the braided sections of her hair. Nodding at Elizabeth in thanks, Catherine stood up from her vanity and walked over to where Lady Smith and Lady Seymour were pacing. After fitting into a rather simple red dress, its bodice threaded with gold, Catherine sat back at the vanity to let Elizabeth nestle the tiara in her hair. Once the headpiece had been secured, the Queen gave herself one final look in the mirror before nodding both to herself and to her ladies.

They curtsied before leaving Catherine alone in her bedchambers once again. Sighing to herself, the Queen steeled her nerves and straightened her spine. She would not let her relations with the King affect anything. She couldn't afford another broken heart. Not this time around.

•

Henry grumbled in frustration as he re-read the same sentence over and over again. He had been at this all day and still, he found his mind wandering. As hard as he tried to erase last night from his memory, thoughts of it came back stronger than they previously had. Slamming his fist against the table, Henry sighed heavily.

Thinking about his sister-in-law in such a sinful way was just unacceptable, it was unbefitting for the King of England. His night with the Queen seemed to linger in the back of his mind ever since he had woken up in her bed instead of his own and the most unsettling thing was, Henry wanted more.

Of course, if anyone asked, the King would always deny it. But privately, it was what he truly wanted. No, he should not want more.

Swearing under his breath, Henry shut his book hard and stood from his seat to walk towards the large window to his right. Henry smiled when he caught sight of his Anne, speaking with her brother with the largest smile lighting up her face.

Soon enough, all thoughts of Catherine were replaced by Anne as Henry continued to watch her through the window. The brunette looked up to see the King staring at her, and she twisted her lips into a half smile before turning her attention back to her brother.

Yes, Anne. She should be the one occupying the King's thoughts. Anne was his beloved, his passion, his love. The Lady Anne made his world spin, a whirl of passion and dancing. She made him feel alive in a way only love and lust could.

Catherine on the other hand, was the Dowager Princess of Wales, merely his sister-in-law. Their marriage was a sin, something that never should have even happened in the first place. But she was still his Queen, his wife, the mother of his only living child. She built this Camelot with him, one they built with their literal blood, sweat and tears.

Grumbling to himself, the King practically threw himself into the nearest chair and placed a hand over his eyes. Why is it that whenever he thought of Anne, the thought of Catherine soon followed? He wasn't supposed to think of her in that way… not anymore.

They had been married for nearly twenty years, was that not enough for the woman? She wouldn't let him go and Henry had hoped that she would. The Queen was revered for her piety and it seemed ironic that she incessantly refused to retire to a convent. She constantly claimed to be his true and legitimate wife when he knew that in the eyes of the Good Lord that it was all untrue.

But there was no use dwelling on the past, it would get him nowhere.

•

It had been two months since the King had found himself in the Queen's bed and it seemed that all of his thoughts on their night together had all but disappeared from his mind. Once again, Lady Anne Boleyn had occupied all of his musings and Henry couldn't have been happier. She promised him sons, lots of sons and nights of passion once they were wed.

The King walked through the castle's (mostly) empty corridors later that night with the intent on paying his Anne a visit. However, the opened door to the Royals' private chapel drew his attention. Peeking in cautiously, he found the Queen dressed in black and a lace mantilla covering her hair. Henry stepped into the chapel silently and watched as Catherine's fingers rubbed at each individual bead.

It was odd to see the Queen praying here when he knew very well that she had an altar in her own apartments. After all, she had been in the middle of prayer when he asked for a divorce. He continued to stare at the Queen as she prayed, her eyes trained on the Cross in front of her.

"My Lord," Catherine began in a hushed whisper and Henry looked up at the sound of his wife's voice. "I beseech you. For all the love that I bear for you and your mother, the Blessed Virgin. Please guide my husband back to me," she prayed. The King's jaw twitched slightly at the Queen's words.

"I pray for His Majesty's soul, I pray for his conscience. Please, let me have justice for I am the King's wife, his Queen. My Lord, I beg of you. Give me the strength to fight for my marriage, for my daughter's birthright. For the Camelot that His Majesty and I have built together." Henry watched as Catherine bowed her head low, kissing the chapel's marble floors.

The King stayed frozen as the Queen slowly rose from her kneel and went to turn around. His eyes met Catherine's which were wide in shock.

"My Lord," she said quietly, dipping into a slight curtsey.

"Madam," Henry responded with a nod, his arms crossed over his chest. The King said nothing as the Queen lifted her skirts and brushed past him with her head held high. Turning his head slightly as he watched her go, Henry was rooted to his spot as he heard the clicking of Catherine's shoes against the floors.

Shaking himself out of his reverie, Henry approached the bench where his wife had kneeled only moments ago. After everything he had put her through, after everything he's said to her, she still prays for his soul. She still prays for the salvation of their marriage.

After all of these years, Catherine still held onto the hope that he could love her the way he did when they were still young and naïve. Hesitating for a second, Henry knelt on the bench the way his wife had, pressing his palms together in prayer.

He didn't know what he was praying for, why he was praying right now of all times. The King's thoughts were raging in his conscience, torn between the Queen and the Lady Anne. Yes, he and Catherine had ruled over England together, and had made it the Camelot it was now. But under Anne's influence, England could flourish more than it had under Catherine's reign, could it not?

•

Catherine walked through the castle, her posture and demeanor giving no indication to her inner turmoil. What was Henry doing there in the first place? He was a devout Catholic, Catherine knew. But the Queen was certain the King had his own time and place for that. Although she loved Henry with every fiber of her being, Catherine couldn't help but feel violated.

Her husband had been privy to her inner thoughts, her private musings, things she would only speak of to the Lord for she knew He would not judge her. Just how much had Henry heard? Shaking her head inwardly, the Queen nodded to her ladies that she had requested wait at the end of the hall while she prayed.

At the Queen's nod, Catherine heard the slight swishing of skirts and the light footsteps of her two ladies. She stopped in front of the door to her apartments and Catherine smiled at the Lady Smith, who had opened the door for her. The Queen found her other ladies amusing themselves with a card game which immediately stopped when they caught sight of her. Her ladies dipped into a curtsey and Catherine motioned for them to rise, prompting them to return to their game.

It was getting rather late and the Queen wanted nothing more than to rest. Looking over her shoulder at her ladies one last time, Catherine entered her chambers with Lady Elizabeth Darrell and Lady Margaret Smith trailing behind her.

The Queen was silent as Elizabeth began to remove the mantilla from her hair and Margaret flitted around the room with her nightgown. Catherine suppressed a yawn once Elizabeth had finished removing the rest of her jewelry and stood from her seat.

After changing into her nightgown, Catherine accepted the robe Margaret held out and slid it over her shoulders, not bothering to fasten the ties. Smoothing down her nightgown and robe once, the Queen dismissed both women.

As she watched both women make their way out, the Queen inhaled sharply as a wave of nausea hit her. Catherine pressed a hand to her forehead, shutting her eyes tightly in hopes the unpleasant sensation would leave as quickly as it came.

Lady Darrell spun around quickly when she heard the Queen's gasp. Stepping forward cautiously, she spoke. "Madam? Would you like for me to call a physician?" Catherine shook her head quickly, swallowing the lump in her throat.

"There is no need for that, Elizabeth." The Queen assured, breathing in shakily. "You may go." Although the Lady didn't seem convinced, she nodded and curtsied to Catherine once more before leaving the Queen's bedchambers silently. Elizabeth took great care to make sure the door had been shut properly, she knew the Queen valued her privacy and Lady Darrell would honor that.

When she heard the door click shut, Catherine let herself collapse into the chair she had been holding onto. Letting out a slow breath, the Queen relaxed into her chair as she waited for the bout of nausea to pass. Several minutes had gone by and the former Infanta had found no relief.

Massaging her temples lightly, Catherine hauled herself up from the seat, walking to the bed and sliding under the duvet. The Queen thought nothing of her condition when she settled herself against the pillows, her eyes slipping closed almost immediately. She could practically feel the tension slip out of her body as Catherine fell into the realm of Morpheus.

In Catherine's opinion, morning had come much too quickly. The Queen was still fast asleep when one of her ladies quietly opened the door to her bedchambers. It was a rare occurrence for the Queen to sleep in so late, but Catherine and her ladies had brushed the worry off as quickly as it came.

The Queen blinked sleepily, the silhouette of Elizabeth Darrell hovered around her.

"Elizabeth?" Catherine whispered, propping herself up with her elbow. She looked around to see no one else but the Lady Darrell. The woman in question quickly turned at the sound of the Queen's voice, and she dipped into a curtsey.

"Your Majesty," the blonde murmured respectfully, bowing her head and Catherine smiled. She always had a soft spot for the girl. So loyal and loving, it was a shame the Queen couldn't say the same for her other ladies. There were spies in her household, she knew this. And it amused Catherine to no end that Wolsey didn't seem to realize her awareness.

After all, she was just a poor woman in a foreign land.

"Good morning," Catherine greeted softly, letting the girl pull back the duvet as she slipped out of the bed. Walking over to the vanity, Catherine sat down tiredly (she slept so soundly the night before, why was she still so tired?) before she let Elizabeth brush her hair out. It was a routine both the Queen and the Lady Darrell were used to, ever since the King had stopped visiting her bedchambers.

Both women were silent and the former Infanta watched as Elizabeth gently braid her hair, forming these braids into a wreath at the top of her head. Catherine nodded in thanks when Lady Darrell put the brush down on the vanity and the Queen moved to stand up. Her movements halted when she felt a sharp pain in her abdomen. Catherine gasped audibly and Elizabeth was quick to react.

"Madam?" She called out softly, taking in Her Majesty's tense posture and the hand pressed against her stomach. Approaching the Queen slowly, Elizabeth spoke up again. "Shall I request for a physician?" The girl asked again, just like she had the night before. Once again, Catherine shook her head.

"That," the Queen winced. "That will not be necessary," Catherine continued her train of thought and Elizabeth nodded hesitantly. She stayed rooted to her spot, watching as the Queen gripped the back of her seat tightly, eyes shut. Catherine inhaled deeply, straightening her posture despite the stinging pain.

Pressing a hand to her stomach as if the movement alone would stop the pain. Elizabeth watched as her mistress breathed deeply before standing upright and nodding to her in acknowledgment. The Queen offered Elizabeth a small smile to reassure the girl that there was nothing to fret about.

•

There was to be another summit between the Kings of England and France but this time, England would be hosting it. Catherine sighed inwardly at the mere thought of it. This was the work of Wolsey, it had to be. After her nephew had broken off his betrothal to her precious Mary to wed Isabella of Portugal, the Cardinal seemed adamant to repair England's relationship with France. The Queen would never forget the barely concealed pleasure in Wolsey's eyes when he had told her Charles married someone else, someone with a dowry larger than that of Mary's.

After Wolsey, another name had popped into Catherine's mind. Anne Boleyn. The Queen knew for certain that the girl would no doubt be pleased. Lady Anne was fond of all that was French. From her mannerisms to her fashions, she was a French lily in a world of English roses. Catherine smiled bitterly to herself. There was no doubt the girl had influenced the King regarding this decision and the former Infanta couldn't help the pinpricks of jealousy that prodded at her conscience.

Once upon a time, it would have been Catherine who had the greatest influence on the King. They used to be equals, he used to trust her. Then she had lost so many of their children and everything around them had come crashing down.

Unshed tears filled the Queen's eyes as memories of her sweet baby boy forced their way into her mind. He was such a beautiful child, with his father's smile and mother's eyes. The entire kingdom had rejoiced when the Queen had given birth to a healthy son after their first child (who was a daughter) had been a stillborn. The King himself was ecstatic, wine flowed the streets of London for an entire week and the celebrations never seemed to cease.

But after four weeks of life, as Catherine held their boy close to her chest, the babe had stopped breathing. The Queen's anguished scream echoed through the silent halls as she realized that God had called her son from this earth. Catherine could still hear the horrified gasps of her ladies, who had come running at the sound of her scream. She could still feel Prince Henry's warm little body turn to ice in her embrace, for she must have held him for so long. The Queen shivered slightly as she remembered the way one of her ladies gently pried her arms away from her son as another one of them had wrapped her arms around the Queen's waist. Their conduct was improper, yes. But Catherine was too absorbed in her grieve to care, to even notice.

Catherine vividly remembered the look on her husband's face when he entered her bedchambers. His eyes were red and still brimming with tears, and the Queen was just as inconsolable as he had been. To this day, she could still hear his whispers, his promises that they would have more children. That they would have more sons. And she was foolish enough to believe him.

Over the years, they did have more children. They did have more sons and daughters. But they perished just like their New Years' Prince had. Catherine let out a choked sob, not only remembering their beloved Prince, but their other son that had been a stillborn. And the Queen couldn't help but blame herself after all these years.

Henry had wanted to go to war in France, so he did. He left her as the ruling regent despite being several months pregnant at the time. However, the Queen didn't seem to mind as much as those of the Privy Council had. She still remembered the whispers among the courtiers, they were certain England would collapse under her rule as regent.

But the Queen paid no mind to those accusations. For she was the daughter of Isabella de Castile and Ferdinand of Aragon, war was in her blood.

Then Scotland had tried to take England for itself once they had learned that their King was away doing battle in France and Catherine would damn her soul to hell if she would let her adopted country fall under Scotland's rule.

And just like her mother had done in Spain, Catherine rode out onto the battlefield, decked out in her own armor. The King of Scotland perished in battle and the Queen had sent her husband his bloodied coat. Catherine promised she would protect the land she had grown to love, and she did.

It was sickening really, she was able to save her people and not the child that grew inside of her. The blood that had stained the Queen's dress that day never left her mind.

"My Lady," a soft voice called her out of her thoughts and Catherine turned to look at one of her ladies. "Sir Thomas More is here to see you," she informed, the Queen nodded and the girl gave her a curtsey before stepping aside to let the man in. Catherine smiled widely at the sight of her good friend.

"Sir Thomas," she breathed as she held her hand out for him to take, relieved to see such a friendly face.

"Blessed, Sovereign Lady," he greeted, dropping to his knees before kissing the hand she offered him. Catherine grasped his other hand firmly, subtly helping the man back up to his feet.

"Shall we sit?" She offered, already beginning to sink down into the nearest chair. Sir Thomas smiled politely, opting to stay standing. "You come with news?" The Queen asked, to which the Chancellor nodded. "About the court proceedings?" At this, Sir Thomas shook his head, much to Catherine's confusion.

"Your Majesty," the man began to say. "I believe you should be made aware of the whispers one would hear at Court," he told her delicately, knowing very well that the Queen did not tolerate Courtly gossip. Catherine pursed her lips in disapproval, but said nothing otherwise. Sir Thomas took this as a signal to continue.

"The courtiers have been favoring the Lady Anne over Her Majesty." At this, the Queen nodded. That was to be expected, she had fallen from the King's favor long ago. Hence, most of those at Court had been flocking to Lady Anne and Catherine couldn't exactly blame them, the power she once had over the King had diminished. The King was absolutely smitten by the Boleyn girl and of course, they would all flock to her in order to win her favors.

"And how does that concern me?" She asked her friend softly, her voice and facial expression not giving way to her inner turmoil. "If they prefer Lady Anne over me, I am powerless to stop them." Sir Thomas shook his head sadly.

"They also speak of Your Majesty's actions," he continued awkwardly. Catherine raised a brow, sensing his very obvious discomfort.

"And what are these actions, pray?" Sir Thomas sighed, his posture slumping ever so slightly before straightening once more.

"They gossip about the way you treat the common-folk…" he trailed off. The Queen said nothing in reply, merely waiting for an explanation. "The way you smile too much, you're always touching them, letting them kiss your hands. The Court thinks of your actions as improper, whispering about how your actions are unbefitting for a Queen."

"Unbefitting?" Catherine repeated, offense coloring her voice. "How could they say such things?" It was a question the Chancellor didn't need to answer, for they both knew the reason. The Queen was no stranger to Courtly gossip. After all, she had ruled over England and its Court for two decades, Catherine was used to being gossiped about.

"Many believe that you are doing this as an act of rebellion against the King," Sir Thomas supplied. Frowning to herself, Catherine rose from her seat, walking toward the window where she could see horses being groomed for riding.

"My mother is Isabella of Castile." The Queen said firmly after a long silence. Turning around to face Sir Thomas again, she spoke. "Not only did she wage war and help unite Castile and Aragon, she was a protector of the poor in Spain."

Sir Thomas bowed his head, everyone knew the stories of the Warrior Queen. It was clear that the former Infanta held her mother (and her bloodline) in such high regard.

"I do the same here in England, and my actions are deemed improper?" Catherine's Spanish accent had thickened, her annoyance clear in her voice and in her words. "The Court praises my mother for all the good she has done for Spain and they slander my name when I do it here. Has my influence weakened that much, Sir Thomas?"

The man in question remained silent, there was no correct way to answer the Queen's question and it broke the Chancellor's heart to see the woman so exhausted by the pressures of a Court that once adored her.

"Blessed Lady," Sir Thomas spoke. "To England, and even the rest of Europe, you are still the Queen of Hearts." It was an attempt to lift the Queen's spirits, but Catherine only chuckled sadly.

"Queen of Hearts… Queen of Heartbreak." Catherine remarked sadly and Sir Thomas shook his head.

"Madam, you must not give in," he pleaded with her. "With the King's favor or not, you are still Queen of England. The Crown is still rightfully yours." The former Infanta smiled bitterly at her friend's words.

"I shall never yield," she whispered, bringing a smile to the Chancellor's face. "If they wish to speak of me, let them. Their words could never take away my title." Catherine turned to look at Sir Thomas. "I will call myself the Queen of England until the day that I die."

•

Catherine watched as one of her ladies pulled off the rings from her fingers before dipping into a curtsey. She had yet to dismiss any of them, so the girl stayed off to the side until the Queen let them leave.

"Did any letters come for me?" The Queen asked Lady Darrell, to which the blonde shook her head.

"No letters, Madam." She responded and Catherine nodded, turning to stare up at the portrait of her mother. The Queen had been adamant about having her painting kept in her apartments. She never got the chance to properly say goodbye and Isabella died before she could save her youngest daughter from poverty in England.

Catherine swallowed the lump in her throat as she recalled her previous conversation with Sir Thomas More. Had she fallen from the King's favor so hard that her only friends at Court were Sir Thomas and the Spanish Ambassador? It had been so long since the Queen had entered Court, the divorce trial did not count.

She heard from her ladies that her husband had all but forgotten her presence. Her ladies gossiped among themselves, whispering about how the King seemed to view Lady Anne as the Queen rather than Catherine herself. Normally, the former Infanta would not tolerate such mindless gossip. However, her ladies were her only constant source of the happenings in Court since Sir Thomas and Chapuys were almost always working hard towards her cause. So the Queen let them speak of these things, for she was clueless now.

Catherine would be lying if she said she wasn't affected by Henry's neglect. For so long, she was used to his affection. Yes, he had mistresses in the past but he always managed to find his way back to her. But she wasn't so sure about it this time around. Her words to Lady Anne when she was still her lady in waiting rang through Catherine's ears.

He cannot give you his true heart, for I have that in my keeping.

Did she really though? What, with the way Henry (and most of the Court for that matter) had been treating her as of late. Truth be told, Catherine couldn't even remember the last time Henry willingly held her hand, and not just for the sake of appearance. Ever since her final pregnancy (a sweet little girl who never made it past her second hour of life), their marriage had never been the same. He didn't even visit her after hearing the news of another dead child.

Catherine swallowed thickly as she forced the bitter memories to the back of her mind. She couldn't dwell on the past. Not now, not ever. There was no use, Henry's affection for her had almost completely disappeared. The Queen forced herself not to think of the way her husband looked at Lady Anne, it was the way he used to look up at her. Such love and adoration… all of that is gone now. Now, he looked at her with such contempt that it hurt her heart to think he could throw her away so easily.

Dismissing her ladies with a slight flick of her hand, Catherine crawled under the covers and sighed heavily. The Queen reached for the pearl rosary she always kept at her bedside, running the familiar beads through her fingers. The sound of the Queen's hushed prayers was the only thing that could be heard in the otherwise silent room. Her sole request remains unfulfilled.

Please… give me a son.