And all I gave you is gone
Tumbled like it was stone
Thought we built a dynasty
That heaven couldn't shake
Horrified gasps echoed through one of the royal sitting rooms as the Queen's knees gave out from underneath and her ladies moved to cushion her fall. Lady Darrell gripped Catherine's arm lightly, urging the Queen to her feet. To everyone's worry, Catherine couldn't seem to pull herself up. Taking matters into her own hands (with the help of Lady Smith), Lady Darrell helped the Queen up from the floor, guiding her to the nearest seat. Another one of Catherine's ladies quickly poured her mistress a goblet of water.
Catherine sat down with a heavy sigh, smiling weakly at her ladies. The Queen swallowed thickly, her nausea had yet to pass. She felt Elizabeth rub her thumb against her arm comfortingly and Catherine grasped the girl's hand in hers in thanks. Catherine accepted the water-filled goblet with a nod of her head and drank slowly in fear of spitting the water back up again.
"Your Majesty, let us summon a doctor for you," Lady Darrell pleaded. She feared for the Queen's health, knowing that this was not the first time Her Majesty had suffered a dizzy spell. However, it was the first time the Queen had nearly fainted because of it. Catherine nodded reluctantly and Elizabeth breathed a sigh of relief. At least now, they would be able to find out what was wrong with Her Majesty.
Gripping the arms of her chair tightly, Catherine stood up carefully and her ladies flocked to her immediately, in fear that she might collapse again. The Queen did not wave them off this time, finding their close presence reassuring. As Elizabeth hurried off to fetch the Queen's personal physician, Catherine let her ladies guide her to her bedchambers so that she might be able to rest.
As one of her ladies removed her (very heavy) headdress, Catherine let out a silent sigh of relief. The jewels had been digging into her scalp, causing her temples to throb. Finally dismissing her ladies, Catherine buried herself deep into the duvet and let out a breath when her head finally hit the pillow. Folding her hands across her stomach, the Queen let her eyes slip closed as she waited for Lady Darrell to return with the doctor.
The door creaked open after some time and Catherine cracked a single eye open. The silhouette of Elizabeth and the physician entered her sight and the Queen pushed herself up from the pillows.
"Doctor Stratford," she greeted softly, holding her hand out to the man. The doctor took her hand and kissed it respectfully. "Thank you for coming at such short notice."
"I am at Your Majesty's service," Stratford responded softly and Catherine let herself smile slightly. He looked to the Lady Elizabeth, who stood right next to him, then back at the Queen. Catherine understood his unasked question and shook her head.
"I have nothing to hide, doctor. Elizabeth may stay while you examine me," she told him firmly and Stratford nodded.
"Very well, Madam." Was his only response. The Queen and her Lady watched silently as the man prepared himself for the examination. "The Lady Darrell has told me you suffer from bouts of nausea," he began after a few beats of silence. Catherine nodded once, but stayed silent otherwise.
"Have you told the King of your symptoms?" Stratford asked and the Queen pursed her lips. It was all the doctor needed to know. The Queen had not told her husband and it didn't seem like she planned on ever telling him. Shaking his head inwardly, Stratford nodded respectfully. He turned to Lady Darrell. "Has Her Majesty suffered any other pains?"
The lady in waiting looked from the doctor and to her mistress, her eyes locking with Catherine's. When the Queen gestured for her to answer the doctor, Elizabeth bowed her head.
"There have been quite a few stomach cramps that Her Majesty has tried to hide from us," she answered meekly, refusing to meet the Queen's gaze. Stratford nodded thoughtfully, looking back from Elizabeth and to Catherine and back again. The Queen sighed inwardly as the doctor remained silent, deep in thought.
"Doctor Stratford?" She finally called out softly after a few moments. The man jumped slightly at the sound of her voice but composed himself quickly.
"Apologies," he said hastily, shaking his head. "Have… have you been having your regular courses?" The man asked delicately, the discomfort evident on his face. Neither woman in the room could blame him of course, it was a rather sensitive subject, especially in regards to the Queen.
"Not anymore," Catherine forced herself to say. It was hard for her to come to terms with it, but she was barren now. Her courses had stopped and she no longer had the chance to give the King a living son. The Queen swallowed the tears that had started to build up behind her eyes, steeling her nerves and looking up at the doctor.
"I see," was all the man could say. He fell silent once more, lips pursed in thought and Catherine could feel her patience wearing thin. Why wouldn't the man just spit it out? If she were dying, there was no need to put it lightly.
The Queen looked to Elizabeth, who looked just as perplexed as she felt. Stratford hadn't even stepped close enough to physically examine her. Catherine trusted Lady Elizabeth very much, but she was starting to doubt this doctor the girl had summoned.
"How long has it been since your monthly courses have stopped?" Catherine furrowed her brows in thought. It hadn't been that long, had it?
"Two months," the Queen answered, folding her hands across her lap. Two months, she knew she was barren, there was no need to say it. All the more ammunition for the King to get his annulment. Knowing her husband, he'd see this as a sign from God that he was being punished for marrying his brother's widow.
"Madam," Stratford began awkwardly. "Have you considered the possibility of…" Catherine raised a brow at the man's unease.
"Yes, doctor?" She stressed his title. Frankly, the Queen was coming close to throwing him out for the man had done nothing but ask questions every few minutes. Elizabeth had assured her that Doctor Stratford was an intelligent, well-read man. But his current actions led the Queen to think otherwise.
"Your Majesty, have you considered the possibility that you are with child?"
•
Catherine was silent when Doctor Stratford curtsied low and a goodbye and she stayed silent when Elizabeth opened the door for the man. The Queen gestured for the girl to stay, so Elizabeth shut the door once he had left. The Lady said nothing as her mistress continued to stare at the wall in front of her, her expression carefully blank.
Not knowing exactly what to do, Elizabeth hesitated before walking closer to Catherine and offering the Queen the rosary she kept within the folds of her dress at all times. The former Infanta took it with a weak smile, her fingers rubbing the unfamiliar feeling beads.
"Is this one of mine?" She asked hoarsely and Elizabeth shook her head.
"No Madam, it is one of mine. It seemed you desperately needed one," the blonde responded meekly. Catherine nodded and held a hand out, indicating that Elizabeth sat down on the bed with her, the Lady did so without question.
"You heard what the doctor said, didn't you?" Catherine finally broke her stare from the wall to look at Elizabeth's pretty face. "Or have I gone mad?" Elizabeth shook her head quickly, reaching out to grasp one of the Queen's hands in hers.
"Gentle Lady, you have not gone mad." Elizabeth reassured her mistress. "I was here when the doctor said it, it is true." She felt the Queen's grip tighten in hers.
"Will you say it? Just for my peace of mind," the Queen asked softly.
"Madam, you are with child. You are due to deliver the baby in March." The blonde repeated quietly, just barely hiding her elation for her mistress.
Catherine laughed in disbelief. She was carrying the King's child, after all this time she (and frankly, all of Europe) thought she was barren. The Queen believed she was done, she could no longer bear children and yet here she was, one of Elizabeth's hands clutched in both of hers with the blur of tears pooling in her eyes.
Catherine held the rosary Elizabeth had loaned her close to her chest, crossing herself with a free hand. She had been foolish to believe that the Lord did not hear her prayers, that he was no longer with her.
The former Infanta had been praying for another child ever since her husband had sired the bastard Fitzroy with Bessie Blount.
Both Catherine and Elizabeth stayed silent for a few moments. The Queen getting caught up in her memories and the Lady merely holding the Spaniard's hand as she processed the information they had received only minutes ago.
As ecstatic as Catherine was with her pregnancy, the thought of miscarriage had clouded her thoughts once more. Two children, she had miscarried. One boy and one girl, the Queen wasn't so sure she would be able to take it if another child was added to that number. Catherine had faced many humiliations during her reign, but one more miscarriage to prove to Henry (in his eyes) that the chapter in Leviticus was indeed correct would be the final nail in her coffin.
Snapping herself out of her reverie, the Queen looked to Elizabeth, who had her head down in what she could only assume was prayer.
"Elizabeth," Catherine called out softly, not wishing to startle the sweet girl.
The blonde lifted her head up meekly, waiting for the Queen to speak.
"No one can know about this," Catherine told the girl quietly. "It is too early to say anything and if-God forbid, I lose this child…" She didn't have to say the rest. Both women knew the consequences of what would happen if the Queen were to miscarry once more. Catherine would be Queen no longer.
"Yes, Madam." It was all Elizabeth could say. What else could she say?
"We must do everything in our power to keep this a secret. Even from the King." It killed Catherine to speak these words, for her prayers had finally been answered but the threat of the unborn child's death loomed over her head. The blonde nodded her head solemnly, still clutching the Queen's hand in her own.
"What about the other ladies?" She asked meekly and Catherine pursed her lips slightly in thought. Most of her ladies were spies, that much she knew. Planted by Wolsey and quite possibly, the Boleyns. All of her Spanish ladies had been removed from her service long before the issue of the divorce had been brought up, and her Spanish confessor had also been dismissed in the name of espionage. There was no one left to trust in her household and she wasn't about to take that risk now, not when the stakes are higher than they've ever been.
"We must conceal this from them too," she told Elizabeth in a much quieter voice. "You and I both know that Wolsey and the Boleyns have eyes and ears within these walls." Elizabeth nodded silently, fully aware of the spies that had been planted in Her Majesty's household. This would be complicated, they knew that too. Mistress and Lady stayed silent for a long moment, both women fully aware of the dangerous game they decided to play.
•
The sound of distant footsteps forced Catherine to look up from her sewing, only to see the faint silhouette of her husband as he drew closer to her rooms. The Queen dropped the shirt she was making in her lap and waited as Henry came to a stop in the next room. With the slightest nod, her ladies started to shuffle out quietly, taking the shirts they had been sewing with them.
"Husband," Catherine greeted softly once she had gotten closer to him. The King nodded cordially in response.
"I heard you were unwell," he began and Catherine arched her brow slightly in response. So that was why he had come. This was all a show to him, the Queen knew. "Have you seen a doctor?" A performance for the people while they were still legally wed. The words she spoke to her nephew rang true in her ears.
Henry is a good masker.
"Yes," she answered simply.
"And how are you feeling?" The King continued to press on, crossing his hands behind his back as Catherine answered.
"I'm feeling better," she said softly. "Your Majesty is kind to show concern." It wasn't concern, Catherine knew that too. The thought of it used to pierce her heart so painfully, until it happened so often that it had become nothing more than a dull ache.
"Did you need to be bled?" He asked this time and the Queen shook her head no instead of giving him a verbal response. "Good."
Both monarchs stood in front of each other in silence with Catherine staring up at the far wall, and Henry staring at her.
Something was off about his wife, he could feel it. Her posture was riddled with tension and her jaw was taut. She wouldn't even look at him, which was odd considering she had dedicated so much of her time convincing him that her marriage to Arthur was unconsummated. But now, she refused to meet his gaze as she spoke to him, only meeting his eyes once throughout the entire exchange.
"How was the new doctor? Is he as good as he is on paper?" Henry asked, breaking the tense silence between them. Finally, Catherine turned to look at him.
"He is… well-read." The Queen responded carefully, doing her best to keep her answers vague to avoid any suspicion on her husband's part. "He was able to diagnose me quickly, deeming that I only had to eat more in order to regain my strength." That wasn't a total lie, Stratford had told her to eat whenever she felt like it, for she was carrying life inside her once more.
"You like him, then?" The King asked to confirm and Catherine nodded curtly. "Very well. Good night, madam." With a slight bow, Henry turned on his heel and exited her rooms swiftly.
At the sound of the door closing, the Infanta let out a breath. She couldn't look at him, it made concealing the truth that much harder for her. How she and Elizabeth would get by these coming weeks, God only knew.
•
"Queen of England," Catalina said breathlessly and her sister nodded.
"That is what you shall be one day." Maria of Aragon told her, sitting down gently. Both of their ladies had been dismissed, it was one of the only times they could speak freely without fear.
"And you, the Queen of Portugal." Catalina added softly and the sisters fell silent as they thought of Manuel's first wife, their sister. Isabella, named after their beloved mother, had died in childbirth only six weeks ago.
"I wish I was not," Maria admitted softly, prompting Catherine to look at her in confusion. "I was never meant to be Queen of Portugal," she continued, standing up to pace around the private study.
"I do not want to replace Isabella," Maria sobbed quietly and Catalina was quick to stand and wrap her arms around her older sister.
Maria's knees soon gave out from under her and Catalina fell to the floor with her, the sisters still locked in a tight embrace.
"No one said you had to replace her," Catalina soothed, running a gentle hand through Maria's hair.
"But I am meant to occupy the throne she once sat in, wear the crown she once wore?" Maria looked up at her sister with a bitterness in her eyes that Catalina had never seen before. "It is cruel, do you not agree?" Catalina shook her head in response.
"What we think would not matter in the end, would it?" Catalina asked softly. "Your match has been made, and so has mine. Cruel or not, it is our destiny. And we must fulfill it." She tenderly wiped the tears from Maria's eyes.
"Catalina, what if I cannot?" Her sister asked, and Catalina could feel the desperation rattling out of her sister in tremendous waves. "What if I fail?"
"You will not," the younger Infanta said forcefully. "It is God's will that you shall succeed. We were all born to rule, whether it be England or Portugal. That Crown belongs to you now, and you shall wear it as proudly as our beloved sister and those before her have."
Maria said nothing in response, merely lacing her fingers through Catalina's as they leaned against the back of the seat they had previously occupied.
"I miss the days where we could run freely." She heard Maria say after a long silence. "Where we didn't have to worry about our destinies or the crowns we would have to wear some day."
"I miss them too," Catalina agreed.
"Those days are gone now." Maria continued. "You are to go to England soon, and I shall be alone again." Standing up from the cold marble floors and then pulling Maria up to do the same, Catalina held her sister's hands in both of hers.
"Then let us cherish the little time we have left together." The younger Infanta said with a sparkle in her blue eyes.
"What do you mean?" Maria asked with a slight sniffle, causing Catalina's smile to widen.
"I mean… this." And with that, Catalina gathered up her skirts and shot out of the room with a laugh, leaving her sister to stare at her in shock. The shock wore off rather quickly and Maria took off after her sister, skirts bunched up in both her hands.
Their laughter rang throughout the corridors of the palace, its large windows letting plenty of sunlight through. They chased each other down the halls and up the stairs, their skirts flowing behind them like wings.
Servants and courtiers alike stopped to stare as the two Princesses ran. It was the happiest anyone had ever seen them in so long, and those who starred couldn't help but smile at their joy. It was infectious.
For once, neither one of them had thought of their impending marriages or the responsibilities they would have to take on in the future.
Right here, right now, they weren't royalty. They weren't future brides. They weren't Spanish Infantas. They weren't the daughters of Isabella and Ferdinand. They didn't have the weight of the world thrust upon their shoulders. They were just Maria and Catalina.
Two little girls who wanted nothing more than just a little bit of freedom, a taste of the childhood they never got. But at the end of the day, they were still Princesses.
And Princesses were not born for happiness.
•
Catherine traced the edges of her Bible fondly as she remembered Maria's laughter. Her sister was such a sweet soul, wanting nothing more than to make people happy. Then their beloved sister Isabella had passed on and Maria was never the same. The Queen swallowed bitterly as she recalled Maria's untimely death. God had called her beloved sister from this world the way He had called Isabella. Another child of the Trastamara dynasty had been called from the Earth.
Catherine had mourned her darling sister's death for months. She and Maria were the closest in age, so there was always a special bond between the two of them. It was the same bond that Isabella and John once shared before either of their deaths.
And then Isabella's only son, Miguel da Paz, died a little less than two years after Isabella's death. Catherine was fourteen when her nephew had passed on and when her mother's walls collapsed after so long.
Never before had Catherine heard her mother scream so loud, so brokenly. She had lost her two heirs and a grandchild within a span of three years. The Queen could still remember the way her mother clutched the sacred Cross so tightly, she feared it would snap.
That night, Isabella had cursed up at the heavens, at the God that had forsaken her so often. The God that had taken away so many of her children.
•
"I have been a humble servant to you!" Isabella had screamed, not realizing Catalina had entered the room. "I spread your word all over Europe and this! This is what I get in return?" Gently placing the Cross back up on the altar, Isabella of Castile fell to her knees and her youngest daughter stood frozen behind her.
Breathing heavily, Isabella reached for the Cross around her neck. Closing her fingers around the crucifix, the Spanish Queen yanked it from her neck with a forceful pull. She stared at it with a hardness in her bright eyes.
"I took lives in your name. I have waged war for your word. And in return, you take away every person that matters to me." Her mother's words were quiet, the lips of the Spanish monarch barely moved as she spoke.
And then she screamed. Screamed louder when John had passed, when Isabella passed. She screamed louder than when she rode into battle.
"Not Catalina, not Maria. Please, no more," she whimpered, holding the Cross to her chest for a brief moment before composing herself once more.
Tossing the necklace aside carelessly, Isabella let her body go limp and her back met the carpeted floor with a thud.
As if she were approaching a wounded animal, Catalina took small and measured steps to where her mother lay defenseless.
"Mama," the Infanta whispered. Catalina reached out a shaky hand to brush away the hair that had fallen over Isabella's eyes. Her mother reached up for the hand she had held out, and Catalina grasped her mother's fingers tightly.
"My love. My darling," Isabella breathed, her eyes shut tight in an attempt to stop the onslaught of tears. Hauling herself up from her position on the floor, Isabella turned around to cup Catalina's face in both her hands.
"Mama," her daughter said again, reaching up to hold her mother's wrists. "I'm so sorry," Catalina began and Isabella shushed her before she could continue.
"No," the Queen told her firmly. "This is not your fault, it is not anyone's fault. Do you understand me?" Catalina nodded against her mother's hands. "The Lord has chosen to call our beloved Miguel to his Kingdom, we must accept that. All we can do now is pray for his soul."
"It is not your fault either," Catalina countered quietly and Isabella's lip quivered ever so slightly. "You should not be blaming yourself for what happened. You have done nothing wrong." She tried to reassure her mother but the Queen shook her head sadly.
"Miguel died in my arms. Surely I have done something wrong." Isabella argued quietly. Once more, Catalina shook her head in protest.
"My child, I pray that you never go through what I have gone through tonight."
•
Henry stared into the fireplace with his feet propped up on another chair as he sipped a goblet of wine. The King had been brooding for quite some time now. First, it was thoughts of the sons and the life he was to have with his Lady Anne once they were wed. Then realizing that he would not be getting that kind of life any time soon. Not as long as Catherine refused the annulment and continued to sit on the throne next to his.
His thoughts soon wandered to the only living son he and Catherine had. Their New Years' Prince who had died in his mother's arms after four weeks of life. Henry himself had been devastated when the news had come to him. But no one was more heartbroken than his wife.
He recalled the way he found his wife sprawled across her bed. Catherine's face streaked with dried tears, her arms spread out on either side of her. She hadn't been looking at him when he entered, she didn't acknowledge his presence. And when she finally did, Henry could feel his heart shatter.
"He died in my arms." The Queen said simply, her voice hoarse from screaming, crying and praying. "I did not want to let him go."
Shaking himself out of his reverie, Henry walked up to where Catherine lay and eased himself on the bed next to her. He didn't touch her, he knew she did not want to be touched. The King stayed silent next to his wife, staring up at the canopy above him and listened to Catherine's even breathing.
"He died in my arms." Catherine said again, and Henry assumed that his wife was talking to herself in her grief. "Our baby boy died in my arms the same way Miguel had died in my mother's."
"It is not your fault, Catherine." Henry murmured to her, gently interlacing their fingers together. "I don't blame you, no one does."
The former Infanta turned her head to face her husband, who had been staring at her this entire time. She met his eyes briefly before turning away, half in shame and half in annoyance. He said he didn't blame her, and she truly wanted to believe him. But she didn't know what to believe anymore.
Sighing heavily, Catherine forced herself to sit up on the bed.
"I was there when Miguel died," she confessed quietly and Henry looked up at his wife, who in turn, looked at the wall ahead of her. "The day my nephew died was the day I saw my mother break." Catherine pursed her lips to keep herself from crying as the memories of that night nearly eleven years ago.
"She cursed at the heavens, at God." The Queen sniffed lightly before continuing, "for taking away her daughter, her son and her grandchild in such succession." Catherine turned to look at Henry once more. "My mother told me that she prayed I would never have to experience that kind of pain. And yet I did."
Blinking his tears away, Henry was quick to gather his wife into an embrace. Catherine grasped at one of his arms tightly, burying her face into the crook of her husband's neck. The King cupped the back of the Queen's head and held her until she was ready to let go.
God had forsaken them the way He had forsaken Isabella.
•
Catherine kissed the tomb of her husband, letting a single tear drip onto the casket. She stepped back slowly and breathed out quietly. The Dowager Princess of Wales reached behind her slightly and felt the comforting touch of Maria de Salinas. She grasped her friend's hand tightly as Arthur's casket was carried away. The former Infanta and former Princess of Wales stared at them stonily, her blue eyes glazed over with unshed tears.
The funeral procession had finally ended and Catherine hadn't wanted to stay for long. She made a brief appearance, nodding gracefully whenever someone stopped her to offer their sympathies.
She and her ladies sewed in silence later that night. No words were needed, no words were wanted. There was a knock at the door and Catherine looked up to find one of the servants at the door.
"Her Majesty, the Queen is here, Your Highness." The girl said timidly and Catherine, along with her ladies, stood up immediately to bow.
In stepped Elizabeth of York, the Queen of England with her blonde hair hidden behind her black veil, no jewels had adorned her person.
Looking at Catherine once, Elizabeth shook her head sadly.
"Oh, my dear child." She said, opening her arms for Catherine. Without the comfort of her own mother, Catherine had rushed forward to envelop the Queen in a tight hug.
"I'm sorry," the Dowager Princess whispered against the Queen's veil. "I wanted to save him." She heard Elizabeth click her tongue.
"You mustn't blame yourself, child." The Queen soothed. "No one blames you. There is no use apologizing for something that is out of your control."
"I had caught the sickness too. Why wasn't I taken as well?" Catherine asked desperately, pulling away from Elizabeth's embrace. "Arthur did not deserve his fate."
"No, he does not." Elizabeth agreed with a nod. "But he was always a sickly child and everyone had been surprised that he managed to live up until he did." The Infanta nodded solemnly.
"Will the King send me back to Spain?" Catherine asked in a small voice. "Or shall they send me to a nunnery?"
"I don't know," Elizabeth answered honestly. "The King refuses to divulge any of his plans." Catherine nodded in understanding, for her father was the same way. He never said anything to anyone unless it was her mother. So the Dowager Princess dropped the subject as quickly as it came up. "You will survive this, I swear to you." Elizabeth told her, cupping Catherine's face between her hands the way Isabella once had.
With that, the Queen swept out of the room and it seemed like she hadn't been there at all. The Infanta stared at the spot where Elizabeth once stood and let a single tear trail down her cheek.
•
Catherine awoke with a start. Sitting up in her bed, the Queen realized that it was still dark, save for the fire that had begun to die out. As Infanta began to get her breathing under control, her thoughts began to clear and the words of her mother-in-law rang loudly in her ears, telling her she would be able to survive this too.
Catherine knew she would be able to survive. But she feared her unborn child wouldn't.
•tbc•