God, but had this gamble paid off. The joy in her husband's eyes at the sight of her had chased away any nervousness she had held and her smile had become genuine as she had performed in her tableau. She would never be a particularly graceful dancer, having not grown up learning like the rest of these English swans, but she had decided to make up for her shortcomings with enthusiasm and had managed her way through the simple dance with ease. Her dance did not feature any men, but as it came to a close and they had begun their final turn, Anne had felt a warm, calloused hand grip hers. The next moment, she was looking into Henry's eyes as he smiled down at her- he and his gentlemen had infiltrated the dance floor and were claiming the ladies for another spin. The watching court applauded happily at the sight of their monarch joining the fray. Anne couldn't help the smile that came over her as Henry spun her around, despite her clumsy feet. Instead of the embarrassment that usually flooded her when she was dancing, a light gaiety filled her and she let it carry her away, laughing and turning in her husband's arms. She pointedly ignored the fierce, disapproving looks from her ambasador and basked in the attention she had fought hard to earn.
As the country song the musicians had switched to filtered into something a little more formal, Henry escorted her to their empty thrones. The rest of the couples continued in their dance, but he guided her into her chair before sitting beside her. He even pressed a kiss to her fingers as they settled beside each other before he called for wine.
"Brava, Majesty" a familiar voice called and Anne turned to see her greatest ally, the Duke of Suffolk, approach with his arm around his flushed, smiling wife. "A lovely tableau."
"Your Grace," she smiled at him, allowing him to step forward and kiss her hand. "It was your tutelage that inspired us. Your wife was a great help."
"Ah yes, my queen of diamonds" he kissed Catherine's temple affectionately. "I will leave you to your queen of hearts, your majesty." He bowed with a grin to his friend and then moved on. She smiled shyly and turned to her husband, happy to see what she could only hope was affection in his gaze. He stood abruptly, stilling the whole court as he raised his glass.
"To Queen Anne," he called, and Anne felt herself flush with pleasure. "The Queen of Hearts!" The court echoed him and broke into a round of applause. Anne was speechless and beyond grateful to her friend for suggesting this show of camaraderie with the English court. She knew it was still a long road to acceptance, but this was such a successful step, Anne wanted to luxuriate in it.
..
That night in her chambers, she allowed Kitty and Lady Hart to remove the flowers from her hair and brush out her tousled curls. The gown she had worn had been lovely, but she was happy to be in her cotton chemise and soft velvet robe now. She could feel the wine she had drunk pulsing through her veins and couldn't help the lightness from overtaking her. What a success this had been. The court had celebrated late into the night- something they had only done at major feasts, and it seemed to all be because she had brought her husband some joy. Henry had been enjoying himself, it was plain to everyone. He had been jesting with his courtiers, dancing blithely (although Anne had only joined a few times to simple country dances), and drinking heavily. The German ambassador had tried to send a governess to scold Anne into propriety, but Anne had refused to listen, instead indulging in the wine and smiling at the merry she had made. Only when her head had begun to spin, did she agree that it was time to remove herself. She had curtsied deeply to her husband who had raised her immediately and kissed both cheeks in farewell- much more affectionately than he had since she arrived.
She gazed into the mirror and didn't recognize the woman staring back. She could see how much it improved her face to not be clouded with fear and trepidation. Anne thought that right now, her cheeks flushed with happiness, her eyes sparkling, her hair brushed and shining like polished brass, she might even be able to rival the pretty Mistress Howard, who looked particularly sour this evening.
But that apprehension comes rushing back when there is a loud banging on the door. Her breath catches at the ferocity of it and she fears that she has crossed a line in the grand hall and that someone has come to reprimand her. To tell her that she must conduct herself in a manner appropriate for a German Princess turned Queen of England. Suddenly, all her brother's lessons come flooding back and she curses herself for acting like such a fool. Fear spikes through her as Henry strides into the room and curtly dismisses Kitty and Lady Hart. God, what has she done? He is angry with her, she can tell from the tension radiating off him in waves. This man is so different from the one she had just left, smiling at her with amusement in his eyes. There is no amusement now though as he stares with an intensity that frightens her.
Her heart sinks as the two women scuttle from the room, fleeing their riled sovereign. She tries to slow her breathing as panic begins to take over. Should she sink to her knees in supplication and beg him his forgiveness? Should she swear to never embarrass him like she clearly has again? She has been consumed with the thought that he was just a man in need of a loving partner and has forgotten that he is a king that must be beyond reproach. She is about to burst into tears when the door finally slams shut as her ladies leave her to her haranguing. In a moment, he closes the distance between them and she lets out a frightened squeak at the thought he might go so far as to strike her in his anger.
But he has not rushed forward to hurt her. He instantly crushes his lips onto hers, pulling her up to him feverishly. He grasps the front of her chemise and gives a vicious tug, ripping the fabric and exposing her breasts. She gasps audibly and shrinks from his touch, pulling the torn fabric to cover the exposed skin.
He pauses, realizing that she has not melted into him. "You are not willing?" Confusion clouds his darkened eyes and his voice is husky.
"I...I..." She cannot keep up with the rush of emotions that are flooding through her. His passion terrifies her, but she is so scared at making the wrong move. What does he want from her? How can she please him? Her voice fails as she stares up at him in terror.
But he seems to realize now that she is quaking in fear and not desire. She is so scared that he will be annoyed by this, but something that looks like understanding flashes through his eyes. The intense passion that had been there a moment ago softens as he reaches out again, slowly, softly.
"Hush, sweetheart," His hands come to her hips and he pulls her to him much more gently. She forces herself to move to him, trying ardently to slow her breathing and calm her nerves. His hands come to her waist, her shoulders, brushes her loose hair back. He breathes into her ear, causing her flesh to prickle. Gently, but not without purpose, he cradles her jaw in his hands, pressing his lips to hers. She gasps into his mouth, this time not quite out of fear. She remembers what it felt like to see him smiling at her earlier this evening and leans into him, letting the grip on her torn chemise loosen. Taking advantage of her gasp, he slides his tongue into her mouth. One hand leaves her jaw to thread through her hair and the other sinks to her shoulder, slowly pushing the fabric away, circling a thumb over the hollow beneath her collarbone.
She feels her body respond to him and the panic from his arrival had already quickened her pace. Now she allowed that panic to subside and to instead try to mimic his movements. Her fingers found their way to his shoulders as well and then up to tangle in his hair. When he reaches down and scoops her into his arms, she gasps again and it feels natural to cling to his neck as he carries her to bed.