Long chapter this time. Sorry for all the tension, this is such a slow burn, it's almost walking backwards. But we're almost there! (Or, are we?) I might not update for two weeks now because I have exams to study for but most of chapter 18 is already written. I had to weave in the politics in a condensed form, of course the stuff that happened back then was far more complex than my little story.

Thank you all so much for every review, fave and follow, it really makes my day!


early spring, Whitehall Palace

Catherine

~o~

Catherine finally understood why half the young ladies at court had fallen for Brandon. He was openly pursuing her now and she found it hard to resist. He was charming, witty, courteous and attentive and just audacious enough to make her feel deliciously wicked. When they danced, he looked only at her, forcing her to stare back at him the whole time. His gaze was so intense, so compelling, that she felt dizzy afterwards, as if she had had too much wine. She did not drink wine though, she did not trust herself with it these days. If he was truly only looking for a clandestine rendezvous, she feared the wine would dull her senses and cloud her judgement. Sometimes, after a long volta or an hour alone with him, she already found herself wavering.

He never wrote her poems or composed songs like a conventional suitor would. No, he talked to her, listened to what she said, mocked her gently and laughed at her jests. It felt so authentic, so real, as if he was genuinely interested in her person. No one but perhaps Anne had ever been so attentive, so interested in what she had to say. She was completely flattered and elated until she overheard a conversation between Margery Horsman and Jane Seymour one afternoon, not completely by chance, perhaps. Actually, only Margery talked.

"That's his trick." She whispered very audibly. "He makes you feel as if there was no other woman apart from you, he is close to you without clinging, just close enough. Then he withdraws, only a step, but enough for you to realise you do not want him to leave. Then he comes back and all you can do is say yes to whatever he wants. He chases you like a hunter but he does not shoot the arrow. Instead, he waits, a yard away from you, so that you can make the last step and feel as if you wanted it all along."

Margery Horsman hit suspiciously close to the mark. She pretended not to listen but found it hard not to think about the other maid's words. Perhaps she was right after all and it was only his trick. Was it not rather vain of her to think that she, Catherine, was the only woman Brandon was seriously interested in? Especially regarding their history. No, in all brutal honesty, she was probably only one of many does before the hunter. But even if. She could not stop now. She would not let him shoot the arrow, but she was enjoying being hunted in all truth. Just because she did not like the destination he had in mind, the journey was still exciting. She would just have to remember to stop in the right moment.

"Dreaming, my lady?" Brandon had approached silently or perhaps she had just been too engrossed in her doubts. He touched her arm above the elbow, where the material of her sleeves was thin and the warmth of his hand remembered her of the way his fingers had felt on her bare skin.

"Perhaps." She rose to walk with him. "Though of what, I may not say."

"What is the point of secret dreams when you do not share them with anyone?"

"Why, enjoying the curiosity of others." The day was bright and clear, but still rather cold. After weeks in the rooms of the palace, that grew stuffier with every passing day, she was longing to go outside.

"Shall we take a walk outside, my lady?" He asked her as if he had read her thoughts. "Perhaps I can persuade you to tell me your secret in the gardens, with no one else around."

Somehow, as if accidentally, he had managed to lead her to the old part of the house where the corridors were narrow and the doors even narrower. In such a narrow door, he stopped, only an inch of stale air between them. He stooped because of the low frame. She knew that he used the word 'persuade' to remind her of their deal, that he stressed the intimacy of the gardens to excite her- but all her knowledge of his tricks did not stop her heart from racing and her chest from heaving. Neither did it stop her mind from imagining all sorts of things. Things a lady should never think about.

"If you think you are more successful in persuading me outside, we can." She smiled. "Perhaps you are at an end and the change of location is a desperate last try." Cat stepped out of the door frame, brought two steps between them.

"You pretend to be a little ice princess, but you are not, are you? In truth, inside, you are burning." The word sounded like a inappropriate promise. "A little fiery queen."

She swallowed. "And I truly thought you did not have it in you to be a poet." Cat tried to take another step backwards but behind her, there was only wall.

He grinned wolfishly. "You see now to which lengths I go to persuade you."

"Go farther." She smiled. "Or become a better poet." And with a twirl of her skirts, she escaped his loose grip, positioned herself in the middle of the corridor an arm's length away from him.

"At the main portal in an hour." An hour she would need to talk to Anne.

"Will you dream in the meantime?"

She felt a blush creeping up her cheeks. Damn him.

"No. Will you?" After a last promising smile, she hurried away, her skirts rustling around her feet. He kept her in a constant state of exhilaration and she could not help but marvel at their development. First, they had hated each other fiercely. Then, after he had saved her life, they had been civil, friendly, almost close. And now this...it was a bit of both, the excitement of their first stage combined with the trust and affection of the second. Well, at least for her. Whether he felt affection for her at all, she could not say. She only hoped so.

Anne was in her chambers, ill-humoured despite her many servants and the beautiful song Mark was playing.

"Cat!" Her friend rose from the cushioned chair and took Cat by the hands to pull her onto a window seat where they were relatively safe from prying eyes and ears. "Oh, really, I am bored. Father and George are in France and half my maids are ill. The other half is insipid."

Many at court were ill these days, the weather was relatively mild but wet and the change from the dry cold earlier in the year seemed to have affected many. The king himself complained about headaches and yesterday, he had withdrawn to his chambers just after dinner and only Anne had been allowed to go with him. Today, he was slightly better and used the day for had still not made his decision but his envoys in Germany had sent word. The German dukes were mostly Lutheran and would not oppose Henry should he decide to break with Rome. The seed Anne had planted had flourished and blossomed and now, Henry seemed to seriously consider deserting the Pope. Campeggio had no idea or he would have put in more effort. The old man was certainly not as fragile as he pretended to be and his tentative and cautious behaviour showed that once again, Rome believed itself invincible, despite the Emperor's attack and despite the unruly North. Clement was still the Emperor's creature, instead of trying to make new allies and sway Henry and thereby his new brother, Francis I., to his side, the old man tarried- and right now, Anne's father and brother were breaking fast with the king and queen of France, approaching the subject with diplomatic tentativeness while not leaving Francis in doubt that backing Henry and Anne's marriage and their possible breach with Rome would win him a powerful ally against Emperor Charles who was once again trying to snatch away Southern French territory.

Nothing was really going Anne's way but she had more than cause to hope- Yet, after years and years of hope and disappointment, she was perhaps sick of that fickle friend hope.

"Has your father sent word?" Catherine asked.

"Yes. Francis is pleased. He knows we are friends of France and has hinted at an agreement. Yet, not more than that, and the French king is a great friend of empty promises."

Anne leant against the whitewashed wall.

"I am so impatient. I am tied down here, in these chambers, that are neither a commoner's nor a queen's, neither a girl's nor a woman's. I am his maiden-wife, cursed to forever linger in this state that is in-between, neither this nor that, forever hoping to take the next step. Jesu Maria, I sometimes wish he would just cast me down again. It was easier."

"You do not mean that, Anne." Catherine laid a hand on hers. "Just think how much you must mean to him that he waits for you this long time. How much he respects you."

Anne's gaze softened. "No. You are right, I do not mean it." She lowered her voice. "Heavens, I cannot live without him. But I cannot continue like this either. For him, it is inconvenient. He could have a son by now, a wife he loves...but for me, I am in limbo between everything and nothing. And I cannot live with this suspense any longer."

Catherine understood. She had felt similar in Kelmscott, her tiny country manor, such a long time ago.

"It is not for long now, Anne."

"I already thought so years ago." She rubbed the bridge of her nose with irritation.

"Ah, there is no use in talking of it. It will not make the old man hurry. I fear not even Death himself could, even if He urged him to make a decision with his scythe, Campeggio would still tarry. What about Brandon, Cat? Has he proved less of a disappointment than all other men these days?- Ah, I see not. Constancy is men's only value then."

"I still don't know what he wants." Catherine admitted. "Sometimes I feel like he might be interested- but then again, perhaps that is just his charms."

Anne hesitated a long moment. "Well, Henry said-" She stopped abruptly, turned to hide her face. "Have you seen my red embroidery silk? I am certain I left it here on the window seat."

"Nan? What did the king say? About Brandon?"

"Oh, I may not tell you, Cat. I'm sure he wouldn't-"

"I'm your friend, Anne. Tell me!"

"No, really", Anne insisted.

Cat should have said "It's quite alright, he is nothing to me anyway. Do you want to play a game of cards?" She should not have shown how much she cared. But she cared too much to hide her feelings.

"Anne, I beseech you!"

Reluctantly, Anne started to speak, her dark gaze fixed on Cat's face. "Well, well...because you are my closest friend. But don't tell anyone, you must swear it. Well, the king, he said that Brandon is mad in love with you. He only talks about you, has not been with another woman in years. No other lady can compare to you in his eyes."

Her words sunk in and suddenly. Cat felt the urge to giggle. An irresistible urge. The bubbly feeling in her stomach was almost too much to bear. "Oh, Anne-"

"Shht. Don't. I may not tell you! And now stop doubting yourself. Encourage him."

~o~

Charles

~o~

One evening, in the king's chamber, over a game of chess Charles was about to lose, Henry took up the white queen, lost in thoughts.

"Your Majesty?" Charles did not mind to end it here but it was not like Henry not to savour his triumph.

"Tell me, how fares Lady Catherine?"

He knew. Charles could see it from the way the king hid a grin. This was his triumph, not the figures on the board.

"Well, I imagine." He was constantly thinking about their little game, about that moment in the dusty niche, how close she had been, her smell. Henry had seen him during the game and apparently he had been far more attentive than he had seemed.

"So you think about her wellbeing a lot?" Henry laughed. "Oh, I am hurt, Charles. You should have told me right away. I did not know that you are capable of caring so deeply for someone who is not your sovereign." He grinned.

"Neither did I." Charles admitted.

"So is it truly that bad? You are utterly in love with little Catherine Stafford." Charles did not know what was so funny about that.

"She is not so little."

"Young and sweet and innocent. You might ruin her." Henry said with an earnest face, only to laugh again. "Oh, come Charles. have I not hinted at it several times? What do you think why I made her your ward? A girl, young, wealthy, and pretty, I was certain you'd have married her by winter. And now, years later, you are sitting here, hesitating like a maiden who is in love for the first time."

In a way, Charles was in love for the first time.

"You used to be a ladies' man, Charles. What happened to you?"

So Charles explained. Everything. Henry stayed silent throughout most of his monologue but when Charles mentioned Christmas, the king interrupted with a laugh: "She kissed you and you did nothing?"

Yes, he already knew how foolish that had been. He did not need a reminder.

"She has made a puppy out of a hunting dog." Henry grinned. "But does she know it?"

"She does not and she will never. Promise me that much, Your Majesty. She may never know."

"I will never tell her." Henry promised.

"Or the Lady Anne." Charles added.

"Or her."

But the smile that grazed the king's lips was an entirely different promise.

~o~

Henry enquired about her more often now. About their game and interactions.

Charles was still no step further. He was more in love than before though, unfortunately. He had hoped he could seduce her the usual way but half the time, he did not even know what exactly he was saying and the other half, he found himself so engrossed in their conversation that he forgot that he was supposed to flirt. She on the other hand was tempting and teasing him all the time, driving him half mad.

"This is only a game for her." He complained to his friend one evening. "She would never consider me. I am too low born, not accomplished enough for her."

"She kissed you." Henry pointed out but by now, Charles was certain that it had been the wine.

"She had too much wine that evening. She never tried to do it again. She treats me like a… like a friend. Like an uncle."

Henry looked at him. " "She never tried to do it again'? You cannot be serious, Charles. She is a lady. Oh, God, what happened to you? You are wailing like a washerwoman."

The king turned away, something was clearly bothering him.

"What is it?"

"Well, the Lady Anne said…"

Normally, Charles didn't give half a penny for what Lady Anne said, but now, he was all ears.

"What did she say? About Catherine?"

Henry looked uncomfortable. "You know that I shouldn't tell you, Charles. The two talked in secret, women's talk, you know-"

Charles should have pretended not to care that much anyway. Should have talked about tennis instead or the hunt. But his pride did not matter. Not when she was concerned.

"Your Majesty, please." He sounded like a beggar on Shrove Tuesday.

Henry looked at him for a long, tense moment. Then he sighed. "Because you are my oldest and closest friend. But if word ever reaches her...you know how women are. I promise you-"

"I won't say a word to anyone." He promised, eager to hear what the king had to say about her.

"Well-" Henry was clearly still uncomfortable. "Lady Anne said that Lady Catherine never stops talking about you. How she thinks you don't care about her. How much she risked by kissing you and you did nothing -Truly, Charles, that was foolish- How much she enjoys that little game of yours but fears she is only another one of your conquests."

Charles was amazed.

"She thinks she is just one of many?" How could she? "She is the only one for whom I have-"

Henry raised his hand. "Not again. You have been telling me that for hours now." He grinned. "Tell her."

Charles' heart sank. Had Lady Anne told the truth?

Henry interrupted his thoughts, thankfully: "Now, tennis, bowling or riding? We need to take your mind off of our sweet Catherine for a while."

~o~

Catherine

~o~

Weeks went by and stretched to months and the game did not cease to excite her. The whole court was aware of what was going on now but it did not matter. From time to time, she still flirted with other men in a courtly way as custom decreed and praised Sir Francis Bryan's passionate sonnets for her. Brandon had not been pleased: "If you want poems, Madam, you should play with a poet, not me."

Cat could not bear it if he was angry with her, so she found a way to propitiate the evening, for the dance, she chose a gown of light green satin, with sparkling amethysts sewn onto the bodice and dangling from her ears and neck.

In the great hall, she refused to dance until she finally found him, standing in a corner ill-humoured, a goblet in his hand and his eyes on the dancing.

She approached him quickly and was there before he could flee. His eyes dropped to the amethysts for a brief moment only.

"Never dare to come too close", she warned him.

He stared at her with confusion but then, suddenly, understanding brightened his features.

"My lady Thistle?" He smiled. "A fitting dress." Again, he looked at the amethysts that adorned the neckline.

"You should wear black and yellow stripes, Your Grace." She replied. He grinned. She had successfully lifted his spirits. "But then, what is the prickly thistle to the bee?"

Now, he laughed. "Yes, I really wanted to be reminded of that poem."

"You said if I want poems, I should play with a poet. I do."

"I am not sure Petrarch would agree." He said but took her hand without asking and lead her to a dimly lit corner of the dancefloor, a corner hidden from view by other couples.

"Pay attention, Your Grace, you never know where these thorns are hiding", she warned him.

"Isn't that what makes it so exciting? I think I'll risk it."

And he pulled her so close that she no longer felt as if she was the one seducing him.

"I have been wrong." He whispered into her ear. "Every man prefers the moon to the garish sun. After all, the night is my favourite time of the day."

Heat rose to her cheek and her heart fluttered. This man-

"I think scholars disagree whether the night is a part of the day or its opposite." She muttered, cursing herself for her idiocy. But he made her words a metaphor.

"Whether night and day are partners or opposites, I do not care. Opposites attract and partners…" He smiled. "You were in France, my lady, I need not tell you."

She stepped on his foot on purpose and he laughed.

"If you try to hurt me, my lady, believe me, there a hundred better ways. I barely felt the touch of your foot."

Catherine took a step backwards and Brandon stayed, his eyes on her as if the rest of the hall was empty.

"I will chase you, little wildcat." He said, his voice low, a smile still playing on his lips. Then, with one quick step, he closed the distance between them, stood in front of her so close that she had to tilt her head backwards to look him in the eye. But he did not touch her.

"You are an experienced hunter, I know." She smiled. "But have you ever chased a cat?"

He did not laugh. "Never."

"You might find it a difficult task."

"I do. Very difficult. But the best hunts always are." Now he grinned wolfishly. "You are intoxicating, Catherine."

She did not know what to say. Her breath was too quick, her heartbeat too fast. If he had kissed her now, she would not have resisted. Their game would be over then, though. He did not kiss her. Instead, he stared at her mouth for a long while, his eyes dark and deep. Then he smiled.

"I am enjoying this game far too much." He whispered into her ear, his right hand brushed against her neck, a single finger travelled to her collarbone and traced the silver chain of her necklace almost to her neckline. She did nothing to stop him. He stopped an inch above the fabric of her dress, his fingers trembled and she felt a slight stab of disappointment.

"But maybe you are, too?"

Brandon gave her no chance to reply, left the hall before she managed to think of something. Bastard. Cat thought but the smile remained on her lips even an hour later.

~o~

Cat was supposed to meet Brandon at the portal but she was about to get ready when she heard that Wiltshire and Rochford had arrived from France earlier. Only a minute later, a page asked her to go and see the Lady Anne in her rooms. Catherine knew she would be late then but Anne's fate depended on the King of France. She had to know what was going on. Certainly, Brandon was in talks with the king anyway.

She found Anne composed but optimistic, though doubts were still nagging her.

Francis has assured his beloved brother of his support and loyalty. Had said that the Pope was biased because of the Emperor and that Henry could always count on his brother France against the Spaniards. He had showered Anne's father and brother with gifts, had sent jewels and letters to Anne and Henry. In his letter to Anne, he revealed that he would support her and Henry's match, firstly because he found Katherine a threat to the Tudor line and Franco-English peace, secondly because he knew Anne was a friend of the French.

"But Anne, this is great news!" Cat exclaimed after reading the full letter.

"Is it? So, as long as France and Spain are in conflict, he supports Henry. But what if the Emperor decides that he would much rather be at peace with France?"

"Nan, he will not make peace with France. The upheaval in Flanders, Francis' involvement with the Ottomans, the sorry affair with Gascony. As long as Charles is trying to steal a whole County, Francis will not agree to have peace, not with Henry so strong at his side and depending on him."

Anne shook her head. "Yes. I am aware of that. Still, I like it not. We need more security."

"What do the German scholars say?"

"A new priest has come to court, a Thomas Cranmer who has studied on the continent. He is now my father's chaplain and I might make him mine, too. He says that most of the German princes support the king and his cause, as well as a potential breach with Rome."

"All will be well. Nothing will stand in the king's way and if someone does, he will just push the obstacle out of his way. You know how he is."

Anne smiled. "Yes. I know. I just wish it would all be sooner. It might still be months, a year, or two!"

"No. And even if: He has waited this long, he would wait for you until the last day, you know he would."

"Yes." Her smile intensified. "I know."

Cat arrived at the portal breathless and ten minutes too late but he was still there. His face lit up when he saw her and her heart fluttered. No, this was not an act.

"Forgive me." She said, smoothing out her skirts that were crinkled from running. Certainly her hair was a mess, too. She had swapped the hood for an outdoor hat and she feared that half her hair was already hanging out of the hairnet.

"Have you run all the way from your chambers?" He asked laughing and raised his hand, apparently to tuck a few strands back in but despite his experience with women, hairnets were apparently not his strong point and she felt her hair coming down.

"Oh." He held a hairpin in his fingers. "I think this one was quite important."

She had to laugh. "Yes, that one attached the net to the hat."

Slowly, he ran his fingers through her hair, smoothed it out over her back. She felt the urge to close her eyes and purr like a cat.

"It looks better this way anyway." He said and wrapped a curl around his finger.

Then he raised it to his lips, kissed it softly and let it fall.

"Shall we?"

She took his arm, her fingers lay on his sleeve but she tried to keep her touch soft.

"I can barely feel your hand." He said and closed his fingers around hers. He did not wear gloves, only a feathered beret and a cape of dark green velvet, fastened with an intricate golden brooch. The feeling of his skin on hers never failed to excite her.

They walked to the far end of the garden, talking about arts this time. They often agreed when it came to style but not today.

"The Italian style of oil painting is too bright for my taste. The Flemish school is far more realistic." Catherine said.

"Realistic, yes. And for portraits, I agree that perhaps the Flemish style is better suited. But for landscapes, the Italian school exceeds all others. I am fond of the French technique as well but there is nothing like the Italian. Strong colours and bold lines. They are not afraid to make the world brighter and better."

"I was not aware you were a reformer." She smiled.

"There are a few things you do not know about me." He had stopped walking. They were standing in a limetree's shadow.

"Will you share your secrets with me, Your Grace?"

"No." He grinned now. "You have to persuade me." He still held her hand in his.

Emboldened by his behaviour and hidden from prying eyes, her other hand found its way to the front of his doublet.

"You cannot change the rules in the middle of the game, Your Grace", she whispered.

"In the middle? And here I am hoping that I had already made it a bit further. Have I not managed to persuade you yet, little wildcat?" He did not smile. His eyes were dark again, despite the bright sun.

Did she want this to end? No. But the tension between them was almost unbearable and he took up so much of her time and thoughts that it was perhaps about time to give in and see what happened afterwards.

Cat was about to say yes when behind Brandon, only twenty yards away, Anne appeared, apparently furious. She still wore the gown she had worn in the morning, her hood was tilted and loose strands of hair were hanging out. Something had happened.

Brandon had noticed that she was distracted and turned around. He groaned in dispapointment when he saw Anne.

"You don't have to go", he murmured and she could feel his breath against her lips, so close was he. He smelled of mint and rosemary.

"Of course I do." She pulled away from him, smiling apologetically. She was disappointed...but also delighted to draw out the game even more. The longer it took, the better.

He let her go without complaint and somehow she felt that he thought the same.

"We will go riding tomorrow." He said when she was already several steps away. "I hope your horse is fast."

She turned around, took her time to reply, allowed him to take in her in her dishevelled state.

"I hope it is not fast enough." She said then, relished his surprise and then hurried over to Anne. On her way, she risked a look over her shoulder. He still stood where she had left him, his arms limp at his sides, his gaze fixed on her. She could feel it burning in her back all the way to the castle.

~o~

Anne was shaking with anger, her face was stonestill in her fury. "Nothing!" She exclaimed once they had reached the secludedness of her chambers. "The old man has done nothing. Wolsey has fed him and charmed him, but it was not good enough. Clement will not grant Henry the annulment. Instead, he has offered to grant a dispensation for a marriage between that pale little girl, Mary, and the King's natural son. He would grant a dispensation for a marriage between half siblings but he will not grant Henry the annulment that is his right and duty according to Leviticus. Who is the Pope, to make amendments to the holy book itself?"

The successor of St. Peter on earth and by the laws of the holy book in no position to wield as much power as he did.

Catherine knew that Anne would need to vent her anger. She was too much like her royal lover in that respect. And Henry's and Anne's wrath combined would hit the supposed culprit hard. Wolsey was not Cat's friend and she had still not forgiven him for his role in her family's downfall. But she had been taught forgiveness by her mother, whenever Mary had been mischievous or Margaret had angered her: "An eye for an eye will turn the whole world blind, Catie. True forgiveness will lighten your own heart, you will see." Catherine was not ready to truly forgive him, no matter how light it would make her heart. No, Wolsey had to pay. Forgive me, mother. But she did not want the man's blood on her hands. He had lost all his influence at court, was reduced to a beggar in red robes. If she could decide, he would be sent to York, to his diocese, to live a godly life. The life he had never led before.

But for Anne, disgrace was only the first step on the ladder of revenge. And unfortunately, many at court agreed, amongst them Norfolk and Brandon. Brandon who had every reason to thank the Cardinal, who had once interceded on his behalf, now turned against the old man for his haughtiness and pride and some harsh words that had fallen between them like blows.

Their little game seemed to have ended without a winner because the Duke barely left the king's rooms these days. Anne was there, too, and once or twice, the king invited Cat as well, as she was Buckingham's only independent heir. He seemed to have conveniently forgotten his own part in her father's execution but Cat knew better than to remind him. If the king wanted to blame Wolsey for all his crimes, fair enough. A scapegoat was desperately needed to explain why the Pope would not grant Henry's wish and Wolsey was important and unpopular enough to be an exceptional scapegoat.

Catherine remained quiet while Anne asked for an execution heatedly, while the great dukes joined her. Perhaps this was all Wolsey had done back then as well. Stayed quiet and accepted her father's fate. Still, would she then not be as guilty as the others?

"Your Majesty." She spoke up finally, uncomfortable with her position at this political table where she was surrounded by friends and enemies who were all bound to disagree with her. The king was still hesitant though, he did not truly want to end his old friend's life. He looked to Cat with a childish hope. "Yes, Lady Catherine?"

"His Eminency has certainly erred and is no doubt responsible for the outcome of the annulment negotiations. And yet, he has done much for Your Majesty ...and for others." She looked at Brandon directly and he had the decency to shrink under her gaze. "Yes, his time at court is certainly over after his failure. But I think you would be well-advised to be merciful. He has been loyal to you for decades and has supported you from early on, Your Majesty. Does an old servant not deserve some mercy, some forgiveness?"

Henry looked at her for a long moment. Anne did, too, and Brandon. Thomas More nodded, smiling. Old Norfolk looked as if he had just bitten into a Spanish lemon. Wiltshire and Rochford, Anne's family, stared at her with acid on their gazes.

But then the king nodded. "Yes. Thomas here thinks the same." He patted Sir Thomas's sleeve. "You are right. He is a friend that has failed me, but still a friend. He will withdraw to York, sweetheart." He tried to appease Anne now. "He will no longer be Archbishop of Canterbury. He can stay a Cardinal for all I care. He will no longer be welcome at court, I promise. But he deserves mercy, he is a man of God after all."

Indeed, the man was so godly that he has fathered two children on his housekeeper. But Cat let it slip. Henry needed an excuse to spare him. Anne was so powerful that even the king found excuses to appease her. She had truly risen high.

"Well, do as you will, Your Majesty." Anne said, her speech clipped, then she rose from her chair without another word to Catherine. Her family followed on her heel but Cat did not. She wandered the corridors alone. In the queen's chambers, she was on sufferance but not welcome. And she doubted very much that Anne would welcome her right now. And yet, she was content. Perhaps she had just saved the man that had condemned her father. Certainly, she had saved the man that had done nothing to save her father. But it felt right. If Wolsey did not deserve the king's mercy, no one did. Anne would do well to remember that in her fiery hatred.

"That was brave." Brandon stood in her way and she knew that this was not part of the game.

"It was right." She replied, tried to walk past him but he did not let her.

"You think me a spineless opportunist."

"No."

"An ungrateful opportunist then." He smiled but it had nothing of his charm and much of bitterness.

"Ungrateful perhaps. Not an opportunist. As far as I know, you have never been Wolsey's friend-"

"Though I had every reason to be grateful, you think. Yes, he convinced the king to spare me back then. And I paid him back, believe me. I do not like being in his debt. Why do you think did the king write to the Pope on Wolsey's behalf to make him a Cardinal? Who do you think funded that great feast of cloth of gold and painted canvas? I paid him back. I did." Now he gritted his teeth. "That butcher priest does not deserve it, certainly, for he did not help me out of benevolence or Christian charity. He helped me not at all, in truth, only Mary Tudor, Dowager Queen of France and Princess of England. Now, there was someone he could use. And that soldier that she had decided to marry could be tolerated, he found. It was unfortunate, she would have made a good pawn on his chess board, but no doubt he hoped I would die early and heroically in one of his many wars. I disappointed him, not only in that respect. But I do not owe him anything anymore. So do not look at me like that, do not condemn me, judge me-"

"But I don't." She replied. "I think it would be wiser if Wolsey was spared. I think an old friend deserves some leniency. My words had nothing to do with you. I do not judge you." Cat swallowed. "I think it is your own bad conscience judging you."

Again, the duke's fists clenched in anger. "I do not-" He started.

"You are trying to justify your actions but I do not judge you. Everything you said is the truth, I am certain. Wolsey was never known as a charitable man and everything he did, he did for either the king or for himself. You do not owe him anything. But why do you want to have his blood on your hands so desperately? Are you scared of him? Does his death help you in some way? Or is it pure hatred that lights the way for you?"

For a moment, a brief moment, she thought he might slap her. Of course he didn't.

"All of that, Catherine." he said. Then he laughed cruelly. "You should give the same bitter medicine to your friend. God, the truth is a bitter draught. Yes. I hate him because I feel like I still owe him, despite everything. Are you satisfied now?"

"No."

"No." He rubbed his eyes. "Of course not."

"Of course not." He repeated. " Perhaps you are far wiser than all of us. Or perhaps far more foolish. Wolsey was the one who orchestrated your father's death and your family's downfall, you certainly know. He did not want you back at court, yes, Wolsey would still have you rotting in Oxfordshire. He never did you any good, and still, you play archangel and try to save him."

She felt as if he had punched her in the stomach. "He has no reason to hate me-" she started but Brandon shook his head.
"No reason, no? You are the descendent of Edward III and God knows how many other kings. Your father had to die because of that. You were not supposed to remind everyone that there are still others with royal blood in their veins."

"Why do you tell me that?"

"Because I am angry." He admitted. "Because your forgiveness and mercy makes me feel like a villain. And because you deserve to know all this before you intercede on his behalf."

Catherine had to think about his words carefully. Yes, deep down, she had always known that Wolsey was not innocent, that he loathed her and her family- but that still meant nothing.

"I am not a murderer." She replied. "I am not God, so I cannot say he deserves death. I do not forgive him for his crimes. But his death would not please me."

Brandon snorted. "God knows, it would please me. Your father died well, bravely and with dignity."

"I know."

"Do you not think Wolsey should kneel on the same scaffold?"

"And what about you? Did you do anything to save my father? And Norfolk. And the king. Shall I want you all dead now? I don't. My father did not deserve to die. But he was foolish enough not to see the threat. He was foolish enough to be a blustering oaf and too proud. I mourn him but I understand the king's decision. I even understand you. Why do you want me to hate Wolsey?"

He did not reply to that for a long moment.

"Perhaps because that would be vindication for me."

Suddenly, his angry gaze softened. "Forgive me. I assaulted you because I am desperate for your acceptance. I should not have said any of this." He smiled. "It is true, sometimes I don't really think."

"I understand your position." She assured him. "Mine is just different."

He nodded, slowly. "It is...and for now, it seems you have convinced the king. But the Lady Anne will not give up, Norfolk will never give up. And constant dripping will wear away the stone."

That was true. Anne would not give up… and surely, at the moment, Cat was not really in her good books. Their friendship would overcome this blow, certainly. But Anne perceived Wolsey as her archenemy...and Cat was sure it would take her a long time to forgive and an even longer time to forget. The Boleyns never forgot a slight. But then again, now, Anne needed a friend even more than ever before. Rome had failed her and her dreams and plans were thwarted. Although she was certainly not happy with Cat's intercession on the Cardinal's behalf, she would perhaps have to overlook it. Tomorrow, Cat would visit her in her grand empty chambers. Cat had no hard feelings. She knew that Anne was neither forgiving nor merciful when it came to her enemies. And Cat understood better than anyone else on the face of the earth why Anne hated Wolsey so much. He had buried her first love and the Cardinal's remark still stung. Wolsey had no reason to be relieved. Anne would dig his grave and all the great lords of the kingdom would happily assist her. Wolsey had only one staunch friend in the whole of England, and friends with crowns were often fickle. Thomas More would try to help him out of piety and benevolence but even he had criticised the Cardinal that lived such a worldly life.

Wolsey's time was up.


Thank you to everyone who took the time to leave a comment! They never cease to make me smile.

Replies to reviews:

xenocanaan: Thank you so much for your continuous feedback!

princess07890: Yes! Just that! An explosion. Anger wouldn't be super fun to write anyway, and a bit unanticipated in a love story. I'm all for a passionate explosion ;) Thank you for your comment!

Guest1: Yes, I like writing Anne as a friend, too, she is often only considered Henry's mistress but there is just so much more to her. She wrote this super touching dedication in her prayer book for lady Margaret Lee. "Remember me when you do pray, that hope doth lead from day to day." I find that so touching! And I agree, it would be very sad.

Unique16: Thank you!

Lady-Finwe: Oh, it will get very juicy indeed!

guest2: And here it comes ;)