The tudors

by Corriefan1010101

What if Katherine's seventh pregnancy was successful instead of ending in tragedy? How would history change if Henry had a living, legitimate son by Katherine of Aragon when he met Anne Boleyn?

What if Katherine's seventh pregnancy was successful instead of ending in tragedy? How would history change if Henry had a living, legitimate son by Katherine of Aragon when he met Anne Boleyn?

I was never quite happy with how the first chapter turned out for this story, and as I've grown as a writer with my other stories, I felt like I should do this story justice by revisiting it and rewriting it. As this one catches up with the other story, I will eventually be deleting it. If you liked the original, I hope you'll be with me during my journey to make it even better. Thank you all for your kind words of encouragement. Please drop me a line and let me know how much you like it. I love hearing from you, even if it's just you adding my story to your favorites list. It gives me happy feels.

Also, don't try and tell me that I don't know my history because I've changed certain events. This is FICTION, people. I'm aware of what happened in reality but I've changed it to suit my story line.

Was she going mad? Katherine wondered, even as she cast pleading eyes towards the statue of the Virgin Mary within the confines of her private chapel. The quiet click of her rosary beads moving through her fingers anchored her in the present even as she pondered the future. So many times, she'd prostrated herself before the images of both the Virgin and Christ in hopes of them hearing her desperate prayers for a living son. Was it possible that they had answered her at last?

Unwinding a hand from her beads, she gently placed it on the stomacher of her gown. Her courses were due almost three months ago, filling her with a sense of hope she hadn't felt in sometime. She knew her ladies had been whispering to themselves about the fact that she was getting older and that perhaps her childbearing years were leaving her. Katherine couldn't bear the thought, eyes closing in silent pain. Henry hadn't been faithful since the early years of their marriage, his attention straying with every miscarriage. Some dark part of her mind whispered that if she could no longer bear his children it would only get worse.

She'd been surprised when he'd shown up in her chambers those few months ago, so drunk he was almost tripping over his own two feet. Long since used to such things, she'd endured his amorous attentions with little difficulty. When he'd finally rolled off of her and fell asleep, one of her ladies crept in and helped her change into a fresh gown. She'd stayed awake for hours that night, one hand resting on her belly, silently praying for a miracle.

Please, she silently begged of the Virgin, please let me not fail again. Give me a son to fill my empty womb.

The young woman silently sneaked through London's back alleys, glancing neither left nor right as she hurried along. Her cloak was drawn up over her head, obscuring her identity. Upon reaching her destination, she knocked quickly, glancing around to make sure she hadn't been followed. A sudden gush of warm air indicated the door had opened, and she entered quickly.

"What can I do for you, dearie?" A matronly woman stood before her, hands resting on her wide hips. "Need to take care of a little... problem?"

Startled, the woman in the cloak glanced up, her hood dropping from her head. "No, you don't-"

Noting the rich dress of the woman before her, the midwife shrugged. "Hardly the first time I've had to help one of you court ladies. Come on, this won't take long."

"I'm sorry, lady, but truly, you misunderstand. I'm here on behalf of my mistress," the young woman elaborated, hastily pulling a sealed parchment from the hidden pocket of her gown. "I've also a purse for you, if you agree to help or to buy your silence if need be."

Shocked into silence, the midwife simply stared at the young woman for a few moments. "Alright... what is it exactly your mistress wishes of me?"

"She wishes to be examined by you, to confirm if her suspicions are correct. Three days hence, she will be brought here to be examined by you, should you consent," the maid replied, fetching the small purse from the pocket of her gown. "This is half of your payment, you will receive another one should you consent."

The subtle clink of coins was not lost on the other woman, who held out her hand expectantly. When it was passed over, she promptly opened it, only to gape in surprise at the gold gleaming within. "Do you consent?" the other woman asked, causing the midwife to look up from the purse.

"Aye, I consent," the midwife agreed, closing the purse and tucking it in her own pocket. If there was more where that came from, she'd be stupid to turn it down. "Three days?"

"Three days," the maid agreed, and with the barest curtsy, drew her hood back over her head and scurried out.

Three days later, the midwife half-expected that the young woman who'd turned up at her door would not show up again. She'd gone about her business as usual, tending to expectant mothers and assisting with the birth of a couple different children. Closing her curtains, she sighed wearily only to jump in surprise when a sudden knock came at her door. Hesitantly, she went over to her door, opening it only a crack until she noticed the fine cloak that the woman who'd visited her days ago. "Come in, come in," she beckoned, opening the door wider. This time, two people came in, both swathed in fine material from head to toe, obscuring their identities.

The same woman who'd visited her before was the first to lower her hood. "Are we alone?" she questioned the midwife, even as she went to the windows and made sure the curtains were closed completely.

"Yes, of course, dear. It's not like we're expecting the Que-," she started before gasping with astonishment as none other than Queen Katherine was revealed to be the other woman under the cloak. "Your Majesty! Forgive me, my lady, I meant no offense!" the midwife begged, curtsying low before her.

"You may rise," Katherine replied, motioning with a wave of her hand. "You didn't know for a reason. The King can never know I was ever here, do you understand?"

"Yes, Majesty," the midwife agreed, rising from her curtsy at the Queen's gesture. She still couldn't believe it. Queen Katherine, here, in her home! "I'm sorry, my lady, but I don't understand...," she began, before trailing off.

"You have consented to see me, and I find myself in need of your unique brand of services. I find that I trust other women in these matters than the royal physicians.

Are you still willing to help me, now that you know who I am?" Katherine questioned, staring coolly at the woman before her. Maude had told her three days ago that the woman had consented, but now she couldn't help but wonder if the woman was going to change her mind now that she knew the identity of her client.

"Of course, my lady! It would be my honor to help you in whatever way I can," the midwife agreed without hesitation. She would never be able to tell a soul the truth but she would know that once upon a time, she'd been of service to the queen. "How may I be of service, Majesty?"

"My courses have been long past due for sometime," Katherine began, glancing over at where Maude stood like a sentry near the door. Her lady in waiting gave her an encouraging smile when she felt Katherine's gaze. Returning the look with a small smile of her own, she turned her attention back to the midwife. "I need to know...if either my childbearing years are at an end or...," here she paused, hand moving to caress her stomach,"if I'm with child."

A few weeks later, having confirmed the news with Dr. Lincare and buying the man's silence until she herself told the king, she sent one of her ladies with a note inviting the king to dine with her privately. She'd instructed the young woman to do whatever it took to get Henry to agree, telling her to hint that the queen had news for the king. Liveried servants came and went, setting up a small feast before the young woman returned with Henry's consent.

"His Majesty, the king," the herald announced as Henry was shown into her chambers. He looked vaguely annoyed, though whether at her or the happenings at court she couldn't tell.

Rising, Katherine curtsied in answer to his bow. "Henry," she greeted, smiling warmly as he grasped her hand and placed a dry kiss on her knuckles.

"Katherine," he greeted in turn, leading her to her seat and waiting for her before he sat down himself. Her ladies moved around them with a practiced ease, pouring them both wine before leaving them to their own devices. The lady who poured Katherine's wine made sure to water it down, which didn't escape his notice. His eyes narrowed thoughtfully even as he helped himself to the various sweetmeats and cheeses laid before them. "I was disappointed that you weren't at court today."

"I'm sorry Henry, but I wasn't feeling well earlier," Katherine replied contritely, swirling her watered wine briefly before rising it to her lips and taking a small sip. "The malady seems to have passed... for now."

"It's nothing serious I hope? Have you spoken to Dr. Lincare?" Henry questioned, slightly alarmed, as always, at the thought of illness. Since his brother had died, the thought of sickening and dying was a terrifying one. Especially now, that he was the king, and his only heir was his daughter. He couldn't -wouldn't!- let the Tudor dynasty die. Leaving the kingdom in the hands of a woman would destroy not only the Tudor line but also plunge the entire continent into civil war again.

"Yes, I have and no, it's nothing serious. In fact, the news was most welcome," she replied, helping herself to a particularly rare piece of meat. She normally didn't care for it being too rare, but now she felt the craving particularly keenly. Katherine cast her eyes demurely to her plate, glancing only briefly at Henry with a secret smile on her face.

Gaping like a landed carp, he simply stared at his wife for long moments. Was it possible? He'd almost given up hope of ever having another child with Katherine, especially once Lady Blount had given birth to little Henry Fitzroy. He'd begun studying scripture for an answer and the only thing that made sense was that he was being punished for marrying his brother's wife. Pope Julius II had granted them a dispensation allowing them to marry, but now... now he questioned whether god was refusing to give him a legitimate, living son to show his disfavor. "You are certain?" he finally ventured, a vague hope blossoming in his chest.

"As certain as anyone can be, at least until the child quickens," she agreed, a genuine smile lighting up her features. Katherine herself was almost certain, regardless of the fact that she hadn't felt the child move yet. Her breasts had been growing sore as of late and she'd begun throwing up more often than not in the mornings at the sight or smell of certain foods. What other reason for her symptoms than that of pregnancy?

Whooping in joy, Henry pushed away from the table and hurried over to her side, dropping to his knees before her. Hand shaking, he reached for her stomach only to hesitate briefly, raising his gaze to meet hers. With a gentle smile, she brought his hand to rest against her stomach, holding his hand against her. They remained that way for several moments, until suddenly, she felt the faintest flutter in her stomach. Henry's gaze turned wondering, lowering to where his hand was pressed against his wife's body. "My son...," he whispered, moving his hand gently as another flutter was felt.

Many months later, Henry had been awoken by his squire informing him the queen had gone into labor overnight. Now, he was currently pacing his presence chamber reminiscent of the lions that graced the Tudor coat of arms. Prayers fell from his lips, though he couldn't say anymore what exactly he was praying for. A living son, his wife surviving, they all seemed to run together in a jumbled mass. He was sure he looked like a crazy person, pacing around and seemingly talking to himself.

After what seemed a small eternity, the sound of the door opening caused him to stop mid-pace and whirl around to face a frightened looking groom. "Yes? What is it? What news of the queen?" he barked, firing the questions rapidly before the boy could even speak. He stalked forward, causing the groom to back up a step as the king approached. "Speak, boy!"

"Your Majesty, Her Majesty is delivered of a son," the boy began, jumping back about a foot at the king's joyous shout,"as well as a daughter."

Not hesitating for a moment, he rushed past the frightened groom, breaking into a run as he reached the hallway. He quickly managed to traverse the castle, only barely hearing Charles Brandon congratulating him just outside his doors. He made it to Katherine's chambers in record time, breathing heavily from his exertion. Several of the queen's ladies looked almost scandalized at seeing the king in such a disheveled state, but he ignored them all. As Dr. Lincare exited Katherine's bed chambers, Henry hurried to the man's side. "How fares the queen and my son?" he asked, not expecting an answer even as he made his way into his wife's chamber.

Katherine looked pale as cheese, her beautiful red hair darkened with sweat. A vaguely sour smell emanated from the chambers, but he was too distracted to care. Two of her ladies each held a bundle that was wiggling, but otherwise silent. "Katherine, sweetheart,"he began, going down on his knees beside her bed. "You've made me so proud, my love!"

Cloudy blue eyes fluttered open, and her head turned weakly on her pillow towards Henry's voice. "Henry...," she whispered, lifting one hand slightly towards him before it fell back to the bed.

Grasping her hand between his, he kissed her hand as he'd done months ago. "My dearest love," he whispered, closing his eyes and resting his forehead against their clasped hands. When her breathing suddenly grew ragged, his eyes popped open, instantly looking towards her face. "Doctor!" he shouted, noting that she was turning paler by the second.

Lincare rushed in, his assistants following. "Your Majesty, I'm sorry, but I must ask you to leave," he instructed, rushing to Katherine's side.

Rising, Henry followed the two ladies carrying the children, both of which were silently weeping. Falling to his knees just outside the door, he turned his eyes up towards heaven. "Please, God, don't take her from me! Please!" he begged, openly weeping.

Moments later, Lincare exited the chamber, looking at Henry sadly. "I'm so sorry, your Majesty, we tried everything we could..."

The newborn babies, which had been silent in the arms of their mother's ladies in waiting, suddenly began to wail loudly as though they sensed the loss of their mother. Curling into a fetal position on the floor, Henry continued to weep, mourning the loss of the wife that had finally given him a living son.

When the bells tolled throughout London, announcing the birth of both a prince and princess, it seemed as if the whole kingdom were celebrating. No one could possibly have expected the devastating news that would soon follow. The death of Katherine of Aragon plunged everyone who had been celebrating just moments before into mourning. People were weeping openly in the streets, and almost every merchant had closed up shop. The king himself had holed up in his private chapel, refusing to be moved from Katherine's body as it lay in state.

Sir Thomas More hesitated just inside the chapel doors, his heart breaking in his chest for his former pupil. He'd felt the same almost devastating pain when his first wife had passed so he could relate to Harry in a way. This couldn't go on forever, though. Katherine was to be interred today and on the morrow, the two babes she'd died giving birth to would be christened. Steeling himself, he approached the pew where the king knelt and knelt beside him. Crossing himself, he lowered his head and began to pray. Sensing the gaze of the other man, he finished his prayers before meeting the king's red-rimmed gaze. "She is to be buried today," Henry's voice was hoarse from crying and misuse. He'd hardly spoken a word to anyone, preferring instead to sit in silent vigil while his wife's body lay in state.

"Yes, Sire. The funeral procession is supposed to start in a little over an hour," Thomas agreed, eyes moving almost unconsciously to the queen's body. She was dressed in her finest gown, a rosary wrapped around her hands. A faint smile was on her face, and if he didn't know better, he'd swear the woman to be only sleeping. "The prince and princess are to be christened tomorrow."

Lapsing into silence at the mention of his children, the king seemed to withdraw into himself. Finally, he nodded in acknowledgement. "I know," he agreed passively, drawing in a shuddering breath. "Do you think this is my punishment, Thomas? I believed that He was punishing me by not giving me a living son. Now, I have my son, but He saw fit to take his mother from me."

More, usually the one with all the answers to Henry's questions, now found himself at a loss. "I do not believe that He is punishing you, Harry. These things simply... happen sometimes. I'm sure her Majesty knew that there was always a possibility that she might die giving birth to a child," he finally answered carefully, gauging the king's reaction carefully. "She would want you to see them."

He didn't think it was possible but Henry looked as though Thomas had just punched him in the stomach. "I can't do it, Thomas," he choked out, pressing a hand over his mouth. "The thought of gazing upon them... I love my children, but what kind of father does it make me?" he asked with a heart-wrenching sob. "If that makes me a terrible father, so be it."

"Harry...," More began, only to be taken aback by Henry all but collapsing against him, sobbing quietly. He hadn't seen his king cry like this since his father had died and the reality of becoming England's next king had sunk in. In between sobs, the king kept repeating over and over, "Don't make me, please don't make me." Unable to come up with anything to try and make Henry feel better, Thomas simply held the man in a comforting embrace.

Court life moved on as it always did, full of drama and intrigue. Prior to Katherine's demise, and much to her dislike, Cardinal Wolsey had been gently pushing for an alliance with France. Katherine had hated the very idea of her daughter being betrothed to the French dauphin and had never hesitated to make her feelings known on the matter. Now, especially with the murder of one of Henry's envoys in France, was the time to act. The young monarch had been snapped out of his depression by this news, growing increasingly furious as he pushed for war.

War was never popular with the subjects, as it meant higher taxes. Higher taxes meant meant unhappy subjects which could lead to rebellion, the very last thing that the fledgling Tudor monarchy needed. Having requested and been granted a private audience with the king, both the cardinal and Thomas More were shown into Henry's presence. "How fare the preparations?" Henry demanded the moment the door shut behind the two men.

"Very well. Both your army and fleet are assembling. Stores and provisions are being laid in. You could go to war in a matter of weeks," Wolsey replied, clasping his hands before him.

"Excellent," Henry praised, the idea of of war and winning a glorious battle lightening his mood greatly. "I knew I could depend on you."

With a small smile, Wolsey inclined his head gratefully. "I am grateful to your Majesty."

The sudden silence from the two men made the king look between them, frowning. "What is it?"

"Your Majesty, wars are expensive. To pay for them, you have to raise taxes. That's not always popular," Wolsey pointed out, careful of his words and delivery. He'd been dealing with the king since the man had been crowned and he was more than aware of how to deal with his sovereign by now.

"What if your Majesty could gain power and prestige by other means? Peaceful means?"

"What? No battles, no glory?" Henry asked, quickly rising from his seat, clearly not wanting to give up the idea of going to war.

Both men could tell Henry was getting wound up, but they had come prepared for this. "I think your Majesty should hear him out,"Thomas told him, raising his hands slightly in a placating gesture.

Clearly not happy with the idea, Henry nodded and returned to his seat, gesturing for Wolsey to continue impatiently.

"In the past few weeks, I have conducted, on Your Majesty's behalf an intense round of diplomatic talks. Not just with the French ambassador but also with representatives of the Emperor,"Wolsey explained, drawing out his explanation with an air of indifference.

Drumming his fingers on the arm of his chair, Henry stared the man down. "What for?"

"To make a treaty,"the cardinal elaborated, a secretive smile crossing his face. Let them think he was smiling at the thought of the treaty, he reasoned privately, his gaze on the king.

Looking between them, Henry almost laughed at the absurdity of the two of them teaming up to spring this on him. More and Wolsey hardly ever got along, and now here they were presenting him with the idea of a treaty instead of war. "What kind of treaty?" he asked grudgingly, his dreams of war and glory shrinking away.

"A treaty of universal and perpetual peace," the cardinal replied, clearly pleased with himself.

They'd definitely been planning on this, Henry mused, stroking his chin thoughtfully. He wanted to be remembered as a great king, and war would only make for unhappy subjects that wouldn't consider him thus. Plus, and here his heart felt like it was being squeezed painfully in his chest, his son was still a babe. He couldn't very well go off to war with an infant for an heir. "How is to be effected?"

"In several stages. In the first place, there would be a summit meeting between the kings of France and England. At the summit, Your Majesty's eldest daughter would be betrothed to the French dauphin," Wolsey elaborated, choosing his words carefully. Henry didn't like being reminded of his younger children, still too focused on the loss of his wife. Personally, the cardinal thought it was high time that the king remarry and produce a Duke of York, but alas it did not seem as though the king had any inclination to marry anytime soon. "At the end of the summit, you would both sign the treaty."

"The treaty is entirely new in the history of Europe, committing all its signatories to the principles of collective security and universal peace."

The idea had merit, even Henry could agree to that. "How would it be enforced?"

"If any of the signatory countries suffer aggression all the others would immediately demand that the aggressor withdraws. If he refuses, within one month the rest would declare against him and continue until peace is restored," More explained, jumping in before Wolsey could speak again. "The treaty also envisages the creation of pan-European institutions"

After a few moments of silent consideration, Henry finally nodded. "In some ways, I like it. I recognize it - so do you, Thomas," he directed, looking towards his former tutor.

"Indeed," More agreed with a nod and a proud smile.

"It's the application of humanist principles to international affairs. Your eminence is to be congratulated," Henry praised, turning his attention to Wolsey, who bowed his head in acknowledgement.

"I do not seek praise," the cardinal demurred, clasping his hands before him. "Your Majesty would be known as the architect of a new and modern world, and that would be reward enough."

Rising, Henry strode forward, clasping a hand on each man's shoulder. "Always be assured of our love," he told them both. "Goodnight, gentlemen."

Alone in his bedchamber, Henry stared at the velvet canopy above him, lost in thought. If Katherine had survived the child bed, he knew she'd be furious with him for even entertaining the thought of marrying their daughter to a French prince. It had been near half a year since she'd passed and he knew Wolsey was getting more and more annoyed that Henry had not chosen another woman to become his wife and queen. Should he remarry? Yes, he supposed, he should. Did he want to, with Katherine's loss so fresh in his mind? No.

Few knew that he hadn't even been able to bear the thought of seeing his son and second daughter, even now, months after Katherine's passing. He'd brought Mary to court so she could observe and learn how to behave at court and he'd told More that was all he could bear to do. It was hard enough looking at Mary and hearing her practicing Spanish with her ladies, or watching her at prayer. Every time he laid eyes on her, he could only imagine his Katherine at her age and the ache began again.

He'd remained the dutiful father as always, making sure to spend a few hours or even a few minutes with her everyday. Mary clearly enjoyed her father's attention but he knew as well as she that he was a poor replacement for the mother she'd adored with all her heart. They would set sail for Calais in little over two week's time, where he would both present Mary to the dauphin and sign the treaty.

Perhaps when they returned, he would take Mary and go see his other children. The debauchery the French court was known for would surely take his mind off Katherine and maybe then he'd be able to put her loss behind him.

Henry had never been so furious in his life. First, that irritating frog that called himself the King of France had beaten him before both their courts at wrestling and now, the same had the NERVE -nay, the AUDACITY- to break the treaty they'd signed at the Field of the Cloth of Gold. Disgusted with the French, he threw the missive into the fireplace, watching with a bizarre sense of satisfaction as it blackened and curled. The only good thing that had come out of the debacle was his dalliance with Mary Boleyn.

The fact that Francis had been the one to point the girl out irked him greatly but the girl had been nice enough to look at and certainly skilled between the sheets. Part of him wondered briefly if maybe the treaty falling apart was Katherine's doing. She'd been gone almost five years now and he'd known all to well how badly she loathed the French. Maybe this was her way of showing her disapproval for the idea from Heaven?

Now, More was in the process of negotiating a possible treaty with the Emperor. The court was rapidly beginning to make preparations for his eminent arrival, with Master Cornish planning a masque for entertainment. The whole thing made his head hurt, anger pulsing through him again at the thought of how Francis had made a fool of him in front of both their courts. "Your Majesty, the Duchess of Suffolk," he heard his groom announce, causing him to turn and smile brilliantly at his sister.

"Brother," Mary greeted with a curtsy, smiling winningly at him.

"Sister," he replied in turn, stepping forward and embracing her fondly. "How do you fare? And my nephew, is he well?"

"I'm well, as is your nephew. He's already wanting to come to court to see his favorite uncle, as he calls you," she replied, her voice growing fond as she spoke of her son. "We keep reminding him that you are his only uncle, so he keeps telling me that means you are his favorite."

The siblings shared a chuckle at that, before lapsing into comfortable silence. Gallantly, Henry offered her a seat before sitting across from her. "So, to what do I owe the honor of my lovely sister's presence?"

"Master Cornish requested that I take place in the masque, so here I am. Besides, do I need a reason to come see my brother?" She inquired innocently, deliberately fiddling with an errant thread on the sleeve of her gown.

Henry eyed her curiously, knowing all to well the tone she'd just used. She wanted something, something that would likely upset him. Sighing, he scratched at his chin a moment before speaking. "What is it, Mary?"

"Well, you asked after my son, so what of yours? How fare my nieces and nephew?" She asked, meeting his gaze directly for the first time since entering the room. When he didn't respond, she shook her head in disgust. "You can't mean to tell me that you still have not been to see them?"

"I've been busy," he replied sullenly, avoiding her gaze. In truth, though Katherine had been gone for years now and he'd taken many women to his bed in the mean time, the thought of seeing the children she'd died to bring into this world still stung. The thought didn't hurt near as much as his sister's hand suddenly reaching out and striking him across the face. Jaw flexing, Henry rose to his feet and stared his sister down. "How dare you?!"

"How dare I?!," She ground out, standing her ground even though he could easily order her arrest for striking him. Her outrage on the children's behalf outweighed her fear of him. "How dare YOU, brother! You dare to dishonor Katherine's memory by refusing to set eyes on your own children? The children she bore in order to give you the heir you sought so desperately?"

Shame flooded him as his anger receded. The flush of red that had darkened his face in anger slowly drained, leaving him mostly pale with only the outline of her hand still red on his face. "I've tried, sister. I've even started out on the road to Hatfield with only my guard but I've always turned around halfway there."

"So try harder! Children need a father. They need you, Harry."

"Uncle," Anne Boleyn greeted, curtsying at her uncle Norfolk and her father. Her heart beat rapidly beneath her chest, and nerves threatened to choke her but outwardly she showed no signs of her distress. "Papa."

"Anne," Norfolk replied, eying his niece before looking towards his brother in law.

"Sweet Anne," Thomas greeted, linking his arm through his daughter's. "You know why you're here?"

"No, Papa. In Paris, no one explained," she murmured, glancing back at her uncle who fell behind them before turning her attention back to her father.

"Good, it's better that way," her father replied, patting her hand gently.

"What's happened?" She questioned, worry for her sibling's flooding through her. Had something happened to Mary or George?

"The alliance between England and France has fell through," he replied, suddenly halting and meeting her gaze directly. "It seems that the king has tired of your sister. He no longer invites her to his bed."

That was all? The king discarded women like there was no tomorrow, everyone knew that. "Poor Mary," she muttered instead of revealing her true feelings on the matter.

"Poor us. When she was his mistress, our fortunes were made. Now, most likely they will fail," he pointed out, "unless..."

Anne suddenly realized what her father was implying, and she felt like gaping at him in shock. He couldn't possibly be serious! She'd never wanted to become the mistress of a king, unlike Mary. She'd had a liaison or two of her own in France, but nothing that would shame her on her wedding night. The thought of being referred to as an English Mare, as Francis had been known to call her sister, had disgusted her and she'd vowed then and there that she would never do such a thing as her father was asking her now. All she could do was play the game long enough to get back to her family's estate in Hever and then she'd tell Thomas Wyatt that she would gladly become his wife if he'd take her away from all this. "Even if he had me, who is to say he would keep me? It's not just Mary. They say that all his liaisons are soon over. He blows hot, he blows cold," she told him, even as her uncle saw fit to join the conversation.

"Perhaps you could imagine a way to keep his interest more prolonged? I daresay you learned things in France," Norfolk murmured, careful to keep his voice low so as not to be overheard. "How to play his passions? There's something deep and dangerous in you, Anne. Those eyes of yours are like dark hooks for the soul."

Charles had been shocked when Henry had come to him, and demanded his presence on the ride to Wales. Mary had told him what she planned to do, but Charles had privately doubted she'd be able to convince her brother to go see the children he hadn't set eyes on since their birth. The Emperor was to be in England within the week and while the court was busy making preparations, Henry had sought him out and announced his plans. That day, they'd had their horses saddled and set off, telling few where they were taking off to.

"Did you put her up to it, Charles?" Henry questioned his friend, breaking the comfortable silence they'd lapsed into as they drew closer to Hatfield house.

"Nay, Majesty, it was Mary's idea from the start,"Brandon replied, knowing that which the the king was referring to. He'd thought his heart had almost stopped when Mary had regaled him with how she'd actually struck Henry across the face when he'd tried to make an excuse to not see his children. "I do have to ask... is it true she struck you?"

Henry growled, shifting uncomfortably in his saddle as the reminder of how his sister had indeed struck him. "Yes, well... upon reflection, I suppose I deserved it."

When one of the young maids to the princesses rushed into the room disrupting the children's lessons, Lady Salisbury had been ready to rebuke the girl. Before she could even do more than think about telling the girl off for her unseemly haste, the young woman breathlessly whispered in her ear that the king had been spotted on the road, and would be here within the hour. Horror flooded through her, even as she began shouting orders at the various maids to make the prince and princesses ready for the king's visit.

In the room that the princesses shared, Mary had shooed the maids away and was helping her younger sister dress. "See, Joanna? I told you papa would come and see us," she said as she knelt down to fix her sister's hair.

Mary seemed excited that their papa was coming to see them but Joanna felt nothing more than sheer terror. Papa had never in her memory come to see her or Edmund, even when Mary had been summoned to accompany their father to France. She and her brother were both too young for such a journey and Edmund was almost as important as their papa, being the heir to the throne. Mary had told her before that papa never came because he was the king and being the king meant that he was always very busy and didn't get the chance to see his children often. What she didn't know was that Joanna, in the process of sneaking to Edmund's room when she couldn't sleep one night, had overheard the maids talking.

Papa never came to see them because their mama had went to heaven the day that her and Edmund had been born. When she'd finally made it to her brother's room and crawled in beside him, she'd woken him up with her stifled sobs. He'd calmed her down and promised that he'd never leave her, not for anything. They'd vowed to keep it a secret between them and so far had succeeded but now, papa was here. Would he want to see Edmund and her or was he just here to see Mary?

Finally satisfied with her sister's appearance, Mary rose to her feet. "Are you ready?" She asked, holding out her hand for her sister.

NO! Joanna thought in terror, even as she placed her hand in her sisters. Lady Eleanor, her brother's nursemaid entered the room, hand in hand with Edmund. The young woman curtsied to the princesses even as she relinquished Edmund to Mary. With another curtsy and a murmured, "Majesties," the young woman left the room.

"Let's go see Papa," Mary told them both, looking from Joanna to her left and Edmund on her right. Neither of them responded, simply tightening their grip on her hands as she straightened her shoulders and began leading them out of the nursery.

"The children will be down shortly, Majesty," Salisbury told Henry as she showed the king and his duke to a parlor. "They would have been ready sooner but we were not prepared for a visit," she hasted to explain, inwardly praying that the king would not be angry that the children weren't ready upon his arrival.

"Quite alright, Lady Salisbury," the king remarked, settling in a chair and motioning for his duke to do the same. "Please have some wine brought for us and then you are dismissed."

Forcing a smile, Salisbury curtsied and exited the room. The two men sat in silence for a moment before Charles broke it. "Nervous?" he asked, glancing over at his friend and king.

"I shouldn't be. They're my children, for God's sake," Henry muttered, lapsing into silence as a servant brought an ewer of wine and poured them both glasses before bowing out of the room. When they were alone again, the king sighed as he picked up his goblet. Before he could speak, he heard the heralds shouting, "Make way for his Highness, the Prince of Wales and their royal Highness's the Princesses Mary and Joanna! Make way!" The parlor door was opened and Mary entered, leading her young siblings.

Henry's breath caught in his throat as he laid eyes on the twins Katherine had died giving birth to. Edmund looked almost identical to him and Arthur as a child, and while he'd always thought Mary looked like her mother, he could see that Joanna was almost her ghost. His youngest daughter had the same strawberry blonde hair and blue eyes as his late wife, but unlike Katherine who'd looked at him with love in her eyes, Joanna looked simply terrified. His gaze moved from her to Edmund and noted that the same terror was reflected in his son's eyes. Leaning forward, Henry beckoned them closer. Mary disentangled her hands from those of her siblings and nearly jumped when Joanna let out a wail of terror and buried her face in Mary's side, refusing to budge.

"Sweetheart, what is it?" Henry asked, rising and hurrying to kneel by the child's side. He tried to pull her away from Mary but the girl would not be moved. In between sobs, Henry could hear her muttering something, her voice muffled by the voluminous silk of her sister's skirt. Finally, he could make out his daughter saying, "I'm sorry, we didn't mean to, I'm sorry," over and over again.

"What is it, Joanna? What's wrong?" Mary questioned, kneeling down to her sister's height.

Unable to hide her face in Mary's dress, the girl instead pressed her face into Mary's neck, throwing her arms around her sister. "To make mama go away to Heaven. That's why papa doesn't like us," she sobbed out, shaking in her sister's embrace.

Henry rocked back on his heels, horror and shame racing through him as he rocked back on his heels. His gaze darted to a horrified-looking Mary, and over to an equally scared Edmund. "Who told you that?" he finally managed, trying to keep from yelling. Whoever had dared to even breathe a word to his children that he blamed them for Katherine would pay! "Joanna, look at me. Who told you that, sweetheart?"

Hiccuping, Joanna pulled herself away from her sister's side, scrubbing at her eyes with her hands. "I-I-I heard s-some of the l-l-ladies talking one night, w-when I-I was s-s-s-supposed to be s-sleeping," she confessed, looking up and meeting his gaze miserably.

"Why didn't you say anything, Joanna?" Mary asked kindly, grabbing a kerchief from the pocket hidden in the fold of her gown and handing it to her sister. "I could have told you that wasn't true."

"You were with Papa in France," Edmund piped up finally, drawing everyone's attention to the little prince, who looked uncomfortable under everyone's scrutiny. "And now you're going away again, aren't you?"

Father and daughter shared a glance, because it was true. Henry had come not to just see his youngest children but also to bring Mary back to court for her uncle's arrival. The Emperor was due within the week, and the king was hoping for a betrothal between the two to secure his alliance. Taking the silence for what it was, Joanna sniffed and stared at Henry with wet eyes. "Can't we come too, Papa?" she pleaded, meeting her father's gaze directly "we'll be good, we promise! Please?"

It certainly couldn't hurt to bring them to court, he mused as his gaze traveled over his children. Joanna could learn to be a lady and Edmund could start learning how to rule at his father's knee rather than from stuffy old men when he grew into manhood. Almost as if the children sensed him weakening to the idea, Joanna approached and threw her arms about his neck. "Please, papa?" she asked again, eyes pleading.

"Alright, alright! I'll take you all back to court with me," he agreed, pulling his daughter to him for a hug. Releasing Joanna, he motioned them out. "Go on, tell Lady Salisbury to get all of you ready."

Cheered, the children practically ran from the room and Henry sighed, rubbing at his forehead. "Am I crazy for doing this, Charles?" he asked, looking over his shoulder at the Duke, who'd remained silent throughout the children's audience with their father.

"You're a good man, Harry," Charles told his friend, rising and clapping a hand on the other man's shoulder. "Between you and I, I would have caved a lot sooner."

"His Eminence, Cardinal Wolsey and His imperial Highness Charles, Holy Roman Emperor, King of Aragon, Valencia, Naples and Sicily, Duke of the Burgundian Territories Archduke of Austria!"

A polite smattering of applause went through the great hall, as the Cardinal and Emperor made their way to the seats that had been specially reserved for them. A giant, castle like structure dominated the far end. As they found their seats, a trumpet blared and ladies dressed in white marched out and took their places amongst the battlements. Intrigued, Charles looked over at Wolsey. "Who are those ladies?" he questioned, gesturing to the ladies dressed in white.

"They are the Graces, Sire. They have names such as Kindness, Honor, Constancy, Mercy and Pity,"the cardinal explained, gesturing at the ladies in turn. "They are prisoners in the castle. The figure to the left, under the broken hearts, is the king's sister the Dowager Queen Mary."

Nodding, the Emperor gestured as ladies, this time dressed in black, came out and took their places as well amongst the ladies dressed in white. "Who is keeping them prisoner?"

"Danger, Jealousy, Unkindness, Scorn, Disdain, Strangeness, et cetera," Wolsey explained, as a group of young men dressed in black and gold entered the hall.

"Is the king there? Which one is the king?" Charles questioned, gaze searching the masked men for an indication of his nephew.

"The men represent Youth, Devotion, Loyalty, Pleasure, Gentleness, Liberty. And, yes, His Majesty is hid amongst them," the cardinal agreed and the two men lapsed into silence as the masque began.

Leading the pack of young men, William Cornish, disguised as Ardent Desire approached the castle. "As Ardent Desire, I demand you release your prisoners!" he cried out, brandishing a wooden sword in a comically threatening manner.

"As Lady Scorn, I laugh at your desires," a woman in black replied, tone haughty.

"These men are noble lords," he proclaimed, gesturing with his free hand.

Another lady in black laughed. "No, they're just men dressed up," she countered.

"I say it again, release these fair damsels that you keep so cruelly."

"Never!"

"Then you give us no choice but to attack and breach your defenses," he told them.

"No man shall ever breach mine,"another woman jeered, causing the crowd to laugh at the double entendre.

"Lady, Desire overcomes all! Attack!"

On cue, the young men raced up to the castle, causing the ladies in black to shriek and and run away, leaving the women in white without defense. Climbing up the battlements, Henry first approached his sister. "Sister," he greeted, holding out his hand and helping her down.

"Brother," she replied, sending a smile his way as she headed down to the floor.

Climbing up another level, Henry offered his hand to the young, dark haired woman before him. A silver heart glittered on her cheek, he noted before stopping short as their gazes met. Dark brown eyes met his and for a moment, Henry felt as though he couldn't breathe. She placed her delicate hand in his and his gaze finally dropped down to the sash on her shoulder. "Perseverance, you are my prisoner now," he breathed.

A small smile was his reward even as she used his grip to find her way down to the floor where the other ladies and gentlemen were assembling for a dance.

"And now all shall be unmasked," Cornish announced, and as one, both ladies and gentlemen removed their masks. A gasp went up from the crowd as Henry revealed his presence amongst them, followed by a round of applause. The music began and as one, the dancers went through the motions with a practiced ease. Managing to switch positions, Henry found himself partnered with the dark haired beauty he'd rescued from the castle. "Who are you?" he questioned as they went through the motions of the dance.

"I'm Anne. Anne Boleyn," she replied as the dance came to an end. With a curtsy, she disappeared into the crowd.

"Your Holiness," Henry greeted, moving forward and embracing the man known to the world as the Holy Roman Emperor. "It's good to see you."

"And you, your Majesty," Charles agreed as they broke apart and fell into step beside each other. "I was deeply saddened by the news of my aunt's passing."

The king nodded, his chest tightening at the mention of his late wife. "As were we all," he agreed, before brightening as they approached the huge warship that he'd had commissioned. "This is my flagship, The Mary Rose. She's the largest warship afloat. She displaces 700 tons, fires 91 guns and has a company of 400 men," he boasted, gesturing grandly.

Looking impressed, Charles ruefully shook his head. "I have nothing like this."

"You have vast armies. Together, we shall be invincible,"Henry told him in a placating tone, clapping a hand on the other man's shoulder.

"How could the French withstand us? With you beside me, there is no boundary or frontier or world we could not conquer," Charles agreed, grinning at Henry.

"I like you already," Henry decided, making the other man laugh.

"Except for the chin, what is there not to like?" Charles pointed out, causing the two of them to laugh together.

"You know, you and I are united by an indissoluble tie. Since you were married my mother's sister, you are really my uncle," Charles told him as they made their way through the castle, making Henry give him a pleased smile.

"It's an affinity which both delights and pleases me, nephew," the king replied, pleasure at the notion curling through him. "Now, come. I'd like you to allow me present my daughter Mary, your future bride."

Looking every inch the princess she was, Mary entered the room with a curtsy to both men. "Your Holiness," she greeted, smiling at her mother's nephew before turning her gaze to her father. "Papa."

"Bravo! Come forward, your Highness," Charles told her, beckoning the young woman forward. At her father's almost imperceptible nod, she moved forward.

"I have a present for your Highness, with your permission," Mary told him as Charles tucked her hand in his arm. "Do you want to see it?"

"I love presents. Show me," he agreed, allowing Mary to lead him over to a window that overlooked the courtyard.

"Look, there. Do you see them?"

Two grooms held a matched pair of horses. Impressed, Charles's gaze returned to that of his future bride. "Are they for me?"

Nodding, she met his gaze with a bashful smile. "Do you like them?"

"They are the best presents I've ever had," he told her sincerely, bowing low over her hand and kissing it. "Thank you, your Highness."

"Marry me."

Thomas Wyatt gaped at Anne briefly before recovering. "Are you serious?" he questioned weakly, hoping that she wasn't playing with him. He'd been in love with Anne Boleyn for years, and now here she was, asking him to marry her. Was this a dream? If it was, he thought feverishly, he never wanted to wake up.

"My father intends for me to catch the king's eye. I'd make you a good wife, Mister Wyatt, and bear you many sons," she told him, dark eyes pleading. She didn't love Wyatt, not really, but she figured that love would come with time. If not, better to be a simple housewife than the king's whore, she reckoned privately. She'd been asked to come to court, to join the young Princess Joanna's household as a lady in waiting. The Princess Mary was soon to be married off to the Holy Roman Emperor and soon enough, the young girl would be the highest ranking woman at court. Anne knew the real reason she was summoned to court was because she'd brought the king's attention upon herself. If she was married, it would be safe to not go to court and escape the king's attention.

"Anne, if the king has his sights on you..."Wyatt began, hesitating at the look of fury blooming in her eyes.

"Forget it," she told him, cutting him off before he could so much as offer a defense for turning her down. "I would have been happy to be your wife instead of his whore but it seems that you don't care. You are not to call upon me again. I leave for court in a week, and you will never see me again." Grabbing her skirts up in her hands, she turned her back on him and left him standing in the gardens of her family's estate.

A little over a week later, she was packed into a fine carriage and headed back to court.

Several months later, Henry found himself watching his son learn to ride as his youngest daughter prattled on beside him. "Lady Anne is so pretty papa, and smart too! She was my age when she was sent to France and she speaks French really, really good!"

At the mention of Anne's name, he tore his attention away from Edmund and looked down at his daughter, who looked back up at him curiously. "What else do you know about Lady Anne, darling?" he questioned, suddenly interested in her words.

"She's my favorite, papa," she confided secretly, glancing around to make sure none of her other ladies were around. She didn't want to hurt anyone's feelings, but it was true. Anne had lost her mama too, and Joanna felt a kind of kinship with the older woman because of it. "She wears a pretty necklace with a 'B' on it for her family name," she told him, before brightening as an idea hit her. "Can I have one like hers, papa? Only with a 'T' for Tudor? Please papa?"

"Of course, sweetheart,"he agreed idly, thinking that he'd give her anything if she'd just tell him about Anne. "What kind of things does Anne like?"

"She likes poems," she told him seriously, face screwed up as she thought of the things Anne had told her she liked. "And horses, she really loves horses. She told me when I get my own pony that her and I can go riding together."

Poems! He could do poems, Henry reckoned. "What about jewels, does she like jewelry?"

"Do you like Lady Anne, papa?" Joanna questioned, staring up at him in all seriousness. If her papa liked Anne enough, maybe Anne would become her new mama! The thought made her want to bounce in delight.

With a smile, Henry pulled her up and into his lap, settling his daughter on his knee. "And if I said yes?" he questioned teasingly, glancing at where Edmund sat tall and proud in the saddle of his pony as the groom lead him in a circle. "Would that please you, love?"

"Yes. Do you think she'd like to be my new mama?" she questioned, looking up at him.

"I think she'd like that,"he agreed before an idea came to him and he smiled down at her. "Would you like to help me with that, sweetheart?"

BttB

"Uncle Charles!" Joanna hopped up the moment she spied the Duke of Suffolk approaching, much to the obvious dismay of Lady Salisbury.

"Your Highness!" Salisbury called after her, the reprimand clear in her tone as she caught up to the two of them. "You mustn't run off like that."

Charles had to fight back a laugh at the look on Joanna's face, even as he bowed before his niece. "My lady Princess," he greeted, giving her tiny hand a gentle kiss before turning and giving a short bow to the older woman. "Lady Salisbury."

"I apologize, Salisbury, I shan't do it again," Joanna told her, sounding every inch contrite though having been married to her aunt for sometime now, Charles knew better. Judging by the glint in the little princesses eye, she wasn't sorry at all and couldn't care less that she'd affronted the old woman.

"Yes, well," the woman replied, clearly ready to continue her reprimand before remembering that she stood before the duke. Flustered, she dipped a quick curtsy. "Your Grace."

"Will you walk with me, Uncle?" Joanna queried, ignoring her governess and grasping his bigger hand in her own. "Just a quick one. I want to give you something for papa."

With a glance at Lady Salisbury, who pursed her lips but nodded her assent to chaperone, Charles smiled down at his little niece. "Of course, my princess. Shall we?"

They strolled leisurely away from the rest of her ladies, and Joanna would glance back occasionally until she was satisfied they were well enough away. Reaching in a discreet fold of her skirts, she pulled a slightly worn piece of parchment and handed it to Charles. "Here. Take this to papa for me, please. He'll know what it is."

"Let me guess... a list of things for your birthday?" Charles teased, holding it in between two fingers with a smile.

Giggling, Joanna shook her head. "No, silly Uncle. It's just something papa asked for my help with. Don't look!" she reprimanded, doing her best to look stern and pointing at him. "That's for papa's eyes only."

"On my honor," Charles promised, tucking it into his doublet and placing his hand over his heart.

Joanna looked at him for a moment more, then judging him to be serious, she nodded once. "Good. Now, if you'll excuse us uncle, I believe it's time for my nap. Come, Salisbury, I'm feeling very sleepy all of a sudden."

Charles bowed to them both, smothering a laugh at Joanna's imperious tone. "Of course, princess, Lady Salisbury."

BttB*BttB* BttB*BttB* BttB*BttB* BttB*BttB

Later that evening, Henry and Charles were walking through the palace gardens. "I hear you went to see the princess today," the king remarked, raising an eyebrow when the other man laughed.

"Indeed I did, Majesty. She's a feisty one, Princess Joanna. She's a lot like your sister," Charles told him, making the king laugh.

"I almost feel sorry for the man I find to marry her, the poor fellow is certainly going to have his hands full, eh, Charles?" The two chuckled together for a moment before lapsing into companionable silence.

Remembering the scrap of parchment Joanna had handed him earlier, Charles reached into his doublet and pulled it out. "Speaking of, she actually gave me something for you. Forbade me from reading it, said it was something you asked her for?"

Henry took it with a raised brow, trying to remember if he'd asked Joanna for something recently. Unfolding it, he saw in Joanna's tidy scrawl:

Letters

Poems

Music

Dancing

Masques

It took a moment of re-reading it several times before it hit him. Lady Anne Boleyn! Of course! He'd asked for Joanna's help in wooing the young lady in her service. Laughing out loud, Henry clapped his best friend on the shoulder. "I know exactly what this is, thank you Charles."

"Permission to ask, Majesty?" Charles asked, looking curiously at his oldest friend. "I asked if it was list for her birthday, but she assured me that wasn't the case."

"No, no, nothing like that, though I might give her the moon for this," Henry replied, thrilled beyond belief that enlisting his youngest daughter in wooing Mistress Boleyn seemed to be paying off already.

"Well, you know me, I rarely forget a beautiful woman," Charles replied with a shrug, only to be slammed against one of the artfully cultivated 'walls' of the garden. "Henry, what - "

"Have you lain with her?" The words are hissed, the king's eyes flaring with temper. When Charles didn't answer right away, he tightened his grip on the other man's doublet. "HAVE YOU?"

"No, Majesty, I swear it," Suffolk replied, taken aback by Henry's sudden vehemence. What did this woman mean to him? he wondered as he was released just as abruptly as he'd been grabbed.

Henry stepped back and studied his friend, smoothing down the other man's doublet from where he'd grabbed him. "My apologies, Charles, I simply had to make sure."

"All is forgiven, Majesty, as always," the duke agreed, and the two fell into step once more.

After a few moments silence, Henry broke it by saying, "I loved her, you know." At Charles's curious look, he elaborated. "Katherine. I loved her from the moment she arrived in England as Arthur's bride. When we were finally married, we were so happy at first." He lasped into silence, memories of how joyful the two had been once his father had died and the two had at last married. The dark years, where their first boy had been taken before he'd really had a chance to live. The miscarriages, the stillbirths. Finally, that final pregnancy, which had resulted in his longed for son, and another daughter to boot.

She'd given him what they'd both wanted for so long and in doing so, it had killed her in the end. He'd sworn he'd never remarry, even if it meant leaving the kingdom to a daughter in the event his son died. Edmund had thrived, however, and even now was a healthy, robust little boy of four.

"You speak as though you love her no more," Charles remarked gently, breaking the king from his thoughts.

"Oh, I do, Charles. Make no mistake, I will always love her. She gave her life to give me my boy, and for that, I'm eternally grateful. It's past time that I let her go. She is gone and I am still here and I will do what I must. I will take another bride."

Mary walked beside her father, arm tucked through his in comfortable silence. She'd be leaving for her mother's home country of Spain to be married soon and was relishing the small amount of time she was spending alone with her father.

"Are you nervous?" Henry broke the silence, glancing at his daughter. Much like her younger sister, she looked so much like Katherine that his heart constricted painfully.

Ducking her head, she nodded quickly. "Mother always said Spain was beautiful, but it's going to be different from everything I've known so far," she admitted.

"She never showed it, but I'm sure she was scared too," he agreed, causing Mary to look at him in surprise. He rarely spoke of Katherine, even to her and the twins. Gently pulling her to a stop, he caressed her cheek with his thumb. "I will miss you, my pearl."

Mary blinked rapidly to fight her tears at his nickname for her. She could remember being a small child, her father spinning her around in his arms, calling her the pearl of his world. "I will miss you too, papa," she finally spoke, her voice tremulous.

Henry smiled, a little sadly she thought, before reaching into his doublet and pulling out a small bag of velvet. "I have a gift for you," he began, swallowing thickly. "I found this in some things I kept of your mother's, and I know she'd want you to have it."

Her curiosity piqued, she allowed him to manipulate her hands in a cupping position before he opened the bag. For a brief moment, he stared down into the contents before gently upending it into her hands. Mary's breath caught in her throat as an exquisite pearl and silver rosary was revealed to her. "Oh papa, it's beautiful," she breathed, lifting it reverently and watching it shimmer in the midday sun.

"I gave that to her when we married," Henry said, looking at it and smiling sadly, lost in memory. "It wasn't much, compared to the jewels I presented her with later. She treasured it more than any other other piece I gave her."

Clearing his throat, he waited for her to put it back in it's velvet bag before tucking her hand in his arm once more. "There's another matter I wished to discuss with you."

"What is it, papa?"

"I'm not getting any younger," he began as they started to walk again. "I loved your mother and I was not always the best husband to her." Mary opened her mouth to argue against his point, but he held up a hand and she subsided, allowing him to continue. "No, it's true. I could have done many things differently, including going to see you and the twins more after her death. I lost my wife but the three of you lost your mother. I will never forgive myself for allowing myself to ignore the three of you in my grief." He paused for a brief moment before continuing. "I've decided to remarry."

Mary blinked in shock. "Papa..."

"I'm not getting any younger," he reiterated with a sigh. "I need to provide another heir, or two, to succeed me and your brother. I love your sister just as much but history has not been kind to a woman succeeding to the throne."

"I only wish for your happiness, papa," she told him with a smile, not betraying her racing thoughts. Who on Earth had brought her father out of his grief at last, to the point where he wanted to remarry, she wondered as he pulled her into a tight embrace.

"Thank you, my pearl," he whispered, pressing a kiss into her hair.

-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*

Later that evening, it was Anne's turn to sleep on the cot beside Princess Joanna's bed. When they finally put the princess to bed, Anne settled down and willed sleep to come. When it wouldn't, she grit her teeth in frustration. Her father and uncle Norfolk had been plotting a way to get her in front of the king and she'd surprised herself by staying silent.

He'd noticed her, alright. Letters and the occasional poem, all signed Henry Rex, Henry the king, had been almost magically appearing amidst her belongings. At first, she'd put it down to someone trying to jest, but when she'd discreetly questioned a few people, it had begun to sink in they were legitimate.

Poems had long been her weakness, she mused as her thoughts turned towards Thomas Wyatt. He'd claimed to love her, even gone so far as to ask her to marry him. She'd played it off at the time but now, she began to wonder what it would be like. Should she ignore her family's bidding, reject the advances of a widowed king, and elope with Thomas? Her sister Mary had eloped with her husband, and while their father had cut her off, she seemed happy regardless. Could she be happy as the wife of a commoner?

"Lady Anne?

The voice of the princess startled her. "Yes, your majesty? Did you need the chamber pot?"

Joanna's face poked through the heavy curtains surrounding her bed. "No. Will you come lay with me?" Sensing Anne's hesitation, she continued, "Mary used to sit with me and stroke my hair before she left the nursery. Will you do that please?"

"I am yours to command, your highness," Anne agreed, rising from her cot. She opened the curtain enough to see as she climbed up and settled beside the young girl. Joanna waited until Anne settled before laying her head on the older woman's chest.

Obeying the unspoken command to commence, Anne began running gentle fingers through the girl's strawberry blonde locks. Several minutes passed before Joanna spoke again.

" If my papa asked, would you marry him?"

"The king won't ask me, I'm sure, my lady."

She could feel Joanna's eyes on her in the dark. "Why not? Then you wouldn't just be my lady, you'd be my mother. Wouldn't you rather be that?" When she did reply right away, Joanna continued. "I know I'd like that. I've never had a mama."

Anne's heart broke at the matter of fact tone, the loss of her own mother only a couple years past still fresh. "But you did have a mama," she reminded her gently. "The queen loved you and your siblings very much."

Joanna was quiet for a long moment and Anne wondered if perhaps the girl had fallen asleep. "She went to heaven when Edmund and I were born. How do you know she loved us?"

Closing her eyes, she gently hugged the girl closer. "I was one of her ladies, before you and the prince were born, you know."

Joanna's head shot up in astonishment. "You were? Can... Can you tell me about her? It makes papa sad, so I've never asked him."

"I was. Not for long, as my father took us to France," Anne explained, "but I'll do my best. You know she was born far away in Spain, and she still had a slight accent from her youth."

"Like Ambassador Chapyus?" Came a sleepy reply.

"Yes, fairly similar, maybe not as pronounced as his. She was very devout, spending lots of time at prayer. She always wanted more children." She continued on for a while, before trailing off when she realized the princess's breathing had evened out and the young girl was asleep.

Easing herself out of the bed, she resettled on her cot, turning to her side and gazing at the glowing coals in the banked fireplace. She loved her young charge, but did she love the king? Could she love the king?

A small part of her, that sounded suspiciously like her father, scoffed at the thought of love. She didn't need to actually love him to marry him. Love was for poets and musicians, nothing more. It would be better for her family if he loved her, as he claimed in his letters, for titles and riches were sure to follow.

But,a small voice whispered, her sister had married for love. As a former mistress to both Francis and Henry, she could've held out for the king to arrange a marriage to a wealthy man. Instead, she'd run off with a commoner, and was reportedly quite happy being plain Mistress Stafford.

Restless, she rolled to her back and stared at the ceiling, listening to her young charge's even breathing. She could easily slip away and run away with Thomas Wyatt, their brief stolen kisses of the past becoming something more. Her father would likely be even more furious with her than he was with Mary. She shuddered to think what would happen if she did indeed run away with Wyatt.

Bad enough for Mary to have done it, with little prospects. For Anne, who'd been set before the king deliberately by her father and uncle, to do the same would be nothing short of madness. Her thoughts continued round and round even as she fell into a restless sleep.

Thomas Boleyn liked to think he wasn't an ambitious man, but perhaps that was simply the sin of vanity getting the better of him. Born the grandson of a merchant, he felt he'd been looked down upon most of his life. Even when he'd been knighted and later made ambassador to France, he still felt as though he could rise higher. If someone with no breeding, like Charles Brandon, could do it, why couldn't he?

His brother-in-law certainly felt his sister could've made a better match, he thought sourly. Now, though, he was beginning to hope he could rise higher than even Norfolk. Anne had clearly caught the king's eye, and kept it, if the letters George had stolen from her were to be believed.

The princess Joanna was notably fond of Anne, seeming to prefer her to her other ladies in waiting. Access to the young royals was heavily regulated, so using the child's affection for Anne was out. He could, however, do the opposite. Anne's affection for the child was just as obvious, after all. With a few well placed words, he could steer Anne towards the king's side as his queen.

"You wanted to see me, Papa?" Anne's voice startled him from his imaginings and he looked up to see her standing in the doorway.

"Anne! Yes, my dear, come, sit," he greeted, standing and gesturing to the chair opposite him. She did as she was bid, stopping long enough to receive an embrace and kissing his cheek affectionately. "You are well? And the young princess?"

Anne nodded an affirmative as a servant discreetly served them both wine before retreating. "Yes, papa, I'm very well. Her highness is as well, and sends her regards."

Privately, Thomas doubted the last part but didn't question it. "You won't be needed soon?" He questioned, hoping to have more than a few moments to really enact his plans.

"No, his Majesty is visiting with both the prince and princess and seems to like having them mostly to himself," she replied, smiling softly at how much the king clearly cared for his children. It was nice to see him taking such an interest after neglecting them in his affections for so long after the death of the queen, she reflected, missing the calculating look on her father's face.

-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*

The king had been called away only a few moments into spending time with the twins, but both their tutor and governess had decided to give the children some time together. Edmund, for one, was eternally grateful for the break. When he was long, he decided, his son wouldn't have to do the boring lessons he was currently forced to endure. "I've missed you sister," he said with a smile, obediently holding his hand out for the doll she was currently passing to him.

"I missed you too, brother. Your lessons take up far too much time," she chided, manipulating her other doll into a sitting position.

"I agree. And they're so boring!" He complained, mimicking her actions with the doll he was holding. "What are we even doing with your dolls?"

"Oh, nothing. Mary and I used to do this, pretend we were playing but actually we'd talk," she confided, artfully arranging her dolls hair just so. "Could be useful for you one day."

Edmund shrugged non-committally. He didn't like to think of when he'd be king, because that meant papa would be gone. Those thoughts bothered him more than he liked to admit. He knew, logically, that for him to become king, their papa would be either too old or gone to heaven like their mama. "Yeah, maybe," he agreed uncomfortably.

"I think we'll be getting a new mama soon," Joanna told him after a few minutes, breaking the silence they'd lapsed into. At Edmund's skeptical look, she continued. "It's true! Papa likes Lady Anne. He asked me to help him find things she likes so he can tell her how much he likes her."

"You mean... your lady Anne? Are you sure?"

Joanna nodded fervently. "One and the same."

Edmund was quiet, considering. "Is... Is she nice?" He asked in a small voice. Mary had told them about their mama, but Edmund had no real idea of what she was like. She'd sworn their mama was nice and that she'd loved he and Joanna both even before they'd been born. He wasn't so sure if she'd have loved them if she'd known she'd die just to birth them.

"Very. You'd like her a lot, she even knows archery, falconry and hunting," she pointed out, hoping to catch her brothers interest.

It worked. "Really?" He questioned in surprise. Well, maybe this having a new mama wouldn't be so bad, he reasoned. He could even have a brother! The thought cheered him immensely. He loved both his sisters, but they were girls. A little brother would be far preferable to another sister.

-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*

Anne swallowed hard against the bile rising in her throat. When she'd seen through her father's carefully crafted words, he'd gotten straight to the point. George - and oh, how she was going to box his ears next she saw him! - had stolen some of the letters the king had written to her and promptly handed them over to their father.

He'd proceeded to make it perfectly clear he would use whatever means necessary to see her both wed to the king and crowned Queen of England. Ducking into what she thought was an unused chamber, she quickly shut the door and leaned against it, breathing heavily. Closing her eyes, she tilted her head back and mentally told herself to breathe.

"Lady Anne? Are.. you alright?"

Startled, she abruptly opened her eyes and felt herself grow pale as she came face to face with the king

at the king in disbelief. What was he doing in here? she wondered, barely refraining from speaking aloud. "I-I'm so sorry, Your Majesty! I'll go," she finally managed, grasping behind her frantically for the door knob.

"No!" He practically shouted, only realising his tone when she flinched as though struck. "No, please," he repeated, softer this time. "Come sit."

Anne wavered. "But, Your Majesty, I really should-" she began before he stopped her.

"Joanna will be fine without you for a few more minutes. Please?" He implored, rising and pulling out a seat Ina clear gesture that she should sit.

Nodding hesitantly, she moved to the chair he held out for her, carefully arranging her skirts and sitting down. "I, uh, I apologise if I startled you, my lady," he began, scratching nervously at the back of his neck. He was the king, damnit, not some lovestruck boy, he mentally chided himself.

"I feel as though I should be the one apologising, Your Majesty," she admitted ruefully. "After all, I came in here uninvited and unannounced."

He waved away her apologies. "No need," he told her as he resettled in his recently vacated chair. They lapsed into silence for several moments. "Lady Anne," he began at the same time she started to say, "Your Majesty-"

They both looked at each other awkwardly. "You first," he finally said, breaking their impromptu impasse.

"I was just going to say that I received your letters," she admitted, ducking her gaze away from him. When he didn't reply, she chanced a glance at him and realized he was actually blushing.

"I hope I was not too forward," he told her, smiling when she shook her head. "Joanna mentioned you liked poems." At her startled look, he grimaced contritely. "Don't be cross with her," he pleaded, "she told me at my behest."

"Why?" She blurted out before she could stop herself. "I'm sorry, but I don't think I understand."

Henry shifted uncomfortably under her gaze. "I... have been quite taken with you, since we first met."

Father and Uncle will be so happy, she thought cynically. They had plans, afterall. "I gathered as much, from your letters," she admitted, looking down and twisting her hands in her lap. "I just... can't understand why, when Your Majesty could have a princess or a duchess."

Henry inclined his head in agreement. "So I could, but there's a problem with that." He waited until she looked up, curiosity clearly getting the better of her. "They're not you."

While Anne's still digesting his words, a subtle knock on the door is followed by a groom dressed in the king's livery popping his head inside.

"What is it?" Henry questioned, clearly aggravated at being interrupted.

"My apologies for interrupting you, sire, but it's almost time for your meeting with the Privy Council."

"Very well, I'll be along in a moment." When the man left, he rose to his feet and offered Anne his hand. She placed her hand in his and stood, suppressing a shiver when she noticed how close they now stood. "My lady," he murmured, pressing a gentle kiss to her knuckles.

"Anne," she told him impulsively, her eyes going wife at her own boldness.

If the smile on his face was any indication, he obviously enjoyed it. "Then you may call me Henry, when we're alone. Anne." Another kiss to her knuckles and he released her with a sigh. "Duty calls, I'm afraid."

"Yes," she agreed, though neither made any move to leave. Another rapid knock made Henry sigh and he reluctantly moved away to leave. He was almost to the door when he suddenly turned around and rapidly made his way back to her side.

"Your Majes- Henry, what-?" She managed to say before he suddenly put this hands on either side of her face and kissed her. Anne had been kissed before, stolen little pecks with men like Thomas Wyatt, but nothing like this. He kissed her like he was drowning and only she could save him. Like he truly desired her. The heady rush off knowing the king of England wanted her was making her dizzy.

When they broke apart, he rested his forehead against hers. They were both breathing heavily, staring in each other's eyes wordlessly. He leaned down and kissed her again, gently this time before he released her, taking his leave.

She stood there for several minutes after he left, lips tingling with the passion of his kisses.

For several hours after, Anne felt like she was in a daze. She went through her duties by rote until the princess was put to bed. It was another ladies turn to sleep on the cot in the child's room, so she was easily granted permission to return to the dormitory they all shared.

Upon entering, she stopped short and glared. George Boleyn looked over from his spot on her bed and grinned. "Sister!"

"Come to steal more things from me?" She fired back, crossing her arms over her chest. A flash if satisfaction shot through her at George's wince.

"Now, Anne," he began but she cut him off.

"No excuses George! Those letters were private and you know it," she ground out, reaching out and shoving him.

He stumbled back with a laugh. "The king is in love with you," he pointed out gleefully. She didn't reply, but her ears flushed red in embarrassment. " He could make you his mistress."

"And that's what you and father want, is it not?" She replied, remembering her conversation with her father from earlier that morning.

"It certainly won't hurt us," her brother replied with a shrug. They'd gained a couple titles and some riches when Mary had been his mistress. Why shouldn't they benefit from Anne as well? Henry would undoubtedly see to it that she was dowered well and married to a man who didn't mind she was a castoff of the king. He told her as much and watched as her face darkened like a storm cloud.

"I will not be his mistress," she hissed, advancing on George and poking a finger in his chest. "My virtue will not be sold to him only for me to end up like Mary!"

"It's hardly our fault she didn't wait for him to arrange another marriage! She's the one who ran off with that Stafford fellow," he protested weakly,but Anne didn't seem to hear him.

"I refuse!" She retorted, barely refraining from shouting at him. "Do you hear me? The only way I will surrender to him is as his wife."

He gaped at her. "Anne, don't be ridiculous. What makes you think he'll marry you?"

Joanna's words rang in her head: If my papa asked, would you marry him? "I just know."

Early the next morning,Henry and Charles walked aimlessly through the gardens surrounding Whitehall. An easy silence had fell between them and they simply enjoyed the others company as they had since boyhood. "I spoke with the lady Anne today," Henry said, idly running a hand through the nearest set of carefully cultivated bushes.

Charles made a noncommittal noise as the king continued on. The Boleyn's were fairly notorious for being power hungry. Well, at least her father and brother are, Charles thoughti with a grimace that Henry didn't notice. He couldn't say with certainty that the same was true for the lady Anne. So lost in his thoughts, he didn't notice Henry was looking at him expectantly. "I'm sorry, Henry, what did you say?"

"I said, I fully intend to marry her."

Brandon actually stopped in his tracks, gawking at his friend. Henry, noticing he wasn't beside him, turned back and looked at him expectantly. "I'm sorry?"

"Joanna is clearly fond of her, and the reverse is true as well," Henry elaborated with a shrug. "Edmund tends to follow his sister's lead in such matters. I'm a man in need of a wife and the children could only benefit from a mother."

"My only wish is for your happiness, Harry, you know this," Charles began, eyeing his friend and monarch. The last time he'd been this overwhelmingly happy had been when he'd become king and married Katherine. "It's only... Are you sure about this girl? Her family..."

At the thought of her family, Henry reluctantly nodded. "I'm well aware that Thomas and George Boleyn are too ambitious for their own good. If they think to use her to get to me, they will find themselves a head shorter."

Relieved, Charles nodded with a small smile. It faded again as another thought occurred to him. "The people may not agree with her becoming your wife. She's not of noble birth, after all."

"That's going to change soon," Henry replied jovially, clapping his friend on the shoulder. "Don't look so glum, Charles! Soon we will have a new Queen of England!"

After Katherine died, Henry had almost all traces of his wife removed from his sight. It had been simply too painful to see the reminders of her everywhere. Even the intertwined H and K's carved on the walls had been hard to look at, but he'd refused to have them chiseled away. Most items had been either stored away or destroyed.

On this day, Henry made up a vague excuse and rescheduled the usual meeting of the small council. Hardly any of the Lord's had batted an eye, though he suspected Sir Thomas had seen right through him. More had always had that uncanny ability to do so, he thought with a small smile.

The smile quickly faded as he recalled the date. 16 December, what should have been Katherine's 34th year. The court had been celebrating the twins turning 5 only last month and the joy of his children had successfully distracted him from falling into melancholia. Now, even with Christmas approaching and the castle being gaily decorated for the season, he felt his spirits sinking a bit.

Even though Katherine had been gone for five years now, the thought of marrying again felt almost like a betrayal. He had his heir, Edmund was hearty and Hale, what need did he have to marry again? An act could surely be passed in parliament for Henry Fitzroy to succeed his legitimate brother, provided Edmund fathered no heirs.

Lady Anne would surely want a child upon their marriage, one that was theirs and not just his. It was natural, he supposed, but the thought of losing another wife to childbed was terrifying. With a shake of his head, he was startled to find himself outside of what was once the Queen's chambers.

Was this a sign? He wondered even as he reached out and opened the door. Having been unoccupied for years, the rooms were dark and dusty. Allowing his eyes to adjust, he slowly inched forward. Memories of being a small boy and see his mother with her ladies contrasted with memories of Katherine's time occupying these same rooms.

The last time he'd been in here, Katherine had been giving birth. Then, there'd been a bustle of activity as her ladies fretted with worry and his wife's cries of pain had echoed throughout. He easily recalled the sudden silence followed by the crying of an infant, which then became two distinct cries.

No one, least of all him, had expected not one but two babes. The midwife had came out, hurriedly congratulating him on the birth of his healthy son (his son! at long last!) and another daughter, before urgently requesting Lincare's presence. His joy and happiness at having his long awaited heir soon turned into horror as his wife lost her life.

He sniffed and promptly sneezed as his movements caused dust to flare around him. Turning, he made to leave when something caught his eye. It was clearly a portrait, judging by the size alone, covered with a heavy cloth. Moths had begun to get to it, he noted, taking in the small holes dotting the fabric. Hesitantly, he reached out and steeling his nerve, he carefully removed the covering. His breath caught as the painting was revealed.

It was Katherine, painted a few short months before she'd revealed her pregnancy. His eyes devoured the portrait like a man starved. "Katherine," her name escaped him with a sigh, the fabric dropping from his now loose grip. Dust particles danced around him but he paid them no heed.

His eyes picked out the similarities between his wife and daughters, even seeing something of their son in her. Edmund had inherited her seriousness for certain, he mused, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he smiled fondly.

"Oh, my love, I wish you could see our children," he told her, instantly feeling ridiculous for speaking to a portrait. No one can hear you, a small voice pointed out in his mind. Glancing around, he spotted a small pouf and promptly made a decision.

He carefully nudged the pouf over with his boot, angling it so he could sit before Katherine's painting. Grimacing at the layer of dust, he gingerly sat down and rested his hands upon his knees. Now what? he thought, feeling like an utter fool. He chanced a glance at the painting again and sighed. "I'm... considering remarrying," he began, rubbing his palms along his hose nervously. "Her name is Anne, Anne Boleyn. I-I haven't felt like this about anyone since, well, since you, Katherine."

What am I doing?! he wondered, rolling his eyes. He should get up and leave, he reasoned silently, but he remained seated."I don't know why I'm doing this," he admitted aloud. "It's not like you're here, Katherine."

Silence descended around him. The priests said that God heard them everywhere, so maybe somewhere Katherine was listening? Could her spirit still linger in these rooms, where she lived and died? He glanced around uneasily, half expecting to see the spectral form of his wife.

"I'm sorry," he finally whispered, dropping his head. "I blame myself, you know. I wanted an heir so badly, and in giving me Edmund, it took you from me. I don't think I can go through that again," he admitted softly, swallowing around the lump forming in his throat.

He cleared his throat and looked at his wife's image. "The children need a mother," he told her, eyes roving over her face as though memorizing her features. "They didn't get to know you in life, and Mary told them as much as she could about you. I regret that I was so deep in mourning you that I'm only now beginning to know Joanna and Edmund.

"I promise you, Katherine, though I am remarrying, they will know you." He rose to his feet and with a trembling hand, touched the stuff canvas. His eyes closed involuntarily and, for a split second, he could almost feel her again. "I love you, Katherine, always will."

Shaking himself, he did his best to brush the dust from his breeches. With a final glance at the painting, he began striding towards the door.

"And I, you, Henry."

Startled, he spun around, eyes wide. The rooms were oddly still and quiet. Chalking it up to an overactive imagination, he shook his head and left the room.