The Queens rooms were shrouded in darkness; the drapes pulled across to shade the room from the brilliant sunshine that threatened to stream through the windows. Queen Anne was in no mood for the suns rays to invade the darkness that consumed her mind. She lay pale and wan upon her bed, her brain replaying over and over again, the events of the previous day.

Her husband and King had utterly betrayed her with one of her women; a pretty maid whose flawless face seemed to gloat smugly in the swimmings of her exhausted mind. Anne could still see Henry's wandering hands fastened on the graceful curve of the Seymour sluts neck and her apparent surrender which had seemed so sweet that Anne had to clutch at her coverlet to keep from screaming with jealousy. After all her efforts to keep them apart, they had still found the opportunity to meet. Anne remembered the shock at seeing the two of them together, entwined like the courtliest of lovers. Then the pain had begun. Great stabbing cuts that had made her want to vomit with the recognition of the signs. She had had miscarriages before, but none that were as gut wrenchingly real as this one which had come from nowhere. The blood had started to flow then, signalling the end of a life that she had filled with a kind of desperate hope. Now it was gone; taken away. It had been a boy. The physicians had come with their potions the day before and gone with her tears this morning. They had left her medicine to send her into a dreamless sleep, but the scene in the rose garden and the loss of her son had been too fresh in her mind; too painful in more ways than one to contemplate slumber.

Queen Anne would only allow her German ladies in waiting to attend her in her misery. One had been bathing her forehead with cool water, but when Anne saw the pink rose petals floating in the basin, a heartbroken fury such as she had never known before made her slap the bowl from her startled ladies hands as she screamed for her child. They had come with the sleeping potion then and she had slept dreaming of nothing until the first rays of sunlight had crept into her bedchamber and she had ordered the drapes closed.

The door opened and Anne raised herself on one elbow, ready to scream out the person who had dared to intrude on her grief without her permission. But it was only Henry. He came into the room with a face as hard as granite and a stance that would brook no opposition. Anne said nothing, hope that he had come to comfort her dying as swiftly as it had flared. She could only stare at him in a kind of horrified trance as Henry tried to swallow his rage. He began to stride this way and that, the skirts of his puffed ruby red coat who's hue matched Henry's face, swinging to and fro, darting livid looks at her. Finally he stopped and spoke, his back to her and his teeth clenched tight.

"You lost him. You lost my boy!"

Anne burst into tears. She sat up and wrapped her arms around her knees and rocked backwards and forwards, howling with misery while Henry continued to offer his back, unable to look at her. When she finished and looked up, his stance had not changed, although his hands were balled into fists so as not to turn and strike her in her bed. At this sight, Anne broke forth, her dull blue eyes fairly spitting with the rage and disappointment she had nursed since the loss of her child.

"It wasn't all my fault! You are as much to blame as anyone. This would never have happened had you not been in heat with some bitch from this courtly kennel! It was the shock from seeing you wrapped around that Seymour slut! Because the love I bear you is so great, it broke my heart to see that you loved others." What had started in a scream, finished in a whisper as Henry turned, his face dark.

"You forget yourself madam! Do not you forget that it was in your belly my son resided. Not mine." he pointed a threatening finger at her, "This was your doing and yours alone! You lost him! This country's saviour!"

The silence that fell was ringing. Anne stared at Henry, sniffing copiously, lost for words. How could she convince her husband that the loss of their baby was no fault of hers?

Henry was breathing heavily with the effort to rein in his wroth. He straightened his coat and fixed his eyes to the bed hangings that were to the right of his wife's shoulder, his face hard granite again.

"Anne. I mean to have a divorce."

This was said so matter of factly, it made Anne gasp.

She looked up into Henry's face; so implacable … and began to laugh. It grew and grew until it was of hysterical proportions; tears streaking her face as she fought for breath at the absurd statement. After a while, she wiped her face with the bedclothes still chuckling breathlessly. But Henry's façade did not change and Anne fell silent, beginning to suspect he was not jesting with her.

"You … you … don't mean that Henry?" she said haltingly "There is no precedence … your church will never allow it… Why?"

Henry shifted uncomfortably, his face going from red to puce. His eyes moved down to the floor as he said, "Anne, the succession must be assured. I must have sons."

"But what about our daughter? What about Mary?"

"What about her?" snarled Henry looking back up at her. "A girl cannot rule a kingdom, everyone knows that. I must have sons. Only a man can rule this realm."

Anne slid painfully out of bed, her greying hair hanging down her back in a wild tangle, her eyes pleading as she crossed the room to her husband; one hand outstretched the other on her aching belly.

"Henry … I am your wife. We have one child. The rules of this realm dictates that your legitimate child is your heir. Why not Mary? Why not leave a Queen to succeed you?"

"There will be civil war if I do, Anne" bellowed Henry, shrugging off his wife's hand and striding to the window to look out unseeing to the gardens below. "I will have a divorce from you and there's an end to it!"

"Never!" Anne shrieked at his back, finally loosing her temper, "Do you think I will ever consent to this action? Do you think I will agree to you with the blessing of the church condemn me for a whore and our daughter a bastard!

Henry turned abruptly from the window, raising a threatening finger. "Enough madam. I must have sons for England and sons I will have with your consent or no."

Anne gasped and began to shake her head violently, backing away incredulously. She saw Henry start toward her and she raised her hands, trying futilely to hold him off, but a curious red mist descended. The horror of what Henry was saying combined with the grief of loosing her child came crashing in on Anne and she backed into the bed as she began to scream and scream. She did not feel it when Henry grabbed her wrists trying to force them away from her apparent dive for his face and she watched through the red haze, though not really understanding as Henry's large hand raised and descended sharply. The force of the blow sent her reeling back onto the bed, the cries pouring from her mouth subsiding in gulps as she brought a trembling hand to her red cheek.

After a few moments where Henry straightened his puffed coat again, Anne tried to assemble her wits. Suddenly, the image of a gloating Jane Seymour floated to the forefront of her mind and Anne shuddered with the realisation.

"My God Henry! Tell me it isn't her? Tell me you don't mean to get rid of me to marry Mistress Seymour?"

Refusing to look at her, Henry turned to the door calling for one of the Queens ladies to attend her. He did not glance back or say anything as he left the room after a squat German maid entered at his bellow, but Anne did not need to have him say a word or give her a look more. Anne had her answer.