Note: Thank you Sboleyn and CrazyBitch10 for the reviews. Please if any of you read this, review if you like it so I know if I should continue or not, even if it is an "I love it." haha. Here is the next chapter and it is a little longer.

June 2, 1536

A wan and pale Anne Boleyn emerged from the carriage and told a messenger who she was and was hoping to have a meeting with the King of France. Francis I, she had met him during her time in France. Actually he had just become King in 1515 when she had been at court a couple of years, before that Louis XII had reigned. Francis had saved her. It had been a long and arduous journey.

Anne had been so fearful that the king would stop her. On the highways, she could have been spotted in the carriage. The horses raced and raced, only stopping at a few select inns with her protector, Sir Robert, one on the king's followers and loyal subjects. Luckily he hadn't asked much, for it took Anne many weeks to gather in her mind and make sense of the events that led to her arrest. Even now, it made little sense except Henry had tired of him. Knew that he would!

Just why the King of France had acted on her behalf, she didn't know except his now dead wife, Claude had spoken for her. Oh, Anne remembered how attached she had become to Claude, when she became King consort. In awe Anne had watched the Duchess of Brittany, her grace and swore she would be like the queen. Mary and her served as lady-in-waiting. When Mary had become Francis' mistress, Anne had felt the same because she knew the queen had to know, luckily though that did not last long and the two Boleyn sister's returned to England.

Sadly Claude died 12 years before and now the new queen of France was Eleanor. Yet Claude, when alive had done something she hadn't been able to do for Henry, give him sons. Claude had given Francis sons. Three sons and Anne hadn't been able to do that. Only one living daughter, Elizabeth.

She was welcomed into the glittering court and saw Francis, with the queen Eleanor near him and Anne bowed low to the ground.

"My lord," Anne said, knowing she owed him everything. Why had he saved her?

"My queen Anne," he spoke in French and it made Anne weakly smile as he lifted her to her feet. "Come meet my wife. Eleanor this is Anne. She used to be a lady in waiting to Claude as did her sister Mary. How is Mary I ask you?"

Eyeing him, Anne tiredly wondered why he had to ask about his former mistress, her sister? Did kindness compel it, idle chatter or did he think often of his mistresses? Anne hated it. Hated how her sister Mary was still called the great whore, once she told Henry she wouldn't and couldn't be his mistress for that very reason.

"Mary is well your, majesty," Anne said in a clear voce and straight face despite her weariness. "She is married.," she added, defiantly.

"Ah, very good," Francis said, then looked over to his servants. "Show the Queen of England to the best room we have. I am sure after you are settled Eleanor will wish to speak with you."

"With pleasure your majesty," Anne said, about to slump over but she tilted her chin and held her head high as any queen would do and followed then men. She heard the warm french accent around her and was brought to a chamber with a bed and as soon as the servant left, Anne's shoulders slumped.

Henry. Henry. She thought of her husband numbly then felt hot anger fill her breast as she fell onto the bed and buried her face in her hands. Henry, King of England. He could do as he pleases and whom! That wrench Jane Seymour had been trying to usurp her place, but now that would not happen! Once their love was strong and the passion she felt in his arms, unparallelled. With Percy their innocent, sweet love couldn't stay after the King set his eyes on her. Then she was a girl, now a woman, a mother, the queen of England and Anne wouldn't allow him to make Elizabeth a bastard. No, her Elizabeth held royal blood, running through her veins and Anne wouldn't allow that.

As she sat, stewing, Eleanor walked in and Anne immediately rose to bow, but Eleanor stopped her.

"No, do not. We are both queens, are we not? Of equal rank. I must say I was surprised when you arrived Anne. You look very pale my dear."

Anne looked into her face as if weighed what to tell her, then her shoulders straightened.

"It is Henry," she sarcastically said. "My husband, the King of England. He thought he could be rid of me. Oh, how wrong he was. Only because I could not give him what he so desperately craved. A son. The royal fool! As if he could get better children off of that Jane Seymour. I rue the days I ever laid eyes on him and I hate him with all my heart and soul."

Eleanor shook her head. "You love him. I hear the passion in your voice. But this matters not at this point. It was an infidelity then?"

"He's slept with other women while we have been married. At first I denied it. He told me he would always love me. I-knew he would tire of me, but I tried to hold his interest. He blew hot and cold, even used my sister. I never learned or admitted I would fail. When Catherine, his first wife died I thought I was secure then it was swept away, I gloated when she died. Henry is a tyrant. Yielded him my true heart and my body, just for him to use it." Anne's voice cracked under the strain, but her eyes flashed fire. "I shall show him! Still, I will triumph. People will stop calling me the concubine and laughing. I shall have the last laugh and Elizabeth will not be a bastard. I'll see to it that Henry never marries without pain!"

Anne gave way to hysterical laughter and adrenaline rushed through her. She knew she would keep to her words, even if Henry did not keep to his. In the end she would have the power, after all she had France, at least the King of Franc on her side. Then new grief washed her heart as she saw Henry's smile in her mind, felt his arms then to her mortification the tears of laughter became real tears of sorrow.

"I am sorry," she hastily said. "I usually do not break down like this. It has been so hard. So hard loving a man whom could do this. I knew he always had it in him, but with me, the most happy I thought it would be different, the love I bore him was so great and he swore to me his was the same. I am not like my sister Mary." She snickered, wiping her last tears away. "This could almost be borne if I was with my Elizabeth."

"Elizabeth?" Eleanor questioned and Anne looked up in surprise, so lost in her rant she nearly forgot the queen was here, knew she had not made much sense.

"My daughter. She is two years old now. Henry cruelly separated us. The children of the King often stay elsewhere, but I made Elizabeth be an exception and stay with me awhile longer." She looked at Eleanor. "What will King Francis do with me?"

"You are under our protection. King Henry knows not of your whereabouts yet."

Anne nodded. "You do realize there may be war. Henry may be talk, but he has fought and will if any one takes what is his. He believes he owns me, I suppose he does as I am queen."

"I doubt he shall. There are negations. Ways to go about these matters as you well know. After all I heard he kept the queen Catherine for years because he did not wish to wage war with Spain and we," she boasted. "Are stronger than Spain."

Nodding, Anne took comfort in the queen's words and realized she hadn't ate much, as she looked in the mirror across the way, she looked s pale and gaunt. Not like the day Henry first saw her at the masque. When he stared at her, so awestruck and at her heels. What had changed? Anne knew she possessed a bad temper and sharp tongue, but surely what Henry loved most about her was her spirit and he fell in love with her and for her thoughts!

Depression settled over Anne like a cloak. She felt so tired. Eleanor sensed this and gave her a sympathetic smile, told her she would send in a lady to attend to her. Anne barely noticed as the queen left and she laid out on the bed and stared at the wall. Henry... she felt like weeping. At first it all was a game, one where she would keep the power and raise herself up, her father's ambition, but it became more. It became love and friendship. Then it turned sour in such a short time. Pushing aside all sentimentally with rigid resolve, Anne knew sooner or later the court would leak she were here. Henry would come for her, she knew it and she could not wait to defy him in front of everyone and repay him for all of his callous way.

Maybe she still loved him, she could not say. Regardless of the great love and passion they once shared, she would make him rue ever courting and pursuing her. Perhaps then he would think twice before he took another woman's heart and broke it, as he had broken hers.

XXX

June 22, 1536

"So she is in France, is she?" Henry asked then laughed shortly, throwing his head back. "Send France a letter saying if they do not return my wife to me, there will be war. The damn nosey French. Damn them all and damn her!"

Henry couldn't say her same. As he stared out towards the window he said Anne's name in his mind and her image returned. More splendid than ever. Her wearing her yellow dress, twirling and laughing. Elizabeth running to her, mother and daughter were so much alike, but Elizabeth had the red hair of his own dear mother.

The letter would be sent and signed by his own hand. The moment the letter was set on his desk he singed it with flourish: Rex H. He held no doubt Anne would be sent back soon and nodded, rising to his feet and intending to make sure his whole court wasn't falling a part in the meantime. Mary was upset Anne escaped as rightly so Jane. He must explain everything to Jane, she was his last hope after all of having a son.

Elizabeth... as well. Lady Ashley told him the little girl barely slept and was asking for her mother. How did one tell a little girl that her mother would soon die? He couldn't tell her that, but knew as King and a father he must keep things in order. Anne may have bewitched him and set everything astir, but Henry knew her well and wouldn't let her get him. How could Anne do this to him? After all he had given her? This was unfathomable and Henry cursed again, running his hand through his hair.