AN: Since the Prologue was so short, and I was feeling generous, I uploaded two chapters at once. Besides, I need to explain a few things before we carry on. Anne Boleyn did not lose her head, and she is still married to Henry. They have two sons and one daughter – Elizabeth (born 1533), Edward (born 1534) and George (born 1535). It is now 1537, and Anne is pregnant yet again.

Mary's mother, Catherine, has died a year earlier, and she is now alone in the world – unless she can win back her father's favour – or that of one of the Royal Children. Apart from this, very few historical facts are right – I felt like messing them around.

Disclaimer: I do not own the Tudors – if I did, Henry would never have tired of Anne, and they would have had a son together, and another daughter, to give Elizabeth a sister.

Enjoy!

1

Princess Anne

1537

A year later, I was back at court to await the birth of a third son for England.

I came in, through the great gates of Hampton Court Palace, but not in the place of honour at the head of the procession, the royal standard rippling above my head. Oh no. Those days were long over – at least while Anne had power.

Instead, I rode in behind my fiery half sister, Elizabeth, or Bessie, as her family called her, wearing a simple woollen blue skirt, the one I always rode in.

Changing at once to my best gown, the pale green taffeta striped with silver, which was still rather ancient, but reasonably pretty, I begged, implored and pleaded for a private audience with my father, while Mistress Kat Champernowne, Elizabeth's governess, took her young charge up to greet her mother, as she had been commanded to do.

To my surprise and delight, I was granted one, in his Privy Chamber, no less.

I was ushered in first, through one door, and moments later, he crossed the threshold of the other.

As he entered, I hesitated for a mere fraction of a second, so that he could see what a graceful young lady I had become, before dipping down into a curtsey, deep, low, reverent and perfect.

"Father. Your Majesty."

"Mary. Are you well?"

"Perfectly, sir. And yourself?"
"Well enough, well enough, thank you, Mary."

"It pleases me to hear it, sire" I replied politely, though I could see that the old jousting wound to his leg was paining him. Even so, he looked active enough, and healthy, though of course the imminent birth of his newest heir was also sustaining him.

"Good" I thought, as I surveyed him critically from my place at his feet. "That will keep his mind occupied, and allow him to remain at least moderately pleasant."

"Now, Mary, you asked to see me. Why?"

"Because I wish to take the Oath of Succession, Father, to the new Queen, Anne Boleyn."

At once he was alert. Leaning forward, he scrutinized me fastidiously. Forcing my face to remain impassive, I gazed steadily back at him.

"You will accept that Anne is my lawful wife, that I am Supreme Head of the Church, and that Elizabeth Marian Anna-Maria Eleanor Margaret Tudor is Princess of Wales instead of you?" he asked in consternation.

Closing my eyes, so that my father could not see the envy and resentment which flared briefly in my sapphire-coloured eyes before I regained control of myself, I nodded.

"Aye, Sire."

"By God, this will please the queen! Will you swear it now? Here? Before witnesses?"

"Aye, I will, My Liege." I replied clearly, never guessing what was to follow.

"Then come, Maria! Come at once!"

Using the Spanish version of my name, which he only did when he was deadly serious, Father rose from his throne, and strode from the room, leaving me with nothing else to do but scurry along in his wake.

Moments later, we reached Anne's birthing chambers, and for the first time, I faltered. Was I really ready to publicly renounce my title of Princess?

As if he sensed my reluctance, Father glanced back at me with warmth in his eyes.

"Are you sure you want to do this, Maria?" he asked gently. "I'll understand if you don't. After all, little more than three years ago, you told Anne to her face that you recognized no Queen but your mother."

My eyes filled with tears at the memory of my compassionate, ever patient, and longsuffering, if occasionally spirited mother, but still I responded firmly.

"A lot has happened in those three years, Your Majesty. I am sure."

Confident as I sounded, inwardly I was by no means quite so convinced.

"It's too late for any qualms now, Mary." I told myself, as my father offered me his arm, and we swept regally in together.

For a moment, I scarcely dared to breathe. Perhaps I had dreamt all those years of humiliation and hardship. Perhaps I was but seven, the favoured princess of England, and it was actually my mother, Catalina Isabella Juana Maria Tudor, lying there in the birthing bed.

"Henry! What do you mean by letting this bastard enter as though she is a Princess of the Blood?" Anne's sharp voice burst the bubble of my daydream.

Collecting my thoughts, I glanced around, and saw Elizabeth perched on the end of her mother's bed. I focused on her unruly, flaming red curls and swift, darting, yet trusting blue eyes. Maybe if I kept looking at her, I could get through what I had to do without fainting or breaking down.

My father gave me a little push, and I stepped forward, and then fell to my knees before Anne.

"Your Grace"

"What is the meaning of this? What is Lady Mary doing?"

Hiding a smile at Anne's obvious discomfort as I showed her respect, I explained "My Lady, nay, my queen, I am here to take the oath of succession before your very eyes.

Three years ago, I told you you were no queen, but merely my father's mistress – his concubine. Then, I was young and headstrong – and my mother was alive.

A year ago, my mother died, and I have matured since. My father was free to remarry, and his choice fell upon you, Lady Anne. Ergo you are now Queen, and I shall swear fealty to you."

"How wonderful!" Anne clapped in her delight, and motioned for a servant to bring forward the oath. Scanning it briefly, I began.

In the past, I had always begun my vows thus: "I, Mary, daughter of the right excellent, right high and mighty Prince and Princess Henry, by the grace of God King of England, and Catherine, Queen of the same..." Not any more. Instead, I started "I, Lady Mary, the King's bastard daughter, whom it so pleaseth him to recognize as his own, do hereby swear fealty to Anna-Maria Boleyn, Queen of England, and grant that her offspring, daughter Elizabeth, and sons Edward and George, are the lawful and rightful heirs to the throne of England above myself, the Lady Mary Isabella Tudor."

Somehow, I got through the rest of the vow as well, and could finally look up into the queen's bold, searching gaze.

"Well enough, Lady Mary. You may go among my women." Anne said at last.

Thankfully, I rose to my feet, swooped into a curtsey and retreated.

The other Ladies-in-Waiting closed around me like a curtain I could hide behind, as I strode through their midst, my lips curving up into a grim smile at the irony of it all. Less than a decade ago, I had been the unchallenged Princess of Wales, and every man, woman and child had knelt before me. Now I was the one curtseying to many a person, for they were my betters, now that I was merely Lady Mary.

A few women smiled at me, most nodded civilly, but a turn of a head caught my eye.

I spun around, and found myself facing –

"Kitty? Kitty Percy? Katherine Elizabeth Percy?"

"Howard, Mary. Katherine Elizabeth Howard. I am married now, if you remember."

"Kitty!" I gasped, and folded the older woman into my arms, breathing rapidly in my ecstasy.

Laughing as she released me, Kitty looked me over with one of those quick, clear, appraising glances the Howards are so good at.

I raked every inch of her just as rapidly, and decided that, although she looked not a day younger than her twenty-seven years, she was blooming with health and vitality.

Katherine Elizabeth Howard was an old lady-in-waiting of my mother's, and my closest friend. Even after 1530, once I was banished from court, and she served Anne alone, Kitty had risked the Boleyn's fervent displeasure in writing to me twice a month. For that steadfast loyalty, I loved her like a favourite sister.

"Come, Mary, let us sit together, and you can tell me all you've been doing these past seven years."

"You know perfectly well what I've been doing! Let us talk of you rather than me."

As I spoke, Kitty put her arm rather nervously about my shoulders, and propelled me across the room to a vacant window-seat she had spotted. Whilst we were making our way over there, we lapsed into Spanish, which my mother had taught us both, so as not to be understood by the English ladies who surrounded us.

"How many children have you now? 3, isn't it?"

"Nay, five. 2 strong, lusty, beautiful boys, and the rest all darling daughters, girls as pretty as picture-book princesses."

"Sweet. What are their names – all their names?

"In age order – Maria-Anne, Robert, Amy, Thomas and then the baby of our family, Laetitia-Elizabeth."

"For the love of God, I hope you'll shorten them eventually!"

"Naturally"

"Forgive my asking, but I recollect you being pregnant more than five times. What happened to the rest?"

"Two miscarriages, one stillbirth. I don't want to talk about it."

"Ah, I see. Of course you don't. By the way, where is Maria-Anne? Surely she's old enough for court by now?"

"Aye, eleven summers. I'll definitely have her brought up to court from Norfolk in the New Year."

"Good. I can't wait to meet her. With a mother like you, and a Howard father, she's bound to be pretty."
"But not as pretty as you, my princess."

"Katherine! Thank God we speak in Spanish! You must never call me Princess again! You know perfectly well what Her Majesty thinks – and says, and does." Sighing slightly, I turned resolutely to my old friend, who still shook her golden head.

"Why should I not? You, Mary, are the sole rightful heir."

"An heir who just happens to have signed away her rights to the throne – publicly. Please. Kitty, if you ever loved me, call me just plain Mary, as you used to do."

"All right, all right. Your wish is my command."

Scowling, I glared at her, and then laughed, rather spoiling the effect.

Just at that moment, red-haired Elizabeth slipped off her mother's bed, and came to claim me for a basse dance, as the queen's minstrels struck up a sprightly tune.

Curtseying, I laid my hand in hers, and followed the hem of her gown as if I were honoured to do so, as though I did not think that she, Elizabeth, ought to be making way for me as if I were Queen already.

Moments later, I gave myself up to the joy of the dance, and leapt, curtsied, twirled, smiled and swished my way through the remainder of the afternoon.

*****

Barely a week after I had had my talk with Kitty, Anne went into labour.

Unlike with Elizabeth's birth, I was not actually commanded to be present in the birthing chamber, so I stayed with Elizabeth and her brother, Edward, amusing them, singing to them, reading to them, bathing them – anything to take their minds off the distant screams echoing from the other end of the palace.

At last, several hours later, just past midday on the 12th of October 1537, Lady Mary Stafford, Her Majesty's sister, came in, looking flushed and happy.

Elizabeth signed to me, and I leapt up to stand at her side.

"What news of Her Majesty, my lady? Is she delivered of a healthy son?"

"Nay, Lady Mary. A fine bonny daughter. A sister for Bessie."

At this, Elizabeth jumped up, and forgetting all decorum, bounced around the room, singing in her great delight.

"What is the child's name?"

"Anne. Anne Frances Cecily Tudor, Princess of England."

I nodded, and backed off.

That was how I found out about the queen's fourth child. She was not a boy, the longed-for boy, but a girl – a pretty little maiden.

Still, after Her Grace had miscarried last year, she was a symbol of hope for both members of the royal couple – she was the living, breathing proof that they were both still young enough to have yet more children born to them.

I called her "my sister Princess Anne – a Tudor rosebud."