Alcalá de Henares, Madrid, 1522

My most dear Queen and Mother:

I am writing you this letter in order to ask your forgiveness, for I know that what I am about to ask you goes against all the principles you have taught me when I was a little child, yet already a future Queen. I still remember these times vividly, as I remember the motherly affection you nurtured towards me and my brothers, and I can't help but feel that I somehow failed you in my duty as monarch of the English realm.

You have always told me to be a good Christian woman, a loving yet fair mother and a loving wife, understanding my place in the world as well as my husband's. However, as you said, there are three things a woman must protect fiercely, no matter what, the first being her faith, the second being her honor and the third and last being her family. As far as the first two are concerned, I followed your wise words relentlessly, no matter what others may think or make you think. And by others I mean – and my heart bleeds as I write this – my most dear King and husband, Henry.

Do not judge from my words that Henry is a dreadful husband. How could he be such, if he was the very same man who gave me his helping and merciful hand so many years ago, when I was nothing but a foreign and impoverished widow to his poor, deceased brother, Prince Arthur of Wales? Back then he was the only one whose generous heart felt for the pains our Lord saw fit to cause me as a way of making me stronger and more and more persistent in my faith. I loved him with all my heart, for it was all I could do to express my gratitude towards him for making me accomplish my fate of being Queen of England. My pleas and prayers had finally been answered.

Nevertheless, there was one thing I have always pleaded to God and He, in His impenetrable will, never saw fit to give me: a male son and a heir to this kingdom. I bore Henry many children, but none of them survived past their birthday. As much as others may see it as a curse, I choose to see it as a test of my devotion and ability to endure the pain of the greatest loss there can be: the loss of a child, just as the Virgin Mary, our Beloved Mother of whom most of your subjects rightfully believe you are the earthly descendent. At last, He saw fit to bless me with a daughter: Mary, Maria in our language, a child Henry loved dearly. Nevertheless, England needed a male son, because in their eyes it is impossible for a woman to take the reins of the power, being her nature so different from a man's. I can't help but pity them. If only they had been educated by you, if they had saw and heard countless times your insight and intelligence ruling a country as I have been blessed to do, their opinion would be rather different.

I know Maria was born to be a Queen. God wouldn't have spared her if he didn't believe she is destined to do great and good things in this world. That's why I kept myself calm and collected for her sake when my husband (whose eager nature had lead him countless times to seek mistresses among my ladies, some of them even bore him some bastard sons) decided to cast me aside for a woman of no importance, Anne Boleyn. Her father is an ambitious yet low-born Ambassador, who educated both his daughters in that feast of decadence and dissolute behavior for which the French court is well-known. No wonder that one of them, Mary, acquired the reputation of being Francis's harlot, while the other was told to allure my husband as soon as she set foot in English soil. I do not doubt that a great part of this plan was conceived by the men of her kin, and she has little choice but obey. Nevertheless, her lack of deference towards the values me and my daughter share is unbearable. She dared to label my daughter as a bastard. How can someone dare to say that about Isabel and Fernando's granddaughter, is something that is beyond my understanding.

The saddest part of all this is that Henry fell in love with her, or at least he proclaims to have done so. Only I know it isn't true. He is bewitched by her, allured by her exotic charm. I've heard she refuses to give herself to him while they are not married. She doing nothing but masking herself as a virtuous woman in order to keep Henry interested. There are few things more appealing to him than covet something he is not allowed to have. He even talks about marriage and future children with her, once he gets rid of me, of course.

Speaking of myself, where do I stand in the middle of all this? At first I didn't let myself be brought down by my husband's indifference and Anne's rise in his graces. She was just another mistress, I kept telling myself. But when Henry's love affair with Anne became more and more public, I had to fight. I had to ensure my daughter would get what was rightfully hers: she was the heiress of the throne, Princess of Wales, and no one would take that away from her. Your words and teachings echoed in my head countless times in order to not let me give up, until something happened, something that forced me to take further measures to protect my daughter.

I have heard some whispers about the Boleyns, about their plans to lead Anne higher and higher in Henry's esteem in order to fill their pockets with His Majesty's generosity. And one of those plans involved disguising Mary's death as an accident, so there wouldn't be any child to remember Henry of his past once Anne started to bear him sons.

And that's why I am pleading Your Majesty's help. I know I shouldn't give up, I know that reason is on my side, but I have no choice. By honoring Mary's betrothal to my loving nephew Charles, I have the opportunity to prevent her from the evilness of that family. By sending her right now to be educated in order to fulfill her duty as Empress, I can ensure her future. By putting her under your protective wing, my heart can finally rest as I give in to Henry's requests for a divorce. I am aware of the consequences of my actions, but I beg you to understand me. I commend myself to your motherly heart, so you can comply with my humblest request. Do not worry about me, for I will be in the best and holiest of hands once I divorce myself from Henry. Instead, pray for me and for Mary, as both our fates are on Henry's hands, now more than ever.

Please send me a sign, something I can take as an answer to my request. And once again I am deeply sorry for not being the strong daughter you expected me to be. Nevertheless, bear in mind my unconditional love towards you and my deepest admiration.

Your most loving subject and daughter

Catalina, Infanta of Spain and Queen of England

Isabel, Queen of Castile and Aragon, finished the letter with a heavy heart. "Poor Catalina", she thought. How could her be disappointed with someone who endured such things?

Unfortunately, she knew very well the pain of losing a child, and it wasn't something she would wish on her bitterest enemy, let alone on her daughter. Of course she feared for England's future, but her maternal instinct spoke louder. That's why she sent for her most trusted advisor, Don Rodrigo Mendoza, to meet her. Mary would be taken under her care, whether son in law wanted or not.