Hello all, apologies for the long wait. Not entirely satisfied with this chapter, feels too much like the last but to omit it would leave big gaps in the timeline.
Someone asked if I knew of any other Anne/Charles fics, I would highly recommend this video youtube .com/watch?v=1idt25AYSYI and all heartofsnow23 's work. I had been playing with the idea of A/C fic but this inspired me to finally write it
ANYway.
Since the news of Charles' marriage the days at Hever seemed to be perpetually grey. The roses in the garden remained closed, birds sang no songs, and a cold rain drizzled over the lawns. Anne Boleyn moved from one room of the castle to the next like a ghost, silent and unseen; her gloomy presence noticed by no one, excused away as fondness for the King and a longing to return to court. On this particular night she was alone in her bedchamber, the door barred with her best attempt of pushing the dresser against it. Frigidly, Anne lay curled up on the floor by a fire; in her hand she held the King's latest missive, delivered the same day as the dreaded news. She had read it and reread it so many times she has lost count, the fresh parchment frayed at the edges with frequent use. Other papers lay scattered around her like autumn leaves; poems, letters, notes, a song, and a pamphlet by Martin Luther she had been trying to read days previous.
I tell you, I pledge to you all my honour, love, and service.
The words she had pored over and dismissed as her mood flung her from the melancholic to the elated. Henry's letter continued:
I have given you my heart, now I desire to dedicate my body to you. Written by the hand of him who in heart, body, and will is your loyal servant. H.R
She closed her eyes and drew in a long breath at the heart felt emotion in his words. Then there was the little heart between the letters H and R. The King of England sending loves notes like a schoolboy; it was plain to anyone that he was falling, if not already fallen, in love with Anne. Something inside Anne tugged her heart, like an unseen force was timidly keeping her alive. She'd never expected to feel anything of Henry; the way she had startled George when he stole this very letter by the passionate vehemence in her voice demanding its return.
"You're not in love with him – are you?" Anne had not answered. But what if she did? Even a little? Then there was Charles, her sweet Gentleness. He might have well perished on the voyage from Portugal for all the good his return was worth. At least then Anne might be spared from seeming his glorious face and his love given to another woman. Her heart was closed up like Pandora's Box and somewhere in the dark pit Hope crouched in the corner, wishing that Charles would return to her. But it was too late and the course was begun; the dogs released from their cages. Her family was depending on her. There was no option left but to see it through to the end.
.
When dawn rose over Hever, Anne emerged from her chambers, having barely slept, and went out in to the grounds. The house was silent; the majority of the servants still asleep save for a few whose tasks were vital to the household's life – the cooks stoking the fires, the swains tending the coops and sties. The fresh morning hit Anne as she passed through the kitchen door to the yard; it had rained during the night and there was a faint damp in the crisp air. She breathed in deeply and exhaled slowly, letting the perfume of the morning linger in her lungs; it was the smell of autumn. She couldn't believe that August was almost over already, the King's summer courtship had past so quickly. Slowly she made her way through the yard to the smithy. The man her father employed had been a young man at the Battle of Bosworth, he had lost the sight in his right eye and now only ever occupied when shoeing horses or repairing tools but he had a gift for crafting jewellery. Anne found him already working on a piece of strip metal that glowed orange hot.
"Mister Ferrer" Though he nodded in acknowledgement he did not stop his work and continued to tap a rhythm on the anvil. Finally, when he was content that no more could be done without reheating the metal, he lay down his tools and addressed the mistress.
"Lady Anne," He ducked his head, "How may I be o' service t' you this morning?" Anne faltered for a moment, her attention fixed by morbid curiosity on the large scar that ran from his hair line down over his misty right eye and cheek.
"I need you to make something for me. A trinket." She explained to him the specifics of her design; a small golden ship, no larger than the mouth of a small glass, with the figure of a woman, also gold, sails filled with small diamonds and a diamond pendant hanging from the ship's bow. The idea had come to Anne in the night whilst deciding her next move, she had to submit to the King but it would be beneath her to do something so simple. The trinket Henry would interpret as a submission, a declaration of her love for him, but its meaning was not so plain that it was limited to a single explanation. The woman was a captive, bound by the promise and the exchange of gold, on his Majesty's ship. The diamond was her heart, but not as told in Roman de la Rose; A heart as hard as a diamond, steadfast, never changing. No, her inspiration came from the Lady of the Lake's advice to Lancelot;
A knight should have two hearts, one as hard and impenetrable as diamond, and the other as soft and pliable as hot wax. The one which is as hard as diamond should oppose those who are treacherous and cruel.
After some thought, and a few calculations, the craftsman consented to her request and Anne paid him a purse to cover the cost of materials. She left it in his charge yet was deeply troubled. Overhead masses of dark clouds had gathered ominously over the pale sky. A storm was coming. It was appropriate, Anne felt. God she knew what would come of this.
.
Within days of her ship shaped trinket reaching the King, Henry rode fast down the hard road to Hever, escorted by two yeomen of the guard, their horses' hooves churning the mud. He drew his horse to a start stop inches from colliding with the entrance and leapt from the beast's back, landing with a soft crunch, and paused in awe at the sight above him. Anne stood in the window framed, like a master's painting, by the crawling ivy and fine glass. Her eyes were staring straight at the King, then, abruptly she turned away and disappeared from sight, even as Henry breathed a long sigh and shuddered with desire. He burst into action and flew through the halls of Hever until he found himself in his love's arms.
He pinned Anne beneath him with his arms, "My own heart, my life, my lady" he gasped between kisses, each passionate with lingering wonder. She kissed him back, first the corner of his mouth, then nibbling on his lower lip. She opened her mouth to his and pressed her slender body against him. Drunk with love and lust, Henry lifted his face to look at her, "I lay claim to your maidenhead," he said softly, and kissed her breasts. Anne smiled lazily and a shiver of desire rippled through her as she pushed a faint trace of betrayal to the back of her mind.
"And I make you this promise. When we are married," the King interrupted her with a kiss; "I will deliver you a son" They were the words Henry wanted to hear most above everything else. They inflamed his desire and he dealt a hard, urgent kiss. He withdrew from her breasts and knelt, placing her left leg around him and reached under her shift.
"Sweet Anne. Oh sweet Anne", He kissed her again, a groan of frustration escaping his throat as he ran his hands feverishly over her. This, this moment, Anne's body, was what he craved and dreamt of night and day. Silently his eyes asked permission, hers gave assent. Henry ran his hand down her side, his fingers travelling over the mould of her breasts, the dip of her waist and up again over her hip. Then reluctantly, with a deep breath, he removed himself from her arms. For a moment, Anne didn't understand, her senses rioting and head swimming with new sensations.
"What is it?" she breathed. Henry sat beside her, fighting against his primitive instinct.
"I shall honour your maidenhead until we are married. No less could I do for love." Anne sprung into his arms and kissed him.
"Oh, my love. Love, by daily proof, I swear you shall find me to be to you both loving and kind." Henry kissed her chastely on the lips then rose and bolted out of her chamber, leaving Anne to settle her racing heart and cool her swollen lips. With no distractions that trace she had fought to restrain came forth with all its strength till a single tear streaked Anne's cheek.
.
"I hate you!" Margaret launched a metal goblet at her husband. Another day of wedded bliss in the house of Suffolk, and it was only just the afternoon.
"You said it would all right! You said he would believe you. That's what you said! That's what you promised!" She shouted with a slam of her fist on the heavy dining table, if it hurt she made no sign of it, whether due to her pride or that her sense of pain had been made void through intoxication.
"For the love of God wife!" Charles threw his hands into the air as Margaret picked up a grey pitcher.
"Don't call me wife" She snarled and threw the jug. Charles ducked and it smashed through a window of their fine country home. "I don't want to be your wife. I hate you!" Charles moved around towards the table, dodging another missile.
"No, you don't!" For an answer Margaret drained the last of her drink and shot him a look of contempt.
"Yes, I do. If it weren't for you I'd still be the Queen of Portugal. And now what am I?"
"You are drunk" Her loving husband reminded her "And you are foolish" Charles took a step forward so she could not longer throws things at him. "Henry will forgive us. He's just standing on his pride. We just wounded his vanity. Believe me." He added a little more coaxingly.
"Why should I?" She barked and made to hit him, or smash her goblet into his head he couldn't be sure. Charles caught her by the wrist and she went to hit with the other hand which he caught also. A cruel smile crossed her lips, "I don't know if you're really brave, or if you're just a fucking fool!"
"Neither do I." Charles hovered over his wife, his anger slipping into something even more primitive. He pulled her closer and kissed her. For a second Margaret tried to resist but too easily succumb to the moment, she melted against her husband and kissed him back passionately throwing her empty goblet to the floor. She tore at his doublet and breeches as he pushed her onto the table, kissing and caressing each other wildly. Charles gave a strong tug at the strings holding her dress closed and shoved her skirts high. Playfully she slapped him only goading him on. Margaret's legs locked around him, and sprawled across the table, they made love with wild abandon. However, regardless of how good it felt, it was no different to the countless other women Charles had had; the woman beneath him could have been one of the countless servant girls he'd fucked against walls, on tables, and stone floors. Wife? What of it?
.
In the morning, as planned, Anne and her father rode back to court with the King. Anne sat with her hands in Henry's lap, his grip on her not tight but forcefully possessive, opposite her father sat in marked silence, though, the content at the King's inclination worn thicker on his face than an actor's greasepaint. From time to time Henry would kiss her head or stroke her hand with the pad of his thumb, yet Anne remained a statue gazing out at the passing scenery. There was something incredibly off putting having her father witness these small intimacies, no matter how innocent they were.
"You'll be pleased to hear I am considering a rapprochement with France" Henry shifted his direction to Thomas Boleyn. It Boleyn tried to hide his smugness he failed miserably.
"That is excellent news your Majesty. I always found the French more predictable. They are dishonest but can always be trusted to be dishonest." The King gave a faint laugh and squeezed Anne's hand a little.
"Sweetheart, I have arranged for to have you own apartments at court and servants. Does this please you, love?" Anne was silent momentarily.
"Then her Majesty knows of us." It was not the reply either man expected. Though Henry looked a little forlorn, Thomas Boleyn glared at his daughter for not pandering to the King's bequest.
"Am I to resume in service to her?" The men gave no reply, swallowing their words. Anne resumed her vigilance over the countryside; Henry's touch barely registering to her senses. The rest of the journey was quiet, the odd comment passing between men of politics and current affairs. It was only on their arrival at court that they appeared animated at all. Henry fawned over Anne in the sight of all attendants and courtiers, the whispered gossips and prying eyes not needing to be seen nor heard to be noticed. Maids to Anne rushed to her belongings to impress their new mistress and scampered back to Anne's private apartments. The rooms were impressive, as were all the private rooms at court, as though the King made to impress his subjects with trinkets and luxuries before they had a chance to judge his kingship. Anne surveyed the dark oak panelling and intricate Tudor Rose carvings in the grey stone, noticing how alike her chambers were to the Queens albeit smaller. However, there was little time to rest as soon the Queen's ladies were called to attend.
.
A new lady-in-waiting with blonde hair held a bowl of fresh warm water out for Queen Katherine who, aside from orders, had remained silent the entire day. The Queen gently washed her hands then bid Anne over with a clean towel. When finished Katherine handed it back to Anne, Anne curtseyed and turned away but only a few feet away from the Queen was called to a stop. Reluctantly Anne paused, turning slowly towards the Queen with her eyes downcast. Gradually, as the women all stood expectantly, Anne raised her head to meet Katherine's gaze. Their eyes locked, she was met with a look of overwhelming pity. At last, Katherine gave a weak smile and sighed, her grey eyes misty with sorrow. In that speechless moment Anne realised just how much the Queen understood – she knew of her fondness for the Duke of Suffolk and him likewise, she knew her pursuit of the King was of Norfolk and Thomas Boleyn's design, she knew Anne could run if she could only be brave enough, she knew she would not. If it had not been for Charles the Queen could almost forgive her, she would only be the pawn of an ambitious father of which there were many but Anne was betraying her heart, which, in the Queen's eyes, was a greater sin than any crime against the monarch. Anne hurriedly looked away with a shudder.
"That will be all," Katherine said quietly. "Leave me now. I am weary," she murmured turning to face the fire. Once alone she pressed her hand against her brow, her fingers rubbing as if they could erase the lines that time and worry had etched there, while her other hand reached for the rosary beads ever present at her waist.
.
Some days later a dinner and dance was held to honour the arrival of the French envoys. The Chapel Royal sang, Thomas Tallis conducting, for entertainment. Thomas Boleyn and Norfolk stood on the balcony intently watching Anne and Henry dance. They looked rather contemptuously at the French delegates in their fancy clothes.
"You can always tell the French" Boleyn said sourly.
"Ah yes" Norfolk assented "The ponces, never did anything so clever as giving Wolsey a pension, he's never failed them"
"We must wait and see." Boleyn said soothingly. "When the wheel of fortune has reached its zenith, there is only one way for it to go." The crows turned their attention back to where Anne and Henry were dancing. It would have been obvious to a blind man that the two were in love. Henry couldn't take his eyes off Anne, or she off him. Anne twirled fey like in another cream coloured gauze dress. Meanwhile, at the Royal Table, Queen Katherine sat alone, watching the dancers miserably.
Suddenly, a loud commotion of men shouting erupted outside the hall. A single messenger hurried through the guards till prevented by two crossed halberds. He called to his King and Henry dropped Anne's hand, and the music faltered to a halt.
"Rome has been sacked!" He cried above the guards. Henry ordered he be let passed and the floor cleared of dancers as the messenger came to heel at his master's feet. His news caused the entire court to gasp in horror, even the Queen.
"Rome has been captured and sacked by the German and Spanish mercenaries of the Emperor. They have plundered and befouled its churches, destroyed its relics and holy treasures, to tortured and killed thousands of its priests." People crossed themselves, muttering words like 'monstrous' and 'barbaric', yet Wolsey seemed more concerned for himself. Henry went straight to the core of the thing.
"What of his Holiness?"
"The Pope is prisoner in the Castel Sant'Angelo"
"He is the Emperor's prisoner," "Yes" said the messenger stuttered. Henry turned slowly on his heel and glared at his Queen. The Pope was in the hands of her nephew. In shocked silence, people began to leave the feast table. Henry stormed out of the Hall, Wolsey following close behind, leaving Anne to search for a friendly face in the thinning crowd. Katherine caught her eye for what she thought was contempt but gave her a knowing smile before departing. Anne was mystified and returned to her rooms none the wiser.
Katherine walked through the court with her head held high, though many at court blamed her for the Emperor's brutality; she was still Queen of England. Once back to her private chambers the Queen dismissed her ladies and sent for the Lady Anne. She sat at a table waiting, a sealed letter sat in front of her.
"Mistress Boleyn" She called quietly to Anne who waited patiently by the door. Anne approached her Queen but did not sit as Katherine bade she do. Katherine put her hand on the letter.
"Another letter from the King. For you" She offered it to Anne, "Though perhaps, it would be better I burn it?" Anne looked as though she were to grab if from her but barely moved.
"Did you know the King is trying to divorce me? Of course you do... but with what my nephew has done. I cannot condone the violence but the King will not get his divorce so easily now." Anne took the letter from Katherine curiously.
"Jealous does not become you Lady Anne. Just as a princess took your love you cannot steal a King from his Queen." Katherine rose from her seat and squared up to Anne. "I am Henry's lawful wife and Queen of England, and such I will remain until my dying day. I know my place in this world, I suggest you find yours."
.
Days later more grim news reached the court. The King's infant son, Henry Fitzroy, had died suddenly of the sweating sickness. The King was inconsolable yet the loss of his only son drove his obsession to new heights. The success Wolsey in Paris and the conclave of the cardinal was most imperative.
Anne sat alone in the room, the curtains drawn and only a single candle burning, the whole room in shadow. Earlier that day she had been humiliated reading out the King's, very intimate, letter to her father and uncle. Her face flushed as she recalled it and turned her face away from the light. It made her feel cheap and for that she was ashamed. A light knocked rapped across her door and George quietly slipped into her room.
"Anne" He whispered, closing the door and treading softly over to her bed, "Why are you sitting in the darkness?" She didn't respond. George frowned and sat down beside her, putting his hand over hers. "What's wrong?"
Anne shook her head from side to side, "You don't understand"
"Of course I do!" George said airily, "I'm your brother aren't I?" For a moment his face looked so boyish and sweet Anne thought so to,
"If only you were still as you used to be. I remember I told you everything. All my secrets."
George stared at her curiously, "You can still tell me."
"I can't." George laughed a little.
"Why?"
"You'd share them" Anne said sadly. He blinked as a grave realisation sunk in him, he couldn't deny it. His silence acknowledged. His eyes dropped; he couldn't even meet her gaze.
"Are you frightened?" She didn't answer, the Queen's words whirling around her brain tangled with the memory of Charles' face.
Soon enough Anne was back at court and by now all knew it was she that the King desired and bets, no doubt, were being laid as to how long it would be before she became his mistress. Almost daily she rode with the King and his fellows, or sat playing cards with him alone. With Compton the pair picnicked, subjecting him to being the 'third wheel' while they say cooing over one another. Compton sat alone a good distance away, staring moodily at the couple. A servant handed him his food. "Poor Harry" he muttered.
Henry and Anne ate the flesh of a hart with their fingers. They gazed into each other's eyes, feeding each other the warm, tender morsels, kissing, nibbling at each other. Compton watched on, alone and a little troubled
.
Brandon sat at his desk, quill in hand but was restless, as usual. A servant opened the door to a chamber and announced the visitor to his master. "Sir Thomas Boleyn your Grace".
Brandon looked up, startled; Thomas Boleyn was the last person he would have imagined would make the journey all this way to visit him. He was not overly friendly in his reception of his guest. As they passed opening pleasantries Charles couldn't help but look past Boleyn as though expecting his dark haired daughter to follow close behind.
"To what do I owe this pleasure?"
"May I speak frankly?" Charles nodded and dismissed his groom. He returned to his desk and poured Boleyn a glass of wine.
"You your health my Lord."
"And yours" Charles drank and sat.
"Norfolk has sent me"
Charles frowned, "but Norfolk hates me. I am a new man after all and he is far too grand for me". Boleyn gave an ingratiating shrug. With a seemingly planned slew of words, Boleyn wove Charles into his scheme to bring down the Cardinal with a promise of the Duke's return to court. Boleyn was at the door about to leave when he continued his speech
"And who knows your Grace, perhaps my daughter will speak kindly of you to his Majesty. It is always good to be in the light of a rising sun." He left Charles alone.
Charles collapsed into his chair with a sigh. It would be good to be back at court and away from his wife. It would be good to see Anne again.
"What did you hear?" He asked his wife whose eavesdropping had not gone unnoticed to him.
"Everything."
.
The court was alive with intrigue. Anne knew her father and uncle were ambitious and clever men but never could she have supposed that they would be the ones to bring Lucifer back to paradise. Though her, or any ladies, were permitted attendance she and others crowded behind curtains lining the King's Audience Chamber. Henry sat, staring ferociously at something on the floor. It was Brandon, kneeling humbly before him, his head bowed.
"I heard you crawled here like a dog." Henry sneered. Brandon bristled and raised his head,
"Something like –" Charles was suddenly cut off by the King and forced to lower his eyes.
"Hold your tongue! You were always too useful with it."
"Yes your majesty"
"Have you come to beg my forgiveness?"
"Yes your majesty"
"Well then beg for it"
Anne watched Gentleness bit his tongue, men and their pride, she tutted, though her breath stopped in anticipation, Charles stood on the edge of the knife and if said pride took the better, well she dare not think of the consequences.
"With all my heart, with all my soul, with every ounce of my being. My king, my sovereign, my dread lord, I beg you to forgive... your miserable servant. Your humble, worthless, thoughtless servant, who deserved so little, through your bounty and Grace, is given so much. Ungrateful wretch that I am, unworthy of your majesty's love."
Suddenly Henry bolted from his subject to the door leading into the King's Drawing Room. Anne's heart stopped.
"Come here!" A thankful wave of relief took her as Charles jumped to his feet and trailed in after the King.
As Charles passed through the door Henry threw off his jacket and rings. Henry, still looking thunderous, propped his elbow upon a small table ready for for arm wrestling. Brandon blinked, not quite understanding.
"If you can beat me" Henry told him, "You can come back to court." Was that a threat? It was hard to tell. Charles sat opposite the King and propped his own elbow on the table and clasped Henry's hand. Henry hated losing; did he truly want Charles to try and beat him?
" Ready?" Henry continued. His face gave nothing away only his custom manic glint in his eye. With a nod their miniature battle commenced and with a little pressure the King began to push Charles' arm toward the table rather quickly. He could not give up so easily. Charles fought back and, stiffening his sinews, slowly he forced Henry's arm upright and down. The two men's arms shook with the strain and the tension palpable as they locked in stalemate. Charles maintained his defence, still unsure whether win or let the King beat him. His whole future, indeed his life, could rest on this decision yet the right choice remained unclear. Henry's face was a constant of hostility, his eyes afire with fierce determination. He stared at Charles with black ambition and never once did he break the gaze. They were both panting with the exertion. Their muscles straining and faces contorted in the effort. Charles relented and the King pushed his arm down, down closer and closer to the table surface. However, the battle was not over yet. Charles felt a surge of resistance as his pride fought back, and, with a grunt of pain and all his might, drove the King into submission. Henry thumped the table in objection, the diminishing inches between his hand and the table absolute agony for both. Henry's will would not give out but his strength was no match, and Charles slammed his arm down.
The brief smile of victory Charles had afforded himself vanished when Henry burst from the table, angrily freeing his hand and turning his back on Brandon. Terror settled where once sat relief and his stomach churned with anxiety. Fearing the worst he watched as Henry reached the door to his State Bedroom. Suddenly the King stopped and turned back to his friend with a wide grin.
"Welcome back"
.
In true Henry VIII style, a great banquet was put on to welcome the Duke of Suffolk back to court. Tables were strewn with a marvellous selection of foods for all tastes. There were all joints of lamb laid out; flavoured with coriander, and marinated in sour milk with a pomegranate sauce for dipping; Chickens cooked with lemon in white wine; juicy roasted pork spiced with nutmeg and pepper; fresh salmon dressed with sorrel, cinnamon, and cloves; and at the Royal Table sat a grandiose roasted peacock redressed in its feathers. And to drink, a choice of several were casks of beer, ale, cider, mead, claret, malmsey, and perry. Thomas Tallis was leading musicians in spritely reels and happy couples twirled while the older courtiers sated their appetite for heady wine.
As expected, the guest of honour sat beside his King and friend, Compton and Anthony flanking them to their right. On the other side of the King sat an empty chair where the Queen should have been but was once again cloistered in her Chapel.
"It's good to see you again your Grace" Anthony raised his glass, a slight edge to the title; he was, after all, only a Knight. Tonight, Charles would ignore the subtext and just enjoy himself, free from the threat of countryside tedium or spending another night in the sole company of his 'wife'. He glanced at each new face, pausing naturally on pretty young things, and felt something of his old self stir.
"Now, don't look at me like that William" Charles smirked. Compton drained his goblet and signalled for a servant to refill it.
"Don't know what you mean" He smiled widely as he raised the drink to his lips.
"How's my sister Charles?" The King piped in, "I hear she is with child?" a subtle hint for Charles to reign in his libido. Suitably chastised, Charles backed down from picking a desert from the banquet. However, when the King's attention was focused elsewhere, William nodded to a particular table. Their eyes met across the banquet table where Anne sat beside her brother. They shared a long glance of regret, for what could never be. Anne remained seated as her brother said something into her ear, then slowly she stood as the music kicked into a dance. Charles' eyes followed her as his body dared not to; truthfully he was so hypnotised by her that his tongue could have been hanging out of his mouth and panting like a dog and he would not have realised.
"Well, what are you waiting for?" William winked. Charles motioned his head to the monarch sat beside him only to realise it was an empty space. Wolsey, timed superbly, had stolen the King away for some political matter, leaving Charles to pursue Perseverance. He glanced up at Anne and saw her incline her head in a playful nod. She turned on her heel and confidently strode toward the centre of the dance floor, pausing to wait for Charles. He took a moment to savour her beauty; he had been starved of it for too long. She wore a forest green silk dress with Grecian sleeves that hung off her shoulders; her hair was loose and trailed down her back, only a single pin in the shape of a small silver unicorn, part of the Suffolk crest, keeping her locks from falling over her face. Charles felt his face flush a little, and then he took a swig of his drink and descended from the Royal Table. Once beside her Charles offered her his arm, which she gladly accepted. Watching her though his peripheral vision, he saw a smile ghost across her face as other partners joined them in the Courant.
"Tell me my Lady have we met before" Anne stifled a giggle and bowed to him in time with the music.
"Welcome back to court your Grace." They danced on, Charles placed a hand on her stomach to guide her as the dance circled and locked eyes with her, if only they were dancing a Volte where he could pull her close. The spell was not broken all throughout the dance. The musicians drew to a close and they ended inches apart, their eyes heavy with mutual lust. Anne's breath quickened, the urge to pull him close or give in to him so powerful it took the staring eyes of her brother to pry her away. Charles' eyes raked across her face for what seemed like an eternity. Without thinking, Charles kept his hand on her, holding it just over his heart as though it pained him but the moment was ruined by the thinning crowd. Anne abruptly broke away from him and pleaded a headache and that she must go at once to bed. She hurried out of the Great Hall without another word, her dress trailing after her as she fled. It took little to prompt Charles to pursue.
He caught her in the gallery leading to the guest apartments. He reached for Anne, once again taking her hand in his, pulling her forcefully close. He held her in his arms, her chest heaving against his, silently for some time, watching each other.
"Anne. For the love of God, never set your heart against me; if I should ever do something to cause you harm, then, strike off my head and let me die."
Anne's face darkened with an expression he could not fathom, the streaked tears on her cheeks causing their way glowing unnaturally in the dim braziers. Charles couldn't help himself. He placed a hand on her cheek, wiping away the moisture. Then her mouth was on his, hard, urgent, as though the lock to all her confined passion had finally broken. He reached up and tangled his fingers in her hair and cupped the back of her skull, pulling her closer. Anne's hands were on him, moving over his shoulders, his back, tracing every muscle in his arms. Somehow he pinned her against a wall and she captured his lips again. Suddenly she pushed him off
"Do you love her?" He could not answer.
"Do you love her?"
"I suppose..." Indignation flashed across her face. She tore herself roughly out of his hold and for a moment Charles though she would strike him. Her face flushed a brilliant crimson, and he restrained the urge to touch her again, to reclaim her.
"Then we have nothing more to say to each other" Her body and voice shaking, she averted her eyes from him and spun about sharply, darting towards the direction to her private apartments. Charles watched her vanish into the night like a ghost.
.
Thanks for reading this chapter! Hopefully the next won't take as long. Again, if there's anything in particular you want to see, feel free to suggest it.