Disclaimer: I own nothing, but my OCs. All rights go to Showtime, the creator of The Tudors.

A/N: Welcome to all my favs/followers: brisabril934, BriaDelAngel, CelticWitch18, Raging Raven, Madame de Valois, and Newgurl312. My poll is still up so please vote for the title of this story! As always, I recommend Chained By War and Love by Athenais Penelope Clemence.

Ch. 3

He that loves pleasure must for pleasure fall.
Christopher Marlowe, Doctor Faustus

What nourishes me, destroys me.
Christopher Marlowe

Chateau de Fontainebleau 15 June 1536

George Boleyn stood alone among the French courtiers, his calculating brown eyes wandering over each and every person who seemed to be watching him. He wasn't oblivious to their stares, but he ignored them while he tilted his head back to let the last drops of wine from his chalice slide down his throat. He held the chalice out, the object refilled by a servant immediately or else he would have to face the wrath of the king.

George, along with the other four supposed traitors, were guests of King Francois and had been met with a warm welcome rather than fake pleasantries. Francois knew the accusations against him and the others to be false, a web of lies spun by Cromwell in order for Henry to rid himself of Anne. George and the others had been scapegoats for a divorce or rather an annulment of marriage. Being a prominent Catholic, Francois was against the reformation taking place in England. Yet, he was not heartless in his feelings towards George Boleyn and the other men. He was horrified when he had heard they were to be executed on false charges if not for the efforts of Grace Neville.

The said monarch chose that moment to make his presence known in the gallery, his deep voice sounding off the walls to alert the courtiers of his approach. Surrounded by his usual retinue, Francois wore a magnificent doublet of deep blue decorated in diamonds and sapphires, richly clothed in comparison to George's plain brown ensemble. He spotted the Boleyn son, his amber eyes eagerly seeking him out for discussion. For what reason, George did not know, but he was deeply grateful for his hospitality and would not act rude to his host.

"George," Francois spoke, his thick French accent reaching George's ears, "How are you enjoying your stay at my court?" George bowed to the king, rising when Francois waved his hand. The monarch called for a goblet of wine, drinking deeply as he waited for George to speak.

"Well enough, your majesty," George replied in perfect French. He was not lying, but he did miss his family. His father hadn't even bothered to write him a letter, only his mother and sisters conveying their love for him. It didn't surprise him, George being cast out of England like an outsider, and stripped of all his titles and wealth. They were given to his eldest sister Mary's husband instead of his father for which George was sure his father held a further grudge against the Nevilles. "I have settled into the ways of your court, but many are still wary of me as you must understand."

"They are all idiots then," Francois surmised, some of the courtiers gasping at his comment. "Your sister and you are innocent, those lies against you concocted by that heretic Cromwell. That sly dog thinks to control the whole of England by emptying the coffers of the monasteries into the royal treasury. He thinks to make himself invincible by increasing the wealth of England as well as his own. I fear Henry may make a grave mistake with that man as his secretary."

"I couldn't agree more, majesty, but unfortunately I am here with you in France and will likely never return to England." Francois arched an eyebrow at his statement. "Perhaps it is for the best. If I had lost my head, I do not know whether I would be in heaven or hell right now."

"Time will pass, the Tudor temper will lose its grudge against you. The only reason you were exiled was so that one man could make up for his mistakes. He couldn't look weak, but he couldn't kill you. It would have eaten at his conscience. It is a struggle most monarchs have to deal with, but you have an advantage. Your trials can only add to your strength, George. Remember that," Francois explained to his guest. His wisdom was very much needed by George who could only look on the downside of matters, his brush with death affecting him more then he let on.

"Do you suppose God gave me this chance to do something more with my life?" George asked. He was questioning his life, wondering if he would have been off better dead than alive, a corpse in the ground rather than a living, breathing being. He couldn't possibly fathom what he was supposed to do in France, how he could live his life without his family. Perhaps he could start one of his own, Jane's family pressing for an annulment when he was exiled to France. It was her loss for George was sure to rise as a star in Francois' court.

"God has a plan for us all my friend, you included. You may have lost your life in England, but you have been reborn in fair France," Francois pointed it. It was if George was a lost shepherd and Francois was an angel sent to him to push him in the right direction. Hopefully, he would embrace his life in France and with the passing of time, his life could only get better.

Whitehall Palace

"That was unwise of you to mention the Duchess of Gloucester to his majesty," Edward advised his sister. Jane could only nod her head, ever the silent sister as her brother lectured her on her mistakes. "You must always turn the other cheek, do not make an outbursts, and absolutely under any circumstances do not involve yourself in the king's business." Within the Queen's inner chamber, Edward paced around the confines of the space while Jane sat on the edge of her bed, a distraught expression on her face. Her hands were folded in her lap, her eyes cast downwards as she stared at the lace sleeves of her dress.

"I was only trying to help the Lady Mary," Jane muttered quietly. She truly wished for the Lady Mary to be reinstated to the succession, having been a supporter of Queen Catherine. As for Elizabeth, all she could see was the late queen when she looked at her, and she shuddered at those dark eyes that seemed like bottomless pits of evil. It wasn't her fault her mother was a whore, that Anne Boleyn was seduced by witchcraft and committed adultery not just with her brother, but other men as well. But shew saw no reason to advance her position, Mary the rightful heir in her eyes until she gave the king a son.

"Don't bother your silly head with such things. The only matter you should be concerned with is giving the king a son," Edward admonished her. Jane should only be concerned with producing an heir, keeping her nose out of matters well beyond her intelligence. She was to be seen, not heard. To be obedient, not opinionated. That was why the king, or rather Cromwell, had chosen her in the first place.

"I'm sure I will be pregnant soon, brother. The king visits me daily and I welcome him to my bed as my wifely duties demand," Jane defended as she tried to hold back a storm of tears.

"Daily?" Edward questioned, his cold eyes narrowing at the lie. He had eyes and ears all over court. Henry had visited her bed diligently up until Grace Neville's arrival and now he was preoccupied with the slut. Jane had to capture the king's attention quickly or else her position as the queen could be jeopardized by other courtiers who could shove their female relatives at the king. If Henry could be distracted by her, Edward was sure as soon as Grace left that Henry would find a bedmate that could replace Jane in his affections.

"Well, not the past two nights. I don't know why." Jane could only reason with herself that henry was busy with business of state, which she understood. He had more important matters than to lay in bed with his wife all day, though she wouldn't mind it.

"You've upset him," Edward accused harshly, making Jane wince. "We've come too far just for you to be cast aside like some strumpet." Jane felt a slight spark of anger boil in her belly, combined with hurt that her brother would be so brutal to her.

"I'm not! I'm the king's wife." Jane felt attacked by her brother, wondering why he was making it seem like she was to blame.

"Maybe that's your problem. Your holding him back from indulging in his deepest carnal pleasures," Edward ruminated.

"But…I," Jane stuttered. She was so embarrassed by her brother's musings, feeling her cheeks flush at his complaints. How was it her fault? She hardly knew what to do in bed. She was a virgin until Henry married her and wasn't a wife supposed to pleasure their husband without being taught? She shook her head at the thought, sex such a private matter to her. It was not as if Henry would teach her what he liked or would he?

"And remember, what the king has given, he can take away. We have done everything for you to become queen, Jane. Don't ruin it for us," Edward snapped. Above all else, he knew more than anyone that the king could raise one up and tear them down just as quickly. It had happened to Boleyn Whore, so why couldn't it happen to his sister?

"What have you done? The king chose me as his bride. He loves me," Jane declared, her head filled with childish fantasies of knights-in-shining armor, princesses, and dragons from fairytales. A waterfall of tears started to fall down her face, Edward rolling his eyes at the fanatics.

"Don't start spurting out all this girlish nonsense on me. I have done plenty to help you," Edward spat out, annoyance visible on his countenance.

"What are you talking about?" Jane questioned. Her eyes were still blurry with tears, but she attempted to rub away wetness from her cheeks to stare up at her brother inquisitively.

"You think her accident wasn't planned? You think that someone just miraculously decided to take her honor?" Edward couldn't believe his sister was so senseless that she couldn't connect the dots from the assassination attempt and the attempted virtue taking of Grace Neville to him. Why else would such things happen to the Neville girl? He had risked his life by organizing such missions, both failing in the end. However, their family had still reaped the profits from the lasting effects of Grace's trauma, Edward's face forming into a sneering smile.

"What? That was you? You hired those men to hurt her?" Jane's stomach sank at the admission, her eyes wide as she stared up at the dangerous man in front of her. He wasn't her brother, he was a monstrosity of a man. She flinched when he neared her, holding her breath while she awaited his answer. She feared he would grab her, shake her until her brain rattled in her skull since she knew what he was capable of now.

Edward dropped to his knees, his face leering in front of Jane's terrified features. "Not once, but twice I tried to get rid of her for the benefit of this family. And if I hadn't, you wouldn't be in the position you are now, Queen of England." He was proud of himself, feeling justified in his actions while Jane could only stare back at him with a horrified gaze.

"How could you…how could you do something so terrible?" Jane cried, her blubbering continuing as she tried to edge her body as far away from her brother as possible. It was a pointless feat, Edward grabbing her shoulders roughly.

"Don't start crying now, Jane. And don't you dare mention this to anyone. This is our secret. I did what I had to for our family. We have come so far. Don't let it all slip away just because Grace Neville decided to come back to court," Edward threatened. "You must encourage the king's passions somehow, entrance him. For God's sake, ask your ladies what they do for their husband's." Jane blushed at the thought, Henry always kind and gentle with her. Was she really so boring in bed to him? She didn't want to act like a wanton in front of him, but perhaps her shyness was not appealing to him. Henry always told her how he admired her piety and her kindness towards others, how she had brought so much joy into his life, but was he just playing the part of an adoring husband? Did he truly love her or was she a replacement for what he couldn't have?

A hunt had been organized for the afternoon, Edward trying to distract the king from his former mistress by doing what men loved best: going in for the kill. One thing men all had in common was their thirst for the hunt, the excitement that coursed through their veins when they spotted a vulnerable animal alone in the woods, and the final exhilarating moment when the life left their prey's eyes. It was an animalistic instinct, but they all craved it, especially the king.

The king looked regal in his hunting attire, exchanging his normal black garb for a deep purple jerkin with blue and gold floral accents on his navy blue doublet. A simple pale string of opals decorated a silver collar around his neck, tying the ensemble together. But the king was impatient, restless even as he fidgeted in the saddle. Anyone who crossed his path received the same blank expression before it turned into an icy glare, as if they were interrupting him from some unknown thought.

Everyone else was eager to embark on the hunt, awaiting the trumpet call that would start their fun. Servants held barking dogs tightly, not willing to release them from their leashes until their master commanded it. Nicolas Carew, the Master of the Horse, was making sure all steeds and hunting hounds were in order for the hunt.

Looking around the courtyard, it appeared there was a lack of femininity, few women choosing to accompany their spouses on the hunt. The queen had excluded herself from such a pastime, her skills riding a horse sorely lacking. She had decided to busy herself in her chambers with needlework and bible reading, Henry immensely glad he would be spared from his wife's intent gaze. She had been quite attentive since she had found out about Grace's arrival, not that he didn't mind. He was being fawned over by an English rose, something that anyone would have been delighted to experience.

The king's eyes narrowed at the sight of Percy, the Earl of Northumberland adjusting his stirrup straps and completely unaware of the daggers the king sent figuratively into his back. His hand hovered over the dagger at his waist, itching to unsheathe the weapon and direct it at Percy's head. He wouldn't mind removing the man personally and permanently from the face of the Earth. But his twisted thoughts faded from his mind when Grace appeared, absolutely perfect in her blue riding attire with her hair in a simple net. She was not one for finery when it came to horseback-riding as she chose comfort over style, and he smiled at her simplicity.

Grace's mind was a jumble of thoughts, the unwavering gaze of the king burning into her as she set her sights on finding Percy. After all, it was he who had invited her to ride with him during the hunt. He was her protector, her savior among the chaos that threatened to pull her under. She wouldn't know how to survive her time at court without him. And when he sent her his charming smile, she let her troubles slip away for the moment.

"I was wondering where you were," Percy said, giving her figure a once-over before turning back to the stirrups. He wasn't leering at her body, only acknowledging her presence while he refocused on the task at hand. "I was beginning to think you weren't coming."

"You know how much I love the hunt," Grace replied, absentmindedly patting the horse. She messed with its mane, unintentionally braiding the fine hair. Percy watched her from the corner of his eye, her frown evident from where he was standing. He pulled on the stirrup once more before giving Grace his undivided attention, his hand reaching for her chin to pull her face up towards his. "Wipe that frown off your face and focus on me."

Grace yanked her chin from his grasp, astounded by his behavior. Her green orbs scanned the crowds, hoping no one saw his actions. "What are you thinking, doing that in public?" she reprimanded, slightly angered by his familiarity with her.

"Then perhaps you'd like to ride by yourself today. Perhaps the king will want you as his companion," Percy shot back. Grace's eyes widened in utter shock, Percy returning the expression with a shake of his head.

"Don't say that," Grace replied, slightly hurt by his cruel joke. She felt tears prick at the corner of her eyes, and she wanted to crawl back to her bed and stay there the rest of the day. Percy's face softened at her tears and he chastised himself for affronting her. He pinched the bridge of his noise, clearly frustrated at Grace's indecisiveness.

"You give a man false hope by kissing him and then slighting his affections, Grace. I've made my intentions quite clear, but if I'm just a means to an end, then tell me." Percy needed an answer, he was begging her for one. He couldn't allow himself to pursue her further if she didn't open herself up to him. He was falling for her, but he wanted reassurance that she wanted him too.

"You aren't, Percy. I…" Grace frantically tried to come up with an answer, but she came up empty-handed. Her tongue was tied, and her voice caught in her throat, unable to mutter words from her lips.

"Then show me," Percy demanded. His cornflower blue eyes had changed to a shade of glacier ice, freezing cold, the warmth completely gone from them. Grace had always thought only the king's eyes could possess such a blazing fire within them, but Percy proved her wrong. They made an involuntary chill spread down the back of her spine, numbing her body like ice, but also burning her insides. Percy elicited such opposite emotions from her, being the same coin but different sides.

"Show you?" Grace mumbled. She could feel bile rising up her throat, not from disgust at Percy, but because the king was intently watching her now. She wouldn't meet his eyes, but she knew he was foaming at the mouth as she talked to Percy. His dark blue eyes were unabashed, following her every move.

"Kiss me right now, in front of everyone, in front of the king. Show me that you aren't using me for your selfish needs, that I'm not just a buffer between you and the king." Percy searched her eyes for any sign of truth, that her forest hues rimmed with thick lashes would betray the longing and desire he craved.

"Percy, I don't know. You know how hard this is for me." Grace was struggling inside, her lungs burning as if they were filling with water. She couldn't breathe, her inner self flailing around as she tried to reach for something to save her.

"My name is Henry, not Percy. Call me by my name," Percy spoke through clenched teeth. Every time she opened her mouth, he had to swallow his anger before he snapped. She was so infuriating, but perhaps that was a part of the attraction.

"You know why I can't." Grace spoke in hushed tones, wringing her hands. Her voice resounded with distress, her lower lip trembling.

"Damn it, Grace." The veins in Percy's neck throbbed, threatening to burst from his neck. He abruptly spun away from Grace, making it seem like he was not just going to abandon her in the courtyard, but cast her off. Losing him struck a chord within Grace's heart and she called after him.

"Percy!" Curious glances were sent in the pair's direction at the outburst, a frantic Grace yelling after the Earl of Northumberland. She choked down her pride, calling out another name.

"Henry!" The king's heart skipped a beat at the sound of his name, and he jerked back in the saddle, turning towards Grace's melodious voice. The slip of his name wouldn't matter to him, not if Grace came running into his arms. But he was mistaken when his eyes met the sight of his nightmare. Grace had not called for him, but for Percy. She was running towards him, reaching for him to halt his steps.

Percy wouldn't stop, continuing to stride away from Grace until she threw herself in his path. Her white face came up to his own and she kissed him unexpectedly. She pressed her mouth to his hard, conveying all her emotions in that one kiss. Her lips were the entrance to her body, promising and passionate, but she pulled away breathless, watching his features contort from anger to astonishment. He lifted his hand up once more, gripping her chin tightly while his thumb traced over her pouting lips.

Grace's hands reached for her Percy, one gripping his wrist while the other clutched his doublet firmly. His eyes swam with something solemn, the light blue tints holding a truth that made her broken heart start to heal. He was her weakness now, the reason her heart beat so rapidly in her chest as if it was about to explode. She looked at him, really looked as if she had finally, truly noticed him. She realized the way his eyes were lined with tenderness and devotion, the way his lips were slightly parted as he waited for silent permission to kiss her once more, and how there was a slight sparkle of amusement in his blue glaciers that made it seem like he knew something she didn't.

Percy grazed his lips against Grace's, their eyes both closing as if in a trance. She didn't resist him, embracing the kiss as the heat of his touch surrounded her. His mouth roamed freely, devouring her completely as he moved his lips against hers. His hand moved to tangle itself in her brown curls, the other gripping the dip of her waist and pulling her body closer to his. Their kiss held raw intensity, their breathing quick and their tongues entwined. A faint moan escaped from her lips and if they weren't in public, Percy was sure he would ravage her completely if she let him.

And though neither wanted to pull away, Percy was the one to show restraint as he extracted his lips from hers. "I think…" He couldn't speak at first, Grace nuzzling her face against his. "I think we should mount for the hunt."

"Perhaps," Grace replied, unwilling to break the closeness of their bodies. "I can think of something else that you could focus on." Percy gave a hearty chuckle at her desire, kissing her forehead.

"We will have time enough, sweetheart," Percy murmured into her ear, hinting at secret rendezvous' that would happen later. They headed back towards the saddled steed, Percy gently lifting Grace into the saddle before he mounted behind her. As he kicked the horse's sides, the motion rocked Grace's back into his chest, his hands held against her stomach to keep them steady. Grace had clasped her hands over his own, the intimate closeness of their bodies enough for the moment.

Neither had perceived the lingering threat that pervaded around them, the king menacingly examining the two in front of him. His fists clenched, the skin turning white from the effort of attempted control. His teeth gritted harshly as he forced himself to remain silent

He felt empowered to destroy every aspect of Percy's life. He could take away his titles, his wealth with a mere signature. He could send him away to the northern borders, exile him from court and send him as far away from Grace as possible. Henry could feel his anger oozing off of him like magma, just as deadly and destructive as the real thing. It was all-consuming, all-rousing, as he tried to control his inner self which was so fragile in his near perfect world as king.

Henry was the left-hand of God, everything supposed to be molded perfectly into what he wanted, but clearly this was as far from his desires as he could fathom. He could kill a man in that moment. He wouldn't be able to stop himself from physical violence at that point, but it would be pointless to resort to using his bare hands when he could do far more damage with his words. He had resorted to his tyrannical self of vengefulness and cruelty, becoming a person he didn't want to know. He would make Percy regret ever setting eyes on Grace, just as he did when he set eyes on Anne, and soon, the Duchess of Gloucester would be returned to him.

A letter dangled from Percy's fingers, his eyes reading over the dried ink as his brother's words filtered through his mind. A rebellion was forming right under the king's nose, Cromwell completely unaware of what he had set in motion. Percy's brother Thomas was kind enough to tell him of the chain of events that were occurring in Northumberland, Cumberland, and north Lancashire. The dissolution of the monasteries had been met with many complaints and now that the Act of Suppression had been passed by Parliament, the king's men were closing all religious houses whose income was less than 200 pounds. They rampaged and pillaged the monasteries, no care for the displacement of monks and nuns.

To my dear brother,

There have been many meetings among the commons, all listing their grievances to Mr. Robert Aske. Your beloved lawyer is now a figure for the people to follow, his skills as a speaker attracting many. Though he has advised them that fighting against the king is to fight against God and the commonwealth, these men are determined to fight against the king's will. They see no reason. Only a call to arms will please them.

I am your brother, but if it comes to a rebellion against his majesty, I sympathize with the people. His majesty cannot be allowed to destroy peaceful monasteries, coveting their wealth for his own coffers. It is just not the suppression of the religious houses that grieves the people, but also the high food prices, the removal of the late Queen Anne, and the rise of Cromwell. Many think Mr. Cromwell has risen too high and that the king should not associate himself with such lowborn men.

Mother sends her affections to you and also asks if you will bring your bride home. She is eager to meet this Grace Neville, Duchess of Gloucester, who you have talked of and also written consistently about. Has she accepted your proposal yet? Or has she turned you down for some other suitor? I am merely jesting with you so when you come home, I expect to have a new sister. Your nieces and nephews send their love.

Your brother,

Thomas Percy

Percy sighed in despair, knowing his brother would side with the north. He too sympathized with them, but he would not go against his king. Despite the personal vendetta he felt for Henry VIII, he would not rebel against him because of his beliefs. It would be treason and he would not risk his family's lives, he would not risk Grace's life, as to him they were the most precious things he had while he breathed.

16 June 1536

An audience had been arranged between the queen and her new stepdaughters, Jane formally welcoming them to court. She would play the motherly role and try to form a relationship with Mary based on affection, and she would try to keep the peace between father and daughter. Hopefully, Mary would be restored to the succession. As for Elizabeth, she would be kind to the child, but she did not favor her. She was her mother's daughter and she would hold that against Elizabeth unfairly.

The two sisters gracefully entered the queen's chambers, Mary wearing an outfit of green and gold with a diadem of pearls set perfectly on top of her flowing locks while Elizabeth donned a garment of blue, a French hood encrusted with gold and pearls complementing her red curls. Winifred and Catherine followed loyally behind their ladies, Grace missing from their numbers. She thought it wise to stay out of side and she preferred not to show deference to Jane. Anne was still the queen in her mind, and she wouldn't curtsy to Jane unless the circumstances presented themselves.

"Your majesty," Mary drawled, curtsying to her new stepmother. Elizabeth followed suit, mimicking her elder sister while also holding her hand tightly. She stared up at Jane inquisitively, the woman so much different from her mama. She wondered why her papa would marry a woman so plain, her mother far more beautiful with her dark hair and captivating eyes.

"Lady Mary, it gives me so much pleasure to meet you. The king speaks of you all the time and I am glad you are able to come to court to be with us." Mary tensed at the new queen's word, noticing how Elizabeth was completely left out. The two year didn't notice or seem to care as she fidgeted with the folds of her dress. Grace had promised her a walk in the gardens after their time with the queen, so she was quite bored standing there while she listened to the adults talk.

"Thank you, my lady," Mary said with a trained response. There was a lack of affection to her voice, Jane gulping while she sent a nervous smile at her eldest stepdaughter.

"I know I cannot be your mother. You already had one and I am not much older than you, but I dearly hope we can be friends," Jane relayed. She hoped Mary would accept her offer of friendship, but the girl was clearly hesitant. She felt as if her sister had been insulted while she was welcomed openly. They were both bastards and both daughters of the king, the difference being their mothers. And though Mary had hated Anne at first, she gradually warmed up to the woman who acted as a mother figure in place of Catherine.

"I thank you for your hospitality madam and I shall attend on you whenever you call on me," Mary said coolly, her eyes holding a coldness to them that mirrored her father's when he was in a dark mood. Jane shuddered, realizing that Mary would never be her friend while Grace was still present in her life. The hope she held had been shattered in an instant and for the first time in her marriage, she felt the touch of loneliness creep around her and start to circle around her neck.

A/N: Comments?