May 19, 1536
Anne Boleyn, a former Queen, sat in dank darkness in the Tower.
She'd been told- with smugness- that she was to die today. But she had a secret and hoped it would save her life. John Skip, her confessor, entered to give her the Sacrament, but Anne halted him with one imperiously raised hand. "Wait," she murmured. "Hm?" He stopped, confusion written in his square features. "Am I truly to die today?" Anne ran one hand across her stomach, smirking ever so slightly as John's eyes followed its movement. "I fear so," he confirmed. "'Tis a shame the King's heir will die with me."
"What?!" Shock blossomed on his face. "You are with the King's child? You are certain?" Anne nodded, and John focused on the rounded belly obscured by the loosened gown. "This- this changes everything, my lady." He fled. Anne knelt and prayed fervently. She had always been God's faithful servant, hadn't she? She'd advocated for religious reform. She'd always put Him first. Surely, this child in her womb was a gift from Him.
...
John Skip reentered. She peered at him warily. She no longer trusted any man. They were all willing to sacrifice others for their own ambitions- and lust. She thought of Henry caressing that dratted, wan mouse Jane Seymour. "The King has chosen to pardon you, my lady." She could have wept for relief. She would live!
Henry was too obsessed with masculinity to be cuckolded. He would admit he faked the charges- or at least, he'd blame it on his councilors; Anne knew who was at the heart of the web of lies- and the stain on Anne's reputation would evaporate. Perhaps, in a few years, she could even look back on this and reflect upon how lucky she was to be put in a position of such great peril, one that exposed to the naked eye the fickleness and danger of love. "Henry wishes for you to meet him at the scaffold." Anne stiffened. Would Henry be so cruel as to let her neck brush the cold wood of the scaffold- stained with her innocent brother's blood, she thought with cold outrage- before he saved her? Would he come rushing in astride a horse, his sword drawn, eager to paint over everything with himself as the hero?
Anne would not let him get away with it. But for now... for now, she had to tolerate it.
She was escorted to the scaffold after being dressed in white, representing innocence. She preened inwardly, eager to show England her true colors. As she neared the block, she froze. What if Henry wanted her to die pregnant? Was he so ruthless?
And then he came soaring in, this lying, pretend savior. "Anne!" He jumped from his horse and rushed to her side, pressing an ardent kiss to her lips. Anne responded instinctively to her husband's touch, leaning into him, but pulled away just as quickly. She didn't want him anymore. "Anne, the mother of my child!" She was! She was the mother of his child- Elizabeth! But her swollen belly was all that stood between her and utter ruin. "I am so sorry," Henry said, his eyes shining with crocodile tears. "I was led astray! I was misguided. They said you did such horrible things"- "It is alright," Anne lied. "I... forgive you." "Thank you, my darling!" Henry turned and declared to the spectators, "My Queen here is an innocent! All my foolish men have confessed to faking the charges laid against her." "So was George executed in vain?" someone shouted. Henry raked that piercing gaze across the crowd, brows arched. "And the others?" "All your questions will be answered at a later date," Henry said with a warm smile. Lying through his teeth! Anne had a startling urge to destroy the child inside of her. She did not want to protect it, as she had earlier. It had been her ticket to safety, and it had served its purpose. Now... now it was just a reminder of Henry's rotten love.
No! She shouldn't think this way about God's gift. Her body suddenly felt weak. Her knees were water. She collapsed and felt strong arms wrap around her. "Now look what you've done!" someone barked, and the darkness swept Anne up in its warm embrace.