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

A/N: Hello everyone! Welcome to my new favs/followers: Lucystar98. Welcome to the final chapter of part three. I thank you all for your continuous support and reviews. I will be focusing on some existing stories and new stories before proceeding with part 4. Please review and thank you again.

Ch. 20

My true-love hath my heart and I have his,

By just exchange one for the other given:

I hold his dear, and mine he cannot miss;

There never was a bargain better driven.

His heart in me keeps me and him in one;

My heart in him his thoughts and senses guides:

He loves my heart, for once it was his own;

I cherish his because in me it bides.

His heart his wound received from my sight;

My heart was wounded with his wounded heart;

For as from me on him his hurt did light,

So still, methought, in me his hurt did smart:

Both equal hurt, in this change sought our bliss,

My true love hath my heart and I have his.

~Sir Phillip Sidney

Hampton Court 30th October 1537

The queen was in perfect health almost three weeks after the birth of her son and adapting to being a mother. Everyone commented on how natural of a mother she was, the king beaming with pride whenever he saw his wife cradling their newborn. She had taken to her motherly instincts instantly, hating whenever her son was taken from her sight. He was often in awe that God had answered his prayers for England, his bad luck finally ending.

And with the birth of his son and his wife's recovery, Henry now had the chance to focus on Mary's prospects of marriage. With the French and Spanish occupied with their war, Henry was now leaning towards an alliance with his seemingly volatile nephew James. And yet, he faltered with the future of his eldest daughter. Elizabeth was still far too young to consider a match. But, he would not deny his hesitation in considering marrying them off to European princes and not Englishmen.

"Suffolk, did you have any hesitation at all when Eleanor and Frances were married?" Henry questioned his best friend. The two were back to their regular pastime of hunting, both leisurely walking their horses through the forest near Hampton. The Tudor guard remained a few paces behind, always near if needed.

"I believe you are the one who pushed me to marry them off," Suffolk joked, Henry chuckling at his friend's comment. He had played a part in his nieces' marriages, both considered royal brides as the daughter of the late Princess Mary. Frances' husband was a descendent of the king's maternal grandmother, Elizabeth Woodville, while Eleanor's husband was a relative of Henry's paternal grandmother, Margaret Beaufort. "They both seem satisfied with their husbands. I must say I am glad they were not sent away. I assume you are asking because of Mary's impending marriage?"

A wave of uneasiness passed across the king's face, Charles completely understanding his conflicted nature. As a king, he was obligated to make alliances through marriage but as a father, he was constantly doubting the suitors presented before him. Mary was a valuable piece in the game of politics, and he was unsure if he could part with her. "You have guessed correctly, Charles. It would be selfish of me to marry her off to the highest bidder but as a king, she would help this country greatly if she were to marry France or Spain."

"But which do you hate the least?" Charles asked. Henry had rocky relationships with both monarchs, though they were currently consumed with hostility against each other and not England.

"I think I hate Francis and Charles equally," Henry decided, both chuckling again.

"And your nephew?" It would be beneficial to bind Scotland to England through marriage with the recent death of Madeline de Valois. Mary would be closer and could visit her father's court more often than if she were sent across the English Channel.

"I believe Mary's gentle nature could tame my nephew." Mary was known to be pious and obedient. Surely her behavior would enchant any groom.

"Either way, Mary should be the bride of a prince or king. She is your eldest and though she may not be legitimate, her marriage would be an advantage to your majesty." Suffolk's words only confirmed Henry's thoughts. Mary needed to married soon in order to seal an alliance with one of the European princes. "Have you asked the queen her thoughts about a marriage?"

"The queen has been so absorbed with Edward that she has barely had time to think of anyone else. I know she would be most happy to hear that plans have moved forward for Mary's impending marriage," the king admitted.

"Perhaps when Edward has his own household in place, she will have time to help guide your majesty in the right direction," Suffolk spoke.

"The queen has no head for politics, Charles. She may favor the emperor, but she does not realize the benefits each relationship may have for us." Jane was more prepared for the marital duties of queenship. Her mother had educated her in simple, traditional role rather than a formal setting. She was not a princess of Spain nor the daughter of an ambassador to the Hapsburg and Valois courts. Catherine and Anne both had immense value when it came to influencing politics while Jane lacked in that area.

"I remember when Catherine pushed a marriage for Mary to the emperor, and then Anne with the dauphin and Elizabeth. I do not believe Jane will have the same interest with our son since he will remain here, and his bride will come to us." Jane had that advantage. Her child would not be sent away. She would of course have an opinion about who their son would marry, but it was not the same. The pressure was not as immense as before. The paranoia had dissipated the moment.

"That is the difference between sons and daughters. You accept and hate it equally." With his daughters all married and his sons still in the cradle, Charles was in the same position as the king and Henry valued his advice greatly.

"Enough talk of marriage. Let us hunt." Henry clapped his closest friend on the back, spurring his horse across the forest floor. Charles was on his heels, ever the loyal companion in the game of life.

Gloucester Castle 15 November 1537

"How are you?" Mary asked her friend as she helped prepare the nursery for the impending birth. "How are both of you?" she added. She was visiting Grace in the countryside, escaping from the tumultuous excitement at court. She had retreated to Hunsdon for a few days before deciding to make her way to Gloucester. Grace rubbed her stomach gently, Mary immediately noticing her friend's discomfort. She still wore mourning clothes though she wore dark blues and greys instead of pure black.

Grace was staring hard at the tapestries she was trying to choose for the updated nursery. Rosalind had been born at Wressle Castle at Percy's behest and therefore, the nursery had been finished by her birth. "We are as well as can be expected." The child had been kicking endlessly, Grace unable to get a full night's sleep. Rosalind was also teething and up during the night. Both children gave her no rest.

Mary cast a look at her half-sister and Isabel Percy, the children playing together quietly on the floor of the nursery. Isabel often snuck into Grace's room at night when Rosalind was with her, recognizing her as her new mother. "And the girls? Have they adjusted well since they are no longer in York."

"They needed to be here. This is their home. And with the attainder against the Northumberland title and lands…I would prefer to feel safe in my home rather than waiting for Cromwell to strike." Grace had waited for the attainder to be lifted and for her unborn child to be born with his rightful inheritance intact. Henry had done as he promised and yet, she was still uneasy. Thomas Percy's children were in the custody of Sir Thomas Tempest and had not been returned to their mother. The Percy brothers remained in the tower and Grace wondered if they would ever be released. She was sure Thomas would lay claim to her un born child's title. Only Catherine Percy, the matriarch of the Percy family, and her beloved Hal knew Rosalind's true identity.

"He wouldn't dare. He has been consumed with my father's plans for a new palace. He plans to call it Nonsuch," Mary remarked. Since the birth of Edward, Henry's head had been filled with new ideas for building projects. The castle would be built as a celebration for the Tudor dynasty with the birth of a new heir.

"Nonsuch? What an unusual name." Grace spoke very nonchalantly, as if discussing Henry was a normal occurrence. It was accepted that Mary would discuss her father with her, but the manner she had about it was unlike her. She would tense up at the mention of Henry, but she seemed unaffected. She flitted between the tapestries, throwing some to the edge of her bed in rejection while others remained in front of her as the chosen decorations for the nursery.

"Do you ever think he would have something as grand commissioned for Jane's child?" Mary asked.

"I think this is more for your father than your brother, Mary. Yes, he has a son but it's more of a gesture to compete with his rivals." Grace was sure he was trying to outdo Francis or Charles. The palace would be a symbol of power to show the strength of his dynasty.

"Do you think he would have done the same for Rosalind's birth?" Mary added. Grace either ignored her or did not hear her, flinching at the kicking the child in her womb just delivered. She clutched her stomach before sitting down roughly, attracting Mary's attention as she had been watching the children.

"Are you sure you're alright?" Grace nodded her head, rubbing her stomach as the kicking continued.

"It's different this time, different from when I carried Rose. She was so easy. I had no problems with her. But this child…" Grace had to steady herself for the girl's sake, though they barely noticed their mother had started to cry. She put her hand to her mouth, her cries muffled. "I'm scared Mary. I have this feeling, this pit in my stomach that something will happen to me. That the world will be taken out from under me, and my children will be in danger."

Mary gathered Grace in her arms, hushing her in a comforting matter while she made sure the girls did not see their mother's turmoil. "Shhh. Shhh. You need not worry. Everything will be alright."

"But everything is not alright. My husband is dead, and he will never see his child be born. Rosalind is portrayed as his child thought she is the king's. She hides behind the Percy name while I cower in fear. And I do fear many things. I worry that your father will turn his anger on me, that Rosalind will be taken away and that my unborn child will be given as a ward to the highest bidder instead of placed with my father or his Percy relatives. I fear for my life for I feel the cold, desperate hand of Cromwell inching further and further towards my throat. And the thing I am most scared of is that your father will no longer love me." It had taken months for Grace to convince herself that Henry still indeed loved her, but the revelation of Rosalind's existence and the constant danger of Cromwell weighed on her mind.

"You must rid yourself of these feelings. It is not good for you or the baby. You are protected from Cromwell. You have many allies. And my father would kill him before any harm came to you. You could never lose his love." Mary was sincere in her answer. She was certain that her father would always love Grace, even if Grace herself was unsure of her feelings for him and what the future would hold.

"Love is not the solution, Mary. Love cannot save you from everything."

Westminster 20th November 1537

The court had moved to Westminster, Prince Edwards's household stayed behind at Hampton Court. It would be his formal residence until otherwise decided. The queen had reluctantly moved with her husband, traveling often to visit her newborn son though they had just set up residence at Westminster. Though she was put at peace as Henry took several precautions in maintaining the health of their son.

The king was currently in his study with Cromwell, their weekly meeting taking place. "My sister is still persistent in her divorce," Henry spoke to Cromwell, the king somehow understanding his elder sister's pleas. However, this was the second time she pursued a divorce and her third husband, Lord Methven, proved just as disloyal and conniving as the second. He too had an appetite for other women and money. "She wrote to me to congratulate me on the birth of my son and then speaks of her own son's dishonor towards her. He treats her most unjustly and yet, I cannot interfere."

"I too feel badly for the dowager queen of Scotland your majesty, but there are more pressing matters," Cromwell pressed.

"I will not have my sister treated poorly, Cromwell. We need to send ambassadors to Scotland; ensure she is properly cared for. And if my daughter is to marry her son, we must also clarify that Mary will not be deemed to such a fate. It makes me hesitate to betroth her to him," Henry said. And he was right to be concerned for one who behaved toward their own mother so feebly was sure to do so to their bride he thought. One wife had died of consumption. Would Mary die because of her husband's cruelty towards her? He grimaced, thinking of his own treatment towards Catherine in her last years of life.

"Perhaps that would be best, majesty, as there has been a truce called between the emperor and Francois for Savoy and Piedmont. Both armies have withdrawn. The hand of the Lady Mary should be promised to one of the other suitors. I have done your majesty the favor of writing to Spain regarding the Infante Luis. He is only ten years older than the Lady Mary and shown his prowess as a warrior. He led the Portuguese army at the Conquest of Tunis," Cromwell relayed. Henry could feel a headache forming at the talk of his eldest daughter's marriage. His privy seal was inclined towards a Spanish alliance. Henry was not unaware of his conversations with Ambassador Chapuys.

"As I've said, Master Cromwell, all suitors will be duly considered now that my attention is not solely focused on the birth of my son."

"Of course, majesty," Cromwell reluctantly spoke. "And who else have you considered other than Don Luis and the Duke of Angouleme?" he questioned.

"I see Mary's value in marrying abroad, but I would prefer an Englishman if she concedes. There is Edward Hastings, son of the Earl of Huntingdon. Another would be Henry Stafford, the grandson of the late Buckingham. As a relation to the Pole family, it would garner their loyalty to me." Cromwell's interest was piqued at such an option. It was well known that Essex, the Poles, and Edward Neville were under suspicion. They had Plantagenet blood in their veins and would always be a threat to Henry's throne.

"If your majesty desires, I can begin to make inquiries on your behalf." Cromwell recommended this idea only out of duty not out of want. He favored the alliance with Spain and was troubled by the king's suggestion.

Henry shook his head, partially amused but also reluctant. "No, not yet. I don't need my entire court throwing their sons at my feet." He dreaded the idea that his courtiers would barter for his daughter's hand, vying for power at the expense of his daughter. He needed someone he trusted, whose family he would trust to put forth Mary's well-being first. And he did not trust Cromwell with his daughter.

Gloucester Castle 30th December 1537

This second child was not like the first Grace decided as she struggled with the birth. The baby had not positioned itself correctly and was refusing to come. It had been a day since her labors had started and still no child arrived. "You must push, Grace," Anne urged her, Grace falling back tiredly on her pillows. Her eyes fluttered, her body craving sleep.

"I wish to rest for a moment."

"Do not fall asleep, Grace!" Anne exclaimed, shaking her awake. She exchanged a look of fear with Elizabeth Seymour and the Lady Mary.

"Is there any news?" Warwick spoke as he entered the receiving chambers to Grace's rooms. More shook his head, ever the doting uncle while his brother-in-law had remained as court as long as he could before Grace's impending birth. He had watched the king with bated breath as he left court so close to the Yuletide celebrations. Henry knew. He said nothing when he left, thoughts of Grace invading his mind once more.

"None. She's been pushing a few hours now. She is beginning to tire," More replied. He noticed Arthur was not with him. He had remained behind at court with Richard. Christian had come from Warwick Castle while John stayed put with the other Boleyn sister who was in confinement. The previous English queen and the current queen's sister were attending to Grace, rather ironic as Anne and Elizabeth would have been presumed to be enemies. A Boleyn and a Seymour together for Grace's sake.

"Wasn't Rose the same?" Warwick replied, trying to recall his youngest granddaughter's birth.

"Grace had already delivered Rose. It's been too long, Richard," More declared grimly.

The hours dragged on, candles burning out but the men too worried to replace them with new ones. They remained in darkness until the early hours of the morning, the flickering flames of the fireplace their only light in the room. The moonlight illuminated the light snowflakes that fell from the sky, looking like diamonds as the joined the snow already on the ground. Another scream was heard, Warwick and More grimacing.

"You must stay awake, my lady," they heard the midwife speak. Grace was fading fast. She needed to deliver the baby now or they would both be lost. And finally, the cries of a child were heard, and each man murmured a prayer across their lips. The door before them creaked open, revealing a disheveled Mary Tudor. Somehow, she had escaped the clutches of court for the birth.

Mary smiled bleakly. "Another girl. Catherine," she announced, the men rather silent at her news. Something was wrong. "She's lost too much blood. They fear she will not recover from the birth." Mary was quiet, a sob escaping her throat.

"She's asking for Henry Percy."

Hampton Court Palace 3rd January 1538

Christian could not fathom losing his only sister. As he rushed to court, he could only pray she would somehow regain her strength. But he had to accept the inevitable. Their mother had succumbed to childbed fever and their youngest sibling had come too early. Their deaths had spurred their father into a deep depression until he realized he needed to live for his children.

Christian had ridden out into the night, not wasting any more time as his sister slipped further into the abyss. She had managed to wake for a few hours each day before falling into a deep sleep and repeating the pattern throughout the day. She had also requested a favor of her brother, Christian clutching the precious object she had given him to his chest. He pressed against his inner pocket of his coat, making sure it was secure in his possession.

Christian sighed in relief as he saw the sun peak out over the horizon, spotting Hampton court. It only ignited the urgency of his mission as he burst into the courtyard on his gelding and rushed into the palace searching for the king. The hall was alive with Christmas celebrations, the courtiers oblivious of the threat of death looming over them. He reached the king's rooms, a page announcing him immediately at his deathly expression in comparison to his usual happy countenance.

"I was wondering where you were," the king spoke, acknowledging Christian's bow and ignorant of the news he was about to deliver. "Your father has not returned to court yet. I suppose he sent you in his place?"

"I have something for your majesty," Christian muttered, his choking voice displaying his emotions. There was no letter clasped in his shaking hands and when he dropped the object onto the king's table. Henry froze. It had been his precious ring, the one he had given her as a gift. "She wanted you to have it back."

"Why would I need it back?" Christian refused to answer the king, not daring to meet his eyes.

"Why would I need it back?!" the king yelled, grabbing Christian by the collar, and slamming him against the wall. Christian did not respond to his actions, his hands glued to his side in defeat.

"You once gave it out of love to my sister and now she returns your ring out of love as a farewell." Henry's eyes narrowed, waiting for Christian to finish. "She has childbed fever." Henry's world began to crash around him. He faintly remembered his father's expression when his own dear mother had passed from the same illness. It had broken him.

"No, no, no!" Henry released Christian, barking out orders to his servants as he abandoned his court. He cared nothing for them in the wake of Grace's forthcoming demise. Bewildered looks were sent their way as the king and Christian Neville hastened to the stables and to Gloucester. No one knew what was happening, only that the king had discarded his Christmas celebrations and left his queen behind.

4th January 1538

Jane was uneasy as she rocked her son in her arms, watching for any sign of the king through the window of her chambers. He had disappeared from court, a string of guards and the Neville brothers following in his wake. Of course, Suffolk had rushed to his side as well, the queen now the center of attention during the Yuletide festivities. Gossip invaded her quickly fleeting serenity the birth of Edward had brought and the tight noose of dread wrapped around her neck once more.

"Does anyone know where the king has gone?" Dorothy Seymour asked, earning her the glare of her elder brother as he peered at her over the edge of his wine chalice. Anne Stanhope, Edward's wife, smirked in the devious way she always did. It made Jane nervous the way she knew all the dirty secrets of court, like she had her own secret spies. Or perhaps she was just good at opening her legs for men other than her husband. But that was just rumors.

"I heard the Lady Mary has taken ill and that's why she has not arrived at court. Others say there have been skirmishes at the northern borders."

"Nonsense," Edward muttered. "The King of Scots is consumed with marriage negotiations, not border disputes." James had entered the marriage market once more, in search of another French bride. Marie of Guise was the intended bride and Edward was sure the marriage contract would be drawn up soon.

"There is another theory," Anne drawled on. "With the Neville brothers gone, that can only mean one thing. The Duchess of Gloucester is dead." With Grace's arrival at court in the fall, the Seymours knew of her pregnancy. The Nevilles would not have left court in such a rush if the birth had gone well.

Jane thought her heart was playing tricks on her, the way it thumped in her chest almost joyfully at news so macabre. Her grip on Edward tightened and a ghost of a smile lingered across her pink lips. Her rival would be eliminated, and she would no longer have to fight to be first in the king's affections.

Gloucester Castle 4th January 1538

Henry and the Neville brothers arrived at Gloucester with hastened speed, riding into the early hours of the morning with no courtesy for decency as they raced against time. Henry saw More first, his closest friend giving him a most defeated look. He hadn't spared him such a glance since his divorce to Catherine was announced. And when he cast his gaze on Warwick, his heart felt like it fell into his stomach at the man's hollow stare. He barely looked the king's way, his own thoughts clouding his mind.

Henry approached Grace's bed slowly, denying the truth that she was in fact dying. She looked pale and lifeless lying there, her green orbs haunting him as they first had when he encountered her on the balcony at Hatfield. Kneeling next to her, he gathered her frail hand in his and kissed her palm lightly before placing it against his face. She muttered something undecipherable under her breath, her eyes fluttering as they struggled to stay open.

"Don't go. Please, don't go. Do not give in to this sickness. You must fight it. After all you have been to me, don't go. Just please don't leave me," Henry begged. He leaned forward, cradling her face and pressing a single, lingering kiss to her forehead.

Grace tried to speak but could not. Her fever silenced her as well as weakened her. Henry began to cry, his cold demeanor cracking under the weight of Grace's impending death. "You are the milk of human kindness and the light in my dark, dark world. Without you, life is a desert. A howling wilderness." Grace groaned as she tried to grasp Henry's hand, failing greatly as her body refused to respond. She needed to speak, needed to tell him.

"Please God, in your mercy, don't take her away from me. Bring me back my Grace." Henry raised her hand to his face, pressing several kisses to her inner palm before spreading them to her wrist. His sadness wracked his body, his every breath a feat within itself. His sobs choked his throat as his tears blinded his vision. It hurt to breath. To see Grace in such a condition was as if he was embracing death itself.

"H…He…" Grace struggled to enunciate her words, her body too exhausted. Her fingers barely moved as if they were trying to grasp Henry tightly. A child's cry could be heard clearly, a child yearning for its mother. And Henry turned to see a cradle with the Percy chest situated on the other side of Grace's bed. He dared to peer over Grace at the newborn. He was met with the sight of a healthy child, Grace's extended birth presenting the fruits of her labor. The child looked exactly like the late Henry Percy: pale skin and a tuft of hair the color of golden wheat. No sign of Grace presented itself in the child.

And then another cry was heard, much louder and quite a bit older than the new life before Henry. Henry cringed slightly at the sound. "Mama, mama." It was the sound of a child too young to lose its mother, much like his sister Mary had been when their mother died. It brought back painful memories the king failed to halt from invading his head.

"Isabel, you mustn't disturb the king." Henry heard the door open slightly, the hinges creaking at the intrusion. He wiped roughly at his eyes, failing at hiding his true emotions.

"I want to see mama and Rosalind is crying again," the defiant voice murmured. Henry turned to see a different child than he pictured in his mind, another perfect blond Percy. He had heard of the illegitimate daughter of Henry Percy and how Grace had embraced her entirely. It was like her relationship with Mary and Elizabeth, and he internally shuddered at the comparison. Curious blue eyes stared back at him, unashamed and waiting impatiently to see her mother. She was pulled away abruptly, a cry of protest muffled by the door shutting behind them. Three children would be orphaned if Grace succumbed to her fever.

"You must fight this, Grace. You must survive, if not for me than for your children. I command you to live, I command it!" A sliver of a smile appeared at the corners of Grace's mouth as if Henry's words were slightly amusing. It gave him hope. If she could speak, he knew she would murmur back "You of all people cannot command death." Grace's eyes fluttered open as she used all her strength to stay awake, but she failed miserably. The soft rise and fall of her chest reassured Henry. He was slightly fearful she would stop breathing and as he watched her closely. He knew if she were to die, he would know. He slowly drifted to sleep himself, plagued by what was to happen.

It was raining, a steady mist falling from the sky as if to mark the haunted day. Henry walked along the marked path, training his eyes forward as he followed behind Warwick and More out of courtesy. His eyes were bloodshot, and he was numb to the sounds around him. His dark blue orbs found the dreaded casket in front of him, pulled by a set of perfectly white geldings. It had been a request of Grace's, the dreary afternoon of black ironically overwhelmed by the color of white. A soft bundle was carried in the king's arms, a head of red hair peeking out from his peripheral vision. A reminder of what had been left behind, a reminder of what had been given.

A/N: Comments?