Tudor Rose

xiii. secrets and freedom

July 17, 1519

I was finally free.

Winter faded away, taking with it the last sliver of sadness I'd retained. The sun emerged from a crisp, cobalt blue sky and melted the iciness of my heart away. The winds that stole away all of my fair-weather friends subsided, leaving me standing beneath the harsh rays of light alone. Thorns of malice pierced my skin, each one leaving a wound that cut deeper than the last; a scar that was ghastlier than the last. But when these thorns pricked me and the blood gushed out, with it went the ghosts of my past, the pain of the moment, and the worries of the future. Where a queen cloaked in apprehension once stood was no more. In her place was a free woman, whom no man ever ruled. I felt new. I felt alive.

The freedom I'd pined after for years on end was finally mine. For what seemed like an eternity, I'd been tormented with the idea of freedom. It was always there, just mere inches from my grasp; too far to hold onto it, but close enough to sense. And now, with the power of just one signature, it was mine. My fingers grazed it carefully, the smooth surface sending an electric chill through me. It was intoxicating, each surge leaving me yearning for more.

Most remarkably of all, it took a single signature to achieve that. The future was set, at least I thought so, all because of a few carefully placed signatures. In a matter of mere minutes, I'd ordered things to happen that, months prior, I couldn't even fathom. I'd ordered things to happen that would become my legacy and that would mold the future. An impressive thing to do, especially for someone with power and influence that was decreasing by the minute. 

The assassination attempt and the loss of my child were connected. It was surprising when we uncovered the plot, but there was a small corner of my mind that was far from shocked. After all, I'd known for years that people were trying to cut my rule short, so why should it have shocked me? Trying to kill me once was wrong and treasonous, but twice was simply stupid. The culprits were practically asking to be caught. It was as if they hadn't tried in the least to cover their tracks. They'd made it all the more easier for us to uncover their plan and identities.

In the Tower sat John Thornton, both with charges of treason attached to him. When he arrived in the forsaken place, he took with him all of my secrets, and for that I was grateful, however morbid it was. John Thornton, who had known me since I was a mere child; who had attempted to kill me months before. First by firing a gun, second by poisoning me. Most surprisingly, it was just John who was arrested. No accomplices were identified whatsoever. Charles Brandon, with little Rebecca clinging to his arm, walked freely. Isabell Boleyn was safe as long as her bastard was alive. 

Eleanor Tudor observed from a safe distance, hiding behind her gaggle of loyal ladies in waiting. Since she'd arrived at court, the mood had brightened just a bit. She was young, personable, and refreshing - just what our dampened, infernal court needed. Behind closed doors, though, she was sly and guileful. Gossip filled Eleanor's head but mischief ruled her heart. 

And though we were different in so many way, we were more similar than either of us realized. It was a shame, too, because we both lacked a true confidant. Someone to trust fully and without a single doubt. Alas, it was not to be. It seemed that the world had cursed us both to dull, lonely lives.

The closest person I had was Clara, whose loyalty was unfaltering. Never, not even for the briefest of moments, did I ever question her faithfulness. And so, I tasked her with something that seemed impossible; something dangerous and possibly senseless. On the humid Saturday morning, a note would be delivered to Henry that detailed the true nature of Isabell's prized son. 

When I rose in the morning, light streaming into the room wildly. It felt new and vibrant. Something in me changed that morning. It was as if all of the lust and anger and bitterness that had built up inside of me had evaporated into the depths of the night, never to be seen again. Isabell would be knocked off her pedestal, John would be executed, and I'd be safe.