the heir's secret

1 year later

"I did." I reply as I reach over to the table to begin pouring some wine. The red liquid fills up the glass, making the sound of a grand fountain. I pass him a glass and he takes it willingly, gulping it down in a swift swallow.

"You know this is the first time I've seen you sit down in days, you work too hard."

"Hard work is the only thing that's brought me to this position. This place would still be covered with dust if I had not gone up there myself and cleaned it." I reply as I take a small sip from my glass letting the soothing mixture fall smoothly down my throat.

"You have maids to do that now, Katherine. You should act like a lady of your position."

"Which is what? Sitting down and sowing? I have never done that unless I was forced to." George lets out a long breath. I don't know what he expects of me? I always feel like I have to please him all the time. I remember the day I first met him. My business was small and I only had one local woman who had agreed to make the dresses for me for good pay. I had visited a local ball hoping to find some willing customers and there I had met George. He was kind to me and he offered to help me out. We had been friends ever since, and I liked his company. But I always feel like he wants something more from me. I look up at the painting of my father on the wall. He was twenty when it was painted. His blonde beard shaped bravely on his chin like the tail of a Fox, his eyes open and proud he seems to see everything before him. He may not have loved me that much but at least he had left me his estate, I would be nowhere without this land.

"You are no longer the traitors ex maid, Katherine. You are Lady Woodville of the famous Woodville heroes." He chuckles as he makes my family heritage seem great and victorious rather than a line of forgotten scholars. "Why do you live here alone? Surrounded by spinsters and peasants!"

"George, please." I stop him before he can offend me further. "This is the life I have chosen."

"But not a life you deserve."

"I thought you said you were here on business." I interrupt as I move away to grab a book from the shelf.

"Well I was, but I was distracted by your beauty." I laugh at his foolish remark. I reach up high and grab the first book that Catches my eye, a book of poetry. I skim through the pages in the silence looking for some words that look appealing.

"Why do you never talk of her?" He asks.

"Who?" I reply, only slightly listening as I continue turning the pages.

"Elizabeth Tudor." I freeze and my body becomes tense. It has been a year since I saw her last but I still can't hear her name without painful memories and regret filling my mind like a stabbing wound. I clear my throat in an effort to not show my emotions.

"I didn't like her much." I reply as I begin flipping the pages again.

"You went to the tower with her as well. That must have been awful."

"George, do you mind if we talk about something else?" I ask, desperate to change the conversation.

"Of course." He replies, his frustration obvious in the tone of his voice. I close the book with a loud bang and slam it down onto the table beside me. I turn and face him.

"What do you want?" I demand, my anger overpowering my sense.

"What do I want? I want you to stop running around trying to prove to everyone that you are as good as any man. I want you to be my wife!" I knew this was coming. I glare at him.

"I don't want to marry you, George."

"No one else will, you are too over powering." How dare he! I walk towards him, pushing my overpowering nature right into his face.

"This is my house, and you will leave." He stares at me for a few seconds and then shakes his head. After a moment more he turns on his heel and leaves leaving me in silence once again. Why couldn't we just be friends? I don't understand. I used to stand behind Elizabeth, she was the powerful figure now I am powerful in my own right. I never imagined it would be so stressful.

I slump down onto the chair, my mind swirling around. I remember when I had walked into this room a year ago. It had been cold and empty like my heart. Yet now the sun shined through the Windows and the room was filled with life but my heart still feels the same. She is still under house arrest I have heared. They say she is ill often but her head is still held high as it always has been.

I long to see her.

I feel my eyes wander suddenly to a piece of blank paper on my writing desk. I lift up my body sluggishly and move towards it, sitting down at the desk. I stare at it for a few moments before picking up the quill and begin writing,

Dear Elizabeth