Tudor Rose

ix. unchallenged, unchanged

"My son," he cooed, smiling at the brown-haired child kindly, "He will be made the Duke of Somerset and Cornwall."

"But Cornwall is always given to the sovereign's eldest child," I argued, a pinch of sadness and heartbreak woven into my voice, "It would have been Edward's."

"You're acknowledging my son?" Isabell asked hopefully, a cheerful smile resting on her face.

"Edward... he died and Isabell's boy is the only male issue I am left with," Henry explained, answering both of us simultaneously, "He will be cherished."

"Not more than your legitimate children, I hope," I scoffed.

Henry and I met each other's gazes. It was a peculiar, foreign sensation that made me shiver with excitement and anticipation. His gaze brought forth a bittersweet, incandescent glow that only we were aware of. It had been days since he'd look at me or speak more than two brief, meaningless sentences to me at a time. It was my own doing and I knew that, but it was saddening all the same. In nearly eight long, joyous years we had been married, there had never been a time where we felt more distant. Even the heavy crown and the lackluster jewels that it was adorned had begun to feel less like a gift and privilege and more like burden. It was something I would, in time, dread with every fiber of my body. My greatest nightmare spilling into daylight because I couldn't handle criticism. There was a perfect irony in the center of it all that amused me, though. A plague had ravaged my country, yet I was mourning the living.

"Your cousin George Boleyn married Lady Isabell," Henry announced, "He carries with him the Earldom of Wiltshire, which will make Isabell the Countess of Wiltshire."

"Yes, and my cousin!" I argued, my face scrunched up from disgust, "You would make the mother of your bastard child the cousin-in-law of your wife? I don't want to be related to her, even if it is through marriage. Please call off the wedding. I'll arrange a marriage with someone else of equal standing and fortune."

"There will be no need for that, Your Majesty, for it has already been done" Isabell said proudly, smirking, "George and I were married in a private ceremony just two days ago. The witnesses were my mother, the Boleyn family, and Henry. I was going to invite you, but you were at Hatfield with your daughters."

"You may leave now, Anna," Henry said, avoiding my cold, hardened gaze.

"But-" I protested.

"I said you may leave now," he repeated firmly.

I inhaled sharply, scrambling to breathe in what was left of my dignity. I mustered all of my self-control and utilized every ounce of it to keep myself from lashing out. The excitement of having a son would die out in time, and Henry would eventually return his fatherly affection to his real children.

But as I walked down the cold, dust filled hallway, the pain and heartbreak that I'd bottled in the depths of my soul overcame me. In the middle of an abandoned corridor, only twenty or so feet from my unfaithful husband, I collapsed onto the ground, my gown sprawled on the stone floor pathetically. Silent tears raced down my face, each one filled with more agony than the last.

Anna Holbrook, Queen of England for not much longer, I thought to myself, constantly challenged but stubbornly unchanged.

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April 13, 1519

Mary Gavell, the younger sister of the late Sarah Gavell who returned to my household despite being married following her sister's unfortunate death, ran her nimble fingers through my hair swiftly. She always left my untamed locks of hair meticulously styled in the most recent fashion. Hair was her specialty; it was the one thing I could always count on her to excel at when I readied myself for the day in the morning. On the rainiest of days Hampton had seen in months, she chose to style artificially crafted curls split down the center of my head simply. They were left relatively loose, with the exception of a bun hidden in a white net adorned in pearls. A few pearls were attached to the loose front curls. Once she'd finished explaining the proposed style, she waited anxiously for my reply. I agreed, although it was a bit hesitantly. Trust triumphed, though, and she immediately began working.