Just a warning, there is a potential trigger warning for mentions of domestic abuse in one scene in this chapter. There will be a ⚠️ before and after the scene so when you see it you can scroll from one to the next if you don't want to read it. ♥️
---
You love who you love
Common sense may say it's wrong
There's a part of him you know is wild
Maybe that's what made you love him all along
- You Love Who You Love, Laura Osnes & Melissa Van Der Schyff
"You said you saw her here?"
"You see that window in-between the two trees? She was in that corridor." Leaves rustled as Amy ducked back down behind the palace garden hedge and turned to her side, where Flynn was crouched in his Tudor garb - which included hose she couldn't help but laugh at. "What do we do?"
Flynn looked grim. "If Emma's finally showed up in the palace, then something's going down."
"I don't know. She wasn't in a hurry or anything. It was kind of like she was... Looking for something."
On her other side, Rufus frowned in concentration. "Looking for something?"
"Or someone?" Amy floated.
"Who would Emma be looking for in Tudor England?"
The answer hit all three of them at the same time.
"A sleeper."
Amy shifted, suddenly anxious. "I thought they used all the sleepers."
"That we know of," Rufus said ominously, but Flynn firmly disagreed.
"They could have had all the sleepers they wanted, but then I got in the way."
"Ah," Rufus nodded seriously. "You clockblocked them."
Amy snorted and Flynn held in his laugh/sigh. "My point is it's possible this thing Emma's looking for is the last sleeper. A fragile point in history means they're less likely to activate them until they're desperate. Which, if you've seen Emma recently..."
"She's just unhinged enough to blow it all up," Amy breathed. Rufus stayed quiet for a moments before suggesting,
"What if we found the sleeper before Emma did? I met a sleeper in the eighties who wasn't even loyal to Rittenhouse, so maybe we could find them first and then change their minds-"
"You're so optimistic it's disgusting," Flynn countered bluntly. "I say we find the sleeper first, and then we shoot him, or her, in the head."
"We?"
Amy cleared her throat, interrupting their squabble. "You're both ignoring the fact that we're in the 16th century. That means no tech, no surviving records, nothing. If there's a sleeper then we're only still here because they're lost. Emma's been looking for weeks and she's the one with the advantage here. There's no way we can find a sleeper before she can."
Rufus blinked at her. "It's a good thing we've got a Preston."
Amy smiled appreciatively. Flynn, ever thoughtful, followed on,
"If Emma's moved on to searching the Palace, then we know where she is..."
"This place is huge, though. It'd take days to search every person that lives here plus every servant and every visitor."
Flynn tapped his fingers on the grass beneath them like he was deep in thought. "Then we have time to prepare."
Amy sighed and finally stood up, stretching her legs and back muscles cramped after so long crouched in the dirt. "I'll warn Lucy."
The two stood with her. "We'll get planning," Rufus said, and Amy smiled slightly at the trepidation of calming Flynn down from planning murderous rampages in his expression.
"I'll be back at the house tonight. See ya."
Rufus parted with a bye and Flynn told her sternly to stay safe. As they retreated, Amy turned back to the palace.
Past the hedge directly in front of her, an older woman in a sensible dark dress and gable hood stared at Amy with an expression of scandalised shock. She was surely wondering what a young lady could possibly get up to in the bushes with two men.
Amy bent into an exaggerated deep, frivolous bow. "M'lady," she flourished.
The woman looked ready to collapse onto her fainting couch and Amy grinned wickedly as she picked her way back onto the path that lead to the palace. It might've been a huge leap from loose Montmartre to frigid England but hey, Amy found her fun either way.
---
Lucy was on edge. The knowledge that Emma could be somewhere in this - granted, very large - building had her looking over her shoulder every minute.
She was sat on a cluster of expensive cushions in a sunlight-lit palace room, sewing together rough cotton into smocks. She'd barely made half a smock in the time the other ladies surrounding Anne on the same pillows and chairs had somehow produced three each. Lucy had never been the most talented at household tasks. It brought curious attention and side glances from the ladies who still wondered how on earth a lady such as Lucy who couldn't speak properly, write like they could, or even sew had wormed her way into Anne's inner circle.
Lucy didn't want to say she'd gotten comfortable, but almost two weeks in Tudor England had her feeling as if this was normal. She'd felt the same after such a prolonged stay on the Titanic. Her fingers were starting to cramp, though...
A knock on the chambers door made Lucy jump so violently the needle slipped straight through the fabric and pricked her finger.
She, as the newest and least established, was expected to answer the knock. Lucy set down her work and went to suck her bloody finger but, remembering she hadn't been able to wash her hands with proper soap in weeks, hurriedly lowered it again.
It took going through two other doorways before finding the source of the knock. The heavy door opened to reveal a young page with dark skin who carried a small pile of letters in his hand. Lucy took it with an awkward thanks, went to close the door, but halted when Anne came up behind her and slipped the pageboy a few grey coins that he accepted with a shy smile. "Do you bring any news of Mrs Jaskyne?"
"I heard she began her journey, Miss," the boy bowed. Lucy looked between them for any source of context, but Anne simply beamed. "Excellent. Thank you."
Lucy closed the door cautiously, making sure there wasn't anything else. Anne only called in good spirits before it was shut,
"Take care of your mother!"
Anne slotted her chin over Lucy's shoulder. "Who are they from?"
"Um, a Mrs Ive, a Mr Alwaye, and..." Lucy gulped at the sight of the name embellished on the final envelope. "Henry."
"What does it say?"
She broke the elaborate wax seal depicting a horse and its battle-ready rider and carefully inched out the thick letter.
The curled writing may as well have been Elvish, but Lucy could read enough to understand. Her eyebrows raised through the roof. "He's... Passionate."
Anne read it over her shoulder and, cheeks reddenning, quickly snatched the letter off of her. She said in hurried French, "don't worry about that."
"What about these?" Lucy handed Anne the other two letters. She switched them out hurriedly so they concealed Henry's zealous letter.
"They are from people I have helped, I will get to them later."
"So we can keep making shirts?" Lucy asked awkwardly, following her back through the rooms that lead to their sewing.
Anne came to a halt midway in a patch of sunlight. She was slightly smaller than Lucy, but stood much taller. "Then what would they have to wear?"
Lucy blinked foggily. "Who?"
"I thought you knew all about me," Anne challenged as if she were amused by Lucy's knowledge deficit. "The poor, bien sûr."
Lucy sighed an audible ohh. "Your charity."
Anne waved her hand like charity was too strong a word. "The shirts and smocks are a part of my alms. I give them to the poor, the needy, and impotent householders overcharged with children."
"That's amazing."
"It is nothing but being a good Christian," Anne dismissed smoothly.
"And those letters? They're families you've helped?"
"Why do you care so?"
Lucy didn't have an explanation beyond being in absolute awe of Anne Boleyn. "I... Guess I forgot."
"I may not be popular with the people, but I offer succour wherever I can. I learn their names, their woes..." Anne showed her the letters. "Mrs Ive lost her cattle last winter. I paid their way to the next. She knows to tell me if she needs anything further. Mrs Jaskyne needed to travel to be with her sick husband. I paid her way, too. Mr Alwaye..." Anne hesitated. "He needs a different sort of help."
Lucy leaned against the stone wall, enthralled. Every time she thought she understood Anne, there was another layer to discover. Anne checked over her shoulder.
"Mr Alwaye is an evangelical reformist." Anne extended her arm containing the last letter, the one by Alwaye. "Tell me what you think."
Lucy, startled, took the letter in her hands as though it was as fragile as glass. "You want me to read this?"
"Why else would you be here?"
Fair point. Lucy didn't underestimate the power of mutually assured destruction - their trust was built on the fact they were both involved in relationships that, if they were discovered by the wrong person in this court, could result in a ruined reputation. It made for fast friends.
So Lucy peered at the letter. She could just about manage to piece the handwriting together. She skippwd past the greeting and read;
...But anon I remembered how many deeds of pity your goodness had done within these few years, and that without respect of any persons, as well to strangers and aliens as to many of this land, as well to poor as to rich: whereof some looking for no redemption were by your gracious means not only freely delivered out of costly and very long imprisoning, but also by your charity largely rewarded and all thing restored to the uttermost...
This reformist must have been arrested. "I think he's asking for your intervention," Lucy informed her.
Anne, clearly zoned out, tore her eyes from Henry's letter and focused on Lucy. Lucy thought she saw a falter in Anne's demeanour, but she brushed it off quickly enough it seemed like nothing. "In what?"
Lucy held it out for Anne to read herself. Anne gave an irritated mutter she barely caught, "Wolsey hangs over us like a stain."
That interested Lucy. She knew who cardinal Wolsey was - a Catholic archbishop who had failed to secure Henry and Catherine of Aragon, his first wife, an annulment. History was fairly certain Anne had had a hand in Wolsey's downfall and the charges of treason which proved deadly. He'd passed two years ago (on the charge of treason, Henry's favourite one to use against ministers who had commited no crime except falling out of favour. It was also the same charge he'd use against Anne in four years.) - but his influence, along with the other English bishops, remained strong. She gathered that Wolsey and these bishops were the ones to blame for this man's imprisonment. It usually went that way for Tudor evangelicals.
Despite Anne's Catholic upbringing, she could never be placed in either the Catholic or the evangelical bracket. Her ambitions and empathy led her to support both. Lucy couldn't help but try and get the clear answer even so. "You don't support Wolsey?"
"I would hate to speak any ill of the dead," Anne said righteously. But she muttered under her breath, "the bobolyne bespawler that he was."
Lucy grinned delightedly. She had no idea what that meant, but she felt the spirit.
Anne suddenly gathered herself up like she was preparing to leave. "Can you write and tell Mr Alwaye I'll do all I can for him?"
"Me?"
Anne's eyes sparkled shrewdly. "I believe we just had this conversation."
Lucy, put out and embarrassed, admitted, "um... I can't write."
Not the mesmerising way they did, anyway. Her writing would look as outlandish to them as theirs did to her.
Anne didn't miss a beat for any kind of judgement. She poked her head around the doorway and called for a Mary.
The Mary that emerged had sharp blue eyes yet a kind face softened by years of fine lines and wrinkles. Lucy had a clue as to who this must be: Mary Orchard, Anne's 'old nurse'. All history really knew of her was that she had been there in the tower the night Anne was executed. She might have been the only friendly presence there who hadn't betrayed Anne by the end of her life. A chill ran up Lucy's spine but she forced a polite smile. Lucy needed the help; she had to prove herself and earn the place at Anne's side. It was this or she risked leaving her to the wolves - AKA Emma.
Anne left Lucy in Mary's hands for the rest of the day, apparently determined to get as much use out of her brain as possible. Lucy didn't really mind, though. She gladly took something to do other than worry about Emma.
---
⚠️
Well into the night, Anne's chambers were no longer lit by sunshine. Instead, clusters of candles cast a golden glow on the bricks and rippled over the tapestries clinging to the walls.
Lucy murmured softly to Mary Orchard, who sat beside her at Anne's dressing-table-turned-desk. Mary penned the letter that Lucy dictated to the Mr Alwaye. It had been an arduous task to pick out what he actually needed from his overly flowery letter, but through some of Anne's contacts and the pulling of some strings on her part, Lucy was confident the reformist would be released. His only crime was the possession of banned books. Lucy only hoped that he was always going to be released, and she hadn't just loosed a mass murderer upon the world or something. Fingers crossed.
Mary inked the final period on the paper with a steady hand. She also spoke in French when she asked,
"Are you satisfied?"
"I think so." She hoped so...
The door to the chamber opened and both of them glanced up. Through it came Anne, resplendent in a brilliant blue dress studded with pearls and sapphires, followed by two other of her ladies. They wore the same cream coloured dress and pearls that Anne had chosen for her. Neither stepped inside, but Anne curtsied to both of them and bid them farewell by name. "Nan. Jane."
Both bowed and took their leave in turn.
Lucy's head whipped around and caught a glimpse of the familiar blonde lady on the left before the door blocked them from view. "Jane Seymour?"
Anne watched her with awe, oblivious to the sharp tone her voice had taken on. "I told you. She knows everything."
Mary shook her head in stern disapproval and stood to receive Anne's fur cloak. Despite their differing statuses, Lucy detected a motherly bond between the two women. "You're far too trusting," Mary told her.
Lucy smiled nervously. Did they have to discuss her when she was right there?
"I met your red-haired friend," Anne called over casually.
Lucy rocketed upwards. "You what?"
"She didn't seem all that dangerous to me. She stopped me for conversation, and asked if I had a young woman in my employ named... je pense que c'était... June? I said no, and she was on her way."
"She didn't say anything else?" Lucy asked desperately. She hadn't seen Emma for so long she was starting to feel like a ghost.
"Nothing."
Lucy deflated. It wasn't much help, but she'd still fill Amy in as soon as Anne was asleep. At the very least it confirmed their suspicion she was looking for someone. "Did you have a pleasant walk?" Lucy asked instead.
Anne smiled a tiny smile that Lucy watched closely. She didn't know where Anne had disappeared to earlier, but she was willing to bet that wherever it was, it had been with Henry. "Very pleasant."
A mischievous look showed up in the old woman's eye. "More pleasant than Percy?"
"Mary!"
Lucy's ears pricked up. Henry Percy - the man Anne Boleyn had been engaged to long before Henry had ever appeared on the scene. Mary helped her to take off her shoes and Anne fell into the chair besides Lucy like she had been walking for hours.
Lucy decided to play dumb. "Who's Percy?"
"Nobody," Anne assured her promptly.
"Anne's true engagement."
Anne shot her maid a burning look. "Pay her no mind."
She could see Anne's good will slipping before her eyes.
"I was engaged to another man, once, too," Lucy tried timidly.
Anne blinked. Some of her guard dropped. "Really?"
"Really."
Mary muttered something about the decaying sanctity of marriage in the background and left the two of them alone. Clearly, not that much changed through history.
Lucy, seeing the opportunity to strengthen Anne's trust in her, didn't want to drop this promising thread of conversation. "What happened with you and Percy?"
Anne looked away, busying herself with pulling off her French hood. Her glossy dark hair fell about her face, obscuring her expression. Her voice came out duller than usual. "Henry ended it."
"He can do that?"
"You cannot argue with a King. Or, apparently, Percy could not."
Lucy thought she detected that same sort of offness that had surrounded Anne when she had been reading Henry's letter earlier that day and frowned. "Were you happy?"
"I suppose," Anne said stiffly, as if she didn't really know herself. "Were you?"
"It was an... Arranged marriage." Kind of.
"They all are," Anne dismissed.
"Not where I'm from."
"Prussia?"
Lucy hid her smile. "Yeah. Prussia."
"So you weren't happy?"
What a loaded question. Lucy leaned her weight thoughtfully against the arm of the chair. "Noah was... nice. It would have been an easy life. But I didn't want Noah."
Anne's eyes sparkled. "The man from the balcony."
"Who you said you'd keep a secret," Lucy reminded her. Anne gave a little roll of her eyes but loosened up visibly.
"How did he get past the guards?"
Lucy chuckled. "I've stopped trying to figure out how he does it."
"Ah, un esprit sauvage."
Lucy didn't know which translation Anne meant by that - a wild, savage, or untamed spirit... But she supposed all of them fit Flynn.
"Henry is like that, too," she continued, gazing into the distance.
The image of an obese, angry Henry VIII came to mind, but Lucy had to remember this was before his jousting accident. That accident had caused the permanent injury and irreversible brain damage that had originally set Henry on the course to becoming the large, aggressive figure history would remember. Right now, he was the perfect warrior King; tall, muscular, attractive, well-loved... On the surface, there wasn't a single reason not to love him.
"Is it hard?" Lucy asked, unable to resist getting the answers from Anne herself. "To stay away from him?"
Lucy knew how hard it was for her - knowing she absolutely shouldn't touch Flynn with a six foot pole, but even from the beginning feeling that irresistible pull... It was difficult. But Anne Boleyn? She was the literal Queen of forbidden relationships.
"It's torture," Anne sighed forlornly. A mischievous smile hitched up her rosy lips. "But we get creative"
Lucy, sensationalised, asked in a hushed tone, "you've never...?"
Anne looked shocked at the very suggestion. "Non!"
She took it for the truth. Anne was a God-fearing woman, after all. She motioned for Lucy to lean in and lowered her voice to a whisper. "He did kiss me here once." She pointed to her breasts, barely containing her giggles. "He called them his pretty duckies."
Lucy gasped. "Vraiment?"
Anne nodded, hands over her mouth covering her grin. "What about you and him? Your balcony man?"
Lucy thought about what they'd done, then decided she didn't want to give Anne Boleyn a heart attack.
"His name's Garcia. And we're the same."
Anne sniffed. "Boring."
Lucy laughed. She couldn't believe she was honest to God gossiping about boys with Anne Boleyn. They almost felt like genuine friends.
Anne motioned to the crisscrossed strings tying her back into her stiff dress.
"Would you mind?"
"Not at all."
Lucy stood and loosened the ties. It was a long and difficult protest, especially since Lucy struggled zipping up her own jeans at the best of times. The first layer of blue velvet and embroidery covering Anne's shoulders to her toes came off first, the front panel of her skirt second, the cushioning around her hips third, and, finally, the fabric corset last.
She raised her arms to wiggle it off, allowing Lucy to pull it over her head. The light cotton sleeves of Anne's chemise slipped down to her elbows.
Lucys eyes immediately went to the purple marks ringed around her wrists. Horrified, she moved up Anne's sleeves further and uncovered more bruising on her upper arms, like someone had gripped her too hard, or forcefully shaken her. As if they knew her clothes would cover it to anyone but them. A sick taste rose in Lucy's mouth.
"Anne. Did you see Henry today?"
Anne wrest her arm from Lucy's grip and shook her sleeves back over the bruises. She didn't make eye contact with Lucy in the mirror. "Get my nurse, please."
Lucy did. Neither Mary nor Anne seemed to react to this nearly as much as Lucy was. In fact, all Mary did was examine the bruises, shake her head, and fetch a ready bowl of hot water with comfrey leaves floating around in it like Anne returning with bruises was a regular occurrence.
Lucy watched from the sidelines hunched in her chair with her hands clasped before her mouth whilst Mary strained the leaves in a cloth and passed it over to Anne to hold there while she bandaged the other arm tightly in order to apply pressure and be rid of them faster. The bigger issue seemed to be their visibility, rather than how she got them at all.
Everything suddenly seemed very real to Lucy. "Who did this to you?"
Anne glanced at her. The twinkle in her eyes was gone. "You asked where I had been today. I have confidence you can figure it out."
Lucy lifted Henry's earlier love letter from the desk with light fingers. As she suspected, it asked Anne to meet with him.
"Why?"
Anne gently moved the comfrey press from her upper arm to her wrist and swallowed. "The King does what he wants. He gets what he wants. Who he wants... And he does not like hearing no."
Reading Henry's letter a second time, Lucy quelled rising feelings of disgust. Who was he, to leave her with these marks? Break up her engagement with Percy? Demand that she meet with him?
"Put it with the others," Anne said, simply sounding more tired that anything else.
The others?
Lucy opened the desk drawer she motioned to and stood. There were dozens of other letters in there - all from Henry. Lucy flicked through them. Most read of how much he missed her or longed to see her or touch her. They were all signed with something like 'by the hand that belongs to you' - and Lucy's fury only grew. "These aren't love letters. This is harassment."
"Don't be silly."
"How can you stand this?"
Anne was a smart, fierce woman. Lucy knew she knew her mind, and that she wasn't afraid to argue with Henry when they were married. It was part of what had ultimately led to her downfall. She couldn't understand why she let this slide.
Anne drew herself up. "I'm flattered."
"Are you?"
"Know your place, Lady Lucy," Mary warned from Anne's side. Brief confusion flickered on Anne's face.
"I love him."
Lucy found herself feeling fiercely protective of Anne, only a few years younger than herself but, at this court, so much more vulnerable. The fact history rested on this woman's shoulders felt like a non-issue.
"Abuse isn't love."
"What would you know about it?" Anne snapped.
Lucy straightened like her words had been a physical blow. Anne didn't apologise.
"I am only safe when I am Queen. I am only safe when I give him a son," Anne ranted, one hand over her womb like she was protecting it. "Only then am I untouchable. But now... Now the King has absolute power. And what he has given he can taken away."
Lucy looked at Anne - really looked at her, this time without being dazzled or excited. She didn't see a witch who had seduced Henry and broken apart the church, nor did she see someone who deserved to be hated by her people and vilified by history. She saw a woman used by her father, by men like Thomas Cromwell, who looked to gain from her intelligence, grace, and looks. She saw a woman who had entered a foreign court and found herself the focus of this powerful King's attention, and with her own wit had made the best of a messy situation she had been thrust into against her will.
Lucy pulled a chair in front of Anne and sat. Then that didn't seem like enough, so she kneeled. Her dress provided a layer between her knee and the hard stone.
"For what it's worth, I think you're the powerful one," she promised, gazing upwards at Anne's face. "And I think you'll go down in history as the most influential Queen this world has ever known."
And her daughter would follow in her footsteps.
Mary tied the last piece of cloth around Anne's arm and Anne, with both arms now freed, took Lucy's hand in two of hers, a symbol of thanks. She also gave a promise, "I will try my best."
"I know you will," Lucy whispered.
But she also knew she'd be killed for it. Lucy had seen for herself the dynamic between Anne and Thomas Cromwell. He was already threatened by her, and this was years before Anne Boleyn even became involved in the passing of the Poor Law, the first of its kind which mandated local officials must find work for the unemployed. He'd call her radical. Then he'd spread the word. Then the word would reach Henry's ear.
Two months later, she'd be executed.
And people would say she deserved it for five hundred years, because she was a woman accused of having affairs - while Henry was busy getting engaged to another woman the day after he had Anne's head cut off! But of course women deserve their punishment!
Anne sniffed and gathered herself. At least Mary was there to pat her with a comforting hand - perhaps the only genuine one she'd have here.
"Did you write back to Mr Alwaye?"
Lucy blinked herself back to reality. "Oh. Yes."
Anne accepted the folded up paper with a grateful nod.
"You do me great service by being... discreet about this."
I don't, Lucy wanted to scream. I don't!
But instead she smiled tightly. She couldn't tell Anne anything. Changing one single thing at this point in time - Anne poised to receive her marquessate, then her Queenship, and to give birth to Elizabeth I all in the next year - would be catastrophic. Britain - and, subsequently, America, would be unrecognisable. Yet she deserved so much better.
⚠️
[Breather time. Cuteness ahead.]
---
Flynn, cloaked by the cover of night, stayed low creeping through the palace bushes. He was almost cleared of them and safely in the confines of the gardens. However, the last obstacle left was the palace guards, who didn't look like incredible fighters but could probably land him in a lot of trouble if they raised the alarm. Flynn found their frumpy red and gold uniforms ridiculous and completely non-threatening, but looking down at his own tunic of bronze and red that Amy had stolen from the laundry, realised he couldn't judge them. He'd outright refused a codpiece, though. He didn't care how fashionable a dick pouch was, it wasn't going anywhere near his.
Flynn waited until the guard looked the other way and shot out of his hiding place and onto the gravel path. He wasn't completely sure what, exactly, he was meant to be looking for, but Flynn caught a glimpse of flickering light behind a tall hedge and went to investigate.
He found a secluded little enclave in-between the bushes and finally spotted Lucy's back, swaying softly as she waited there. She didn't wear a hood today - this wasn't strictly acceptable, but it wasn't like anyone was going to see her in the dark. Instead, her naturally curly hair had been carefully twisted and styled up... Maybe for the one person she did want to be seen by?
The rustling of leaves and a crack of a twig made Lucy turn around and smile. Flynn emerged from the bushes dusting a leaf off his shoulder.
"Amy said to meet you here, what's..."
It was then Flynn noticed the carefully placed candles surrounding Lucy.
"...Going on?" He finished slowly.
"Sorry I forgot our date," Lucy said softly.
Light from the candles reflected in his dazzled eyes as Flynn took in the gorgeousness of the greenery and flowers that surrounded them. Green burst from the walls and pink flowers twined up the leaves framing Lucy, a Goddess in her cream gown that shone almost as much as the pearls around her neck, like a painting.
"It's..."
Lucy took him by the hand. "Isn't it?"
Flynn looked around in awe trying to find the words until Lucy had the good sense to say,
"Okay, to be honest, I'm not sure how long we can leave these candles burning, so I'm just gonna -" she hastily leaned over and blew the fire hazards out. Flynn watched with a soft sort of chuckle.
"You did all this for... me?"
"I told you I'd make it up to you."
"Luce..."
Sensing Flynn was about to object in some way, Lucy held a light finger to his lips. "A-bup-bup. You haven't even seen the best bit yet."
"There's more?"
With a secretive air, Lucy led him by the hand to an oak door taller than the both of them put together and reinforced by iron. She motioned for him to push, so he did.
He wasn't prepared in the slightest for what was behind it.
It was the palace stables. Two horses were already saddled up and ready to go - one a glossy chestnut, and one a gorgeous peppery grey. Flynns face lit up like a kid in a candy store. "Are you serious?"
Lucy beamed. "Anne got me permission. I thought we could go for a ride, visit the streets, maybe get some food... I mean, if you still want to," she added quickly.
Flynn was distracted from stroking the grey horses nose for a moment. He'd take any excuse to spend time with Lucy, of course, and a date was long overdue, but her safety came first. "What about protecting Anne? What about Emma?"
"Anne's safe. And like I said, we're always in the middle of something, so... Let it go? For me?"
"I..."
Lucy watched him nervously for an answer. Her safety came first, but what safer a place to be than at his side where he could protect her?
"I'd love to."
Her frown gave way to a relieved smile, and Lucy joined him with the horses. She stroked a hand down the horses velvety mane.
"Henry's obsession with horses might actually be the one good thing about him," she murmured.
"Not very impressed with Henry, are you?"
Lucy sighed and shook her head. "Don't even get me started."
"I won't," he promised, knowing full well she'd get started later anyway, and that he'd join in. "Shall we?"
Lucy jumped up and attempted to swing a leg over the chestnut horse, the smaller option of the two. She missed anyway. The skirt made it ten times more difficult, too - she couldn't even see her foot to get it in the stirrups. It turned out she wasn't a fan of Henry's ban on any horse shorter than thirteen hands, after all. She failed again, and again while Flynn watched on trying his best not to patronise her.
"Are you sure about this?"
"I'm a grown-up," Lucy struggled out through gritted teeth, sweat starting to shine on her forehead and feet dangling off the poor horse.
Flynn had enough and placed an upturned bucket under her shoes. Lucy finally managed to get atop the horse and nodded gracefully.
"See? Easy."
Flynn laughed at the audacity and swung himself onto his horse with ease.
"Show off," Lucy muttered.
It wasn't a very long ride to the cobbled streets of Greenwich, where Lucy and Flynn disembarked from their horses and tethered them with bales of hay to munch on. Despite the short duration of their ride, Lucy had nearly fallen off not once, not twice, but six times. Flynn had no clue how she did it, but then again, he was the one wearing trousers. Or, err, hose.
"Where are we headed?" He asked, admiring the cobble road and Tudor architecture as they strolled. The white walls and dark wooden beams felt like a movie set. Even though he'd been to both England and to the time period (ish, if a century later counted) before, this place felt like another world.
"I was told there was something... Oh!" She veered off the path up to a door. "Here. There's hardly restaurants around yet, but apparently this is the best place to get gingerbread."
"...How much planning did you put into this?"
"I've had a lotta time on my hands," Lucy explained sheepishly.
She went in while Flynn lingered outside. Something about the fact she used that time to think about him caused a flutter in Flynn's chest he couldn't shake. Was he nervous? He couldn't be nervous! Oh God, he was so nervous -
Lucy bounced out of the shop balancing two plates on her hands and the thoughts vanished into thin air. She handed him one, which had gingerbread on it but was slightly sticky to the touch.
"What-?"
"They're made of sugar!" She burst out as soon as he asked. Lucy was clearly absolutely overjoyed by this fact. He held it up to eye level and examined the grainy plate.
"How'd they do that?"
Lucy crunched off a massive bit of plate. "I dunno, but is good," she mumbled thickly.
Flynn chuckled to himself - it was good to see Lucy enjoying herself in history for once - and took a generous bite of his own gingerbread. It wasn't much like the stuff he'd bake, more bread than biscuit, but it was still sweet, gingery heaven.
They strolled down cobble streets content to talk and laugh as they always did. His nerves calmed down a little the further they walked, and when he got a gingerbread crumb on his cheek Lucy giggled and stretched onto her toes to brush it off with her thumb. He felt on display even when nobody stopped to spare them a second glance - they couldn't, really, when the only sources of light were candles and oil lamps glowing on windowsills and the silvery light of the moon which itself was dampened by clouds.
Lucy was beginning to struggle with eating her gingerbread. Flynn, who had anticipated this, pulled out a wooden canteen the size of a hip flask and held it out.
Lucy took it with bemusement. "For me?"
Flynn shrugged. "'Cause you're always thirsty. You're like a raisin."
Lucy thought about disagreeing, but decided she was too thirsty.
She tilted her head up to take a drink, and just in time saw that a window above them was thrown open. Lucy knew what was about to happen before it did and shoved the both of them out of the way. Flynn looked up, confused, and immediately regretted that he did.
Someone threw the contents of a chamberpot into the gutter running down the street. It landed with a very unromantic plop.
Everything went still and quiet for a moment, supremely thrown off. Then Flynn and Lucy looked at eachother and slowly began to laugh, the kind that started as snorts and ended with Lucy clutching his shoulder and shaking her head.
"Let's move before we get dumped on," Flynn put a hasty hand on her back and guided them away.
"You know the gentleman's meant to walk on the outside so the lady's sheltered."
"No chance," Flynn said, but switched places with her anyway.
She smiled up at him, and Flynn couldn't tell if he felt tall or tiny next to her. Something about Lucy by his side made him feel powerful, yet gentle. Strong, but painfully soft-hearted. Something about her made him want to stay by her side. Maybe it was all the qualities he called impressive, or maybe it was how she brightened any room she stepped into, or maybe it was the way that when he slid his fingers in-between hers she swung his hand forwards and backwards like she was shy and trying to make a game of it.
They emerged on the banks of the river Thames with a large stone bridge before them. Flynn sniffed. The smell of all the woodsmoke fires mixed with the faint scent of sewage filled his nose. "You never get used to the smell, do you?"
"Try sleeping in a palace next to it," Lucy grumbled, and picked her way onto the bridge. Flynn followed and poked fun at how she lamented over sleeping in what he imagined was a four poster bed covered in silk and gold thread. Their voices carried over the near-black surface of the Thames until it faded into echoes.
London bridge felt more like a street than anything else with all the buildings piled on it. The only difference between this and the streets they'd just walked down was the boats they sometimes glimpsed passing under it, and raced to watch come out the other side. Chill wind picked up off the water, ruffling his hair and swishing Lucy's skirt as they walked.
The south gate came into view and Flynn's attention was caught by the very top of it, which held spikes fanning out like cocktail sticks with little black shapes stuck on them. Flynn squinted at those morbid olives.
"Are those-?"
"Heads," Lucy confirmed matter-of-factly.
Hm. Flynn had to give Lucy credit - she did know how to plan a good date.
"You know William Wallace?" She asked out of the blue.
"Braveheart?"
"His head was up there once. Guy Fawkes' will be one day. So will Thomas Cromwell's, actually. I just met him."
The silhouette of the dark spikes looming over the bridge felt like a graveyard, beautifully peaceful but at the same time a tragic memento mori. "What's up with these guys and their beheadings?"
Lucy shrugged. "Ask that to the French."
She got down on the edge of the bridge and dangled her legs through the wooden beams that spanned from one building to another and offered a view down the Thames.
"Are you alright with that?" He asked, concerned.
"I never minded heights. Just water. It's fine as long-"
"-As I'm not in it," Flynn echoed her mantra and sat beside her. The moon hung in the middle of two of them, casting a long silver sheen on the water a dizzying distance below their dangling feet. "How was your day?"
He wasn't expecting the whole crazy story Lucy launched into, but he listened to its end with his mouth agape. "Let me get this straight, you freed a guy from prison?"
"Kind of..."
"You didn't even free me from prison!" Flynn countered indignantly.
"I'm sorry, but you're no Anne Boleyn," Lucy replied gravely.
Flynn sniffed. "Smeće."
Rubbish.
Lucy finished her gingerbread in one final bite. "What about you?" She asked in-between chews. "What'd you do today?"
He reflected on today's events with a less than enthused expression. "Bonded with Amy and Rufus through catching the family of mice living in the walls."
Lucy put a hand over her mouth like she felt bad for wanting to laugh. "Really?"
"Really. Rufus had to stand on a chair to get away from them."
Flynn leaned into the beams and eat the last of his sugar plate which was vaguely reminiscent of those sugar flowers you'd get on modern cupcakes. He watched Lucy out the side of his eye as she did the same and tried to articulate the words in his head.
"It sounds weird, but... This kinda feels like a first date and a fifth at the same time."
Lucy thought about it. "I guess that kind of happens when you already live together."
"Already?" Flynn caught.
Lucy, flustered, opened her mouth to rectify it but nothing came out. Flynn immediately felt bad. "It's alright," he assured her quickly.
Even if they lived together, chose to sleep in the same bed each night, and even if they were best friends, Flynn and Lucy couldn't take the weight of that. Not tonight, anyway. At its bones, it was a first date.
"I really like you," Lucy admitted quietly. With that came the subtext of but that's the furthest I'll go for now.
Flynn surprised himself when he was able to say with ease, "I really like you, too."
He couldn't see Lucy blush through the dim light, but he could tell she did by the way she looked away with that little smile and tucked her hair behind her ear.
It wasn't clear who leaned in first, but with the water lapping gently at the bricks below them and the moonlight playing on their faces, it seemed like the perfect time for Flynn to hold her cheek in a hand, slightly cold to touch from the windchill, and gaze back at those beautiful brown eyes.
Until a door was thrown open somewhere behind them, flooding the bridge with yellow light. A drunkard stumbled out singing noisily, followed by a flood of the pubs other patrons. England didn't change in five hundred years, apparently.
Flynn retracted his hand and Lucy cleared her throat. If pubs were closing, it must be getting late.
"I should get back to Anne," she said, not sounding happy about it at all. He tried not to show his disappointment agreeing.
Flynns knees cracked standing up, a sure sign he wasn't nearly active enough cooped up in their little hovel. They followed the route they'd came, away from the spikes, down the streets and past the place they'd got their gingerbread until they retrieved their horses.
They followed the Thames back to the palace. Lucy learned her lesson and rode sidesaddle this time. The guards, apparently, knew Lucy by now and let them in without issue. Back in the stables, they removed the horses tack and Flynn managed, to his great delight, to shepherd them safely into their stalls. He fawned over his grey one until Lucy, watching from the doorway, smirked and said,
"Shall I leave you two alone?"
"Are you sure I can't fit them in the Lifeboat?" Flynn lamented, pulling himself away.
"You can barely fit yourself."
Flynn sighed. Sad but true. It was basically a hamster ball. He insisted on walking Lucy to the door nevertheless. It took rounding the corner to get to the servants entrance, which both gave Lucy a direct way to reach Anne's chambers and happened to offer them some privacy. They stopped in the indented doorway. Lucy appeared to want to stall going in for as long as possible.
"I had a good time tonight," she said sweetly. Crickets sang in the grass around them.
"You're not gonna invite me in for coffee?" Flynn flirted roguishly.
Lucy laughed, thinking back to when he'd snuck onto her balcony like some kind of off the wall Romeo. "Let's not risk that again."
He grinned but said sincerely, "I'm glad you did this."
Lucy nodded shyly. "Me too."
They were in very close quarters in this doorway. Flynn used a gentle touch to brush a flyaway strand of hair from her cheek. If not now, when? "Can I kiss you?"
Lucy replied an extremely ready breathless "mhm!" which made him smile. The kind of kiss where you couldn't stop smiling was always the best kind.
When Flynn leaned down and kissed her, Lucy moaned softly and put her hands on his waist. He got a strange, fluttery first kiss feeling that made his head spin.
Lucy pressed her forehead against his and breathed quietly for a moment. She smelled of warm ginger and spring flowers.
"I should go."
He couldn't even say with certainty that he'd see her tomorrow. "Sleep well," Flynn said. She kissed him once more for good measure and he watched, totally and utterly whipped, until the door was shut.
It took a few seconds for Flynn to get moving.
Their 'home' wasn't too far from the streets he and Lucy had walked through, but it took a good deal longer to get there on foot than it did by horse.
When he reached it and unlocked the door, he was met with the last dregs of a fire glowing in the ashy hearth that bounced off the pewter pots and pans hung haphazardly on the wall.
"Ahem," someone cleared their throat. He turned to see Amy sitting up at the table beside Rufus, firelight flickering ominously on their faces. "You're home late."
Rufus just grinned suggestively at him. Flynn swallowed his smile.
"Can I go to bed now?" He asked curtly.
Rufus gave a long, drawn out mmmmmhmmmm. Amy asked,"How was it?"
"It was fine," he said pointedly. Flynn didn't kiss and tell. Rufus mmmmmhmmmmed again.
"Go to sleep," he told him flatly.
Rufus didn't budge.
Flynn finally gave way and promised, "I'll tell you later."
Rufus nodded like that was what he expected and went to the other room to go to bed. Had he seriously waited up just for that?
The door shut.
Apparently so.
Amy half-stood up to follow him but hesitated like she was debating whether or not to stay. But ultimately, Amy settled back onto the bench and said,
"Hey, do you have a minute?"
Flynn turned around. He was so used to Amy being the light and carefree one that her change in tone gave him pause. "What's up?"
"Wyatt told me about the diary."
He slowly sat down. "What about it?"
"The letter you left Lucy. Or - past you left, I don't know, when you left her at the California gold rush. I read it."
Flynn regarded her suspiciously. "I hid that."
"I know where Lucy hides all her stuff," Amy explained like it was obvious. "I used to stick little notes to her vodka to make her smile. Maybe drink some of it while I was there. Turns out you both think the same."
"Remind me to move that..."
"Will do. I also found some stuff I really didn't need to see... But reading it made me realise Lucy doesn't need me."
She said it frankly, but there was a hint of pride running through Amy's tone. The two sisters had been dependent on eachother their whole lives - but Lucy had grown up.
"Doesn't need you? You're her life," Flynn countered. Tired fog made it hard for him to understand what Amy was getting at. "She needs you more than anything."
Amy watched him with a steady expression he couldn't decipher. He couldn't say for sure there wasn't sadness in there - something leftover from the basic desire to feel missed. "I think she has something new in her life she needs more than me."
Flynn's forehead scrunched up in innocent bewilderment. "What?"
"I was literally erased from existence. And..." Amy shrugged passively. "She's fine - thanks to you."
"I didn't do anything."
That was the biggest lie she'd heard from his mouth. Amy, shaking her head, replied evenly,
"Somehow, I don't think she'd last two years without you."
"Come on. You're her sister. She loves you to death."
Amy studied him. He truly thought he was making a good case. "Yeah, you wouldn't want to underestimate Lucy's love."
Flynn didn't know what to say, left speechless. Amy shook it off. "Anyway, I do have a point. And that's that we both agree Lucy comes first. Before anything else, she's the most important."
Flynn nodded, eyebrows furrowed. Amy looked relieved.
"...And that's why I know she'll be okay if anything happened."
"What do you mean if anything happened?"
"I don't mean die, or anything, but..."
Amy took a deep breath to prepare herself before telling Flynn the plan she had been slowly building up in her head for the past few days.
When she finished Flynn was quiet, but thoughtful.
"It's risky..."
"But good, right?"
"She won't like it."
"She doesn't have to."
Amy could see Flynn considering, that strategic mind lit up with possibility.
"Let us help you with it, at least," he said eventually.
Amy grinned. "Duh."
She looked around the little room, clearly tired but wanting to push through it. "Wanna start planning now?"
Flynn smiled with a hint of sleepiness. "Tomorrow."
Amy, yawning, nodded and gathered up her things. "I'll turn in, then. Goodnight."
"Night."
When Amy was gone, Flynn leaned his elbow steady on the table. He didn't feel like sleeping. He never did lately. Instead, he was deep in thought - but not about Amy's plan. Flynn thought about Lucy.
He wondered if she was up there in the palace thinking about him too, or if she was already sleeping. She needed the rest - she'd been doing enough these past days. They all had, but of course Lucy would go above and beyond, because that was just who she was. And of course it made him weak. Lucy was brilliant, and beautiful, and how couldn't Flynn find himself totally, utterly at her feet? It wasn't possible.
He sighed contentedly. Along with all the rising feelings in his chest, Flynn felt... Proud. He'd gone on a date, and more than that, with someone he admired, and genuinely enjoyed being around, and yes, wanted a second date with. No one but someone who was a widow like he was could ever understand the significance of that achievement. That was the first first date in... Years.
He would get Lorena and Iris back, of course, Flynn forced himself to keep believing in that because the other possibility wasn't an option, but... Life had done what he had never expected it to do, yet had always been inevitable: it moved on without them.
Flynn wouldn't ever be able to say he didn't feel love for Lorena. She had been his wife. He knew that when someone you love dies, the relationship doesn't end there. Some part of it will always live on. But that fact didn't take away from what he felt for Lucy. Nothing could. Flynn was slowly becoming accustomed to this idea. In the happy after-haze of their date, he could finally open his arms to the idea of a life beyond all this. More than that, a happy life. He hadn't even let himself hope for something like that.
Flynn leaned back on the bench and used a hand to hide his shy smile even though no one was around to see. That night, he felt safe in the fantasy that everything looked up. The world was cheerful and rosy.
...Even if he had to share a bed with Rufus.
Flynn crouched to the earth floor and took the fire poker in hand to spread the hot coals and firewood over the hearth. Water smothered the remnants of the fire, leaving the last bit of light in the room to fade as the hot orange cooled into black.
He slept well that night, but Flynn would come to regret that nobody was awake to hear Amy leave in the early hours of the next morning.
---
Teasers for I, Anne Boleyn (3)
•"Hey Christopher?"
"Yeah?"
"Did you go insane?"
•"I'm surprised you're still here."
"I wasn't aware I was able to leave."
•"Nothing's gonna be normal ever again, is it?"