I decided we all needed cheering up after that horrible last chapter, so without further ado:
Bridewell, December 1522
Anne and Harry were married as quickly as possible in a small, inconspicuous ceremony that was far removed from the lavish one Marie had been hoping to give them. But to Anne, it didn’t matter. She might have been wearing an old crimson satin gown cut down from her sister’s wardrobe rather than shining new cloth of silver, there might only have been half a dozen guests rather than hundreds, but she was marrying the man she loved, the father of her child. That was what mattered.
As such, her eyes were shining as they met her older sister’s during their last, hurried, embrace.
“Thank you so much. For being here, for letting me marry him, for...” Anne broke off as her emotions threatened to choke her. Marie hugged her hard, pressing a ruby and opal choker into her hand.
“It’s all I could come up with on such short notice. I’m sorry it’s not more, but go. Go, little sister. Take care of each other and go. I’ll write when it’s safe for you to come back to Court.”
“When your fool of a husband has come to his senses, you mean,” Anne retorted, drawing a stifled chuckle from Marie before Harry bent to kiss his new sister’s hand.
“Madam, thank you for entrusting me with this precious jewel. I swear I will treasure her all the days of my life.”
“See that you do, Lord Percy. See that you do. But for now, Godspeed. You have a destination in mind?”
“Yes, but we’ll not burden you with that knowledge, in case the King decides to pursue us after all. God be with Your Majesty.”
“And also with you, Lord and Lady Percy,” Marie nodded, kissing them both one last time, for once grateful for the formality that made it so necessary, yet so much easier, for her to keep her emotions in check. She stood in the palace doorway, watching as Harry helped Anne on to her horse and mounted up himself. She feared for the life of Anne’s unborn child at the thought of the hard ride they had ahead of them, but said nothing, unwilling to burden the young couple any further. And then it was too late. They trotted away, leaving her torn between relief that they, at least, were away from the poisonous snake-pit that the English Court had become and wishing she could keep her little sister with her, both to amuse her and be honest with her in a way that no one else save George would be, and also so that she could mollycoddle Anne through her first pregnancy the way she deserved. Marie just hoped that, wherever Anne and Harry ended up, someone would take pity on Anne, if she didn’t lose the child before then.
Swiping her moistening eyes on the back of her hand, Marie turned back into the palace, determined not to give her ill-wishers any more reason to speak against her.