The Queen is Dead!: Katherine of Aragon dies in 1518

[FalconHonour]

“What are we going to do about the Staffords?” Henry sighed, glancing up at Marie, who sat next to him, sewing. It was a peacefully domestic moment, one of the kind they rarely got to share, and he was loath to ruin it by talking about the Staffords, but he knew he had to. It was her they’d tried to poison, her sister they had poisoned. She had every right to help him decide on their punishment.

She looked up at him, her usually soft eyes as cold as a January frost.

“Buckingham has to die. For what he tried to do to me; for what he managed to do to my sister. How can you even ask me that?”

“I know, I know,” Henry hastened to reassure her, placating her unusual fit of temper before it could even get off the ground. Pushing back his chair, he opened his arms to invite her on to his lap, seeing her settled there before he continued, “It wasn’t Buckingham I was thinking of. He’ll die for his crimes, I promise you. He’ll die the day we have this boy christened.” He placed a hand on Marie’s bulging stomach, smiling, before he went on, “I was thinking of his daughter. Lady Katherine.”

“Kathy?” Marie’s voice was non-committal, “Why were you thinking about her?”

“She told us of her father’s crimes. I promised her she’d not be hurt. We can’t allow her to go down with her father, the way the rest of her siblings will.”

For a moment, Henry felt Marie remain stiff in his arms, as she mulled over what he’d said. Then she suddenly slumped against him.

“You’re right. Of course you’re right, Henry. Kathy shouldn’t pay for her father’s crimes. I just don’t know what to do with her.

“Neither do I,” Henry confessed. The two of them sat in silence for a while, staring into the fire.

Marie was the one to break it.

“What about marrying her to my brother?”

“George?” Henry couldn’t help but be surprised. Nor could he hide his surprise, “Surely you want better for him than a traitor’s daughter?”

“I want to know this boy will be safe. Lady Katherine is a Stafford just as much as her father is. Anyone who marries her, marries her bloodline.”

Marie’s voice may have calmed a little, but it was still harsher than normal. Henry didn’t want to upset her, not when she was with child, so he began to give the idea brief consideration...only to find that he actually quite liked it after all. George was a good lad. And he’d be an Earl one day. If young Katherine married him, no one could say the royals hadn’t been more than generous to her, given her father’s actions. And Marie was right. Bad blood would out. Katherine might be innocent and loyal now, but who’s to say she’d be like that in ten years, unless they curbed her now? And the Boleyns would do that. George and Thomas between them would do it. They’d never move against the throne, not even if Lady Katherine wanted them to. Not when it meant moving against their daughter. Their sister.

“It’s not a bad idea,” he murmured, and Marie looked at him, her eyes suddenly alight for the first time since her sister had been taken ill.

“Does that mean you’ll agree? Agree to them marrying?”

Faced with her blazing smile, Henry could do nothing more than nod.

“And we’ll give Dr Linacre a knighthood for saving your sister’s life, shall we?” he suggested.

Marie gasped, “Henry!”

He chuckled, “I take it the idea pleases you, sweetheart?”

At her eager nod – a nod that reminded him how young she still was – he laughed out loud and pulled her in for a fervent kiss.

 

[FalconHonour]

George knew he shouldn’t really be staring at the Queen in such consternation, but he couldn’t help it. His shock had temporarily overridden his usual adherence to protocol.

“You want me to marry Katherine Stafford? Katherine Stafford?”

“Yes.”

“Her father tried to have you poisoned! He did poison Anne! Annie! Our little sister! And now you want me to marry his daughter?!”

“Yes!” Marie rose to her feet, cutting her brother off. She understood his qualms, had had them herself at first, even though it had been her idea. But this really was the best way of both rewarding Kathy for her current loyalty and also providing something that should dissuade her – and indeed any of her family - from ever trying to move against the King or the Howards in the future.

She put her hand out to her younger brother, “Please, George. I know I said I’d let you marry the girl you wanted to rather than whoever Papa wanted to foist on you, but this is different. This is about keeping myself safe, keeping Annie safe, keeping my child safe. Keeping all of us safe. Can’t you help me do that? Don’t you want to help me do that?”

“Of course, but...”

“Good. Then you’ll marry Kathy Stafford at Easter and I’ll hear no more about it.”

“Easter! But that’s barely a couple of weeks away!” George exclaimed. Marie said nothing, merely looked at him in that steady way that she had always had, even when she was merely his older sister in the nursery and not his Queen. Flushing under her scrutiny, George swallowed back his retort and nodded. Once she had his agreement, Marie softened instantly.

“I’m sorry, George. But it really is the only way. Try not to take it out on Kathy, won’t you? She’s got no more choice in the matter than you do, and she’s been through so much already.”

George struggled with himself for a few moments and then nodded.

“I’ll try not to do it more than I can help,” he said reluctantly, “If you’ll do one thing for me.”

“Name it and I’ll see what I can do,” Marie promised. She owed him that, at least.

“You get the pleasure of telling Papa that his only heir is marrying a traitor’s daughter.”

Marie grimaced and was about to say something when Lady Sarah suddenly pushed the door open.

“Pardon the intrusion, Madam, but I thought you’d want to know. Lady Anne’s fever’s broken.”

Marie and George exchanged glances. A second later, they were racing to get past Sarah, protocol – and Marie’s need to take care - forgotten as they both strove to be the first at their younger sister’s bedside.

*** *** ***​

Anne blinked, stirred and murmured. Her eyes flickered groggily open and she took in her surroundings, trying to work out what had happened. The last thing she remembered before fevered dreams was Marie’s white face as she, Anne, collapsed to the floor, shaking.

“Marie? Mama?” she called out softly, her throat sore from disuse.

“Annie!” Her mother sprang up and hurried over, “How are you feeling, sweetheart?”

Anne didn’t answer at first, not sure what to say, “How long have I been asleep?” she asked.

“A week. You’ve had us all worried to within an inch of our lives. The fever was so high...we thought we were going to lose you, Annie.”

To Anne’s surprise, her mother’s voice shook. Blinking again, she realised there were tears in the older woman’s eyes.

She wasn’t sure how to respond. She’d never been close to her mother. Well, maybe she had, once, but six years in France had all but shattered their bond; had meant Anne’s maternal figures had been Marie and Duchess Marguerite rather than Lady Elizabeth Boleyn nee Howard. It was gratifying to know her birth mother cared for her, but to know she cared so much...Anne bit her lip before deciding to pretend the moment had never happened.

“Can I sit up, Lady Mother?”

“Of course!” Elizabeth looked startled, as though she’d been far away in thought, but she helped Anne sit up, supporting her with first her arms and then with silken pillows before turning briefly away from the bed.

“Edith. Tell the Queen Lady Anne’s awake,” she ordered, “And the rest of you, out! They’ll want some privacy.”

There was a half-audible response and then footsteps. A few moments later, Marie appeared, a jesting smile on her lips.

“Well, well, little sister. Decided to re-join us in the land of the living after all, have you?”

“You should know by now. It’ll take more than some belladonna and a mustard-induced fever to get rid of me,” Anne returned.

Yet their joking banter couldn’t hide the relief in Marie’s eyes at seeing her little sister alive and conscious, nor Anne’s desire to feel her sister’s arms around her, a wish that was soon granted as the older Boleyn sister settled herself beside Anne on the bed, leaning against the rosewood headboard to support herself, her arm around Anne’s waist.

“So what have I missed?” Anne asked, her dark head against the shoulder of Marie’s ivory gown, somehow instinctively knowing that, just for today, the rules of protocol were broken between the two of them.

“Well, not many people know yet, but our brother has been betrothed to Lady Katherine Stafford.”

“Buckingham’s daughter?” Anne raised her eyebrows, “That’s quite a coup. Papa must be cockahoop.”

Marie scoffed, “If only. Buckingham is the one who poisoned you. He paid a boy to lace the wine. His daughter told us – admitted she’d overheard him plotting. Henry had him confined to the Tower within minutes of finding out. Lady Katherine’s marriage to George is her reward for turning her father in.”

“But that means George is marrying a traitor’s daughter!” Anne’s jaw dropped, “Not that I don’t understand your reasoning, Marie, but how did you get Papa to agree to that!”

Marie blew out her cheeks, “He doesn’t actually know yet. I’ve been putting that conversation off. Anyway,” she continued hurriedly, “They’re to marry at Easter and Princess Mary is coming back to Court for the celebrations. Henry is talking of having her stay on this time around, so she can meet her brother when he arrives.”

“The King’s still adamant your child will be a boy then?”

“Of course he is. I daren’t try to talk him down from his confidence, but I fear what might happen if this child isn’t a boy.”

“It will be,” Anne said confidently, “You’ve given the King every other one of his heart’s desires. Why shouldn’t you give him this one?”

“I wish it were that simple!” Marie laughed.

Anne knew she ought to be paying heed to what Marie was saying, but her attention had uncharacteristically wandered. Sitting up gave her a better vantage point from which to view the room and, now that she was no longer quite so focused on Marie, had realised there was someone slumped in a chair in the corner. He was fast asleep, which explained why her mother hadn’t thrown him out as well.

“Marie,” she whispered, “What’s Henry Percy doing here?”

“What does it look like? He’s keeping watch over you. He has not left your room for a week. Not without a royal command. You can imagine what Mama's reaction was to that. Half my ladies have been on chaperone rotation in here!”

“You mean...Harry’s been here all the time?” Anne couldn’t help flushing. Marie clearly had to fight back a chuckle as she pushed Anne’s matted hair out of her eyes.

“Ever since he found out you were ill. If you ask me, he knows exactly what, or rather, who, he wants in life.”

“Me?” Anne laughed, “Don’t be ridiculous! Yes, we get on well, yes, maybe you could even say we care for each other, but I’d hardly say I’m Countess material!”

“Let’s give it a year or two,” Marie laughed, before kissing Anne’s forehead and sliding awkwardly off the bed, “I’m going to get Dr Linacre to take a look at you.”

Anne stifled a groan. She hated medical examinations.

Yet somehow, this one was quicker and pleasanter than she expected it to be. And it wasn’t because Dr Linacre was shirking his duties, either.

No. It was Anne’s daydreams of what life would be like, were she Harry’s Countess and Lady of Alnwick that made the time pass more quickly than usual.

 

[FalconHonour]

In the interests of getting towards the end of Marie's pregnancy sooner rather than later - she'll thank me, I'm sure, - have another chapter!

Kathy sat alone before the looking glass, peering at her reflection.

The gown of virginal cream satin, embroidered with dark blue falcons and chevrons, clung tightly to her slender figure and the pearls in her hair caught the light as she turned her head.

She looked pretty, she knew she did, yet she couldn’t help but be apprehensive. She was about to go out and marry George Boleyn. George Boleyn, the newly-created Earl of Pembroke. The newly-created Earl of Pembroke and brother to the Queen. Brother to the woman her father had tried to poison. Brother to the one he had managed to poison.

Kathy could only hope George wouldn’t hold her heritage against her. She did so want to be a good wife to him, if he’d let her. But she just didn’t know if he would.

A knock at the door startled Kathy out of her musings. Her little half-sister, her father’s bastard daughter Margaret and her cousin Dorothy Hastings, looked in.

“Are you ready, Katherine?” Dorothy asked, as Margaret clapped, “You look beautiful!”

“Thank you, Meg,” Kathy smiled, stroking the child’s hair. She’d always liked Meg, if only because liking her had made her closer to Papa than her other siblings, who all took their mother’s lead and pretended their illegitimate siblings didn’t exist, unless they absolutely had to acknowledge them.

But today was not a day that she wanted to flaunt the fact that she’d been close to her father. Having Meg at the wedding, alongside her other siblings, was as daring as she was going to get. Hence why Dorothy was her bridesmaid, rather than her youngest full sister Mary. A Hastings was a far better choice than a Stafford, given the circumstances.

She looked up at her cousin, “Ready as I’ll ever be. Let’s go.”

Dorothy nodded and beckoned their Uncle Humphrey to enter and give Kathy his arm.

And so Kathy went into the chapel to marry George Boleyn in a flurry of lesser Stafford relations, close enough kin to prove she had a family, but not so close as to remind the King too heavily of her traitorous father.

The ceremony itself was muted, considering it was Easter and the status of those getting married, but that didn’t matter to Kathy. All she was worried about was how her husband to be would behave. She’d always dreamed of marrying a man who would treat her like a Princess. Goodness knows her father had encouraged her in those dreams. But she’d never dreamed she’d be marrying in these circumstances, with her father an avowed, unrepentant traitor, one caged in the Tower, in fear of his life. Despite herself, Kathy couldn’t help but be nervous.

It took all her training in self-control to keep her voice steady as she said her vows, and when the priest said, “My Lord of Pembroke, you may kiss the bride,” her heart literally missed a beat. Would he do it? It was tradition for a marriage union to be sealed with the kiss of peace between the bride and groom, but would George kiss her? Or, given the circumstances, would he refuse and humiliate her before the King, the Queen, Princess Mary and all the courtiers?

She needn’t have worried. George Boleyn was too much of a gentleman to go back on his word and he’d given his word to Marie that he’d try not to resent Katherine for her Stafford blood any more than he could help.

Forcing some sort of a smile to his lips, he leaned in, lifted her veil and placed his lips briefly against hers. Applause broke out, led, in no small part, by the King and Queen, and, duty discharged, he pulled back, offering Kathy his arm.

“Shall we, Lady Pembroke?” he asked, surprised at the evident relief that flashed in her eyes as she nodded, “Yes, my Lord husband.”

The two of them went down the aisle, no longer Sir George Boleyn and Lady Katherine Stafford, but George and Katherine Boleyn, the Earl and Countess of Pembroke.

*** *** ***​

Thomas Boleyn watched the newly-weds proceed down the aisle, gritting his teeth behind a false smile.

How on Earth had this happened? One minute he’d been father to the Queen and one of King Henry’s most trusted councillors, even close to being father in law to the King’s cousin as well as the King. He’d nearly been so high he could never fall. Yet now, even as his grandson grew stronger day by day in the Queen’s belly, he seemed to be losing everything. He was no longer trusted by the King, his daughter never spoke to him except when she had to and he wasn’t even allowed to choose his own son’s wife. He’d been forced to accept a traitor’s spawn as the future Countess of Ormonde. To make matters even worse, his reckless fool of a son had been named Earl of Pembroke, so they were of equal rank. His once-sure authority was crumbling.

His authority was crumbling and it was all Marie’s fault. She’d once been the most docile of his children, but ever since the King had taken an interest in her, she’d been nothing but ungrateful for all he, her own father, had done for her. She’d pulled away and encouraged her younger siblings to rebel too.

Well, no matter. He’d regain the influence he’d lost. He’d do it on his own merit and then, when Marie needed him, when the King no longer doted on her every breath, he’d show her what it felt like to have your family abandon you. He’d think very long and hard about ever helping her again. He’d only do it if he could see something to gain from it.

But for now, he’d have to play the proud father. The court expected it of him and Thomas Boleyn was never one to disappoint an audience.

Clapping heartily, he offered Elizabeth his arm and led her out of the chapel behind Marie and the King, graciously accepting the congratulations people showered him with as they went.

Unfortunately for him, the King, necessarily adept at reading faces, given his position, had seen the danger in Thomas’s eyes as he passed. He’d seen it and didn’t like it one bit.

 

[FalconHonour]

A few weeks later, Marie was sewing quietly, her ladies around her, when something jolted in the depths of her stomach and a heavy gush of water spilled out from between her legs, soaking her red damask skirts so that they clung to her swollen figure, so sopping wet that they were almost black.

She stifled a gasp. Her mother heard it, looked up. A single glance told her all she needed to know.

Getting to her feet, she crossed the room and helped Marie up, lacing her hands in hers in pull against the weight of the child and the now soaked gown.

At the same time, she spoke over her shoulder to the other ladies in the room.

“Do not be alarmed, ladies, but I think one of you had better inform the King that he’ll be seeing the May in by celebrating the birth of a new Prince. I believe my daughter’s time has come.”

*** *** ***
​

The silver beads of his rosary were biting into his fingers, even though they’d been polished to perfect smoothness. That’s how tightly he was gripping the thing.

His knees were smarting from the flagstones pressing against them. That’s how long he’d been kneeling there.

His lips were moving so fast, his whispered words were little more than an indistinguishable blur as they ran into one another. That’s how fervently he was praying.

“Please, God, in Your Mercy, don’t take her away from me. She’s the light in my dark world, just as you are the light of life for all of mankind. I need my Queen and my children need their mother. Especially Maria. She’s still so young and innocent, yet she’s already gone through the pain of losing her mother once. In Your Goodness and Your Mercy, spare her the pain of losing another mother, I beg you. Grant me this one thing, Lord, grant me Marie’s life and a healthy Prince and I vow I shall be Your staunchest defender all the days of my life. No word of heresy or blasphemy shall ever cross my lips again, not shall I ever allow them at my Court. I shall be as loyal to you as Solomon and David ever were. I swear it by the Saviour, the Holy Virgin and all the Saints.”

A quiet footfall broke into Henry’s frantic litany of murmured prayer. A soft “Sire?” was all it took to make him cross himself and spring up, spinning, so that he came face to face with his page, Francis Weston.

“What news?” he cried, “Francis, what news?”

 

[FalconHonour]

I feared you'd all mutiny if I didn't solve the cliffhanger in a timely fashion...

Marie felt as though she were being torn in two. She was weeping with pain even as she struggled to obey the midwife’s orders to “Push! Push, Your Majesty! Push as though your life depended upon it!” and, whenever the contractions abated, however briefly, she slumped back into her pillows, sobbing.

“I can’t do it, Mama, I can’t!” she wept, clinging to her mother’s hand as she bent over to wipe her brow.

“Yes, you can,” Elizabeth soothed. “I know it hurts, but you can do it. And trust me, it’s worth it. When you hold that boy in your arms, when you see the King’s face as you show him his son, it will all be worth it. I promise.”

“Of course you can do it,” the midwife said bracingly, “A healthy strong girl like you won’t have any more trouble than this. The first babe’s always the hardest. The next one will be as easy as pie.”

Elizabeth wanted to curse the woman when she saw how Marie blanched at the thought of the next one, but her next words changed all that.

“The head’s crowning, Madam! Some nice pants and a few more steady pushes and it will all be over, I promise!”

Spurred on by the thought of the pain ending, Marie did what she was told with new impetus and, minutes later, a healthy baby boy was greeting the world.

Marie slumped back into her pillows for what felt like the thousandth time. This time, however, she was weak with relief at the sound of her new-born son’s hearty cries.

“My word!” the midwife exclaimed, “We certainly have a healthy one on our hands here. Most babies cry, but this one’s roaring like a lion!”

“The Lion of England,” Marie whispered tiredly. Elizabeth stooped and kissed her forehead.

“Rest for a moment, darling. You’ve done so, so well. I’m so proud of you.”

“Henry – the King...”

“I’ll tell the King. Don’t worry about that. It’s all fine. It’s all going to be fine.”

“I want to hold my boy.”

“I know. And you will. He just needs to be cleaned and swaddled first, that’s all. Now lie back and rest for me. That’s it, good girl.”

As soon as Marie had done as she asked, Elizabeth slipped out of the room in search of the King, a beaming smile on her lips.

*** *** ***​

Henry was not more than half a dozen paces away from Marie’s outer rooms. He had rushed over as soon as Francis had told him the head was crowning and had been rewarded with the sound of a baby’s cry. As Marie’s mother came out, the look on her face told him all he needed to know.

“I have a son?”

“Congratulations, Sire. The healthiest Prince I’ve ever seen.”

“Truly?”

“He came out roaring like a lion. Indeed, the Queen christened him ‘The Lion of England’ before she’d even laid eyes on him, so strong were his lungs.”

At that, Henry couldn’t help but laugh out loud, throwing back his head so that his red-gold hair caught the May Day sunshine and shone like burnished copper.

“Then it appears my wife has the right of it. We shall call him Lionel,” he announced, “Lionel Tudor, Prince of Wales. Lionel for the three lions of England and for my illustrious ancestor, the Duke of Clarence. What say you, Lady Ormonde? As the child’s grandmother, how do you like that idea?”

“He could not have a more suitable name, Sire,” Elizabeth smiled.

He laughed again, spun her around and kissed her jubilantly. Then he glanced around him.

“Sound the bells!” he cried, “Sound the bells and let all of England know she has a Prince at last!”

Then he shot like an arrow into Marie’s rooms to meet his son.

 

[FalconHonour]

“We’ll have him christened as soon as we can arrange it, hmm? The end of the week at the very latest,” Henry asked, bouncing Lionel lightly in his arms, “Your father can be godfather. Your father, Brandon and my sister the Dowager Queen of France for his godmother. What do you say, sweetheart?”

Marie tried to smile, but she was so tired and her heart was sinking. Her father was bound to use any close ties they gave him to Lionel to his advantage.

“Your sister seems like a fine choice for godmother,” she agreed at last, “But I had hoped to give our first son a royal godfather. And my father. You know what he’s like, Henry. He’ll try to influence Lionel...” Unexpectedly, tears came to her eyes and she trailed off as she tried to choke them back. Her son was so innocent. She hated to think of what would happen if her father got his hands on him.

Alarmed at the sight of her tears, Henry sat down on the bed beside her.

“He won’t get the chance, sweetheart,” he promised, kissing her knuckles lightly, “We’ll make him godfather, yes, but we’ll also make him Lord Lieutenant of Ireland. We’ll pack him off to his estates in Dublin and he will never hurt any of you ever again.”

Faced with the sincerity in his voice, Marie managed a weak smile. Henry returned it.

“Better?” he asked. She nodded.

“But what about a royal godfather for Lionel?” she pressed. She knew she was pushing her luck, but she’d just given him a son. A legitimate Prince of Wales. Surely he’d have to give into her now. Surely?

And indeed, he wasn’t saying no, merely shrugging as he placed Lionel back in her outstretched arms.

“Who would you have me ask, my love? Francis is already dancing to our tune and the King of Scots is a mere boy. He’s scarcely even past the age of reason.”

“What about the Emperor?”

“The Emperor? Don’t make me laugh. Our imperial relations are at a standstill. They have been since – since Katherine died.”

“Then this is the perfect chance to start again,” Marie insisted, hiding her surprise at how easily her husband actually said his first wife’s name, “Lionel’s birth could be used as the olive branch to smooth over the difficulties of the past three years. Even if you won’t ask the Emperor, then Katherine has other nephews. The new King of Portugal for one. And they are your daughter’s maternal blood. They ought to be recognised as part of our family.”

“Is this really what you want?” Henry sighed.

“Hmm,” Marie nodded fervently.

“Fine. I can’t say no, not when you’ve just made me the happiest man alive. But it will be the King of Portugal, not the Emperor. I’ll not have my son growing up with a godfather who’s more powerful than his own father.”

“The King of Portugal, the Dowager Queen of France and my father, with Brandon to be godfather to our next child. That sounds perfect,” Marie smiled, before suppressing a yawn.

“I’m sorry,” she apologised, “I’m still just so tired.” Henry smiled indulgently.

“Don’t apologise, love. You’ve nothing to be sorry for. His Highness and I will leave you to rest.”

So saying, he scooped Lionel out of her arms, pulled the blankets up around her, kissed her forehead tenderly and carried their son out of the room as she burrowed down into the bed, giving in to her lingering exhaustion and letting her eyelids flicker shut.

 

[FalconHonour]

Her Majesty the Dowager Queen of France to see you, Madam.”

Mary had been dozing lightly, Lionel in a cradle at the side of her couch when her herald’s polite cough woke her.

She blinked sleepily and sat up, rolling her shoulders as she tried to clear the sleep from her eyes.

“Mary? What brings her here?”

“Her Grace wishes to visit with you and His Highness the Prince of Wales, if you are so agreeable, My Lady Queen.”

Befuddled by sleep as she was, it took Marie a few moments to process what her herald was telling her, and even longer to believe it. Henry’s sister might never have denied her the precedence that was hers by right, but neither had she ever been particularly warm towards her. She’d certainly never sought her out before, not in the way the rest of the Court had begun to do the moment Henry had been open in his affection for her. This was a turn-up for the books.

Still, Marie could think of no real reason to refuse Henry’s beloved younger sister access to her godson.

“Very well, show Her Grace in. But I’ll not make any special allowances for her. She’ll take me as she finds me or not at all, is that clear?”

“Perfectly, Madam,” Marie’s herald nodded and hurried to the door. Moments later, Mary Brandon crossed the threshold of Marie’s room, dipping a slight curtsy as she did so.

“My Lady.”

“My Lady Suffolk,” Marie returned coolly, though, as she began to shake off her lethargy, she couldn’t help but feel her curiosity as to what Mary was doing in her rooms rising.

Mary seemed to be in no hurry to tell her either. She crossed the room almost tentatively and paused by Lionel’s cradle. She gazed down into the padded oaken bassinet for several seconds, seemingly taking in every inch of Lionel’s swaddled form.

“He’s a bonny lad,” she murmured at last, “Some would say the most beautiful boy in all of England.”

“He’s certainly the most precious.”

“Indeed", Mary smiled, “I’m surprised I don’t see my brother here, actually. I thought he’d be hanging over the boy, counting his every breath.”

“He does. And I love to have Lionel near me, so he is often here too. I believe the midwives and Lady Bryan despair of ever getting either of us into a routine, especially with the King bounding in and out of our rooms whenever the mood takes him.”

Marie hadn’t expected to share such a confidence with her sister-in-law, but she knew as soon as the words left her lips that it had been the right thing to do. Mary tipped her head back, laughing long and loud.

“That sounds like my brother!”

The two women glanced at each other, both sensing the surprising rapport that was hovering gently between them. Hesitantly, as though loath to break it, Mary motioned to the cradle as Lionel snuffled slightly, “May I?”

It was clear what she wanted and Marie shrugged, “I suppose so. As long as he’s not asleep.”

Marie could hear the defensive note in her voice, and flinched at it. Why was she being so protective? Mary was Lionel’s aunt as well as his godmother. Of course she wouldn’t hurt him.

Needing no second urging, Mary cupped her arms around Lionel and brought him up to her chest. Marie watched, wondering how her son would take to this unfamiliar pair of arms. The young Prince snuffled once or twice and then nestled into his aunt, gurgling.

“He’s a little charmer, isn’t he?” Mary murmured, rocking him lightly, “I’m honoured to be his godmother, truly.”

“The King was adamant,” Marie shrugged, “He could think of no one better to be our son’s sponsor at his Confirmation.”

Mary looked at her, reading her body language, for one long moment. Then, to Marie’s surprise, she put Lionel back in the bassinet and sank down on the end of the bed. She reached out, breaking protocol, to put her hand on Marie’s.

“I owe you an apology, sister,” she said softly, “I haven’t treated you as I ought to have treated my brother’s wife and Queen. If I’m honest, I didn’t think you were the right wife for him when he wed you. But I haven’t seen my brother so happy in years. Besides, if nothing else, you have given him the thing he has always wanted. A healthy, squalling son.”

“Not too much of the squalling, I hope, or Lady Bryan may not thank me!” Marie chuckled. Her cheeks reddened. “Thank you, Mary. You needn’t say all of this.”

“Yes, I must. Because I judged you before I truly knew you, because I pushed you into this and then scorned you for going ahead with it in the only way you knew how. That wasn’t fair. That wasn’t fair and I am sorry.”

The older woman’s words hung in the air between them. Not knowing what to say, Marie settled for simply squeezing her sister-in-law’s hand hard.

Mary exhaled lightly and rose, lifting Marie’s hand with her. She kissed the back of it, breathing low, “My Queen.”

Marie couldn’t help but laugh. Mary clearly had the same sense of dramatics as her older brother. Behind the laughter though, was a great sense of relief and gratitude, one that shone in her eyes as she nodded and waved Mary away.

Without protest, Mary went to the door. On the threshold, she curtsied, a deep curtsy this time – one as deep as any she had ever given her brother’s first Queen, Katherine of Aragon.

 

[FalconHonour]

George slipped out of bed and pulled his doublet and breeches back on, throwing a cloak around his shoulders. He was careful not to wake Kathy as he did so.

He went out to the stables, pleased to see his smuggled order had reached the boys and his horse stood ready. Leading it out into the courtyard, he swung up into the saddle and turned its head for the Tower.

His nephew was to be christened on the morrow, which meant his father in law was to die. George intended to see to it that he did so painfully.

Yes, he’d promised Marie that he wouldn’t resent Kathy for her father’s actions and he didn’t. Not much. But for the Duke of Buckingham himself, he had no mercy whatsoever. He intended to see to it that the executioner at the hands of which his father in law was to die was so drunk that he could barely stand tomorrow, never mind do a clean job with an axe. Buckingham deserved the pain such a mangled death would bring him. For what he’d nearly managed to put George’s family through – for what he had put them through, he deserved that pain.

A few hours, some convivial conversation and several bottles of the strongest mead and Bordeaux wine he could find later, his job was done and he was just sliding back into bed when Kathy woke and turned to him.

“George. You’re freezing. Where have you been?”

“Never mind,” he answered, rolling on to his back and staring up at the ceiling.

“Don’t go to your father’s execution tomorrow,” he said suddenly. He wasn’t so callous as to actually want to make her watch this.

“What? But why?”

“My father’s ordered me to go and we need a Pembroke at the christening. You’ll have to be there in my stead.”

“But it’s my father’s...”

“He wouldn’t want you there. Just do as I ask. Please.”

“But – I don’t understand...”

George rolled over to face her, tired over the argument. He had two choices. He could either cut her off by slapping her or he could cut her off by kissing her. his father would doubtless utilise the first method, but personally, he preferred the idea of the second.

He took her by the shoulders, startling her as he pressed his lips hard against hers.

“Will you hush?” he murmured. “Just trust me. You don’t want to be at your father’s execution tomorrow.”

Before she could argue, he pushed against her mouth with his tongue, eliciting a gasp of surprise.

In a matter of moments, he had taken their relationship further than it had gone in the six weeks since their wedding.

 

[FalconHonour]

This section was written for me years ago by the wonderful @Tudorfan, when he was desperate to kill Buckingham and I chickened out of writing an execution. Thank you! Also, I have followed a suggestion by @jwgview upthread that I put date/place markers in the chapters themselves as well as in the threadmarks. Let me know if they are helpful or if they distract from the story.
.

The Tower, Early May 1521
​

Brandon watched as, stepping up to the edge of the scaffold, the Duke of Buckingham made a short speech to the crowd.

"I come here to die, gentle people, on false charges, at the jealousy of the King and blamed for not only wanting to mount the throne in the King’s stead, but for attempting to put my daughter to her rightful place - the throne - where the false Queen Marie resides with her husband, Henry." He turned to the executioner. "Strike true, Executioner, strike true."

He spread his arms wide and placed his head onto the block. The executioner, whom anyone with eyes could see was completely drunk and barely able to stand, raised his axe and swung, the axe sailing through the air, whistling, until it struck the Duke's shoulder with a sickening squelch.

Brandon glanced at George Boleyn as he stood stoic and silent, unflinching at the pain of the Duke as the crowd winced at the blow of the axe. His hatred of the would-be poisoner of his sisters was well known. No doubt he had paid for the executioner to become drunk the previous night. Brandon grimaced, but said nothing, only turning back to the scaffold as the axe rose high into the air again, came whistling down again and struck the other shoulder. Both began spewing blood into the air in great spurts and great, heaving cries echoed from the women in the crowd.

The axe rose for the third time, higher than ever before, and came whistling down again, striking the Duke's neck. Alas, much to the consternation of the agonised Duke, his neck was not severed and blood began spurting from his mouth and the gaping cut on his neck as the executioner removed the axe with a scraping sound like chalk on a slate.

The axe came up for the fourth time, sailed down, and sliced the Duke's head off.

It fell, with little more than a small thud, into the basket below, while blood spurted from the huge hole in his neck and shoulders. Still writhing, the body was dragged across the yard and sliced into four, allowing it to squelch and spurt in piece as it became naught more than a blood shooting mass of flesh.

Brandon grimaced again, then turned from the scaffold, forcing himself to remain calm. The deed was done, that was all Harry would care about.

The deed was done and the Duke of Buckingham would be troubling England no more.

 

[FalconHonour]

I am doing quite a bit of work on the grimmest part of this TL today, so have a cheerful family chapter to perk me up.

Richmond, May 1521
​

“Make way for His Highness Prince Lionel of Wales, Duke of Cornwall and Earl of Chester. Make way!”

The herald’s shouts rang through the palace as he preceded the Dowager Queen of Scotland and the Prince through the halls of Richmond Palace.

The five-year-old Princess Mary and her cousin, the Lady Margaret Douglas, scurried behind in the procession, trying their hardest to be as grown-up and gracious as their aunt and mother, but of course, failing miserably.

“Do you mind having a brother, Maria?” Margaret asked in a breathless whisper. “Mama says it means you won’t be Queen. Do you mind that?”

“No,” Maria shook her head, “He makes Papa happy and that makes me happy. Anyway, your brother’s a King and you’re not a Queen. You’re not even a Princess. Don’t you mind?”

“But Jamie’s older. He’s not a baby like Lionel,” Margaret argued, “It’s different.”

Maria shrugged, a careless gesture she had picked up from her new aunt and which her governess hated almost as much as she would hate the devil incarnate. She was about to answer when all the lords and ladies around her suddenly knelt to the ground. For a moment, Maria had a perfect view of her Mama as she sat up in bed, cradling her baby brother. The two of them beamed at each other before Margaret, four months Maria’s elder and desperate not to get into trouble with her mother for misbehaving at such an important occasion, tugged on Maria’s hand, pulling her down into a curtsy.

Maria gave in to Meg’s urging, but no sooner had she done so than Mama called out, “Come and give your brother a kiss, Maria. You too, Margaret.”

Protocol forgotten, the girls exchanged delighted glances and bounded across to the bed, vying with each other to be the first to scramble on to the smooth counterpane.
Meg won, so she was first to kiss Lionel, but Maria made sure her kiss was longer. He was her baby brother, after all. And she’d been the one with the more important job at the christening. She’d got to carry the chrism. All Meg had got to do was hold the cloth Aunt Mary had used to dry Lionel’s head after the priest had made it all wet to chase away the bad spirits inside him. Of course it was fair that Maria gave her baby brother a bigger kiss, she’d done more for him this morning.

*** *** ***
​

Thomas Boleyn watched the Princess and her cousin take it in turns to kiss the baby Prince and clapped with the rest of the crowd, a smirk coming to his lips.

He’d done it. He’d made the King realise how important he was. Even if his silly chit of a daughter didn’t realise it, the King did and that was what was really important.

His Majesty had named him Prince Lionel’s godfather alongside the King of Portugal and no doubt it wouldn’t be long before he named him steward of the boy’s household too. After all, who better to bring the boy up than the man who was not only his godfather but also, at the same time, his grandfather?

And then Thomas’s work would really begin. He wanted to be first in Henry’s son’s heart – the sole person he trusted – long before the boy ever went near his father’s throne.

“Yes,” Thomas thought, “I shall have to work here. I shall have to work to ensure that, when the time comes, it is a Boleyn King, not a Tudor one, who sits on the Throne of England.”

 

[FalconHonour]

Richmond, May 1521
​

Just because Henry had named Thomas Boleyn godfather to Lionel didn’t mean he wasn’t still angry with him, however. Had he not been angry, he would have told him the news about his being made Lord Lieutenant of Ireland to his face. As it was, however, he left that unpleasant task to Brandon.

Had Henry done it himself, Thomas would have been forced to restrain his anger. However, there were no laws that made it treason to shout at the Duke of Suffolk

“No! It’s impossible! I can’t be being asked to go to Dublin!”

“How else do you imagine you shall be able to rule Ireland in the King’s stead? It would, unfortunately, be rather difficult to do so from London.”

“But I’m Prince Lionel’s godfather! Surely I should be on hand to run his household, set him an example?”

“His Highness has not yet been granted a household of his own, Lord Ormonde. For the moment, Their Majesties are content that the Prince should share a household with his sister the Princess Mary. Nonetheless, you may rest assured that when they do grant His Highness a household of his own, I shall inform them of your interest in running it.”

Brandon’s voice was silky smooth. Thomas began to fear he was beaten, yet he persisted.

“My daughter! The Queen! She’ll never allow this! She’s just been brought to bed of a child; she’ll want her family around her now.”

“On the contrary. Her Majesty is in complete agreement with the King. She believes sending you to Dublin is a very good idea. After all, who better to set the Prince in how to obey the King and defend the realm than his own grandfather? That is what you claim to want to do, is it not? Set the Prince an example?”

When Brandon turned his own words back on him so easily, Thomas knew he had lost. He pounded the table in fury, then clicked his fingers for a servant.

“Show His Grace out,” he ordered through gritted teeth, “Show him out, then inform the Countess she’d better start packing. We leave for Dublin within the week.”

“Oh, I do apologise, Lord Ormonde,” Brandon interrupted, “Did I not make it clear? Your family will be remaining here at Court. After all, as a newly-delivered mother, the Queen needs her family around her. The King did not see fit to deprive her of them all. You will be travelling to Dublin alone.”

With that parting shot, Brandon turned and left the room in a swish of black velvet.

 

[FalconHonour]

Richmond, May 1521
​

“What can I do for you, gentlemen?” Henry asked, looking up in slight surprise when both the Earl of Shrewsbury and the Earl of Northumberland entered his private audience chamber.

“Well, Your Majesty,” The Earl of Shrewsbury began, “Lord Northumberland and I have been thinking.”

“Indeed? And what have you been thinking?” Henry bit back a sigh as he spoke, attempting to sound interested. He’d almost been done with petitions; almost been free to go and spend time with Marie and the children. And now these garrulous fools had come to delay him. This had better be worth his while.

“If we are to hold the Scottish off more permanently than we already have, then there must to be a stronger alliance among the Northern Lords.”

“Then see to it. It is your duty as England’s northern earls; her first line of defence against the barbarous Scots.”

“That is why we are here today, Your Majesty,” Finally sensing how impatient the King was becoming, the Earl of Northumberland cut to the chase, “We would like to ask for your blessing upon a prospective union between my son Henry and Lord Shrewsbury’s eldest daughter Lady Mary.”

Henry jolted. He’d known for a while that this union was on the cards. Indeed, he’d even thought it was a good idea at one time, but things were different now. This union could not be allowed to go ahead. He’d seen for himself how much the Percy boy cared for Marie’s sister. To prevent him from having the chance to marry her, just for the sake of a Northern alliance; Henry couldn’t do it. Having been lucky enough to marry for love not just once, but twice, he couldn’t begrudge his little sister and the Percy boy that chance, not when their match was as sound a one as the one being suggested today.

Yet he couldn’t deny these lords outright, not without a possible match for the Talbot girl to sweeten the blow. He needed her father too much for that. Not to mention that the Talbots had served his family well for years.

“This is a plausible and indeed sensible match,” he said at last, wishing, not for the first time that Cata was back at his side. She’d always been better at the matrimonial side of politics than he had. Before he could go any further, the joy leaped in the Earls’ faces.

“Do we have your permission to go ahead with the betrothal then, Sire?” George Talbot asked. Henry held up a hand, shaking his head.

“Not yet. Lady Mary is in my wife’s household, after all. I must speak to her first. Do nothing until I have told you I have spoken to her. Is that clear?”

“Yes, Sire,” the two men bowed.

“In that case, leave me be,” Henry waved them both away, barely waiting for them to leave before he strode out of another door to go and visit his wife.

 

[FalconHonour]

Marie wasn’t alone when he got to her. Maria and his little niece Margaret were with her, fussing over baby Lionel as usual.

“Someone’s popular!” Henry teased, “Has no one got a kiss for his poor old Papa?”

“Papa!” Maria cried, leaping off the bed and bounding towards him. He chuckled, sweeping her up in his arms, “You like being a big sister, do you then, sweetheart?”

“I do when Lionel’s quiet,” she answered, wrinkling her nose, “When he’s awake, but quiet. It’s boring when he’s asleep and he’s too noisy when he cries. Lady Bury’s too busy with him then to pay any attention to me.”

“Surely she pays you attention when Lionel’s asleep?” Henry asked, trying not to laugh at his daughter’s pout. She was so much a Tudor!

“Yes, but then I have to be quiet, because I’m not allowed to wake him and that’s boring!” Maria explained impatiently.

“Oh dear,” Henry put his head on one side while he pretended to think about what to do.

“Well,” he said at last, “It seems to me that if you’re a big sister, you’re a big girl. You’re big enough for proper lessons now. If Lady Bryan came and looked after Lionel like she used to look after you when you were a baby, Lady Salisbury could give you proper lessons. How about that? Is that a good idea?”

“No! I don’t want lessons! I just want Lady Bury to look after me like she used to!”

“Ah, but you want to be as clever as Mama when you’re older, don’t you?”

“Yes...I suppose so...”

“You’ll have to do your lessons then. It’s the only way you’ll ever be as clever as her. And anyway, having lessons means you get to have friends too. Lots of other little girls can come and share your lessons and be your friends. Would you like that?”

“Can Meg be one of them?” Maria asked, glancing at her older cousin.

“Of course, if she’d like to be,” Henry promised, turning to the other girl, “What do you say, Lady Margaret? Should you like to share lessons with the Princess Mary?”

“I’d be honoured, Your Majesty,” Margaret replied, dropping into a careful curtsy that made him laugh.

“It’s Uncle Henry to you, Margaret,” he replied, ruffling her hair with his free hand.

“Then it’s Meg to you, Uncle Henry,” she flashed back, sharp as sixpence.

“Oh yes, you and your cousin Frances are going to get on very well,” he chuckled, before tapping Maria’s nose lightly and setting her back down on the floor.

“Run off and play then. I need to talk to your mother.”

The girls skipped out of the room and Henry turned to Marie, kissing her lightly on the lips and taking Lionel out of her arms.

“I’ve just had the Earls of Northumberland and Shrewsbury in my chamber,” he announced, “They want to betroth Harry to the Talbot girl. The oldest. Lady Mary.”

Marie reacted exactly as he expected.

“You can’t allow it! Henry, you can’t! You know how much he and Annie care for one another!”

“I have no intention of allowing it, sweetheart. I just need to work out a way to both disallow it and still strengthen the North.”

“Surely there’s some Neville or Clifford boy we can betroth her to instead? I can’t sit back and watch Harry being taken from Annie. I can’t!”

“He won’t be!” Henry snapped, trying to make her get a grip on herself, “I’ve already told you he won’t be. Trust me when I say I have not the least intention of letting the Percy-Talbot match go ahead. But Harry has to make a public statement of his feelings for Annie. That way we can be seen as the gracious King and Queen giving way to the impassioned pleas of young love when we agree to their betrothal.”

“There’s always a tournament,” Marie suggested, calmer now she knew Henry was on her side in this. “Your birthday’s coming up next month. No one would think anything of it if we held a tournament as part of the celebrations for your birthday.”

“Marie, darling, much as I like Harry, he’s no rider. He’d not win a joust.”

“No. But he is an archer. Some would say he’s the finest archer at Court, barring yourself of course.”

Henry looked at Marie for a few moments. A slow smile spread across his face as he realised what she was suggesting.

“How are you so good at these things?”

“With my family’s happiness at stake? I have to be,” Marie replied, beaming as he leaned down to kiss her.

With a little luck and a lot of planning, Anne could find herself betrothed by the end of the summer.

 

[FalconHonour]

Fontainebleu, June 1521​

The palace was swathed in black. Black for sorrow, black for the death of hope, black for the boy who would now never be France’s King.

The bells tolled heavily, three times in every quarter-hour. Three times for the three years Francois, Dauphin of France and future Duke of Brittany, had been on this Earth.

High in the palace, the King stood gazing absently out of a window, scarcely hearing the bells. Indeed, he was barely aware of anything around him.

He had spent the morning with his Queen, comforting her. The news had hit her hard, much harder than the death of their daughter Louise had done four years earlier. But then, Francois could understand that. Louise, bless her soul, had always been frail. She’d been sweet as well, almost too sweet for it to be true. In some ways, it hadn’t been a surprise that God had chosen to take her earlier than her parents had wanted Him to. Francois, on the other hand, well, he’d been mischievous and clever and strong. Everything anyone could ever have wanted in a future King of France, even though he was barely past his third birthday. King Francois had already begun to plan to put his dreams into practice, to find the boy a pony and teach him to ride, to hunt, to shoot.

And now the boy was gone, the life snuffed out of him like a candle burned at both ends. He was gone and his parents were left with nothing but the memories. Memories and three other young children, two of whom were too young to understand what had happened to their big brother.

Francois gulped at the thought, pressing his hand to his heart as though he could somehow squeeze the aching grief out of himself if he tried hard enough.

The door creaked quietly behind him and he half-moved to dismiss whoever it was. He’d spent the whole morning with Claude and the children. He wanted to be alone now.

Before he could say anything, however, his mother had come up behind him and wrapped her arms around him without a word.

Pregnant silence hovered between them.

“Am I cursed, Maman?”

Francois hadn’t meant to speak aloud, but once he had, the words poured from him like a torrent from behind a dam that has been breached.

“Am I cursed? This past year… I’ve lost so much. Normandy. Marguerite. And now Francois. This time last year, I was triumphant, I was a father four times over, I was the beloved of all France. And now…” Francois trailed off, his words falling like stones into the air.

Breaking protocol in favour of providing comfort, Louise of Savoy reached up to push her son’s hair out of his eyes, “You’re not cursed, my son,” she murmured, “You’re not. I promise you that.”

“But Francois… Who would take my boy, my beautiful boy, if I weren’t cursed? He was the healthiest boy in France, the hope of the nation. Why would anyone take him?”

“It was a bad cough, nothing more. No one could have foreseen it, Francois, no one. These things are simply the will of God and ours is not to reason why. But you are not cursed. This is simply the turn of Fortune’s wheel. This time last year you were riding high upon it. Just now you have been thrown down. But you will rise again. Like a phoenix from the ashes, you will rise again, for you are not cursed. If my prayers and those of your wife, daughters and sister can prevent it, you will never be cursed.”

“Marguerite?” Francois scoffed, “Pray for me? I doubt it. She scarcely speaks to me these days.”

“And yet, she will pray for you, and for the soul of your little Francois, for you are her brother. Whatever has passed between you since your failure to defend her betrothal, you are her brother and she loves you. She would defend you before the Almighty Himself, I swear it. I swear it.”

Louise tightened her arms around her son, feeling, more than seeing, that he was reaching the end of his endurance. She braced herself as he slumped against her, his shoulders down and shaking with grief as he let himself cease being a King and became, for the briefest of interludes, a man mourning the death of his son in his mother’s arms.

 

[FalconHonour]

Windsor, June 1521
​

The news that there was to be an archery tournament to celebrate the King’s birthday spread like wildfire and before long every young man at Court was practicing feverishly. And when the King announced that he himself would not be taking part, but that whoever won the tournament would get to crown his own Queen of Truth and Love, their fervour was more than redoubled. It was near impossible to ever obtain a space by the archery butts. Everyone knew that, since the King had declined to take part, the competition was far more open than it would usually be. They were all determined to prove themselves worthy of being crowned the champion.

Marie heard them at it from where she lay closeted in her lying-in chamber and smiled complacently. Let them practice all they wanted. She was sure Harry Percy would be doing the same.

She whiled away many a happy hour imagining the exact moment when her husband would crown Harry champion and he, in turn, would crown Annie his Queen.

Yet she refused to tell Anne what was making her so happy, no matter how the younger girl pestered her. Telling her would both spoil the surprise and lead to disappointment if the impossible happened and Harry either lost the tournament or failed to crown her his Queen. Instead, she encouraged her sister, who’d always had a keen interest in fashion, to help her plan her dress for the event, as well as the dresses both Maria and Meg Douglas would wear, and Anne’s own, of course.

Anne excelled herself, as usual, and on the day of Henry’s birthday, the Court having moved to Windsor to celebrate, they went down to the archery butts, Marie resplendent in periwinkle blue trimmed with silver, Maria and Meg in a reversal of the colours and Anne herself in darker blue over silver and pale blue underskirts.

It was Marie’s first public appearance since her churching and she was determined to make a good impression.

She made an incredible one. As she walked the length of Windsor’s halls, Prince Lionel in her arms and Princess Mary at her side, followed by both a train of ladies and the King’s little niece, Lady Margaret, the Court cheered itself hoarse for her. All thoughts of her low birth were forgotten in the light of her great achievement, the bearing of a healthy, squalling Prince.

It was only when she put Lionel back in his governess’s arms and put a hand out that they quieted.

“I thank you for your love and I am honoured to be your Queen, but today is not about me. He has been nothing but a loyal, loving husband to me for almost a year now and I adore him with all my heart. For the sake of that love, I ask you now to come help me celebrate his birthday, for he deserves it.”

With a roar, the Court surged outside and laughing, Marie led the cheers as her husband came to join them.

Kissing her and heaving both Maria and Meg Douglas on to his lap, Henry raised a hand, “Let the tournament begin!”

*** *** ***​

A few hours later, Harry Percy stood on the edge of the archery field, an arrow nocked to his bowstring. His heart was thudding. He knew that with a couple more good shots, he could win the tournament. Win the tournament and crown his Queen.

With a quick intake of breath and a silent prayer, he released his penultimate arrow, satisfaction flooding him as he realised it would be a bull’s-eye.

The crowd applauded and when John Dudley fumbled his shot, making it impossible for anyone to catch Harry, they roared approval, cheering him happily as he playfully shot his last arrow right through the French Ambassador’s plumed hat.

“Lord Percy!” The Queen scolded lightly, but the King was laughing openly, “Not only a fine archer, but a patriot to boot! Well done, Lord Percy. You've proved yourself a worthy champion. Now choose your Queen of Truth and Love."

Harry took the finely-beaten circlet of silver ivy and bronze honeysuckle with a bow and the crowd watched him eagerly as he turned to face the spectators. As he had no wife, everyone expected him to choose the Queen, in order to please the King, or else perhaps his mother or one of his sisters. To their surprise, however, he didn't.

Although he bowed courteously to the Queen as he passed her, and smiled at his mother and sisters, he walked purposefully past them, straight up to the young dark-haired girl who stood beside the Duchess of Suffolk. Taking her hand, he kissed it and then set the circlet in her tumbling jet-black curls with the greatest of care.

"All hail Your Grace," he murmured, sinking to one knee before her.

A chorus of murmuring and applause broke out and Anne Boleyn flushed with pleasure.

 

[FalconHonour]

Windsor, June 1521
​

The musicians were playing lively jigs and the lords and ladies were whirling around the dance floor, laughing merrily as their sovereigns spun through the room, leading the celebrations as befitted the birthday man and his wife.

Henry roared with laughter and suddenly swept Marie off her feet, joy lending him strength. She started, but beamed as he lifted her high above his head, up towards the rafters.

“You’re very merry tonight, Sire,” she chuckled.

“Don’t I have the cause to be?” he breathed, swooping her back down again, “I am a man in his prime, with a healthy son in the cradle and the most beautiful woman in all of England for my wife.”

Unable to help himself, Henry let his eyes rove over Marie’s newly-slight figure. She had lost some of the weight Lionel had made her gain, but her breasts were still slightly swollen. They peeped temptingly over the top of her aquamarine silk gown.

Attuned to his every nuance after a year of marriage, Marie sensed, rather than saw, his eyes darken with lust. She slapped his hand lightly where it lay on her waist.

“For shame, My Lord! I am barely churched with your son and already you think to get me pregnant with a Duke of York?”

“It’s not my fault you’re so irresistible,” Henry flashed back and was rewarded with her blue-green eyes sparkling as Anthony Knivert, his long-time friend and Gentleman of the Privy Chamber, whisked her out of his arms.

“Later,” they seemed to promise, “Later.”

*** *** ***​

Meanwhile, on the other side of the ball room, Marie’s younger sister was having a fine time of her own. Clad in damask the colour of burnished amber, she was truly glittering in the candlelight, a fact her brother was quick to remark on as he twirled her around.

“You look positively radiant tonight, Annie.”

“Fie, George, I am nothing to our sister. The Golden Queen, they’re calling her now, did you hear?”

“Aye, and if that’s so, then you must be the Lady of Amber.”

“Save your compliments for your wife,” Anne retorted, but she was laughing, the crown Harry Percy had presented her with earlier still glistening in her curls as the music came to an end and she curtsied to her brother before letting him guide her off the dance floor.

“You’re utterly brazen, George,” she sighed, “One day, you’re going to get yourself into trouble.”

“Not brazen, dear sister, just a Boleyn,” George winked and then suddenly melted away without another word. Anne was a little surprised, but seconds later, a wonderfully familiar arm snaked its way around her waist.

“Walk with me,” Harry Percy breathed into her ear.

“With pleasure,” she murmured in response, happy to allow him to escort her out into the gardens.

The warm June night wrapped itself around them like a blanket and the crickets were chirping softly as they strolled in companionable silence through the flowerbeds. The slightest breeze stirred Anne’s curls and she put up a hand to tidy them. But her heart was thudding and her fingers nowhere near as poised as usual. She knocked her crown askew and Harry had to reach up and set it right for her.

“There. Now you are crowned. As you ought to be.”

“You speak treason, Lord Percy,” she warned teasingly, suddenly breathless despite herself, “Have you forgotten my sister is the Queen? I would not take her place, not for the world.”

“Nor would I have you take her place. She is King Henry’s choice and fully deserves to be. I only meant that, were I King, you would be my choice. Were I King, you would be my Queen.”

“Harry!”

Words failed Anne and she could only watch, disbelievingly, as Harry sank to one knee before her and offered her a ruby and diamond ring.

“I can’t offer you a kingdom, Anne, but I can offer you a castle. I can’t make you a Queen, but I can make you a Countess. And I swear to you, before God, the Virgin Mary and all the Saints, London would have to melt into the Thames and snowballs survive the torments of Hell before I stopped loving you. On those terms, will you marry me? Will you be my Lady Anne, my Lady Northumberland, now and forever?”

Tears pricked Anne’s eyes and she let them flow forth, pouring down her cheeks as she held out her hand, silently, for the ring. He slipped it on to her finger and it nestled safely against the top of the knuckle of the third finger of her left hand, before she helped him up and kissed him more firmly and more deeply than she ever had before. She didn’t even try to hide her tears; didn’t care if he tasted the salt on her lips.

“Is that a yes?” Harry asked breathlessly when they finally broke apart. Anne chuckled, her voice cracking on the tears of happiness that still threatened to choke her.

“Of course it’s a yes, you dolt! Do you not already know that I’d rather be your Countess than the greatest Queen in Christendom?”

 

[FalconHonour]

Harry didn’t waste any time in asking the King’s permission for his union with Lady Anne. As soon as Mass was over the following morning, he slipped out of the Cardinal’s train and approached the King with a bow.

“Sire? Might I beg a word, if it please you?”

“Certainly, Lord Percy. What is it you would have? Speak.”

Henry knew full well what Harry wanted. How could he not, after what had happened at the archery tournament the day before? Truth be told, he did feel a little sorry for the boy, making him ask him so openly for what he wanted. But a public blessing on Harry’s union with Lady Anne was the only way to ensure the Talbots didn’t try to move against the match and ensnare the lad for their Mary after all. And to give the boy his due, though he blanched momentarily, a mere glance at his sweetheart was enough to restore his courage.

“Your Majesty, I have come to ask you to be so gracious as to ensure that I am set free from any unspoken understanding there may be between my family and that of Lady Mary Talbot’s about our one day being wed and to set your blessing upon a match between myself and the Lady Anne of Ormonde.”

“I see. And why exactly would you want to abandon such a prestigious match as one with Lady Mary in favour of one with Lady Anne? You realise you are jilting one of the most eligible girls in the North?”

“I realise that, Sire, and I am sorry for it, but I will not go back on my decision. I love Lady Anne and I believe with all my heart that she will make me happy in the same way that Her Grace makes you happy, My Lord. Or in the same way that Lady Mary will make some other man happy.”

Privately, Harry doubted that Mary, with her whining voice and nagging ways, would make anybody happy, but the kind words were a courtesy he could well afford her, given the circumstances.

“I see. You love the girl, do you? And will you still love her when I say to you that even if I do let you marry Lady Anne, there’ll be no sharing a home or a bed for another year at least? She’s only fourteen and my wife’s, and therefore my, most beloved sister. I’ll not have her damaged or her health endangered, by sharing the marital bed too early. Are you prepared to wait, Lord Percy?”

“I am, Sire. I love Lady Anne and I wouldn’t harm her for the world. I’ve almost lost her once, I will not lose her again. Besides, my sister Margaret always told me that a prize too easily won is no prize at all. I am prepared to wait to take Lady Anne’s maidenhead, if you so wish it, for I do not believe there could be any prize greater than my sweetheart’s most precious possession. I am even prepared to wait with our wedding, if you wish. All I ask for now is that we are betrothed, unbreakably, before witnesses.”

Harry didn’t know what boldness had loosened his tongue so, but while many of the courtiers around them looked scandalised at his speaking of Anne’s virginity so openly, the King looked impressed. He laughed and extended a ringed hand to clap Harry on the shoulder.

“That’s a mighty clever sister you have, Lord Percy. I hope you take her advice frequently.”

“I do, Your Grace. You may be sure of that.”

“Then I am satisfied. If the Queen and Lady Anne are agreeable, I don’t see why you shouldn’t marry her. What do you say, ladies?”

The King glanced over his shoulder and the crowd parted to show the Queen, Anne half a pace behind, as usual. The Queen nodded in agreement and Harry looked eagerly to Anne. Her cheeks were aflame, but her voice too was burning; burning with conviction.

“Sire, there is no man I would rather marry. I accepted Lord Percy’s ring last night, with the gladdest heart it is possible to have.”

“Very well. Kneel. Come here, next to Lord Percy and kneel.”

Exchanging stunned looks, Harry and Anne did as they were told. The King wasn’t going to have them married here and now, was he?

No. He merely stretched his hand over their bent heads, intoning, “Lord Percy, Lady Anne of Ormonde, you have my blessing upon your union. As of this moment, you may consider yourselves betrothed.”

The looks they exchanged this time were delighted ones. Unable to help himself, Harry grabbed Anne’s shoulders, turned her head to his, cupped her cheeks and kissed her fiercely. The crowd of courtiers laughed and applauded. Pulling back from her, Harry couldn’t ever remember feeling happier. They were engaged to marry and nothing could ruin this for him. Nothing at all.

 

[FalconHonour]

Am adding another chapter because, quite honestly, I am impatient to start getting on with some of the drama and we need this one out of the way first. It's also not quite so saccharine as the last couple of chapters either, which I think we could probably all do with!

It wasn’t all that easy. Of course not. While Harry and Anne were celebrating their public betrothal, the Talbot were seething at having their favoured match for their eldest daughter snatched away from them. Knowing, however, that the King would not take kindly to having his public blessing of the Ormonde-Percy match challenged, they turned their attentions to the Queen. After all, they reasoned, if anyone had the means to make him change his mind, it was the mother of his heir.

George Talbot, Mary’s father, was no sooner back from Mass than he was in the Queen’s rooms, pleading with her to stop the King from indulging Lord Percy’s whims.

“You have to understand, Madam, there has always been an understanding between the Percy family and ours that Lord Percy will marry our Mary.”

“I see,” Marie’s voice was frosty, “And did you have anything drawn up to make this understanding official?”

“Well, no, My Lady. It wasn’t necessary. Mary has always been brought up as the future Countess of Northumberland. The arrangement simply made sense.”

“Yet, it was an arrangement that no one else knew about, not even the King, who should have had a hand in arranging your children’s marriages. Not even Lord Percy himself was sure such an understanding existed, though he did factor it in as a possibility when he asked His Majesty to let him marry my sister. You cannot blame the King for not taking into account something he did not know about.”

“Indeed, I do not. But Mary has just had her future ripped away from her. She is devastated. And to know that the girl who is to take her place as Lady of Alnwick is...” A second before he finished his sentence the way he wanted to, George remembered that the girl he had been about to slander was his Queen’s sister and cut himself off hastily. Not quickly enough, however, to stop her voice raising.

“Is what, Lord Shrewsbury? Is of lesser blood than Lady Mary? Is that what you were about to say? Need I remind you that Lady Anne is my sister? If a Boleyn of Ormonde is good enough for the King to crown his Queen, then no wonder that a Percy of Northumberland believes one good enough for him. I advise you to accept his verdict and start looking elsewhere for Lady Mary to bestow her hand. You would do well to do so.”

“But Madam...Think of Mary. She’s so upset. For Lord Percy to renounce her so publicly...think of how that has hurt her feeble girlish heart.”

For a split-second, Marie’s face softened. “I’m sure she must be and I am sorry for it. If it is any consolation, you have my word that I will do my best to ensure her a good match. But I warn you, I will never ask my husband to break Lord Percy and Lady Anne apart for her sake. I will not ruin their happiness, not when I myself am so happy in my marriage.”

George Talbot stifled a groan and bowed.

“As you wish, Your Grace. If you have no more to say, then, with Your Majesty’s permission, I shall take my leave.”

“You have it,” Marie waved him away, “Go. But remember, I will not have you or anyone else slander any member of my family again. The days when your old blood meant you could look down on us Boleyns are over. Well and truly over.”

Then she turned her head away, calling imperiously – more imperiously than was her wont, it seemed, if the looks of slight surprise on her handmaidens’ faces were anything to go by - for her son to be brought to her. Her point was made and George had nothing to do save back out of her rooms with her steely warning still ringing in his ears.

 

[FalconHonour]

Richmond, August 1521​

“Henry?”

“Hmm?” Henry glanced up from his book as Marie spoke.

“You know we’re reorganising Maria’s household?”

“Yes?”

“Have you thought what reason we’re going to give for it?”

Henry paused, letting his book slip through his fingers and fall to his lap. “She’s five, isn’t she? She’s old enough for lessons and companions. Do we need any other reason than that?” he chuckled, before catching himself as a thought occurred to him, “Although, with the Dauphin’s recent death and the tacit understanding that she is to marry young Prince Henri instead, perhaps we ought to have her invested as Countess of Avranches and start addressing her as the Duchess of Orleans.”

“Duchess of Orleans? Isn’t Henri Dauphin, now that Francis is dead?”

Henry shook his head at Marie’s question, “In theory, yes, but I know how fiercely the loss of a son smarts. I might not like Francis, but I’ll not rub salt into the fresh wound by treating Maria as Dauphine before her intended has been formally invested as Dauphin. But Duchess of Orleans and Countess of Avranches? Now that’s far more doable. I’ll organise a banquet in her honour. I’ll bring Lord Hastings back from Rouen to escort her in before I cloak her in a Countess’s robe. It only makes sense to have the Governor of Normandy escort her, if she’s to be an English Countess with Norman lands. And then, if she walks out after that, Picard can bring her back in to symbolise that she’s a French Royal Duchess as much as an English Princess. She can dine with us under the Orleans arms. What do you think of that idea?”

“I like it very well indeed. We should choose her companions before the banquet, though, so that they can accompany her to it.”

“I leave that to you, darling. Households are women’s matters, really. I trust you not to choose girls who would disgrace us.”

“And you won’t mind if I make sure Lady Willoughby has a place in Maria’s household? She was Katherine’s closest friend and I believe she deserves to have a hand in raising her daughter. Besides, Maria deserves a chance to know her Spanish heritage.”

Henry shrugged, momentarily biting his lip in an effort to appear unconcerned, “As long as you ensure she has a French maid or two later on. She is to be a French Princess after all.”

“I will,” Marie promised, before she turned the conversation straight from one awkward topic to another. Best to get them all out of the way at once, or so she thought, anyway.

“What about your son?”

“Lionel can share a household with Maria until he’s six, but then we’ll have to send him to Ludlow, as befits the Prince of Wales. I thought we might get Anthony to be his tutor.”

“Knivert?”

“Yes. Though we’ll have to make him a Baron or a Viscount first. We can’t have the Prince of Wales being taught by a commoner now, can we?”

Marie shook her head, “No, and that’s all well and good, but you know full well I didn’t mean Lionel, Henry.”

“For Christ’s Sake!” Henry exploded, as the penny dropped, “I’ve made the boy a Duke twice over and Earl of Nottingham besides. Isn’t that enough?!”

“Not if you don’t raise him right. You know what Bessie’s like. She’ll raise him to know that he’s the King’s son. If we’re not careful, she might well raise him to think that he’s meant to be your heir, not Lionel.”

“She wouldn’t. She wouldn’t dare,” Henry protested, but he wasn’t sure and it was audible in his tone. Marie cocked an eyebrow.

“You said yourself she was more ambitious than she let on. We need to make sure that, no matter how much she tries to influence Hal, she’s not able to make her ideas stick.”

Privately, Marie didn’t really think Bessie would be able to plant such grandiose ideas into little Hal Fitzroy’s head, but she wasn’t a Boleyn for nothing. She wasn’t above using a few tricks to get her way. She didn’t do it as often as her father or siblings, which was why she was known as the honest Boleyn, but the last few months had taught her a few things. She was Queen now. Honesty and mercy would only get her so far, especially because her new power had brought her more attention than she was used to. She was far less able to slip out of people’s notice than before. And she had Maria and Lionel to think of now. She’d do anything to keep them safe. Anything.

“We have to let the boys grow up together,” she persisted, “We have to let them grow up together, in the same household, thinking of one another as brothers. If we can do that, whilst still always emphasising that Lionel is our heir, then, when the time comes, then when the time comes, they’ll be so close that Hal won’t even think about rebelling against Lionel. He’ll be delighted to take his place at Lionel’s court as the Duke of Richmond and Somerset; the King’s closest friend and most trusted advisor.”

Henry fell silent as Marie paused for breath. She could see his mouth working furiously. She went over to him and rubbed his shoulders.

“Hal’s your blood, Henry. Don’t shut him out of your life just because you’re angry at yourself for making a mistake with Bessie. You loved her once, there’s nothing wrong with that.”

“She wasn’t the woman I thought she was.”

“She was young, emotional. People change. I’m sure she didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“Well, she did. And because of my mistake with her, I can never have a peaceful life with you. Hal will always be a threat to Lionel. A year older, a year stronger, with my blood in his veins...”

“None of that need matter. Not if we bring the boys up to be friends rather than rivals.”

“Fine!” Henry snapped, “Fine! Lord Richmond can go to Eltham, if that’s what you really want. But the boys will have separate households, at least until Lionel goes to Ludlow and has companions of his own. Bessie can run Lionel’s. Let her have to share a palace with Lady Bryan, Lady Salisbury and Lady Willoughby. Let her have to watch our son grow healthier day by day and know that her boy can never be in his shoes, no matter how much she’d like him to be. That ought to teach the harlot her place.”

Marie gulped. This wasn’t quite what she’d planned. She’d wanted the boys brought up side by side in relative harmony under Lady Bryan’s care, who, she was sure, would never harm a child, no matter what its status. Henry’s plan might sound more generous than hers, because it allowed Hal to stay with his mother, but it was born of fury and resentment. It would only breed resentment, at least between the women, if not the children.

She glanced down at her husband and realised in that instant that he wasn’t at heart, the wise, educated King he tried to portray, and indeed, dreamed of being. At heart, he was still a wilful, capricious child who’d never known any different than having things suit his whims; who had never had to truly face the consequences of any of his actions. He required, she realised, far more careful handling than she’d ever thought possible.

“Henry,” she started, recoiling when he looked up at her and she saw the fury smouldering in his eyes. She’d handled this badly enough already. Better just to make the best of it now.

“I’ll make Baron Tailboys Hal’s steward,” she said quietly, “Then at least he and Bessie can still be together.”

“As you wish,” Henry nodded curtly, before rising, disgusted with himself.

It wasn’t Marie he was angry at, it was Bessie. Why did she still have to poison his life, even now?

He stormed out of the room, shouting for his horse. Only a ride would clear his head now.

 

[FalconHonour]

Greenwich, August 1521
​

"Lord Hastings will take you into the dining hall and Papa will put a special cloak around your shoulders and call you the Countess of Avranches, all right? Then you’ll go back outside and meet Monsieur Picard, the French Ambassador. He’ll kiss your hand and call you Madame de Orleans. Then he’ll bring you back inside so you can have supper with us. The trumpets will go off as well, so you mustn’t be afraid.”

“I won’t,” Maria promised, “I’m a big girl now, Mama.”

“Of course you are,” Marie murmured, kissing her stepdaughter’s brow, “Do you understand?”

“Yes, Mama,” Maria nodded.

Marie smiled and let the little girl snuggle against her breast. Maria was such a trusting little girl. She loved holding her warm weight in her arms. She’d missed doing it during the last months of her pregnancy and her lying-in.

“Mama?”

Maria’s voice would, to an outsider, have sounded sleepy, despite it only being mid-morning, but Marie knew better. Maria wasn’t sleepy, she was just content.

“Yes, my darling?”

“I won’t have to go to France yet, will I? I know I’m a big girl, but I don’t want to go just yet.”

“Oh no, sweetheart, no. You won’t be going anywhere for a long while yet. Not until you’re fourteen at least, and you won’t be properly married until you’re seventeen. I promise. After all, we can’t have Lionel growing up without his big sister to be a good example to him now, can we?”

Marie ruffled her daughter’s hair, but she could tell Maria wasn’t really listening. Instead, she had her pert nose scrunched up in concentration.

“How old’s fourteen?”

“As old as Aunt Anne is now,” Marie explained, after a moment or two of having to cast about for an analogy that might make sense to the five-year-old.

Maria’s features relaxed, “That’s old!” she said complacently, and Marie had to laugh.

“It seems that way to you now, sweetheart, but trust me, it’s not as old as you think it is. Now, you’d better run along with Lady Salisbury. There are some people waiting to meet you.”

“Who?” Maria’s eyes snapped open impatiently, but Marie only chuckled and hugged her briefly, “Run along and see.”

Maria leaped off her lap and kissed her, before curtsying hurriedly and almost running out of the room in her impatience to see who was waiting for her.

*** *** ***​

There were lots of new faces in her rooms when Maria got back to them. She looked up at Lady Bury in surprise, “Who are they?”

“They’re your new companions, Princess,” Lady Bury explained, “Don’t you remember, your parents said they were going to choose some little girls for you to share lessons with? These are the ones they’ve chosen.”

“Oh. But I thought Meg was going to be one of them,” Maria answered, peering round the room in search of her older cousin.

“And so she is, My Lady Princess. There she is, look.”

Lady Bury pointed and Maria followed her finger with her eyes, finally seeing Meg talking to a tall girl with sandy hair.

“Meg!” she shouted and would have waved, but Lady Bury suddenly clapped her hands sharply.

“All right, girls. This is Her Highness the Princess Mary, so let’s see you all line up and introduce yourselves.”

It took a few moments, but the girls gradually formed a loose kind of semi-circle with two quite big girls on one end and Meg on the other. Lady Bury gestured to the first of the big girls to step forward.

She had dark, golden-brown hair and a warm smile as she curtsied, “I’m Kathryn Parr, Your Highness.” [1]

“Pleased to meet you,” Maria replied, knowing she wasn’t allowed to say, “I’m Maria,” until Lady Bury was out of the room. She hadn’t been allowed to with Meg and they were cousins, not strangers.

Kathryn stepped back and the other big girl, the one with black hair, curtsied, “I’m Susan White, My Lady Princess.” [2]

Maria nodded eagerly, repeating her greeting, before turning to the next girl in line, the one Meg had been talking to. She looked very like Kathryn, and indeed she did say, “I’m Miss Anne Parr.”

The final girl between Anne and Meg bobbed excitedly when her turn came, “I’m your cousin, Frances Brandon!”

“Lady Frances!” Lady Bury said crossly, “Is that how your mother taught you to greet a Princess?”

Frances flushed and Maria instantly felt sorry for her. She turned to Lady Bury.

“Don’t be cross with her, Lady Bury, please. She’s only little.”

Lady Bury pursed her lips, but said nothing more except, “I’ll leave you all to get acquainted.”

She left the room and Maria instantly turned back to Kathryn, “I’m Maria, not Princess Mary. And you’re Kate, not Kathryn. I don’t like long names.”

“If you say so, Your Highness,” Kate smiled.

“Maria,” Maria corrected, “How old are you?”

“Nine, Your – Maria.”

“You’re big!” Maria’s eyes went wide and Susan laughed, “I’m nine too, Maria. I’ll be ten in September.”

“I’m six,” Anne interrupted.

“I’m four!” Frances cried eagerly.

“Then you’re the baby,” Meg replied, “You’d better be Fanny, not Frances.”

“But -” Frances protested, but Maria nodded before she could say any more.

“Fanny. I like it. Meg’s Meg, of course, and Susan can be Susie.”

“What about me?” Anne pouted, “I want a new name too!”

Maria thought quickly, panicking as her brain refused to come up with a nickname for Anne. Luckily, Kate had an answer.

“You’ll be Nanette, just like I call you at home.”

Anne – Nanette’s – face cleared and Maria agreed quickly, “Of course you will. Now, let’s play hide and seek.”

“I’ll count,” Susie decided, starting to do so before anyone could argue, “1...2...3...4...”

In seconds, the girls had scattered, leaving behind nothing but the ghost of their laughter ringing through the room.

[1] Yes, this is OTL's Kathryn Parr. She was only four years older than Mary historically, so I thought it would be a nice touch to bring her in as one of Maria's companions here.
[2] Also one of Mary's historical favourites. Better known as Susan Clarencieux, she was Mary's Lady in Waiting from 1525 OTL and her Mistress of the Robes once she became Queen. I have made her a year or two younger than she seems to have been historically ITTL to make it easier to put her in to Maria's household as a companion.