It's the last chapter! Yay!

My intention is to put this through a serious rewrite, taking into consideration every one of your criticisms (even – or I should say, especially – those I vocally disagreed with), and, I hope, publishing it on Amazon next year. To that end, I will likely be forced to take all but the first chapter of this down when the rewrite is complete. However, I will also be starting on a second book that will be first published here and on AO3; the first chapter is, I'm happy to say, already half-written.

Thanks to all of you for reading, following, and reviewing!

20 January 1511
Palace of Placentia

Newborns, Catalina decided, looked entirely too much like frogs.

"What a beautiful boy you are," Lady Surrey crooned to her great-nephew as she gently rocked Prince Edward in her arms. "What a sweet little prince."

Lady Devon smiled at the boy over her older sister's shoulder. "He certainly resembles His Majesty, but to my mind he's got a touch of the old Duke of Bedford about him."

"Maybe in the chin, Kat, but his forehead and nose are all Woodville. In fact, he reminds me a bit of our Ned."

They shared a sad smile over their long-dead brother, the tragic little Edward V. "He'd be forty, Anne," Lady Devon said. "Did you realize that?"

The countess blinked away a sudden tear. "Forty and a grown man with children of his own. If only he and Richard had been given the chance."

Edward suddenly began to wriggle, his eyes moving behind his lids. What do you dream of, little one? Catalina wondered as she watched them. Are you remembering the womb, or is God showing you a vision of your great-uncle on his heavenly throne? Or perhaps your Uncle Arthur is whispering to you…

Lady Shrewsbury returned to the anteroom, the order of service clutched in her hand. "Bishop Cockburn has arrived at last, Your Highness," she said to Catalina, keeping her voice low so as not to wake the prince. "He seems…worried."

"Terrified he'll drop the child on the way back, I warrant. The fear of every ambassador, whether bishop or duke – although one wouldn't expect every prelate to lack experience."

They shared a smile; common was the bishop with a fine crop of sons, and rare was the nobleman who didn't resent it.

A faint rat-a-tat alerted them just before the doors swung open; with a deep breath and a silent prayer Catalina followed Henry's aunts out into the wide corridor, where she took her place as godmother alongside the envoys of the Kings of Portugal and Scotland. "Your Excellencies," she said to them in Latin as they bowed to her, "I pray you are both well? Bishop Alvarez, I hope you bring news of my lady sister. I've missed her letters this past two months; I pray the new child isn't giving her problems."

"Her Majesty is indeed...very well, Your Highness," he all but stammered, refusing to meet her gaze, "and the child within her seems to thrive. I trust Your Highness finds herself happy in her, um, new situation?"

Her heart suddenly sank; she had to struggle to keep her countenance and tone even. "Very happy, thank you. It was immensely thoughtful of His Majesty to have arranged the matter so as to ensure my protection, but in truth I couldn't have asked for a kinder or more attentive husband."

Alvarez's face blanched. "Arranged? But His Majesty was told that—"

Bishop Cockburn stepped into the conversation, his blue eyes twinkling with amusement. "King Manuel must be relieved beyond words that his wife's sister is no longer vulnerable to fortune hunters and predators," he said to the young Portuguese bishop. "Have you had a chance to meet the young man, Pedro?"

By now Alvarez was visibly flustered. "Er…not as of yet, no, but I do hope someday to make his acquaintance if my master will permit…"

But Cockburn didn't let him finish. "And you should: Master Chapuys is an excellent man…but he's now Sir Eustache, isn't he, Your Highness?" he asked, turning to her.

She smiled, thankful for the opportunity to redirect the conversation. "As of this morning, yes. It's long been the custom in England for the king to invest knights before royal christenings. I understand that's the case in Scotland as well, Dr. Cockburn?"

"It very much is, Highness. In fact, my master King James told me just last month that he intends to invest twenty knights should God favour the child Queen Margaret is carrying…"

He rattled on, Catalina carefully watching Alvarez's face as they waited for the trumpet blast that would mark the beginning of the ceremony. She'd always known there was a possibility that her marriage would raise eyebrows among the crowned heads of Europe, but she'd hoped her sister would – well, if not understand, then at least accept her situation. But then again perhaps Maria did understand, and it had been Manuel who had forbidden her to write. She could only wonder what lies he'd been told…

But that wasn't fair, she thought, bringing herself up short: he could have heard the truth, after all.

She felt a faint tug on her dress and cast a glance behind her to where her newest attendant, Lady Seymour, was carefully arranging her train. "Won't be a moment now," she mouthed.

At long last the signal came, and the vast crowd of courtiers began to make their way down the wide curved staircase toward the Chapel Royal. First were the lords temporal in attendance that bitter winter's day, two by two, each carrying a taper of virgin beeswax, followed by the lords spiritual in their finest vestments. Then came the Dean of the Chapel, Dr. Atwater, with the choristers, then the untitled gentlemen of the court – including Eustache, so handsome in his new doublet and overgown – and the officers of the new prince's household, including his chamberlain, lady governess, midwives, rockers, and future wet nurse.

"The Princess Mary has grown into a lovely young woman," Cockburn murmured as she and Juan took their place in the procession behind Edward's household, Juan carrying the chrisom cloth in his pudgy hands. "Don't you think so, Pedro?"

"She carries herself with great dignity and honour – much like Your Highness, if I might say so," Alvarez said with a nod to Catalina.

She smiled; so he was willing to accept her at face value despite his master's misgivings. "Thank you, Excellency. His Majesty is immensely proud of Mary and has every intent of arranging a splendid marriage for her."

"As he should," Cockburn said. "She'd be the pearl of any realm in Christendom."

The Vikings suddenly raised the canopy of estate over Prince Edward and Lord and Lady Surrey as they began to make their way downstairs, Lady Devon carrying the Prince's train; Catalina and the envoys took their places behind her, with the members of the Queen's household and the ladies of the chamber bringing up the rear.

As they passed down the corridor between lines of brilliantly uniformed yeoman guards she could just begin to make out the voices of the choristers giving praise to God over the blasts of trumpets. It was a splendid introduction to the community of Christ for the infant, an even more splendid show of Henry's might and power to the ambassadors and envoys who had been invited to witness it from the top of the stairs. There was the Venetian envoy, old Signore Badoer, who was permitted the use of a chair due to his age and infirmities; the new Spanish ambassador, Don Íñigo de Mendoza, who gave her a friendly smile as he rose from his bow; the envoys from Mantua, Denmark, Burgundy, Poland, the Holy See, Milan, Savoy (again with a smile), Austria…but where was Bishop de Villiers?

For the French ambassador was nowhere to be seen.

There was no question of his having taken affront at his master's exclusion from that morning's ceremony; after all, it had been de Villiers himself who had counselled Henry against naming King Louis as godfather, pointing out that while the storms raged in the Channel none of them could know whether his master still lived, let alone was in sound enough mind to qualify as godparent. But the morning had dawned clear and much calmer, if icy cold; she had to wonder if a messenger had finally made his way through and whether his news was good or ill.

They took the first steps down the stairs behind the canopy, where below and to her left she could see Juan whispering something into Mary's ear and the girl smiling in response. "Such a remarkable resemblance," Bishop Alvarez said, his eyes on the pair as well. "His Majesty clearly takes after his lady mother, but those two…"

She shoved away the memory that was trying to force its way into her thoughts and turned to the ambassador with a forced smile. "There's no question who his father was, is there?" she said evenly. "Fortunately he possesses Doña Lina's mild temperament – and her chin, I'd say."

Bishop Cockburn peered down at him. "He does have a Spanish cast to his lower face, you're right; in fact, he resembles Your Highness somewhat. Is Doña Lina a relation?"

Her heart stopped in her throat. "Not officially, Excellency," she improvised, "but, well, my father…"

And nothing more needed to be said; both men grinned in full understanding, while she silently sent up prayers of apology to Lina's mother in Heaven for the insult to her chastity and to God for the lie. To her father in Spain she didn't bother: it was no insult to credit him with another bastard when he already had so many – ten? twenty? a hundred? – to his name.

They finally reached the bottom of the stairs where she checked behind her again, sharing a smile with Lady Seymour. Sunny in temperament – usually – and the best needlewoman in England bar none, Margery had been wary of joining Queen Eleanor's hectic household but had jumped at the chance to become a member of Catalina's quieter one; she in turn had been relieved to have someone to replace Maud Parr, whose long-expected first child had knocked her off her feet.

Another twenty minutes passed as they slowly followed the Prince in his great-aunt's arms down the stuffy, overheated hallway to the door of the Chapel Royal, where Archbishop Bainbridge met them. "Is this the child?" he asked Lady Surrey.

"It is, Your Grace," she replied.

"Male or female?"

"A boy, Your Grace."

"And has he been baptized?"

"No, Your Grace."

He pronounced the first prayers and they proceeded into the narthex, where the font was guarded by four proud knights replete in silk aprons and towels: William Compton, Richard Vere, Robert Radclyffe, and – and Eustache.

That she hadn't expected.

If there could be a stronger sign of Henry's approval of her marriage, she didn't know it.

The Sarum rite of baptism was as long and involved as it was ancient; Catalina thanked God she was wearing a heavy gown and could stretch her toes and ankles without anyone noticing. On and on went the prayers, the questions and responses from her and the ambassadors, more prayers, the invocations of every saint they could think of, more prayers, the ritual undressing, and even more prayers. At last the Archbishop scooped up a handful of holy water from the font and poured it over Edward's head, the boy helpfully responding with a loud cry that reassured everyone in attendance that the Devil had been driven out of him and he was now a child of God. Suffer the little children, she thought; bring them to God and they will be assured of Heaven.

The chrisom cloth was placed on Edward's head and he was redressed in his robes while Dean Atwater read the final prayers, announcing the Prince's name to all and sundry; at last it was time for them to return to the Queen's rooms, Dr. Cockburn uncomfortably cradling the unswaddled child in his arms. "Are you sure Your Highness wouldn't prefer to carry the prince…" he whispered to her as they stepped back out in the hallway.

"His Majesty wished you to have the honour, Excellency," she whispered back politely, Alvarez snickering faintly beside her. "I wouldn't dream of interfering."

The procession back to the second floor went by in a trice, but it wasn't until Henry scooped Edward out of Dr. Cockburn's arms that the bishop – and Henry, for that matter – were able to relax. Rarely had she known a man as genuinely happy simply to be a father as her brother-in-law. He'd been so certain that his peculiarity would affect his ability to sire a living child that he hadn't allowed himself the faintest hope of a son; he'd spent most of the month before the birth on his knees in the Chapel, praying not for a boy but for a healthy child.

As one of the nurses took Edward back to be reswaddled Catalina was waved over to the great state bed by Queen Eleanor, who accepted her curtsy with a smile. "Did everything go well?" she asked Catalina in Spanish. "Was the Devil sent out of him?"

"Most assuredly, Your Majesty; Prince Edward's cry resounded to the roof. The entire service was completed with the utmost sanctity."

Eleanor held out a hand, drawing her in closer. "I know it couldn't have been easy for you," she said in a voice barely above a whisper, "but I thank you again for agreeing to sponsor Edward. Had things been different…"

But she shook her head. "Do not think that God looks down on the world with indifference, Majesty," she replied. "He knows what is for the best. I rejoice in your recovery and the continuing health of the Prince, and pray that with God's grace he will be followed by many more strong sons."

She retreated as the Duke and Duchess of Norfolk approached Eleanor to offer their congratulations, catching Eustache's eye in the crowd thronging the room. Had things been different, they would never…but no: had things truly been different she would be a completely different woman. Perhaps the living Hell Henry VII had put her through had been for the best; had she been respected in her widowhood and treated as her rank demanded she might have made an excellent Queen when the time came, but she never would have been a happy wife.

It took her the better part of half an hour to make her way across the room to where Eustache was listening with interest to Ned Howard describe the Joseph Lion d'Or's trials in the Solent the week before. She noted with interest that both men were carefully watching Dr. Cockburn as they spoke in low tones about the future of the new carrack and her sister ship, the Mary Rose en Soleil. "I assume one is to Newcastle, then," Eustache was saying, reaching between them to give Catalina's hand a surreptitious squeeze.

"And the other to Man, if Lord Derby permits," Howard confirmed before raising his voice and addressing her. "Your Highness, I see you took my advice from last summer. Damned sensible of you, if I do say so myself."

She lifted her wine glass to silently toast him. "How could I not 'snap up' love, my lord, when God was good enough to give it to me?"

They shared a smile as Lord Derby joined them. "I heard my name being whispered, Ned: not in vain, I hope? Your Highness, Sir Eustache."

Just then she felt a strange twinge in her upper left thigh. Too long on my feet, she thought, shifting her weight onto her other foot and returning her attention to the conversation.

"Has anyone seen Lord More today?" Derby was asking. "I'd expected him of all people to be here, but—"

"Well, his wife's about to pop, ain't she?" Howard replied. "Her and the stepmother. Wouldn't have thought the old man had it in him – or in her, better put…" His face suddenly fell and he turned beet red. "Beggin' Your Highness's pardon! I…"

She gave him her most beatific smile. "No apology needed, Ned. If you'll excuse me, gentlemen."

They bowed to her, Ned Howard still red with embarrassment. "His joke wasn't that crude, was it?" Eustache murmured as he led her away.

"Not at all; I'm suddenly exhausted. Do you think the King would notice if we left?"

He looked over at Henry, who at the moment was cradling his son in his arms and gently kissing the top of the boy's head. "My love, he wouldn't notice the King of Scots at the gate with an army."

They made their way out of the crowded room, descending to the first floor gallery that led to the north wing. Already the palace servants were busy stripping away the christening decorations; by the time most of Eleanor's visitors left the hall would be back to normal.

Another twinge, this one in the other thigh, almost made her cry out; perhaps she should have worn flatter shoes.

Eustache looked around them as they entered the north wing. "You're truly well, Catrine?" he asked her in French once they were alone. "After all, if anyone should be exhausted it's me. You nearly tired me out this morning – twice."

"Mi tesoro," she protested, "not in the corridor! Someone will hear!"

His voice dropped to a growl. "They undoubtedly would hear if we—"

They turned the corner only to discover a tall, red-bearded man in mud-spattered travelling clothes expostulating with one of the royal guards at the end of the hall; as they drew closer and she could see his face she felt her stomach leap. "That's Lady Elizabeth Boleyn's husband!" she whispered.

"Sir Thomas? But why…"

Their eyes met; there was only one reason for the ambassador to France to have returned without notice. "Sir Thomas!" she cried, ignoring the ache spreading to her back as they drew closer. "I would welcome you home, but I fear your arrival is a harbinger of bad news from France."

"I'm afraid you're correct, Your Highness," he said, rising from his bow. "Monsieur Chapuys, might I be permitted to congratulate you on your marriage? You are very fortunate to have wed one of the most beautiful and noble women in all of Christendom."

Eustache grinned. "I thank you, Sir Thomas, and I cannot but agree with you wholeheartedly – on both my most excellent fortune and my wife's incomparable beauty and grace."

"Although I must point out that you have inadvertently misaddressed my lord husband," Catalina said. "His Majesty was kind enough to raise Eustache to the Order of the Bath this morning."

"You've been knighted!" Boleyn held out a hand, beaming at Eustache. "Congratulations and well met."

"Well met indeed." They shook hands. "I assume you're searching for the King?"

"The Great Hall is deserted; I couldn't even find…" He suddenly frowned. "By any chance has the Queen been delivered, Highness? Sir Eustache?"

"She has," she replied, "and of a fine son named Edward. He was born three hours after sunset on the sixteenth."

"We've just come from the christening party," Eustache added. "I however assume you aren't here for the celebration. Might we ask: is King Louis dead?"

"Aye, he is," Boleyn said, his face grim. "In fact, he died on the sixteenth…about three hours after sunset."

They crossed themselves. What an odd coincidence, she thought; it was as if God had plans for Prince Edward – plans that involved France.

The ache in her thighs suddenly began to burn; she bit her lip, willing herself not to wince.

"I certainly don't want to expose the Prince to the mud of the road," Boleyn continued. "I'll send a note to His Majesty and return to my rooms to clean up."

"Perhaps we'll meet later," Eustache said, concern apparent in his eyes as he glanced at Catalina. "If you'll excuse us, Sir Thomas; my lady wife is unwell. We were just on our way back to our rooms."

"Of course," Boleyn said, bowing again. "I pray it's nothing serious."

"As do we; thank you."

Eustache put his arm around her waist, gently helping her up the stairs and to their rooms as the burning ache worsened. "You're very pale, cherie," he said once they were alone behind closed doors. "Shall I send Ethelred for Dr. de Victoria?"

A memory tickled the back of her mind; she knew she had felt this kind of pain before – but it couldn't be. "No, no," she said in sudden realization of what was happening. "Would you send Jane and Bet to me? Maria, too, if she's here."

"You're sure?"

She nodded, unable to hold back a broad smile. "I think my courses have come."

"Your…" His mouth dropped open. "After five years?"

"Almost six. They said…they said I would never…" And she began to weep.

She felt him kiss her forehead. "Hush, cherie. This is excellent news, I know, but let's not get our hopes up. The only thing that matters to me is your health. Let me get your ladies."

Before she knew it she'd been divested of her finery and tucked into bed in soft linens, a well-wrapped heating stone easing the burning ache in her thighs. Were it not for the pain, she thought, she'd be entirely too comfortable. "So much coddling," she said to Maria de Salinas, who was standing over her bed holding a goblet of hippocras. "It's hard to believe that just two years ago…"

But Maria suddenly began to cry. "I never thought we'd make it. I thought we'd all die."

She silently motioned to the housemaid who had been building the fire; Bet brought up a chair and eased Maria into it, plucking the goblet out of her hands before she could spill the hot spiced wine over her gown. "Hush, it's all right," Catalina murmured, soothing her shivering friend. "Bet, would you bring another goblet of wine, please, and a blanket."

The maid curtseyed and left; as soon as the door closed behind her, Catalina reached out and took one of Maria's hands in hers. "Whatever is the matter? Has Lord Mountjoy made an offer?"

She nodded, smiling through her tears. "I never dreamed I would have the chance to marry," she said. "I prayed every night at Durham House that the guards would stab us to death when the time came instead of…instead of…"

"I know," she said, giving her hand a squeeze. "I was afraid of what they'd do to us too. But they didn't get the chance, did they?"

Their eyes met. "There are times I dream we're still back there," Maria admitted. "I wake up, I can't breathe, and I need to light a candle and banish the nightmares back to the shadows. But we survived, Highness…"

"Catalina, Maria: for after what we endured, we are surely sisters."

"Catalina," she repeated, tears falling down her face again. "We survived everything that Welsh bastard could throw at us, didn't we?"

"That we did; God was surely watching over us."

How hungry man is for hope, she thought as Bet returned with a woollen shawl and blanket and wrapped Maria up tightly against the drafts; how even in the most desolate moments, with the best foreseeable outcome a quick, painful death, does the soul cry out to God. Even at her worst points – the discovery of her pregnancy, her incarceration, the deaths of her duenna and her ladies, her delivery on the cold attic floor – Catalina had clutched at the hope that one day the bastard would die and she would escape. Hunger, humiliation, and fear had fought to destroy her but she had survived – no, thrived. Henry had been surpassingly kind, of course, kinder than most men would be in his position, but he hadn't brought her Maria, or Juan, or above all Eustache. Only by the grace of God had she survived; only by the grace of God had everything she held dear come to her.

She lowered her head and gave Him thanks, Maria's hand still in hers.