A/N This is my first Tudor ever story ever. Wow. I've been planning on writing one for years, but I could never find the right story, the right idea that would do Anne Boleyn justice. To me, she is the most fascinating Queen I have ever learned about, and every time I read a biography about her or watch the show I always wish that her fate was different, and for a split second I actually convince myself that she survived. But she didn't and this is a one-shot about how she did. So this is a two-shot btw, the second part should be posted soon enough.

Keep in mind, this story is riddled with historical inaccuracies and is completely AU, so please just accept them as a part of this story. Thank you! Feel free to review!

Until next time,

Fiona Kevin073

Summary: In which Anne enacts her sweetest revenge.

You are my sweetest downfall— Samson, Karlee Metzger

Part 1: Settling to Ashes

i.

Anne watches her brother die.

Anne watches Mark die.

Anne watches Norris die.

Anne watches Francis die.

Anne watches William die.

She winces every time the axe swings down, unable to contain her sobs. George, her heart whispered, Oh god I am so sorry. Her heartbreak no longer allowed her to feel any anger towards those who had had her dear innocent brother condemned and so she watched helplessly as the rest of her supposed lovers were sentenced to die.

This is all my fault, she thinks, if only I had stayed in France, if only I had—

"No," she snaps out loud, wringing her hands together before angrily swiping at her tears. I am not to blame for this. It is Cromwell. It is my father and Norfolk and Brandon— My only crime is that I could not bare a son.

Still, that knowledge does not completely stop her tears.

Elizabeth, her mind whispers, my heart. My life.

Anne would have wished for death eagerly, if it had not been for her daughter. She cups her stomach, remembering how a few months ago it had been round and had begun to swell. She blames that pale wench Jane Seymour.

But Anne knows that there is only one person who was truly to blame and the hatred that swells in her breast is overwhelming.

And that is why, when she feels herself sway and her vision begins to dim, she is not surprised.

ii.

"It would seem that her majesty is with child."

Anne stares up at the doctor from where she is propped up against the pillows, feeling frail and weak.

There is a beat.

A moment.

"What?" she whispers.

The man flinches under her gaze, looking extremely uncomfortable.

"It would seem that you are with child, madam," he says, scratching the side of his chin, "I would presume that you are a month along, give or take." No no no no no no her mind yells and Anne has to bite her lip hard to stop herself from bellowing.

"Though in your. . . delicate state I would suggest taking extreme care. If I may speak freely madam, it is a miracle you have not miscarried." Anne knew he was right on that account, it was a miracle she had not lost the child growing in her womb. I lost my child because I caught my husband with another woman and I have not lost this one because…

Anne wondered what was wrong with herself.

"Thank you, Doctor," she says kindly, looking around the room and suddenly feeling cold. He bows his head politely and there is a moment of silence before he speaks, and what he says rocks her to her core. What he says means her ensured survival, if only for a few more months.

"I must inform his majesty."

iii.

It is a week before Anne receives any visitors.

She is sitting with her ladies by the newly lit fire, as she had been tremendously cold for the past few days, awaiting her fate and wondering what will be done with her if she was allowed to live, at least long enough for her to give birth to her child. It was the King's child, that she knew, but she was also aware of the possibility that many would claim that her child was fathered by one of her many accused lovers. She resisted the urge to snort at the thought, suddenly unafraid of the implications. She no longer cared.

She is no longer a Queen. She is a disgraced woman with no brother and no family to protect her. She is unloved. The only things she has is this child and her daughter and she would rather be damned before allowing them to be left alone in the world.

The door bursts open, revealing a serious looking Cromwell as he walks into the room unannounced.

She rises immediately, staring at him with an emotionless expression. "Master Cromwell," she greets lightly, as though he were not the reason she was imprisoned, "It is a pleasure to see you."

He grunts softly at her words and doesn't bother to return the sentiment.

"In light of your condition," he begins, not looking her in the eye, "The King has decided to allow you to live." Her ladies gasp with relief, but Anne is cold, unmoved, waiting. "You are allowed to retain your title as Marquess of Pembroke and are hereby banished from Court, with pain of death if you return. Your marriage to the King has been annulled and your daughter has been declared a bastard and shall be expected to live with you at Pembroke. She is to be known as the Lady Elizabeth. You are expected to leave London immediately and not return until or if the King wishes it." Like that will ever happen.

It is only then that Cromwell looks at her and Anne can feel her insides bristle at the small glint of triumph that lingers in his eyes. Instead of allowing herself to voice her anger and grief, she surprises the both of them by smiling.

"If you would be so kind as to thank his majesty for his kindness I would be most grateful," she tells Cromwell, "My belongings—"

"Have already been packed," Cromwell interrupted, "The carriage is waiting for you, Marquess, all that is needed of you is to get in it and return to your estates. You are expected to write reports to court about the well-being of the babes in your womb and the Lady Elizabeth." Go to hell.

"Of course," Anne says, curtsying and turns to her ladies which prompts them to spring into action. Anne turns to look at Cromwell, at her former ally, at her newfound enemy and all she feels is emptiness. "Farewell, Master Cromwell."

She may no longer be Queen but Cromwell still obeys without a word.

iv.

Anne can hear the crowd before she sees it.

She can't hear what they are saying but it makes her heart thud. She looks up at the grey sky and a smile adorns her lips when she feels a speck of water on her forehead. Anne walks forward, her head held high, her smile wide. The crowd roars at the sight of her and Anne walks forward, a purse of money in her hand and begins to hand out few coins to the poor.

"Thank you your majesty!"

"God Bless you Madam!"

"Whore!"

"May the Lord have mercy on your soul!"

It pleased Anne that there were more wishes for her good health than those wishing her ill. She smiled at everyone nevertheless, looking gracious and thankful. She paused when water began to fall down on her head harder and more rapidly. Anne laughed loudly at the darkening clouds, throwing her head back. The crowd grew silent at the sight of her laughing like a child, as happy as a mare, in their bewilderment.

"Thank you all," she called out, beaming at the crowd.

Before long, she was safely settled in her carriage and off to Pembroke, where Elizabeth would be waiting. And for just a moment, she feels hurt that Henry did not come by to see her off. To ask of the child in her womb, to question her of her innocence. Fool, she cursed herself, reminding herself of how the King had refused to believe her when she had pleaded him for another chance. Of how he had walked away without a second thought. Of how he was responsible for the death of her son.

Of how he had murdered her brother and other innocents.

Of how he no longer loved her as she loved him.

Anger burned within her but it was almost overshadowed by the intense fear that had suddenly overcome her.

Anne had almost died.

She had almost met the chopping block.

The image was sudden and blinding before her eyes— George's panicked expression before he lay his head on the chopping block— Mark's battered and bruised body. She winces at the sight and tries to banish it from her mind.

(The image is burned onto the back of her eyes for years to come)

v.

"Mama!" Elizabeth shrieked, running towards her as fast as her little legs could take her.

"Elizabeth!" Anne exclaimed, running forward to meet her daughter halfway, not caring about decorum or an appearance of properness or gracefulness. This was her daughter. The daughter whom she thought she would never see again.

Anne sweeps the little girl up into her arms, clutching onto her tightly, though she is careful not to hurt her. "My own heart," she whispers, burying her face in her child's reddish-gold hair. They had just arrived at Pembroke for a mere moment before she had exited the carriage, eager to see her daughter.

"My Mama," Elizabeth murmurs into her neck. The relief Anne feels is so overwhelming she can no longer speak. Instead, she can feel her eyes grow wet as the love she feels for her daughter fills her to the brim and takes a hold of her heart. "I love you Elizabeth," she told her, pulling back so that she could look her daughter in the eye.

"I love you too Mama," her daughter replied happily, a frown taking over her face when she noted the redness in her eyes. Anne hoists Elizabeth onto her waist and observes her new home with a carefully crafted expression, not wanting to upset Elizabeth. The castle was a series of drum towers, each with different heights. It was not particularly grand, as a matter of fact, it was rather bare-looking, but there was a certain quality to it that made Anne's lips quirk upwards. Potential. It had potential to become beautiful. She surveys the environment around her and takes notice of the grand trees and bushes that make the gardens lush and beautiful. Water surrounds the castle on the one side from the river and the water glistens under the suns rays.

"Is our home not beautiful darling?" she asks Elizabeth, pressing a kiss to her rosy cheek. "Yes Mama!" Elizabeth giggles, but Anne underestimates her daughters skills of observation and so when Elizabeth says, "Mama, why is Papa not with you? Why are you living apart from Papa? Is he still angry?" Anne can feel her body tighten and her heart seize with tiredness at her daughter's words. "Mama and Papa have—have—" Anne bites her lower lip in frustration before plastering a fake smile on her lips and saying, "We will talk about it later." Her daughter does not seem happy with her response but she nods and buries her face in Anne's neck.

Anne looks ahead and suddenly takes notice of the solemn looking household waiting for her in the courtyard. She can recognise some of the servants from Hatfield and nods at Lady Bryan, Elizabeth's governess. There are a few other people that she fails to recognise and so with a heavy heart she gently puts Elizabeth back on the ground, though she stills holds onto her hand as she moves forward to greet them.

"Marquess," a man with long grey hair and a tired, worn face utters, though his eyes—grey and stormy—are full of kindness, "My name is Master Lewis, I am to serve as your Steward." Anne observes him with a keen eye before offering him a kind smile. "It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Master Lewis."

Her new household is small—far smaller than that of when she had been Queen. It is with a bitter heart and a flare of anger that she thinks of that pale wench being Queen instead of her, but she pushes that thought aside. There are only a mere 40 members of her household, excluding her ladies, but Anne supposes that that is enough to live comfortably and happily.

If Anne were to be completely honest with herself, that is all she desires. She has spent the past 10 years of her life fighting and now all she wants to do is rest and live with her daughter in peace.

(And with your other child, her heart whispers)

vi.

"No!" Elizabeth snaps, her little hands tightening into fists, "You are the Queen! Papa is silly to be rid of you!"

Anne sighs at her daughter and makes eye contact with her through the mirror. They are in Anne's chambers— her rooms are surprisingly beautiful and lavish, unlike certain other areas of the castle that she had been shown (Anne has already begun to make plans for renovations)— and the sun has set, revealing a moonlight sky. Anne had been brushing Elizabeth's glossy hair when she had begun to explain, gently, what had happened.

Of course, she had omitted some aspects of the story, the darker and scarier parts that Anne herself still had trouble remembering but Anne was still desperate to get her point across. "Elizabeth," Anne says sternly, turning her daughter around so that they were face to face, "You are never to speak of your father that way ever again understand? There are many reasons as to why I am not longer Queen and within those reasons there are some you will not understand until you are much older. All I can tell you is your father loves you but he—he no longer loves me."

"Then he is stupid."

It takes a great deal of effort for Anne not to smile.

"There are two things that I wish for you to know Elizabeth," Anne's voice is kinder now, gentle and almost soothing. "First, is that I love you no matter what. I bid you to know that you are loved and never forget it— and that you are loved most by me. Second, is that I am carrying your little brother or sister and that the babe inside my womb will be here in a few months."

Elizabeth smiles fully and it's so full of joy and happiness that it make's Anne's heart ache tenderly in her chest.

"I am to be a sister?" she asks throwing her little arms around Anne's shoulders. "Yes, my darling," Anne sighs, "You are to be a sister." I just don't know whether or not you'll have a mother afterwards. "Will Papa come and visit us when the baby comes?"

Anne sighs, her heart heavy in her chest as she twirls a strand of Elizabeth's curls around her finger. "I don't know, darling," she admits, "I don't know."

"Why does Papa no longer love you?" Elizabeth questions.

"There was a… mixup darling," Anne tries softly, trying her best not to let her eyes tear up, "A very terrible mixup that made Papa very angry with me. People said I did some very bad things, people that Papa is very close to and that made your Papa very upset."

"You would never do a bad thing," Elizabeth insists.

Anne chuckles at her words and smiles, though this time it is with a hint of bitterness and sorrow. "Not this bad thing, Elizabeth."

She hugs her close so that she can hide her tear-filled eyes.

vii.

Her life is quiet, peaceful, which is a welcome relief to the past few months of hell that she lived in.

Lady Bryan leaves Pembroke after a fortnight, explaining with a forced smile that she had been summoned to Hatfield once more. Elizabeth cries when she goes but she soon forgets her tears when she meets the new governess that Anne selected for her, Lady Kat Ashley.

Renovations soon begin after Anne arrives at Pembroke— much to her surprise, Henry had been rather generous with her income and had let it be at 100,000 pounds per year, as when she had first been appointed Marquess of Pembroke— and they last for about a month. Within that month, the gardens have blossomed with the new flowers she had ordered to be planted and Anne smiles everyday when she walks through it, proud of its beauty.

However, even though her life has grown quiet, the calm before the storm, if you will, court life has moved on without her. It stung her deeply when she discovered that Henry had married Jane Seymour a little over a fortnight after she had arrived at Pembroke. The thought of that blonde pale wench winning made her throw a vase against the wall in her anger, giving her ladies a most terrible fright.

Her stomach grows steadily— so steadily and greatly that Anne is concerned. By the time she had been pregnant with Elizabeth for two months, she had only just begun to show. Now, her stomach was already obviously round. However, despite her concerns, Elizabeth was delighted.

The sun was high in the sky, much to Anne's delight, as her and Elizabeth were having a picnic in the gardens near the river. Her ladies are also enjoying themselves, though a distance away from her and her daughter, and there are a few servants that are standing nearby, ready to serve their mistress if need be.

Anne giggles with delight as she watches Elizabeth play with her dog. The skirts of her dress are stained with mud as she runs along the grass, her laughter music to Anne's ears. The book in her hands is long forgotten as she sets it aside on the blanket beneath her, preferring to look at her daughter instead. "Elizabeth!" Anne calls out, gesturing to the food that had just been brought. Elizabeth nods and hurries over to her, her smile wide as Anne opens her arms out for a hug. "Oh my lovely girl," Anne coos, sitting Elizabeth on her lap, though she is careful not to rest her on her protruding stomach. Almost as if she read her mind, Elizabeth shifts so that she is sitting beside Anne and turns to face her, eyeing her stomach with grave suspicion.

"Is my brother or sister in there?" she asks bluntly.

Anne laughs before nodding, a smile plastered on her face as she looks down. The dress she had chosen to wear—a lovely pink gown with embroidered roses— did nothing to hide her current condition. "Yes they are," Anne tells her gently, stroking her cheek. "Can they hear me?" Elizabeth questions.

"No, my darling, they can not. They are still very, very small."

Anne watches with amusement as Elizabeth knocks her tiny fist against Anne's stomach, her brow furrowed with confusion. "Can they feel that?"

Anne has to bite down on her lip to stop her giggles.

"No, but I can," she retorts softly, watching as Elizabeth's eyes grow wide.

Anne begins to tickle her daughter with delight and in that moment she forgets.

It is easy for her to forget that she might still die after this baby was born. That she might still be snatched away from Elizabeth and killed. Anne had tasked Master Lewis with writing the letters to court to report on her wellbeing, though she read them before they were sent. They were never sent any replies, but Anne was eager not to incur the King's wrath for fear of the consequences. The fire in her had died out, it would seem, along with her brother.

viii.

By the time Anne is five months pregnant, she can no longer walk due to the sheer size and heaviness of her stomach.

She spends days on end, confined to her bed and is not surprised when one day she wakes to find of the courts physicians in her chambers, inspecting her stomach from afar. Midwives had been sent from court—due to the Queen not being with child (a fact that made Anne's lips curl with satisfaction)— and were always forcing food down her throat. Even though she was bedridden, Anne had still begun to busy herself with decorating the nursery with Elizabeth's help.

Elizabeth spent an hour at the very least in her chambers every day and was there when Anne was told the news.

"My lady Marquess," the doctor began, folding his hands together, "It would appear that there are multiple babes in your womb."

Anne blinked through her surprised and worry, and cupped her stomach with her hands, not knowing what to say.

Elizabeth however, a month short of her third birthday, had plenty to say.

"Does that mean that I am to have multiple siblings?" she asks, her eyes wide with excitement.

It manages to snap Anne out of her shock as she smiles at her tiredly. "Yes, my love," she said, rubbing her stomach, "You may have two brothers or two sisters."

"Or perhaps one of each," Elizabeth suggested excitedly, causing Anne to laugh loudly and the doctor to crack a wry smile, with her ladies murmuring in the background. "Don't get greedy," Anne advised softly, shaking her head even though she was smiling widely.

ix.

Elizabeth's birthday had two months passed when Charles Brandon arrives at Pembroke.

It shocks Anne into several moments of silence after she had been told and with a gentle carefulness due to her condition, her ladies work on making her look presentable. She is wearing her dark locks in a long, delicate braid and a white shift adorned by a blue robe that gives her skin a healthy glow. Elizabeth leads Charles in, not yet noticing the tension.

"Your grace," Anne greets from where she had been propped up against the headboard by her ladies. She hides her hands under her blankets so she can hide how they had curled into tight fists. Her nails dug into her palms so greatly she was drawing blood. Elizabeth's smile had died now, as she took notice of her mothers expression. Anne was too busy staring into the Duke's eyes to comfort her.

"Ladies," she commanded, never breaking eye contact with Brandon, "Take the Lady Elizabeth to her lessons."

They obey her without a word and soon enough it is only them two in the room.

"I see the Doctor did not lie of your condition," is all he says, his expression carefully masked. Anne lays a protective hand upon her stomach, her gut tightening into knots. "Why has he sent you here?" Anne asks, not needing to clarify who he was. Anne had tried her utmost best not to think of the King as best she could as whenever she heard him mentioned or thought of him her heart ached painfully.

"Since your grace is near your expected due date, the King has sent me to expect the babes to judge as to whether or not they are his—"

Anne snorted at this, her jaw locking with anger.

"They are his, your grace," she ground out angrily.

His smile was sharp and biting.

"The King has good reason to doubt your words, madam. In case you have forgotten that you have been found guilty of adultery in the eyes of the law."

"If I am no longer married to the King— and if our marriage had never been valid as judged by Thomas Cranmer— than how could I have possibly committed adultery?" she retorts angrily, her cheeks beginning to flush. They glare at each other, their contempt for the other person great and unwavering.

Anne would have been happy to continue glaring at him, if it had not been for the sudden pain in her stomach.

"Ah," she gasped, clutching at it, her eyes wide with pain.

"Your grace?" Brandon asked, his eyes suddenly growing wide.

The pain was familiar and blinding and Anne knew then that it was time. Fear seized her heart as she lay there but she still managed to say her words clearly. "Get the doctor and the midwives— Now!" He does not hesitate before bolting from the room, his voice bellowing.

Soon enough, the midwives and doctor are hustled into her chambers, and she can hear Elizabeth screaming for her from wherever she is. "Nan," she breathes, panting heavily, "Go—go tell her I'm alright." Nan heads her command without a word and it's as another pain blinds her that Anne feels as though something is missing. That something is terribly wrong.

Mary, she thinks, my own sister.

In that moment Anne desires her presence so dearly her eyes begin to water.

The next few hours past by slowly and painfully Anne feels as though it has been centuries. Oh god, she thought dreadfully, letting out a moan, oh dear God have mercy.

"It is almost time to push, my lady," one of the midwives said from in-between her legs. Anne nodded tiredly as Madge dabbed at her sweaty forehead with a cloth. She cast her a thankful smile that quickly turned into a grimace of pain as she let out a shout. Why must God punish us with such pain? she thought dreadfully, another cry escaping her lips. "Now! My lady! Push!"

Anne pushes with all her might, gritting her teeth together so that she muffles her yell, for Elizabeth's sake. No doubt the poor girl could hear her. I must survive, she thinks determinedly, as she pushes again and again, if not for my sake, for Elizabeth's. Always for her. The thought of leaving her daughter to the mercy of people like Brandon and the Seymour's sets her blood on fire and so Anne pushes and pushes until the midwife yells, "I can see the head, my lady! One more!"

And with a poorly concealed shout, Anne pushes. She slumps down against the bed as her child leaves her body and she waits for an agonising moment for it to cry. "What's happened?" she asks frantically, her eyes growing wide, "What is it? Why aren't they crying?" The baby lets out a shrill scream at her words and Anne's heart almost collapses with relief. "A boy," one of the midwives says, as she wraps the babe in a blanket, cradling it in her arms. "A healthy baby boy."

Anne lets out a tired laugh, tears piercing her eyes. Her relief is short-lived however, when another pain blinds her. "I'm so tired," she says miserably, a sob escaping her lips. Nan holds onto her hand in comfort and gives her an encouraging smile. "Just a little longer, only a little longer." Anne nods tiredly, swiping at her eyes with her fists. "Just a little longer," she repeats out loud, sitting back up against the pillows with help from her ladies. She pushes again and again, her strength slipping from her with every push though she tries to think of Elizabeth and her newborn son, and that gives her enough strength to push on. "One more!" Anne can feel tears slip from her eyes as she pushes and this time, the babe starts crying mere seconds after it has left her womb.

"Another son!" Nan tells her, her eyes wide. Anne laughs with delight, though a sad smile graces her lips. "Bring them here," she says, opening her arms. She nearly misses the midwives shoot each other a knowing look and before she can ask what it means, another pain takes over her. "Another child?" she exclaims tiredly, panting loudly. "Another one," the chief midwife, Eleanor, confirms from in-between her legs, squeezing her knee encouragingly. "Okay," Anne says, nodding her head in preparation, "Okay." Her voice is a mere whisper now and a sob escapes her lips as she pushes. This babe comes out quicker than the last and before she can even ask whether or not the babe is healthy, Eleanor is shouting at her to push again— because yet another babe is resting in her womb, eager to come out into the world.

Anne screams at the top of her lungs when the final babe exits her and comes into the world and she slumps down against the pillows, her skin eerily pale and dripping with sweat. "No more?" she questions tiredly, as though she were a child. "No more," Eleanor confirms, smiling at her. Anne lets out a sob of relief, her eyes drooping before they snap open when she hears her child's shrieks. "Are they—"

"All of your sons are healthy, Lady Marquess," Eleanor tells her.

"Four?" Anne asks in disbelief, her eyes seeking the small bundles in the four separate midwives arms. "Nan," she commands, her voice soft, "I want you to cut four different coloured ties and bring them to me." Nan does so without a word and she beckons the midwives to come closer, eager to see and hold her sons. "Bring them to me," she commands, opening her arms. "My lady, you need rest—"

"I am the former Queen of England and the current Duchess of Pembroke Eleanor, do not presume to tell me what I do or do not need. I need to hold my sons and I am asking you to bring them to me." They showed no hesitation in going so and soon enough, pillows had been propped up in her arms—her admittedly, tired, aching arms— so that she could hold them. "Your eldest son." He was placed in the pillow closest to her and Anne marvelled at the smallness of his features, her heart tightening with love as she cooed at him. "My lovely," she murmured, before her second son was placed in her arms, followed by the third and then, "Your youngest," the final midwife said. Anne frowned with motherly concern as she stared at him, her heart seized with worry, "Is he alright? He is so much smaller than the others."

"He is perfectly alright your ma—" Eleanor flushed before continuing, "My lady Marquess. With a little bit of nourishment he should grow as big as his siblings." Nan had returned with the four ties in hand and Anne instructed her gently, so as not to wake the sleeping babes, to tie the red to the eldest, the blue to the second eldest, the white to her third son, and the green to her youngest. Tears pierced her eyes as she stared at them and one trickled down her cheek, glistening.

"Have you named them?" Eleanor asked. Anne did not look up to see where she was talking from, unwilling to lift her sight away from her boys. "Yes," Anne said, though she had not made any attempt to settle on names before, despite Elizabeth's pressing. "George," she says, looking at the eldest. "Mark," she continues, going from oldest to youngest, "Francis and William." There is a moment of silence in the room, the tension thickening before— "Those are wonderful names, my lady."

Names that honour the dead.

It is mere moments after her sons are taken away from her that Anne falls into a deep slumber.

x.

When Anne wakes, it is to the sight of Elizabeth's curls.

She blinks rapidly at the sight of her, suddenly unsure of whether or not she had dreamed her birth. Her sheets are clean and her clothes have been changed but her stomach is no longer as large and she is still tremendously sore. "Elizabeth," Anne says gently, calling her daughter from where was on her knees by her bedside. Her daughter jumps with excitement at the sight of her, though her eyes are red—she's been crying, Anne realises, her eyes widening. "What is it my love?" she questions, her heart beating frantically—has an executioner been brought already? Has Suffolk already taken away my sons? Has he threatened Elizabeth?

"I thought that you were dying!" her daughter sobs, moving forward to hug her tightly. Anne resists the urge to wince, her body still sore from her labour. "Lady Elizabeth," Eleanor scolds, prompting Elizabeth to move away from her at once. "I am alright my love," Anne tells her sweetly, leaning forward to press a kiss on the crown of her head. "Where are my sons?" she questions, eager to see them, to hold them.

Elizabeth jumps at her words, her frown quickly forgotten as she beams at her, excited to meet her new siblings. "I am a sister of so many!" she says brightly, her voice bordering on a squeal. "Indeed you are, my darling." Anne turns to look at Eleanor, taking notice of how her ladies rise and come next to her bed, on the other of side of where Elizabeth is, ready to attend to her. "How long was I sleeping?"

"A day, your grace," Eleanor admits and she shoots Anne's ladies a look that prompts them to go and—Anne hopes— retrieve her sons. "The priest that you sent for has arrived, Lady Marquess." Anne nods at her words and shoots Elizabeth a smile, though her stomach has begun to tighten into knots. "I wish to write to my sister, Eleanor," she begins, tucking a strand of her hair behind her ear, "May you bring me a piece of parchment and some ink?" She does so quickly and though it hurts Anne to move her arms much, she writes her sister a letter under Elizabeth's curious eye.

Dear Mary,

I do not know where to begin. First, I must apologise for my behaviour towards you and your husband and your unborn child. I was most cruel and unloving to you, my beloved sister. I plead for your forgiveness, which I know now I should have done long ago. Please forgive me, sister, I miss you dearly. If you and your husband would be willing, I would like for you to be godparents to one of newborn sons. Please bring your children with you, if you choose to accept my invitation. Elizabeth would gladly look forward to the company, and I am eager to meet my nieces and nephews. You are the only sibling I have left.

With all my love and good will,

Your devoted sister Anne, Marquess of Pembroke

She signs and seals the letter and hands it over to Eleanor, trusting her to send it. The door to her chambers opens and her ladies come in, each holding one of her sons. "Bring them here," she commands, opening her arms. Elizabeth jumps excitedly and casts her a smile, "May I hold one of them?" Anne nods before casting her a gentle look of warning, "They are very small, you need to be careful to support his head."

Elizabeth nods seriously, looking as though she were about to walk to her grave. Anne smiles at Nan and Madge as they place George, Mark and William into her arms before placing Francis into Elizabeth's small, waiting arms. "That is your third brother, Francis," Anne tells her, watching tenderly as Elizabeth's eyes widen with adoration. "George is the eldest, with the red tie. Mark is the second eldest, with the blue, Francis with the white, and the youngest William, with the green."

"To tell them apart," Elizabeth breathes, thoroughly focused on examining her newborn brother.

"Indeed," Anne confirms, casting her eyes on the little babes she is balancing in her arms.

"A wet-nurse has been sent for," Eleanor tells her, wiping her hands on a cloth.

Anne doesn't look up from her sons when she speaks.

"I will feed them," Anne declares.

She remembers how Henry had chastised her for wanting to feed Elizabeth from her own breast, and now—especially now, since she was no longer a Queen— she had no desire to repeat that experience. "Your grace," Eleanor begins gently, as though she were speaking to a child, "It may be difficult and sensitive for you to feed all four of them. You may not-"

"Fine," Anne decides, eager to be left alone to look at her sons, "The wet-nurse may help." Anne sits in silence as Eleanor begins to tell her of how she is not allowed to leave her bed for another week or so and even then she must not over-exert herself. Anne nearly groans out loud at the thought of having to stay in bed any longer— she had spent months confined to her bed, bloated and sore. All she desired to do was walk, even if it was merely about the room.

The week could not go by slow enough.

xi.

Anne is sitting in her son's nursery, an open letter in one hand as she sits in front of their cribs, reading it absentmindedly whilst she also stroked George's stomach, though her hand moved to do so for all her sons. Her smile grew as she finished reading Mary's letter, pleased that she had agreed to come and was already on her way with her children. She folded the letter and tossed it onto the nearby table, now focusing all of her attention on her sleeping sons.

"Hello," she whispered, watching their small chests rise and fall. George, Mark and Francis had inherited the symbolic tudor curls that descended from Elizabeth of York. Small tuffs of reddish gold hair so similar to their sisters' graced their small heads. William was the only one who had inherited her dark locks and he stood out amongst his siblings like a dandelion in a field of roses. "My dear heart," she murmurs, leaning over the cradle to kiss his smooth leg. Her heart swelled as she took them all in, fingering her pear Boleyn necklace as she did so.

She did not notice that the door to the nursery had opened until she felt someone's eyes pouring into the back of her skull. Anne turns to look over her shoulder, stiffening as she notices Charles Brandon standing near the doorway, clad in black and red clothing. She raises a finger to her lips to signal him to be quiet before—reluctantly— rising from her position to follow him out of the room.

"Your grace," she curtsies, prompting him to do the same. Her heart quickens as she stares directly into his eyes—which reveal nothing— and she wonders wildly as to whether or not she had been summoned back to London to attend her execution—if she was still to be executed, that is.

"You have not had your sons Christened yet," he said instead, a frown of disapproval plain on his face.

Anne blinks; once, twice and then:

"I wish for my sister and her husband to be the godparents to two of my sons, George and Francis," she replies smoothly, never missing a beat. She clasps her hands together modestly, fire burning in her veins along with something else, something that she does not wish to admit; to identify. Fear.

"Is. . ." her voice suddenly grows soft, hesitant, revealing some of her inner turmoil. "Is there a reason for me to hurry?" she finishes, her jaw clenching slightly. Is there an urgent need for me to go to London to my death? Am I meant to die before my sons are to be Christened?

Surprisingly, Brandon deciphers her meaning and his blue eyes—so like Henry's— soften ever so slightly. "No," he tells her, relieving her of her horrible fears, "The King has allowed for you to live—in exile, of course. To remain on your estates until or if you are summoned to court by his or her majesty."

But there is one more matter still pressing on her heart, making it difficult for her to breathe.

"Will his majesty acknowledge his sons?" she asks finally, unable to bear it any longer. She had never attempted to write to the King or Master Cromwell to question them on this matter, for fear that they would either immediately deny her or that she would provoke Henry into a fury that would cause him to execute her the moment the babes left her womb. Her question erases all softness from Brandon's eyes as he stiffly retorts, "His majesty has instructed me to tell you that he will decide on this matter on the one year anniversary of your sons birth, as by then it will be evident whether or not they are his. Until then, they are to be under your care and protection and I will remain here as your. . ." his voice drifts off.

"As my guardian," Anne finishes coldly, her eyes flashing. "Is that all, your grace?" she snaps, fury boiling in her veins, "If this conversation is over I would very much wish to depart."

"Yes, because otherwise I can see you are very busy," Brandon shoots back.

"Que savez-vous de la façon dont je passe mon temps?" What do you know of how I spend my time? Anne snapped, turning on her heel and entering her son's nursery once more, unable to bare his presence any longer. A baby begins to cry loudly and Anne, momentarily forgetting her anger and frustration hurries over to the crib, picking Francis up tenderly and cradling him against her chest.

"Shh, mon amour," she shushes, rocking him gently, "Mama is here." She presses a gentle kiss to his dark crown, relieved that she will be able to watch him, Elizabeth and the rest of his brothers grow older, no longer plagued by the fear that she would be taken away.

She doesn't notice Suffolk watching her intently.

xii.

When Mary arrives, she does so with her husband and two children.

Anne abandons all sense of decorum when she pulls her older sister into a tight hug, suddenly realising just how much she had missed her presence over the past few years. Her husband is a handsome man, if a bit rugged, but he loves Mary with all his heart, that she can tell simply by looking at him. Anne, her daughter, is shy and timid, with rosy cheeks and a delicate laugh. Henry, her son, is polite yet easily distracted.

Elizabeth is thrilled to have kids her own age to play with once again.

The boys are baptised at last and Mary and her husband act as the godparents to George and Francis, with Elizabeth—and much to her dismay— and Brandon being Godparents to Mark and William. She was not there, as was the custom, but she listened with an amused smile as Elizabeth told her exasperatedly that they would not stop crying.

It isn't until Mary and Anne are alone in her chambers later that evening does Anne let her desperation.

"Oh Anne," Mary murmurs, pulling her into a tight hug as Anne's shoulders begin to shake, "What has he done to you?"

Anne shakes her head miserably, trying to choke down her sobs. "I am so sorry Mary," she tells her from where her head is buried against her chest, "I should not have sent you away—"

"Shh now," Mary tells her, "All has been forgiven long ago."

Anne pulls away from her so that she can look into her eyes.

"I am so glad that you are happy." Anne wants her to know that she means it with all of her heart. Mary smiles at her, soft and familiar, but there is an undeniable twinge of sadness in her eyes. "George. . ." Mary starts, swallowing loudly.

"It was quick," Anne said tonelessly, the execution playing out in her mind. Her fists were tight and her chest was hollow. She could not bare to think of his death for fear that she may start crying and never stop. There is a moment of sharp silence before Mary spoke, anger evident in her tone. "He made you watch?"

"No," Anne replied, a doleful smile on her lips, "I stacked up the chests by the window and stood on them to watch." She can remember it so vividly too, can remember the stricken look in her brothers eyes and the purple bruises under Marks. She can recall the shrieks of the crowd and the pain in her chest.

"I'm so sorry."

The words escape her lips before she can stop them.

"George is dead because of me—because I could not give the King a son." Anne snorts, a bitter expression plain on her features, "At least while we were married, anyway." Mary reaches over to squeeze her shoulder, a fierce expression in her eyes as she stares into Anne's own, preventing her from looking away. "Listen to me," she grounds out, her hand reaching for Anne's to squeeze it tightly, "None of this is your fault. It is Cromwell's and Father's and Norfolk's and his majesty—not yours. Never yours. You have just given birth to not one but four healthy sons Anne, despite the circumstances. You love so greatly."

Anne is at a loss for words.

Affection grows in her bosom as she looks at her elder sister and a deep-rooted thankfulness that comes from her very bones.

"Thank you," Anne finally whispers, "I do not know how to thank you."

They speak for hours on end into the night, finally settling themselves on Anne's large bed.

The candle has long since burned out, leaving the room in darkness. "Will he claim them?" Mary asks finally, into the darkness of the night. Anne shifts so that she can see the slight shadows of her sister's face. "I do not know," she admits, "Suffolk says that he is to decide when they are one year of age, to see if they resemble him."

"What is Suffolk doing here at a time like this?" Mary murmurs, "I know you do not like the man but I must say I feel sorry for him—"

"What, why?" Anne questioned sharply.

"You didn't know?" Mary replied, "His wife recently died of an illness not two months passed."

"Oh," Anne murmurs softly, raising a hand to her forehead.

Oh, indeed.

xiii.

Mary and her husband leave a month after they come to Pembroke (Christmastide had been a surprisingly joyful affair and everyone had loved their gifts, especially Elizabeth), leaving their children behind. Anne knew it had been difficult for Mary to part from them—if only for a few months each year— so they could receive a better education with Elizabeth. Mary had not been willing to be part from them permanently and had reluctantly agreed to them staying for three months each year before returning back to the Stafford estate.

Elizabeth is thrilled with the company, that Anne knows, and she herself is pleased that she is reconciled with her sister and that her daughter is happy. Her sons are growing fast and healthily and she has been left alone by the outside world. She hears not from court, only brief reports that Lewis tells her once a week when she breaks her fast. The only problem or issue that Anne has is Brandon.

Not that she sees him often— she had made an obvious effort to avoid his company and whenever she was forced to do so she made sure that the encounter was as quick as possible— but the thought of him being in her presence makes her skin scrawl with fear. He had been the one to take her to the tower. He had been pleased to watch her fall from the King's graces. He had despised her with every fibre of his being. Not that Anne did not return the sentiment, but now that she was on fragile ground it was difficult to be around him.

Though Anne was trying. For Elizabeth's and her son's sakes she was trying not to anger him, for fear of what he might say to the King.

Anne is sitting in a chair in the library, a book in one hand and an apple in the other. She is wearing a dark grey gown rimmed with fur and plain slippers. She is intensely focused on her reading, though she pauses to take a bite out of the thinning apple. Her sons are asleep and Elizabeth is at her lessons. She has dismissed her ladies for a short while, preferring to spend time alone. She does not notice the Duke of Suffolk entering the room until he clears his throat.

"Your grace," Anne mutters, acknowledging his presence, though her eyes do not lift up from the page. "Lady Marquess," he returns with equal enthusiasm. There is a moment of uncomfortable silence that drags on too long for Anne's liking. "Is there something I can help you with?" She asks stonily, regretfully giving him her attention. The Duke does not respond, instead choosing to role his eyes at her tone, turning his back to leave the room.

"Your grace," Anne calls out after him, rising from her chair. She feels oddly uncomfortable as she observes him, her words awkward on her tongue, though she would be damned if she showed it. "I was sorry to hear about your wife," She tells him, holding onto her book tightly with one hand. He blinks at her surprised, a variety of expressions circling in his blue eyes before he nods. "Thank you, madam."

He leaves the room without another word.

xiv.

Try as Anne might, however, her patience with the Duke runs thin. While they both may detest each other they had similar qualities; Anne and Charles were equally stubborn and hated admitting that they were wrong. The short period of peace that had developed after the scene in the library had faded by the time the quadruplets had turned 3 months old. Maybe it was because the Duke was obviously unhappy at Pembroke or because Anne did not want him there, she did not know. All she knew was that they were at each others throats at every given opportunity. She could not even begin to hide their animosity in front of Elizabeth any longer.

One night, after they had exchanged biting words in the outer rooms of her chambers, Anne finally had enough.

"I despise you," Anne tells him bluntly, dismissing her ladies with a flicker of her wrist.

"Likewise," Charles retorts, his cheeks flushed with anger.

Anne sighed tiredly, kneading her forehead with her fingers. "Can we at least try to maintain peace?" she asks him infuriatingly.

"As long as I am to stay here—"

"I never asked you to come here!" Anne snaps, her eyes wide with fury as she takes another step towards Brandon. They are so close together that their chests brush against each other, but neither seem to notice, too busy staring into each others eyes. "I detest you," Charles tells her, his blue eyes dark. "Likewise," Anne shoots back, echoing his words.

And then something changes.

There is anger, yes of course, and stubbornness and frustration but there is also a different kind of tension. One that makes a flush comes to her cheeks and her stomach tighten with anticipation. His eyes flicker down to her lips—once, twice and then—

In the months to come, Anne is not too sure which one of them leaned forward first, all she knows is that in one moment they were glaring at each other and the next their lips were fused together. Anne nearly stumbles backwards due to the sheer force of it and Charles wraps an arm around her waist to steady her. The kiss is hard and unforgiving—brutal almost. Their teeth clash and they both tug at the others scalp, each unwilling to back down.

They are both stubborn and passionate.

Fire and fire make an even bigger fire and their hatred serves to engulf them completely as their lips tug and pull together furiously. They both pull back for air simultaneously, staring into each others eyes with a sense of wonder for a split moment and before sense can talk them both out of it their lips find each other once more. Anne stumbles back into the wall with a small gasp, a flare of anger erupting under her skin at Brandon's smirk. She tugs on his lower lip and slides her hands down to the front of his breeches, smirking at his muffled groan.

And then—

Their need does not allow them to undress fully. Anne merely tugs down Brandon's breaches and he shoves the skirt of her dress up as he pins her against the wall, wrapping her legs around his waist. They moan in unison when they finish a good while later and it takes a moment in her haziness to realise what they had just done.

"We should not have done that," Anne says, gently lowering her legs from where they were wrapped around his waist. Charles looks at her, his lips swollen and his hair mussed up. "No," he agrees, swiping at his lips, though she can feel his gaze stripping her bare. Anne is sore—deliciously sore. She can feel the messiness of her curls and the redness of her lips. She feels strangely peaceful; all the hatred and hanger having been drained from her.

"We should not have."

Their eyes meet again and maybe in that moment Anne was possessed by some lunacy or enchantment but she could not make herself regret what they had done. It was stupid, that she knew, if Henry ever caught wind of what they done both of their heads would be on spikes. Anne had every intention of telling him to forget it and that it would never happen again, truly she does but something dark and malicious within herself does not let her.

Perhaps it is because he looks like Henry, she thinks, observing him, or maybe it is because I want to hurt Henry as badly as he hurt me. Anne shakes her head, shoving those thoughts into the deepest compartments of her mind. "Will you tell his majesty?" She asks him quietly, her eyes downcast.

Much to her surprise, he snorts out loud, shaking his head. "Not if I wish to have my own head cut off." Anne's lips quirk upwards and she laughs loudly for the first time in what feels like centuries. She giggles as she realises their predicament; I just lay with the man who took me to the tower on charges of adultery! The thought just makes her howl even louder and by then Charles is laughing too, his shoulders shaking.

"Oh God," Anne says, her eyes bright with tears due to the sheer force of her laughter. "We are both mad," she declares, her giggles finally dying, being replaced by an undeniable sadness. This time, when a tear slides down her cheek, she lets it.

What is wrong with me?

xv.

It is strange, the relationship that grows between them afterwards.

They are not lovers, not yet friends but they are companions.

Anne can finally stand to be in his presence without fearing that he will take her away again on some trumped up charge. Charles begins to spend time with Elizabeth and Anne is weary of the growing attachment her daughter has to him, fearful that it would break her heart when he left on the day of her brother's birth. They lay with each other again after the first time (Anne had been told by Eleanor that she would never again conceive after the birth of the boys)—they are both careful but if Anne were to be honest with herself she does not think that her ladies or the rest of her household would care— but they still do not talk or grow affectionate.

Until—

Anne is sitting by newly lit fireplace with Elizabeth in her lap and the boys beside them in each of their lavish carriers. Anne is pressing a kiss to Elizabeth's head, reading a story to her and her siblings. "The Princess—"

"What was her name?" interrupts Elizabeth, her eyes wide.

"Why Elizabeth of course," Anne gasps, showering her daughter's face with kisses. Anne delights in her giggles and casts a glance towards her son's. All of their eyes are wide as Anne waves at them, causing them to hiccup in unison. Elizabeth laughs delightedly, sliding off her lap to play with her brothers. Nan takes the book out from her outstretched hand and Anne slides off her chair to join Elizabeth in front of her son's, a wide smile on her face as she bends down to press kisses onto their little hands. "Oh my darlings," she utters, overwhelmed by her love for them.

Her knees start to tire after a little while, so she moves to stand, now taking notice of the Duke of Suffolk in the doorway. "Your grace," she acknowledges, walking across the room to stand next to him. As Anne observes, she notices how his eyes are wide with realisation, as though he had suddenly discovered something new that shocked him. That changed him somehow. "You love your children," he stated, as though the thought only just occurred to him now.

Anne raises an eyebrow at him, simultaneously confused and insulted. "I beg your pardon?"

His cheeks flush as he realises what he said.

"What I meant, Lady Marquess, is that. . . I have never seen someone love their child so deeply since I witnessed the Dowager Princess with Lady Mary." Anne stiffens at the mention of Katherine though something within her trembles with shame as she remembers all the horrible thoughts she had had about the former Queen and her daughter over the past few years. "Perhaps we were not as different as you made us out to be," Anne tells him.

"Your grace!" Elizabeth gasps from across the room, curtsying appropriately before moving towards them, a bright smile painted on her features. "Lady Elizabeth!" He responds, lowering himself to her height. Anne observes the two of them together, taking notice of how genuine Brandon's smile is. It was not difficult for her to believe that he was under Elizabeth's spell; her daughter was a charming girl, even when she was so young. She had a captivating presence and was immediately the centre of everyones attention whenever she entered a room. He has a son, Anne reminds herself, he must miss him. The Duke had been at Pembroke ever since she had birthed the boys and he had never received any other visitors nor had he left the estate. He had not seen his son for months.

When Elizabeth is eventually summoned to the rest of her afternoon lessons, Anne turns to Brandon and says, "Your son may come to visit if you wish." Surprise flickers across his face as his mouth opens. "Thank you, my lady," he tells her sincerely. Anne nods, a small smile forming on her lips.

From that day on, they become allies, if not even friends.

They are in Anne's chambers, having just lain together when he asks:

"What if you become with child?"

Anne had had her back to him and the tresses of her dark locks brush against the small of her back when she turns to look at him, pulling the corner of the sheet up so it covers her breasts. "Lady Eleanor told me that I will never be able to conceive again, after the birth of the boys." There is a small, almost unrecognisable hint of bitterness in her voice and he notices it, if the way he frowns at her says anything.

"This only began to bother you now?" Anne asks him, quirking one eyebrow up at him. He laughs airily, laying on his back to stare up at the canopy. "Yes," he admits, wiping a hand over his face. There is a moment of silence before Anne leans over to the bedside table, pouring them both to glasses of wine. "I am bored," she declares, passing him his glass once he had risen against the headboard. He rolls his eyes at her before muttering, "Fine, my lady. Then let us play a game of truths. We both say a statement, for example I ask, what is your most pleasant memory, we both share our stories and whoever does not have the best one, has to drink from their cup."

Anne nods, intrigued, leaning against the bedpost. "You start," she commands softly, swirling the wine in her cup. "Alright," Brandon allows, thinking intently for a moment. "Who is the person you have admired the most?"

Anne replies without hesitation, "Margaret of Austria, as she was incredibly wise and intelligent. She was once told us, if you trust in those who service you, you will find yourself in the ranks of those who have been deceived." Brandon is quiet for a moment, before letting out a chuckle and taking a swing of his cup. "You did not share your story," Anne points out amusedly. He shakes his head at her, a wry smile appearing on his face as he replied, "I was going to say my dance master as a child." Anne laughs loudly at this, shaking her head at him. He laughs as well as he admits, "I am atrocious at it— he used to refer to me as Le désespéré. The hopeless."

"He does not sound as though he was fond of you."

"He wasn't; but his patience in trying to pretend he did was admirable."

Anne shook her head at him but began to think of what she wished to know. "Hmmm," she pondered, stroking her chin, "What is the worst punishment you have ever received as a child?"

They spend the next hour or so, talking and laughing, sharing stories with an ease that Anne supposes should make her cautious, but instead serves to bring her comfort. When their glasses are nearly empty however, and their laughs have died down, Anne asks him the one question that she is truly curious to know the answer to.

"Why did the King send you here?" she asks him. She is lying next to him now, their wine glasses forgotten on the beside table. Charles—Anne is not quite sure when he became Charles to her, all she knew was that within the span of a moment he was once His grace and then Charles, similar to how she had become Anne to him— inhales sharply and Anne can feel his body tighten. "I said something," he says faintly, as though he was reliving the memory, "Something that displeased his majesty and so he sent me here as punishment."

Anne looks up at him, causing him to meet her gaze. She takes advantage of his vulnerability so that she swings her legs over his hips, so that she is now sitting on top of him, completely bare. "And is your punishment truly so horrible?" she asks coyly, turning her head so that her brown locks were brought over to one side. The mention of Henry had caused something within her to stir and she desperately wished to forget him, the same way she was sure Charles wished to forget his wife. "No," he admits truthfully, his eyes darkening as he places his hands on her hips, anchoring her, "No it is not so bad."

And then they lost themselves in each other, desperate to forget the two people who still haunted their hearts.

xvi.

Anne enjoyed the peace that Pembroke brought her.

She had once thrived on court life, under Henry's loving gaze, but now she found herself being far happier on her estates than she was during her last months at court. She had no desire to return, and had no intention of doing so until—

"The Queen has invited the Lady Elizabeth to Court," Charles says, breaking the silence.

They had all taken to breaking their fasts with each other at least once a week. It was a gloomy day in April, and rain was hitting the window with a great intensity. Elizabeth looked up from her food, confused. Henry had not sent letters to Elizabeth at all since he had sent Anne to Pembroke, and had neither given her gifts on her birthday or at Christmastide, much to Anne's anger. Elizabeth hardly ever asked her of her father anymore, having grown to accept—even if though Anne could see it saddened her— that her father did not wish to see her.

"What?" Anne asked flatly, her heart beginning to quicken with panic—and fear.

"The Queen has asked for the Lady Elizabeth and his majesty has expressed desire to see her once again."

Which meant that Anne could not say no or say that Elizabeth had become ill.

"Mama may I please go?" Elizabeth asks, looking at her pleadingly. Anne tightens her jaw and her grip on her utensils tighten so greatly that her hand grows red. "Very well," Anne says, nodding her ascent, "We must order new dresses from the Seamstress." Elizabeth squeals excitedly but Anne meets Charles's grave eyes from across the table. "I shall go with her."

Anne winces at the sudden clatter that echoes through the room as a result of Charles slamming his cup down in surprise. There is a beat; a moment.

"Have I upset his grace?" Anne asks cooly, suddenly filled to the brim with a cold fury.

"No," he replies stiffly, "Madam you have not."

In the week to come, Anne tries not to grow unsure of her decision. Mary had also written to her of her worries when Anne had mentioned that she would be returning to court, and had asked her to tread carefully. Anne had every intention of doing so; she desired with all her heart to return to Pembroke; to her sons, with Elizabeth at her sides. The only reason that Anne was joining her daughter was because she feared what would happen. If she would be mistreated or perhaps even poisoned by her enemies or if Henry would treat her with coldness and anger. Anne would not leave her daughter alone to the wolves. Never. For as long as she lived, Anne would protect her with every fibre of her being.

Charles however, disapproved.

It was not as though he voiced it openly and often but it was in his eyes every time Elizabeth mentioned their upcoming travel—he had been summoned to court as well— and in the way his fists clenched when Anne received their new dresses from the seamstress. Anne did not have the patience nor the desire to speak with him; her resolve was already quite thin.

On the day of they were meant to leave, Anne found herself in her son's nursery, holding George in her arms. "Farewell my love," she whispered, pressing a gentle kiss onto the crown of his head. She laid him back down and did the same with Francis and Mark, her heart aching to be part from them. The three of them had been quiet but William had begun to shriek in her arms, as though he were trying to stop her from leaving. "Shh my heart," she whispered fervently, pressing kisses to his head as he wailed, "I will return, I promise you, my dark-haired prince."

They left Pembroke shortly after first light and Anne wondered as to whether or not she would make it back.

xvii.

They arrive in London two days later, to crowd filled streets. Anne can hear their shouts from within the carriage and holds onto Elizabeth's hand, who is smiling at her bravely. Anne lifts their joint hands to place a kiss on her daughter's and casts her a small smile, which quickly dissolves once the carriage comes to a stop. Once the door opens and her ladies exit, Anne moves with Elizabeth out of the carriage, suddenly bombarded by the people of London. Elizabeth was holding onto a pouch of money that she wished to distribute, with Anne's ladies holding her own one, but Anne was suddenly wary of the idea. Elizabeth however, looked unafraid at the sight of the endless crowd and when she moved forward, Anne had no choice but to follow her.

Elizabeth had long since let go of her hand and began to distribute money under the watchful eye of the guards that accompanied them. Anne did so next to her, casting out distracted smiles, busy looking out for her daughter. "God Bless you Madam!" some yelled.

"A true princess!"

"Your majesty welcome home!"

"Bless you!"

"The Kings Daughter!"

Anne smiled with bemusement; if only they had shown her such support when she had first become Queen. Anne remembered how the streets of London had been empty and how those who had shown up called her a whore and had hollow, angry expressions. She caught Charles eye, suddenly realising that he had known of her sudden rise in popularity and that he did not mention it for a reason.

Her heart beat quickened drastically as she waved at the crowd, gently placing a hand on Elizabeth's shoulder to push her towards the castle doors. "But Mama—"

"We must hurry Elizabeth," Anne cuts her off firmly, leaving the shouts of the crowd behind them. Charles moves next to her when the doors shut behind them and his presence is surprisingly comforting. "The King and Queen are awaiting your arrival in the main hall," a messenger told them curtly, "Follow me." Anne exhales sharply moving forward. They left the entrance hall and followed the messenger into a long corridor that was dimly lit, though Anne could hear the echoes of the court from where she was. There laughter and shouts— Anne remembered court vividly. Remembers how while there could be joy and laughter—it was like a battlefield but instead of swords and arrows there were whispers and cutting smiles.

Charles moves his hand to brush against hers—just for a split second but it is long enough for Anne to turn her head to look at him, knowing that it was not an accident. She can not thank him aloud so she shows him with her eyes, genuinely grateful for his support. They reach the end of the hall and Anne does not have enough time to exhale before the doors are opened, exposing them to the courts view. The room instantly grows silent at the sight of them, the tension so thick no knife could cut through it. Anne keeps her head held high, her eyes focused on the front of the room. She can not see Henry or Jane but she keeps her gaze there as they move forward, her heartbeat echoing in her ears. She keeps a blank expression on her face and does not glance towards the parted crowds, though she can hear their whispers. Elizabeth reaches for her hand and it is only then that Anne turns her head to look at her, a small encouraging smile forming on her lips. Anne had made sure that Elizabeth was dressed to the finest— her daughter was dressed in a splendid green gown that brought out the redness of her curls, which had been let down, though the crowd of her head was graced by a golden head band. Anne herself was dressed in a blue gown that was adorned with purple embroidery and wore simple jewellery.

Elizabeth's eyes were unsure under the protruding stares and occasional glares coming from the crowd. Anne raised her eyes, instinctively sending them fierce looks that caused most to avert their gaze. Calmed, Anne turned to the front once more, finally catching sight of—

Oh.

Oh.

Her heart ached tremendously at the sight of Henry. She felt as though she were being split into two— part of her wanted to scream at the sight of him due to her hatred and anger towards him, but another part of part simply wanted to weep. We could have had it all, she thinks, fighting the urge to scratch at her skin with her sudden frustration. Anne caught sight of Jane Seymour next to Henry and she could not deny that it stung immensely to see her with a crown on her head. But with no child in her belly, some part of her deep down whispered. Quiet, she thought harshly to herself, you must think of Elizabeth.

Anne curtsied along with Elizabeth once they stopped in front of Hen— the King, keeping her gaze lowered to the floor.

"Your majesty," Anne uttered, not looking up from the ground—though she desperately wanted to, with every fibre of her being— waiting for the King or Mistress Seymour to acknowledge her. It pained Anne greatly to be so. . . obedient but she knew that her sudden pardon was on fragile ground; if she were to upset Henry or Jane she would be sent back to the tower and beheaded at a moments notice, leaving Elizabeth, George, Mark, Francis and William alone in the world. She would not let that happen. Never. Even if she had to kiss Jane Seymour's hand and smile at her.

"Lady Marquess," Henry acknowledged, his voice cool. The court was so silent Anne felt as though she would hear it if a feather was dropped onto the floor.

Anne lifted her head for a split second, rising from her curtsey and offered a small smile— that she had to force on her face— and when she saw Henry's eyes flicker to Elizabeth her insides tightened with tension. As if sensing her unease, Elizabeth grabbed ahold of her one hand, causing Anne to look down at her. Looking at her daughter; so alike in looks with her father, Anne could not help but smile encouragingly.

"Your majesty," Elizabeth said, her voice sounding much more pleasant than hers had. Henry's eyes were cold as he stared at her; for a moment he looked as though he were inspecting her before he smiled warmly at her, causing Anne to exhale with relief. "Elizabeth," Henry called out, opening his arms out as he stood from his throne. Elizabeth sent her a questioning look to make sure that it was alright and Anne nodded her permission, giving her a small, insincere smile. Elizabeth needed no further prompting and ran towards her father, giggling happily. It pained Anne to see them together, as though nothing had changed over the past year. As though he had not had her imprisoned and nearly killed and declared Elizabeth a bastard in the eyes of the law and God.

She was half tempted to stride over and shake him senseless.

Charles moved to stand next to her, watching Elizabeth and Henry with a blank expression. Anne looked at him from the corner of her eye, looking for something, anything that would indicate what he was thinking. Alas, she could not find anything and so she resolved to act the same, carefully painting her features into a blank expression that revealed nothing of her inner thoughts. Anne watched as Elizabeth greeted Jane and nearly sighed with relief when her daughter's smile did not falter. Anne was surprised to hear a loud exhale come out from Charles lips as he watched Jane with Elizabeth.

He's worried, Anne realised, blinking rapidly, he's scared for Elizabeth. Years later, Anne would look upon this moment with remnants of confusion; something inside her snapped. Cracked, more like. A sliver of warmness tightened around her heart like a knot, squeezing tightly. Thank you she wanted to mouth, but she knew it was far too dangerous for her to do so. One of her many enemies would seize upon such a moment like a hungry vulture.

"Il est un famille!" Some courtiers were calling out.

Anne did not know when the Lady Mary had been invited to court but she had to physically restrain herself from rolling her eyes when she saw her standing next to the King and Elizabeth. No doubt this was Seymour's doing, she thought darkly, how sweet of her. Anne breathed in deeply, waiting for Elizabeth to return to her side. Anne let her gaze wonder around court, taking note of the various familiar and non-familiar faces that all had one thing in common; they avoided her gaze. There were the Seymour's and their allies; the Spanish and French Ambassador, several other ladies that had flocked around court during her reign— and then there was the Duke of Norfolk, her uncle. Unlike the others, who were too busy staring at the King and Queen and their 'family' , he was looking at the ground, as though he knew she were watching him. Anne had dreamt of the moment where she would see him again, she had wondered as to whether or not she would hate him or be hurt that he had not rushed to her defence when she had first been charged but now she found that she was. . . empty. Void.

Anne had no interest in wasting any more of her time on people who no longer deserved it.

"Mama!" Elizabeth cried happily once the music commenced, bounding over to her. "My love," Anne replied, quickly smiling at her daughter, pressing a kiss to her cheek. Elizabeth quickly caught Charles attention and Anne watched with a careful expression, wary that some would catch onto the relationship she had with him or spread rumours that he was Elizabeth's father. Charles glanced at her, and as though he read her mind, quietly said something to Elizabeth that caused her to return to her father's side, though a smile remained on her face.

Anne was careful to keep an eye on Elizabeth as few people began to come and greet her—very few people, who did so quickly and abruptly— plastering a smile on her face so as not to draw attention to herself.

When Anne was eventually escorted to her chambers—which were next to Elizabeth's— she nearly collapsed onto the bed, exhausted. Being here was painful—every inch of the castle reminded her of the days when she was Queen, and the paranoia and fear that came with it. She had been left alone for the most part and had preferred it that way.

Let me hope it stays that way, Anne thought, right before she fell asleep.

xviii

The boy standing in front of her was the split image of his father. With his brown hair that reached the nape of his neck, and blue eyes that were the colour of the sky, Henry Brandon was identical to his father.

"It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, my lord," Anne tells him, casting him a small smile. They are in one of the courtyards that leads to the gardens. Anne and Elizabeth had been walking there when they had bumped into Charles with his son.

"Merci, madame Marquess. C'est un plaisir de vous rencontrer et votre fille aussi," Henry replied, causing Anne's lips to twitch with amusement.

"Merci Monsieur!" Elizabeth chirped, curtsying to the boy, who quickly offered a bow.

"We will let you be on your way," Charles told them eventually, cupping his son's shoulder. Anne met his eyes for a moment and nodded, knowing that it was wise for them not to be seen as enjoying each others company. "Good day, your grace," Anne said in return and then watched with Elizabeth as they walked away.

"He seems very nice Mama," Elizabeth told her, looking up at Anne, her cheeks rosy under the suns rays. "Indeed he does," Anne agreed, her tone playful, "You'll make sure that your brothers also end up as nice?"

"Of course Mama!" Elizabeth agreed heartily, causing Anne to laugh gently.

Her laughter disappeared at the sight of one of the royal messengers approaching them and her body quickly stiffened, her hold on Elizabeth's shoulder tightening.

"May I help you?" Anne asks coldly, her jaw tightening.

"My lady Marquess, the Queen has sent me to extend an invite to the Lady Elizabeth to join her for lunch, if you would be willing." The man spoke as if he had not heard her. Outwardly, Anne was sure to keep a calm expression but her insides bristled at his words. Stupid blonde wench, Anne thought angrily, carefully masking her displeasure.

"Of course," Anne said pleasantly, tilting her head, "Would she like for Elizabeth to come now?"

"Yes," the man replied.

Anne looked down at Elizabeth and frowned slightly when she took notice of her slightly troubled expression. "Give us a moment," Anne told him and then gently pulls Elizabeth off to the side so he could not hear what they were saying. "What's wrong sweetheart?" she asked gently, cupping her cheeks. "I. . .is she my mama too?" Elizabeth questioned quietly, "Because I only want one Mama—I don't know why she is Queen—"

"Elizabeth," Anne interrupted firmly, her heart rising to her throat, "That woman is Queen and a fair and just one. Your father loves her dearly and I never want to hear you say anything bad about her to anyone, is that understood?" It pained Anne to reprimand her daughter so sternly but Anne knew it had to be done. If anyone, anyone, heard Elizabeth speaking ill of Jane, Anne would be blamed for influencing her daughter to hate the Queen and as a result, she would be put to death, leaving Elizabeth and her brothers to the mercy of the Seymour's and the anger of the King. Elizabeth nodded, her expression solemn. Anne offered her a quick, hurried smile before they returned to the messenger, following him without a word.

They arrive there within moments—even though the Queen's chambers were quite far from where they were— and Anne has barely a moment to compose herself before the doors open and they are escorted in. The Queen's ladies are there in one side of the room, standing there obediently as the observe Jane Seymour and Mary at the table. Anne can feel her jaw lock at the sight of the late Katherine's daughter but there is also remnants of guilt; Anne is not proud of some of the things she said about the Lady Mary during her time as Queen and even before then but that does not mean that Anne still does not feel slightly threatened by her, even though she knows that it is foolish to do so.

Anne and Elizabeth curtsy deeply when the Seymour girl rises and it takes every single part of Anne's control to not look her right in the eye.

"Lady Elizabeth," Jane says brightly, causing Elizabeth to murmur, "Your majesty." Anne had to bite down on her tongue so a scoff did not escape her mouth. It made her want to vomit; she would not call Jane Seymour of all people Queen if she could help it.

"Lady Marquess." There was only a small hint of surprise in the blonde woman's voice— and an even smaller hint of displeasure. Anne lifted her head to meet the woman's eyes and it took a great deal of effort for her to mask her hatred. She was largely responsible for the death of her son, she actively rubbed the King's affection in her face whist she was pregnant. Jane delighted in her downfall and played an active role in her downfall.

"Madame," Anne replied, clasping her hands in front of herself modestly. Jane's smile did not reach her eyes as a flash of annoyance appeared in her eyes before disappearing. "I did not know that you would be joining us for luncheon, my invitation was only to the Lady Elizabeth." Anne bit down her lip to hide her scowl.

"Forgive me—" Anne was sure to keep her voice light and airy— "I merely wished to keep an eye on my daughter and make sure that she was well cared for. A mother's love is a truly possessive thing—I am sure that when you eventually become a mother yourself you will understand."

Anne smiled widely at the disgruntled woman and then reverted her gaze to the Lady Mary. "Lady Mary," Anne greeted, her voice sounding less sweet but all the more genuine in her heart, "I am glad to see you well." If the young lady was surprised at her words, she did a good job of hiding it. "Thank you Madame," is all she said in return, her features set in stone. Anne nodded at her in acknowledgement, understanding that the girl had no interest in interacting with her and she was more than willing to comply.

There was several moments of awkward silence before Anne finally had enough. Unfortunately for her, however, Jane began to talk at the same time.

"I shall take my leave—"

"I ask of you to stay—"

They both stopped talking at once and though it pained Anne to do so, she let the Queen continue on speaking.

"Since you are already here, your grace, you may as well stay with us." The way she said it made it sound like an offer but Anne knew—and she bristled at the fact— that it was a command. "As you command," Anne replied, curtsying. Anne observed as Jane's ladies hurriedly brought up another chair to the table and quickly set about fetching another pair of utensils. Anne sat next to Elizabeth at the rectangular table, at the head was Jane, and in front of her was Mary.

The silence was so tense and awkward that Elizabeth reached for her hand under the table and squeezed it tightly. Anne returned the gesture.

"Thank you for inviting my daughter and I to court," Anne said, looking at Jane.

Jane made sure to not look at her as she replied, instead she smiled at Elizabeth, which to Anne looked as though someone was pulling at her cheeks with strings. "I wished for the Lady Elizabeth to be reconciled with her father, Madame, he missed her so dearly, as I am sure she missed him."

"I give you my thanks, your majesty," Elizabeth replied obediently, her tone formal and regal. Anne was immeasurably proud of her in that moment, her sweet darling, intelligent girl. The best daughter a mother could ever ask for. "I dearly missed my father."

"I assume you have been busy with your studies," Jane began, just as servants began to serve the first course, "How is your new governess?"

Anne observed the conversation quietly, ready to step in if Elizabeth floundered, but her daughter showed no sign of nervousness as she conversed with her step mother. She looked comfortable and serious so like— so like Henry. The similarities between them were undeniable.

"My new governess, Lady Ashley, is very agreeable and has taught me well, almost as much as my lady mother."

Jane and Mary looked at her now, one sharply and the other blankly.

"The King and I had no idea that you were partaking and helping with Elizabeth's lessons, Lady Marquess," Jane stated, sounding slightly alarmed.

Anne, however, was calm.

"I merely converse with my daughter in french, Madame, in order to help improve her enjoyment and knowledge in learning the language. That is as far as my role goes in terms of my daughter's education."

"And do you enjoy learning languages Elizabeth?" Mary asked, speaking for the first time since they had sat at the table.

Elizabeth looked at her sister, a more happier expression appearing on her features now that she was talking to her sister rather than Jane. Anne had obviously been aware that Mary had served Elizabeth whilst she had been a princess, but she had no idea how far their relationship went. How affectionate they were with each other, if they were at all.

"Very much, Lady Mary. I enjoy my learning."

"But surely you enjoy embroidery and playing as well," Jane inserted, eyeing the interaction between the sisters.

"Yes, your majesty," Elizabeth agreed, "I enjoy playing with my brothers very much."

Anne had been drinking wine from her cup at the time and it took a great deal of effort for her to not spit it out. She managed to purse her lips and swallow the wine as she watched the varying degrees of expressions flutter across Jane Seymour's face. Jane was at a loss of how to reply. Sensing her distress, Lady Mary came to her stepmother's rescue.

"And how are your sons, Lady Anne?" she asked, "I beg your pardon but I happen to not know much about them, not even their names."

"Their names," Anne began sternly, unaware of the door opening behind her, "Are George, Mark, Francis and William, Lady Mary and they are doing quite well, thank you."

"And what wonderful names they are," The King's cool voice spoke from behind her.

Anne nearly jumped up in fright, standing up immediately and turning around to face him. His face was planted into a firm, emotionless mask but Anne could see rage swirling in his eyes and in that moment she was so frightened it took her breath away.

"Your majesty," she murmured, trying to control the rapid beating of her heart.

She heard the other ladies rise from their chairs as well and Elizabeth murmur next to her, "Your majesty."

Henry's gaze flickered to Elizabeth and his features softened slightly and yet Anne was still not at ease. Her gaze moved to the figure behind him and she was surprised to see Charles staring at her. She remembered that he had said that the King had sent him to Pembroke as punishment and she wondered briefly if he was planning on returning to the King's favour now that he was back at court.

"My Queen," Henry greeted, moving over to Jane to kiss her hands. Anne locked her jaw at the sight, a warm fury setting her chest on fire as she watched him gaze at Jane with a fondness that had once been reserved for her, all thoughts of Charles forgotten. She quickly averted her eyes to the ground, slightly fearful that she would not be able to hold her tongue. Her position was precarious and fragile, one slip of the tongue and she was doomed.

"Elizabeth," Henry called out warmly, after he had said his greetings to the Lady Mary. Elizabeth walked over to her father calmly before curtsying once more, "Your majesty." It was quite unlike the interaction between the two yesterday and Anne observed Henry as he frowned at their daughter before he redirected his gaze towards her, as if she was to blame for her sudden change in behaviour.

Anne refused to look down and met his gaze, daring him to blame her for something that was obviously his fault. He had not greeted her and had treated her coldly in front of their daughter, how else was Elizabeth meant to react, especially after everything that had happened. "I was not aware that you were joining the Queen for luncheon, Lady Marquess," he told her, placing a fatherly hand on Elizabeth's shoulder.

"The Queen was kind enough to invite me to stay when I accompanied Elizabeth here, your majesty," she replied cooly, trying to mask her inner turmoil. The King nodded at her words and then averted his gaze from hers as though he could not bare to look at her any longer.

Anne frowned slightly and turned her head slightly to meet Charles gaze. Don't say anything, his eyes warned, making her nod discretely. "I will take my leave with your permission, your majesty," Anne stated, clasping her hands together. The King nodded and before she left she cast a smile in Elizabeth's direction, making the young girls features light up. She nodded at Lady Mary and the Queen and then left the room, brushing past Charles as she went.

She exhaled loudly when the door shut behind her, her heart sinking in her chest. Oh Dear God, she thought, placing a hand on her chest as she stopped walking once she had turned a corner and was far enough away from the Queen's chambers. She did not have to wait long for Charles to join her.

"You are playing a dangerous game," he told her quietly.

Anne snapped her eyes up to meet his, suddenly annoyed.

"I am not playing any games, your grace," she snapped, careful to keep her voice low.

He scoffed slightly, causing her to grow even more infuriated. "Mentioning your sons names, their wellbeing—"

"The Lady Mary asked—"

"When the Queen is not yet pregnant and has shown no sign of being so despite almost a year of marriage? You have not heard the jokes and rumours about the King—about how you made a fool out of him by giving birth to not one but four healthy sons after he had your marriage annulled, when the very reason he had done so was because you had not given him any!"

"I am aware of that!" she hissed, no longer caring that they were in a very public place, "But in case you have forgotten, if I show any slight or hatred towards the King's sweetheart or his beloved eldest daughter I will have my head on a spike before I can even finish pleading for mercy! He hates me Charles—he can not even bare to look at me. He is merely waiting for the right moment to condemn me for a crime that I never committed!"

Charles fell silent at her words, knowing that they were true.

When she turned to leave, he grabbed a hold of her elbow but before she could say anything she yanked it out of his hands, snarling into his face, "Do not follow me."

xix.

Anne is reunited with Elizabeth shortly before the festivities for the evening, her anger having long since cooled. Her daughter is dressed in a splendid and newly made gold coloured gown that makes her appear even more beautiful to Anne's eyes, though she had not that previously possible.

The festivities are well under way when they make their way to the great hall and Anne smiles when she takes note of all the dancing and music that she had once enjoyed dearly. Now, she merely observed the festivities with a cool expression, eager to remain on the sidelines.

Unbeknownst to her, other people had something different in mind.

It did not take long for Henry to shower Elizabeth with presents—a late birthday present he called it, as Elizabeth marvelled at her new jewels— and as Anne watched from the sidelines, Charles appeared next to her, watching Elizabeth intently. "She seems happy," he commented, causing Anne to look at him sharply. "She does," Anne agreed, some remnant's of anger remaining from this afternoon. There was a moment before he responded and when he did Anne was slightly taken aback by his sincerity, "I am sorry for what I said earlier, it was not my place to comment on what you do and don't decide to do with your children."

What was his place? Anne wondered. He was there to report her movements to Henry but— they were friends now, allies even. They had explored each others bodies in the most intimate way known to man. She knew that he had a dimple on his spine and a scar on the back of his knee; she knew that Elizabeth was fond of him and he of her and that if it not been for him, she would have become lonely long ago.

"I know," she said finally, unaware that a few people were watching their interaction with suspicious eyes, "I know."

Anne returned to watching Elizabeth and Charles left her side to go to the King. Anne watched the two men interact from the corner of her eye, her body slightly tensing. Suddenly aware of a few eyes on her, she snapped her head to the side to meet the people's gazes, watching as a few people instantly looked away and others—like the Seymour's— glare at her viciously.

"Madame."

Anne blinked rapidly with surprise and turned to look at the french ambassador in front of her.

"Your excellency," she murmured, curtsying. "C'est un plaisir de te revere." It is a pleasure seeing you again.

"Likewise," he responded, pressing a kiss to her hand. Anne observed him carefully, gently retracting her hand from his lips. "Have a pleasant evening," is all he said, with understanding in his eyes as he walked away. "Merci Monsieur," she echoed, even though he was too far now to hear her.

Henry Brandon came up to her after that, with his father a few feet behind him.

"Would you like to dance Madame?" he asked her shyly, his cheeks flushing a bright red. Anne met Charles's gaze and raised her eyebrows at him before quickly nodding at the boy, for once a genuine smile gracing her features.

Charles POV

He watched Anne dance with son, watching as she tossed her head back and laughed kindly at Henry's actions, making his son giggle as well. He took a swing from his cup, trying to release the tension in his body. Henry had still not fully forgiven him but he was not as angry with him as before. That did not mean that he had yet been released from his charge at Pembroke— not that he necessarily wanted to be.

Charles no longer minded it there, he was beginning to discover. More importantly, he was finding that he actually wanted to be there. The only thing he truly missed was his son.

Other than that, however. . .

Charles did not let himself finish that sentence.

He did not notice that Thomas Seymour stood beside him until he began to speak.

"I had no idea that you and the Marquess were so close," he commented lightly.

Charles had had no qualms with Thomas beforehand, but at that moment he wishes to smack that taunting expression off of his face.

"I am her charge per his majesty's command," is all he replied, taking another sip from his cup.

"Oh how I hope the countryside has done you well."

"Thank you for your kind wishes Sir," Charles muttered before brushing past him, unwilling to listen to him wine.

He feels a pair of eyes on him and he turns around to watch see Anne watching him intently, a serious expression now painted on her features.

They were treading on dangerous waters, with everything on the line.

xx.

They had been at court for three weeks when Anne caught wind of the rumours.

"I heard that they've been lovers since before she was accused of adultery," she hears one women whisper from around the corner. "Lady Anne and the Duke of Suffolk—"

Anne stiffens at the sound and rushes away from them, her heart racing in her chest.

She finds Charles in the gardens with his son practicing archery, and he must recognise the slightly crazed expression on her face because he walks up to meet her.

"There are rumours," Anne tells him hurriedly, trying to mask her panic, "That we were—are— lovers and if Henry hears—"

"Damn," he swore, "That damned Thomas Seymour has been sniffing around us like a dog. He's been whispering in the King's ear—"

Anne felt her heart drop.

"Henry has heard these rumours?" she asked horrifiedly, "I am done for."

Charles scoffed and shook his head, "Thomas has been planning on having me sent back to my estates or reinstated at court and plans on having one his men become your charge and be the head of your household—"

"No," Anne snapped, "Never."

"Do not worry," he told her, "I think I have an idea."

—

Two days later, when they were in the great hall for the entertainment, Charles's plan came to a halt.

It was the Seymour's —Anne was sure of it— that planted the idea into the King's mind. As part of Charles's plan, they were at opposite sides of the room from the other, with Anne sitting with her ladies and Charles flirting abashedly with some maiden. He had been making sure to bed plenty of them and made no attempt to hide his recent exploits from the court. Elizabeth had long since gone to bed and Anne had let herself drink more than she usually did.

She watched Thomas Seymour (the Queen had not joined the festivities tonight, claiming illness) whisper something into the King's ear from afar and when Anne caught sight of the dark expression on his face she felt a chill craw up her spine. No, she thought desperately, her heart seizing in her chest, please don't—

Henry rose from his throne and clapped his hands loudly, bringing the music to a sudden halt.

"I wish to watch a Volta," he commanded, his eyes flashing, "But since my precious Queen is not in good health and I have no desire to dance with another woman, I am unable to do such a dance." There was a moment of tense silence before Henry called out, "Charles, show off your dancing abilities to the court—for your sake I hope they have improved since when you were a child!" Some people in the crowd chittered at the jest but Anne did not even crack a smile, watching as Charles made his way to the centre of the room.

She closed her eyes, waiting:

She remembered the last time she had danced a volta; it was the night when she had conceived her ill-fated son. It had been the first sign of passion and affection from Henry in months.

"Lady Anne!" Henry called out, as if reading her mind, "I have not seen you dance yet since you arrived at court, what a splendid opportunity to show of your skills." Anne exhaled before rising from her chair and making her way towards Charles, trying to ignore everyone's stares.

Anne clenched her jaw, trying her best not to do the same with her fists. She curtsied at Henry before doing the same to Charles, watching as he did the same.

Fine, she thought, if he wants me to dance a Volta, I will.

"Gregory, play a volta!" Henry commanded, clapping his hands together.

Almost instantly, the familiar music began to play.

Anne took a deep breath, exhaling loudly and began the steps that she still knew by heart.

Charles stood there, looking unsure for a moment— she remembered that he was not a very skilful dancer— and in a moment of bravery she reached forward and held his hands as she circled him, keeping his eyes on her own. Just keep your eyes on me, she hoped her eyes conveyed, just follow me.

They went around once and then back again, their movements quick and snappy. Anne moved away from him, though their eyes remained locked. And one two three, one two three— go!

Charles was prepared to lift her when she moved into his arms, his grip on her waist firm as he spun her around. It was dizzying, Anne noted faintly, staring into someone's eyes whilst they span you around in the air. And yet it was strangely intimate. Anne remembered doing these very same movements with Henry— she recalled how everyone else had faded away, too consumed with his love and passion to care about anyone else. But now, everything was in sharp focus. Charles's gaze was strong and unwavering and Anne was aware of everyone else but—but she felt safe. Protected somehow, as though his grip would protect her from all of those who wished to harm her.

Anne nearly stumbled when he placed her down on the ground but she quickly regained her senses, allowing him to pull her body flush against his. Sway to the left, then the right and then—

He spun her away from his body with a surprising gentleness that she was sure only she felt and Anne was quick to turn around to face him once more. The dance was almost over and the music was loud and deafening in her ears. She circled him, her steps quick and flourished, the skirts of her red gown flapping around her. Charles reached for her once more and lifted her by the hips into the air, causing her to place her hands on his broad shoulders. He spun her around once, twice— Anne lost count but she remembered placing her hand on his cheek as he placed her down on the ground gently, panting softly.

It was quiet.

Deadly quiet.

Oh god, her mind whispered wildly, he knows.

And then with great reluctance, she turned her gaze towards a very, very, furious King.