Written for TigrisWolf at Comment Fic.
Prompt: Character A and Character B bodyswitch for whatever reason and one of them knows how to change them back - but chooses not to because this is their chance for a better life..
A LITTLE MALICE
by Leni
He has denounced her as a witch, so a witch she will be.
The ancient protections of the Tower are nothing against a queen's will (and Queen she is still, by the King's word, for he'd rather see her mounted head still crowned than officially discard her and let her free) and she appears at his apartments while he sleeps most heavily.
She loves him still. This careless devil, this powerful brute. She's shed her blood for him, three times on the childbirth bed, and she's tried harder to keep the male babes than any of her kind ever has before. But he doesn't know, and he doesn't care, and now he's tossing her to the side along with the daughter she's given him.
It's not to be borne.
Katherine was a saint, to suffer this pain without letting malice corrupt her heart.
But she is not Katherine. For her child, for her life, she will play with revenge and laugh in the aftermath.
The chamber is silent as she steps into it. His pages, asleep on the floor, are sent away with a warning whisper into their sleeping minds. They're suddenly wary, eager to check the hallways for intruders, and they will miss her presence inside the room.
She is the queen, after all. Not an intruder. Doesn't a wife have leave to visit her husband's bed?
They go, and she remains, her only company his deep breaths.
How she loves him, this man who sleeps so soundly after calling for her executioner, this husband who already must have a wedding present for her replacement.
Yes, she loves him still.
If there was a spell to force his love, perhaps she would be tempted. But emotions are slippery in the hands of magic, and the heart will not be tamed by anyone's will.
It must be this, then. Revenge.
Gathering the ingredients is easy: his hair, his scent, a bit of his breath. She drives her hands through his clothing, forming the shape of him. She places her feet on top of his prints, marking the differences between her steps and his.
When she's ready, she walks on tiptoes to the edge of the bed and leans over him. Whispers his name. She bends and rouses him further with a kiss - their last.
His eyes open - widen - and his mouth forms a shout of surprise - of warning - of fear.
Nobody hears, of course.
The next morning, there are whispers that Anne Boleyn has lost her wits in her cell in the Tower, that she's crying about witchery and that, in view of her confession (for they must be a confession, these new ramblings of hers) the men she spelled have gone free. Her execution will no longer be a public affair, they say, for the woman cannot be trusted not to blaspheme against God and King and thus corrupt the minds and hearts of the good people.
George Boleyn pleads for his sister's life, once, that she is mad and must be sent back home in the spirit of Christian charity. He is dismissed with a warning to have more care for his head now that he's so narrowly saved it. (Months later, it will be whispered that the King has called for a private audience with Rochford, after which they manage to reconcile. New land grants may be well worth a wicked sister's life, many will say.)
May 19th arrives, and the executioner's sword fetches him his purse of gold.
The King arranges for his dead wife's funerals, to show the world that he is charitable after all, and calls for his youngest daughter to be brought back so they might distract each other from her mother's perfidies.
The other daughter is kept away yet, and warned that her royal father is growing impatient with her.
When asked when he will marry sweet Jane, the King shakes his head and pets little Elizabeth's head. "Not yet," he says.
No one would ever dare to question the King.
THE END
10/10/14