The Once Queen

Description: AU. Anne/Charles. Realising the lengths of which Henry would go to marry his new 'love' Anne requests a divorce upon her own accord, one in order to keep her daughter legitimate and to keep herself alive; however it wasn't upon her own accord to have Henry choose a new husband for her. And even less so for him to choose his loyal lap-dog: Charles Brandon, Duke of Suffolk.

A/N: welcome to my rewrite! :)

I thought my first attempt was far too fast paced and I feel as if I can do a much better job with it, whilst still including the best bits of the initial book!

I hope you enjoy.

For the sake of this book (and in accordance with the show) I will be excluding Margaret Neville and Anne Browne, however Princess Mary will be called Mary, and not Margaret.

Chapter 1 – The Once Queen

April 5th 1536, Whitehall Palace

Anne Boleyn was many things, and amongst the impressing résumé, there was no space for 'fool'. She knew her influence was dwindling, and that her husband sought to cast her aside for his harlot to take her place. He would kill her, if that's what it took; believing the lies that his lapdogs – such as the Duke of Suffolk – fed him.

The man she had married, the man she had loved, was gone. He was now a monster of her own making (hungry for more and more power since his introduction to The Obedience of a Christian Man via Anne).

As Anne was not a fool, she was unable to blind herself to the reason why Henry was setting her aside. And it hurt all the more to know that it was not just because of his new whore. She had promised Henry a son, and she had not delivered, though it was not for lack of trying. Anger filled her completely when she thought of her youngest boy, whom had been killed because of Henry and his whore, and yet neither accepted the responsibility of it.

Henry had insisted that it was his right, and that she was in the wrong for overreacting so; his harlot had faced her the next morning, eyes unapologetic as she gazed at the woman whose son she had all but murdered.

Sometimes, she would imagine what her sons would have looked like had they lived – she even dreamed of them. Would they have her eyes and Henry's hair, like Elizabeth? Or would they be the mirror image of one of them. She knew what their names would have been – Henry for the eldest, and Edward for the Duke of York – and it hurt to know that, when she awoke, they were not there at all.

Closing her eyes, she sucked in a breath and squared her shoulders. She was a prideful woman, Anne doubted that there was a single woman or man at court who would contest to that, but she loved her daughter more than she loved herself. That was not something that could be said for Henry, who, Anne thought with amusement, might have been better off marrying himself.

Each step down the hallway, each step to her husband's rooms, felt like she was dooming herself, tears clawing their way to her eyes. She had to do this, she resolved herself when she began to falter, for Elizabeth.

"Announce me," she commanded of the herald, proud of herself when her voice did not shake in the slightest. When the herald did not move, she said louder, "now."

He swiftly went inside, and, after a few moments, returned; hesitance was written all over his face. Anne sighed, already knowing what he was about to say.

"The King does not wish to see you, Your Majesty."

Rolling her eyes at Henry's childish behaviour, Anne angrily bashed past the herald's shoulder, opening the doors for herself. Henry didn't even bother to look up when she entered, just simply continuing to read something that was clearly more interesting than his own wife.

"Madam," he greeted coldly, and Anne could not prevent herself from flinching at his tone. Once, he had greeted her so warmly, with endearments such as 'sweetheart' and 'my love', now, she was brought back to a time where in which he said the same to Katherine.

Never had she envisioned that Katherine's promise – that Henry would tire of her, as he did all the others – would come true. But it had. It had.

"I am here to agree to a divorce, should it be what you wish," Anne informed Henry, watching in relief as his eyes flickered up from his reading material in shock and interest, "all I ask is that Elizabeth remains legitimate and lives with me, and I control her household. I will be out of your way, as far as you want, to my estates in Pembroke or elsewhere."

Henry said nothing, as so Anne continued, "I know of what is being whispered in your ear, Henry, and you know that I have not slept with anybody but you. I love you, why would I go to anyone else's bed?" Anne fought the longing to snap unlike you but did not, knowing it would only hurt her chances at getting what she wanted out of this divorce, or even escaping with her head upon her neck at all, "I will not fight you on this, Your Majesty."

The reason Henry wanted Jane was because she was obedient, meek and humble which the outspoken, opinionative and vain Anne never could be, but she could act the part. Just until she had gotten what she wanted. Acting had always been a forte of hers, along with commanding the attention of the Court; revelling in being in the centre of their visions, heart of the drama and scandals.

He looked taken aback at her, and her tone, and seemed to take several moments to think upon it. Anne baited her breath, knowing that if Henry waited to consult Cromwell then her chances would be greatly hurt, for her enemy dearly wanted her dead.

"Sit down, Anne," he said, and Anne complied.

TOQ-TOQ-TOQ-TOQ

Later that night, Anne was leaving the King's chambers with a look of shock upon her face, as if she had not fully registered what she had done. And what she had got out of it.

The night, luckily, concealed her identity somewhat – she had no longing to see the faces of gloating Seymours with the knowledge that she had all but begged the King for her life, relinquishing her title to their whore.

Anne snorted when she thought of the meek thing, she would never keep the King's love for the year. Let alone the decade.

Anne had gained much out of this divorce, no doubt due to Henry's joy over her step down, opposed to how Katherine had acted. She was to be the Duchess of Pembroke, still retaining the title of 'Your Majesty' as she was an anointed Queen along with possessing the right to wear purple. Elizabeth would retain the title of Princess of England, and would be before Jane's daughters in the matter of succession.

However, Anne had a great disadvantage, one that almost outweighed it, had the advantages for her beloved daughter not been so prominent: she had to marry the Duke of Suffolk.

She supposed that the Duke in question was not all too happy about the matter either. Rumour has it, he had been planning to wed his seventeen year old ward – Katherine Willoughby, a great heiress – but now that would not be possible.

Though, Katherine was only a Baroness where Anne was a Duchess.

The most pressing of all things was that Charles Brandon had tried to have Anne killed by whispering treacherous lies within the King's ear. He strived to have Anne a head shorter, and Anne would not forgive, or tolerate, him for that. He would have left her daughter an orphan, would have caused Elizabeth unimaginable pain and would have had Elizabeth brought up to hate Anne.

Sucking in a breath, Anne grabbed the vase off of her side and threw it angrily at the wall. She was to enter a loveless marriage to a man who was the King's dog; who hated her above any other.

Besides herself, she couldn't help but begin to laugh; madly.

For her daughter, Anne would do absolutely anything. However, she couldn't help but know that everything would have been easier if she had just been sent to the chopping block, or even burnt at His Majesty's pleasure.

Instead, her torture would go on for years. Forced to watch as the whore gave her husband the children that had never been granted to her; forced to live a life with a man whom she despised, just because Henry wished to watch her suffer; forced to live within the hate of her family. Oh, how her father and uncle would despise her. They had wanted her to keep the crown at all costs.

They wouldn't care that she would have died, only that she died clinging to power no doubt. Anne hoped that George would understand. They may have grown apart in the recent years, her finding herself unable to trust him after he had relayed everything about her private life to her father and uncle, but he was still her brother.

"Are you alright, my Queen?" Nan inquired, looking worriedly between her King and the expensive smashed vase against the wall. Everyone knew that Queen Anne had an explosive temper, but Nan was more concerned as to what had caused such an outbreak.

"You will not be calling me Queen for much longer," Anne informed her, her voice weak as she stared straight ahead, the tears that she had tried so hard to prevent now working their way freely from her eyes, "the whore shall be Queen, and I… I shall be the Duchess of Suffolk."

Nan did not react for several moments, not even to catch Anne as she fell to the floor in a heap of sobs, truly hopeless. But when she did, it was to utter soothing words to the woman that she would always think of as Queen, rubbing her back and feeling upset and angry upon Anne's behalf.

While it was questionable as to whether or not Anne was truly a good person – even Anne agreed that she was by no means a good person, guiltfully but not regretfully remembering all that had transpired with Katherine of Aragon and Mary – she had loved the King more than life itself, only her love for Elizabeth able to rival it, and she had always been loyal and generous, kind to those who served her.

"It will all be alright," Nan soothingly told her mistress, even though she could not truly be sure of that. Anne nodded to her Lady-In-Waiting's words, even though she acknowledged the lack of truth and surety in them.

8th April 1536, Whitehall Palace

It was humiliating, Anne thought, and very childish of Henry. The said man was already organising a feast in the honour of his new betrothal, and Anne was expected to attend.

The Court already knew of the divorce, of her upcoming marriage to Charles Brandon (only five days from now, upon the thirteenth, and Anne wondered if that was some superstitious way of Henry attempting to bring them bad luck, as if they didn't hate each other enough already) and of Henry's pledge to marry Lady Jane Seymour.

Perhaps the only good thing that came out of all of this, Anne mused, was that Elizabeth was being brought to Court for the feast and the upcoming marriages – and that, from afterwards, Anne would not have to be parted from her daughter.

She would take her to Pembroke with her, Anne decided, live a separate life to the scorned Suffolk and away from Court, at least for a little while. Though, deep inside, Anne knew that things would never be that easy for her.

Dressing in a scarlet gown – that covered up enough to not be scandalous, but uncovered enough to be contraversal, and the centre of attention (something Anne loved) – with the Queen's jewellery.

Henry had not come to claim it from her yet, so she would make the most out of it while she still retained it. Great sapphire necklace and stunning earrings adorned her, showing her former status to all at court.

And even if she would not be announced as Queen, she would still be announced as the Duchess of Pembroke.

"Mama," she heard a voice call out from the door, and it was as if Anne's entire world had lit up. She turned to see her daughter, little Elizabeth, already wearing the dress that Anne had picked out for her with a large smile up her face.

Anne kissed the cheek of her toddler daughter who was wearing an emerald gown with a Tudor rose sewn upon it, reminding all that she was the Heiress Presumptive and a Tudor, "my own heart, how have you been?"

"Good, mama," the little girl informed her, and Anne smiled genuinely for the first time in a long time. She found herself glad that Elizabeth was too young to truly understand why her mother had been demoted from Queen to Duchess, not knowing how she would begin to explain the change to her darling girl should she have asked.

Elizabeth was, however, and intelligent girl, and would soon catch on that her mother was no longer a Queen, and that another woman would be swift to take her place.

"You look beautiful," Anne gushed, looking at her daughter with pride, who was promising to be a beauty like Elizabeth of York, Elizabeth Woodville and Elizabeth Howard before her.

Elizabeth grinned with pride at her mama's compliment, before inquiring of her, "will papa be at the feast?"

Anne's smile faded slightly, and though she swiftly replaced it, the intelligent little girl caught on remarkably easy, frowning for her mother and what could have possibly made her mama sad, "he will, my sweetheart. Shall we head to the feast now?"

Elizabeth nodded, biting her lip. She knew that her mama would not tell her why she was sad. The young Princess did not know why but adults did not seem to like to talk about their feelings, which confused Elizabeth, who liked to express how she was feeling passionately – be it anger or joy or any other emotion.

Taking her mother's hand, the duo began to make their way towards the entrance doors, to where Anne smiled down at Elizabeth, as the herald announced, "Her Majesty, the Duchess of Pembroke and Her Highness, the Princess Elizabeth."

Everything went silent, even the musicians ceasing to play, when Anne entered with Elizabeth holding her hand. It seemed as if every eye in the court was upon them, and Anne squeezed little Elizabeth's hand in reassurance when she sensed the Princess' confusion – though not discomfort, Anne noted.

She was like her mother, revelling in the attention that she was given by her admirers. And there were few who could not adore the charming, intelligent toddler. Not even Anne's enemies could truly fault the girl, who was as much her father's daughter as she was her mother's.

After a pregnant silence, the King nodded to the musicians to continue playing, Henry's eyes remaining upon his former wife and child. Anne, however, refused to linger her eyes upon the man she loved, moving to walk over to where her brother stood.

"Uncle George!" Elizabeth could be heard yelling out as she rushed into the awaiting arms of Anne's older brother. Her governess' might have scolded her for such a display, but her mama never did so Elizabeth went ahead.

Her Uncle hoisted her up into his arms, smiling at her and tickling her. Her mama laughed at Elizabeth's giggles, and Elizabeth's smile grew knowing that her mama was less sad than she had been before.

"Would you like to dance, Your Majesty?" Was an inquiry directed at Anne. Both amusement and surprise flashed upon Anne's face when she turned to look at the brave soul who had decided to approach the King's discarded wife. She almost laughed when she saw that it was one of her Uncle – the 3rd Duke of Norfolk's – men.

No doubt he wished for her to make the King jealous, hope that he might realise his mistake and go back to her.

Henry never realised his mistakes, or at least never admitted to them, Anne knew, but she would accept the offer of the man anyway; if only to escape the humiliation of nobody asking her to dance. Not even her betrothed, not that she would want to dance with the pretty lapdog Duke of Suffolk.

"Of course, Sir," she told him, taking his hand and allowing him to lead her to the dance floor. The man clearly looked slightly nervous, causing Anne to smirk amusedly at him, which caused him to blush and look away.

The interaction made Anne more confident, knowing that, despite the King putting her aside, she still had the same charm, charisma and effect on men that she had always had – especially if the way that her once betrothed, the Earl of Northumberland, was looking at her had anything to go by.

The man twirled her, and Anne laughed with him as he tripped slightly, attempting to forget that she was a scorned Queen, with the court watching her, at this present moment. As she twirled for a second time, she caught the eyes of the admittedly handsome Duke of Suffolk watching her intensely as she span.

Loathing. That was what was in his gaze. And Anne matched it with a look of amusement, which only seemed to enrage him more.

Inside, however, she seethed. The nerve of that man to look at her as if she had done something wrong! While he had been the one to try to result in her head on a chopping block! She was well aware that his dead wife had never liked her, nor was he fond of her family for their scheming, but they had brought him back to court. He, in fact, had played a massive part in her rise to power, and now, here he was, dismayed because of her retaining said power.

The dance ended, and Anne partook in another two with her current partner, making sure to catch the eye of the Duke of Suffolk with each laugh she let out.

She was alive, she longed to flaunt to him, he had not killed her off as he had longed to.

As the third dance ended, Anne headed back over to where her brother and daughter was. George handed Elizabeth over to her, and Anne bid the little girl a joyful greeting, accepting her daughter's offer to dance with her, and allowing her to lead her to the dance floor despite her tiredness.

As the music began, she caught Suffolk's eyes for a last time, eyes communicating her mocking statement perfectly: you will never best me, husband.

A/N hope you are enjoying the rewrite so far and that you think it is better than the original version! It took me a while to write this, but I was determined to get it up today. Next chappie coming soon :) (I will most likely alternate between the King's Consorts and this book)