Katherine lay in the birthing bed, tears trailing silently down her cheeks as they took away the bundle of bloody sheets that held what had become of her babe. The silence in the chamber was eerie, but the queen was glad for it. She couldn't handle it if any of her ladies spoke to her at this moment. She couldn't face their simpering words or their eyes upon her-swimming in sympathy. This was the seventh time Katherine had thought she would be giving England it's heir...the third time she was able to carry the babe to term...the second time the babe had not lasted past infancy. At least with her little Harry she had had a few months with him. She hadn't even been able to hold this one. The moment the frail girl had slipped from her mother's body, the physician had struggled to keep her breathing. After a few hours of frantic efforts, Katherine's little princess had gone to God and left her mother lonelier than ever.

Why had God forsaken her? She had spent so much of her life on her knees before her prie dieu, begging him and the Heavenly Mother to send her a child. A strong, strapping baby boy who would be a balm to her bruised soul after all these lost babes, and to appease her demanding husband. She had fasted, worn a hair shirt, had given alms to the poor, had done everything she had ever been taught to do...So why was it that she continued to fail in this duty?

Finally one of her ladies, her most trusted friend, Maria de Salinas, dared to approach her. Her warm, steady hand placed on her shoulder made Katherine jump and only curl further into herself, another broken sob escaping her. "Your Majesty?" Maria murmured, but Katherine only continued to shake slightly, not wanting any of these English snakes see her brought so low.

Katherine barely registered as Maria shooed to onlooking women away and when she finally peeked out from behind her hands, all she saw was her friend looking at her with concern.

"Catalina, my darling, you must rise." Maria slipped into their native Spanish. "Come...let me wash you." The last of her Spanish ladies took her hands and pulled her into the sitting position before turning to grab a warm, wet cloth. Katherine allowed Maria to wipe away the sweat from her brow and the tears from her cheeks before the girl pulled the queen to her feet and towards the steaming tub that had been prepared.

Though her muscles screamed in protest at being pulled from the bed so soon after giving birth, the moment her skin was submerged in the hot water, the pain faded. But no amount of soothing water or scented oils could wash away the pain in her heart. She felt like an utter failure. She had been told since as long as she could remember that it was her duty to marry the Prince of Wales, become England's queen, and to deliver and raise a son to take his father's place on the English throne.

But here she was, years later, with no prince to show for. Out of seven pregnancies, only her little Mary lived. Mary was her darling and Katherine loved her fiercely, but she knew in her heart that a girl was not enough. As Henry never failed to remind her, England was no Castile and her Mary was no Isabella. The lords of her kingdom would never stand behind a ruling queen and once Henry was gone from this world, Mary's power would be usurped and at best she would remain as a figurehead. At worst...No, Katherine would not put her daughter in danger. There must be a prince to carry on the Tudor dynasty. But if God would not grant her a living son...what was she to do?

She had heard the whispered rumors. She knew that Henry's patience was at it's end and that in his desperation he was exploring ways to replace her. Not only did the thought break her heart, it wounded her pride as well. That after 15 years of almost blissful marriage that her husband would seek to set her aside set her temper aflame and yet at the same time left her colder than these English winters. She had loved Henry in her own way and she had believed that he had been in love with her still. To think that the little boy who had greeted her cheerily at the shore when she had first come to this country would now be plotting her downfall took the air from her lungs.

Unbidden, memories of better times flitted through her mind. Sir Loyal Heart... if Katherine were a lesser woman she would scoff at the irony. There was nothing loyal or steadfast about Harry's heart. Raised as the second son, never expected to carry the weight of the crown, he was not taught discipline or restraint like his older brother. That harpy, Margaret Beaufort had treated him like her little pet-indulging his every whim. Henry's natural Tudor charm had let him skate through troubles even as he grew. But now the carefree, charming prince had turned into a spoiled, narcissistic king. And a man who had never been told 'no' in his life did not take disappointment well. And Katherine had become a disappointment to him. With every miscarriage, every year that passed without a prince in the cradle, that disappointment had grown and now her position was in danger.

As she soaked in the warm tub and allowed Maria to wash her hair, her mind whirled. Her mother had been a fierce and competent queen, but Katherine knew that she would much rather face a horde of Moorish savages than her own husband of many years. No, Isabella of Castile was a formidable woman but she had never had to consider her husband an enemy. Ferdinand had practically been wrapped around his wife's finger. And while some had said the same of Henry in the first few years of their marriage, no one would say so now. Katherine was lucky if Henry even tried to keep his mistresses a secret, not that he did a very good job. She knew his favorite at the moment was little Bessie Blount-a sweet girl, but empty headed and unlikely to hold his attention for very long. A shame. If Henry was going to set Katherine aside, she would much rather it be a simple headed English woman than a foreign princess that would push for any child of Katherine's to be removed from the line of succession.

Maria snapped the queen from her furious planning as she pulled her from the cooling water and wrapped her in a drying sheet. Soon she was swathed in a soft, linen bedrobe and was returned to the feather bed that Maria had made with fresh sheets. Laying where less than an hour ago she had been gripped with agony and despair, now she laid quietly, her mind racing. Maria murmured good wishes and left her alone, but Katherine barely registered her leaving.

She could read the writing on the walls. She knew that her last hope had laid with this final pregnancy. She knew in her heart that her womb would never quicken again and that without a male heir, her time as queen was limited. But she would not allow her daughter's birthright to be taken from her. She would not allow that grasping snake Wolsey to push some French agenda. Katherine would wait and she would watch and she would play her cards well. She knew what Henry liked in women and she would find a girl who's loyalty was beyond question and give her a queen's blessing to ensnare the king. Once Henry was desperate, Katherine would gracefully stand aside...with some conditions. Katherine gripped her rosary tight, praying that this was the right choice. God had forbid male issue from their union for a reason. She would never understand why he would make her queen only to refuse to solidify her position, but perhaps it was all his plan. Perhaps He had taken her little princess only hours after birth to show her that this was the step she needed to take.

Katherine allowed a few more tears to track down her freshly washed face for the daughter she was never even able to name. She would take this sign from God and do what she could to make sure that the next queen would provide for her Mary. Her daughter's future must become her upmost priority.