part i

She returns to England (her homeland) for the first time in seven years since her departure years, years, years ago. She feels no relief or joy in leaving behind the familiarity of the French court and instead feels a heavy, sickening pull of her stomach the closer she is to the shores of Dover. Anne Boleyn is finally home, she thinks as she lands taking her very first step on English soil. The sky is grey with dread, the air damp and wet, and her heart clenching with sadness.

She returns (called and demanded back) because of her father's ambition. She is to wed a distant Irish cousin to regain control of her father's rightful title. The Irish cousin that was all but meant for Mary before she had become the Duke of York's mistress and got pregnant with his bastard. A bastard son that her father desperately prays for to wash away Mary's blemish.

And so she sits on the bumpy hard carriage taking her towards Hever, towards her future, her destiny as she watches the English landscape pass by her eyes in a blur of wet greens and greys. Her future as hopeful as her thoughts.

—

She is presented to Court as Perseverance in front of her future husband, the Imperial Portuguese ambassadors, and the English royal family. Her father hopes that he can give her the grandest appearance to capture her husband's attention, to capture all of England! So she smiles and plays the pretty, captivating French girl for all to see. She dances, twirls, laughs with all her hope.

From the corner of her eyes she thinks she can see James, at least she hopes it's James, in the crowd with his red hair next to the Portuguese ambassadors. So she flashes him her greatest, most captivating French smile to ensnare his heart, cloud his mind, and capture his whole being in that one minuscule second she faces him. A smile meant to wash away the disappointment of a dark haired and brown eyed Anne instead of the sunny ever pleasing blonde hair and blue eyed Mary. The second passes and she turns away her smile now set in a small, hard, thin line as she retreats back to the castle.

With her back turned to the crowd, Anne doesn't realize that her one smile has not only captured the heart of her betrothal but someone else too. A man with dark steady eyes sitting under the glory of the sun watching Anne and smiling to himself all too pleased with what he has seen.

—

She receives a letter tucked underneath her morning bread and ale that she hardly notices until she picks up the bread. There is no wax seal or emblem to tell her the identity of her secret admirer. In the letter written in tidy neat letters confesses to how her beautiful eyes hooked his heart on the fateful March day at Green Castle, of how he thinks of her every waking moment, of his desire to capture her, and of his pure innocent admiration for her.

She burns the letter, alone in her private chambers, fingers shaking and heart trembling. She doesn't leave her seat until the crisp white letter is turned into black ashes of a gone, never existed letter.

Her morning bread and ale sits untouched on its shiny inconspicuous plate as Anne leaves her chamber with her brows furrowed in a tight line.

—

Anne continues to receive these letters with her morning bread and ale. The second time she sees the small folded letter under her morning bread she drops her bread. Not wanting to see the letter or to acknowledge it she burns it without opening it this time. Her bread no longer edible Anne looked forlornly into the distance as she drinks her ale and her stomach churning.

The third time she sees the letter, she burns it like the first and second. This time she makes sure to not drop her bread so that at least she can use it to settle the unease in her stomach.

The eleventh time she sees the letter she isn't even surprised anymore. The letters come every day tucked underneath her morning bread hardly noticeable unless you were to pick up the bread but very noticeable to kitchen maid or whoever was putting these very secret letters there.

The twenty-first letter she sees she too burns the letter like all the rest. Today she stops, just for a moment, with the letter clutched in her in hand as she brings it to the flames. The hot burning fire of the candle is just so close that the flames are flickering out like it's reaching out for a nice secret love letter to burn.

The fortieth letter she sees she doesn't burn it right away. She opens the letter and in the same tiny neat letters writes of his respect for her, of how she stands tall and unwavering amongst the awful, nasty, hurtful gossip about her French ways, her sister, and her suppose morals given her associations, and most of all her delightful laugh. She savours the letter and the words, "but I can see and know with the greatest depths of my heart that these rumors, gossip are falsely, filled with most slanderous words meant to discourage, hurt you in the most vicious and villainous ways - do not take them to heart for it will greatly displeased me and despair my soul knowing you are not the most happy".

The fortieth-seven letter she receives she keeps it locked up in a secret box hidden behind an inconspicuous loose brick just underneath her bed.

—

She's on the hundredth letter when her father calls off her betrothal to James never explicitly telling her why and besides it was never a formalized legal binding contract or so her father says. She doesn't complain and soon she brushes the matter away with a flick of her metaphoric broom to focus on more pressing matters such as the one of her secret admirer.

The kitchen maid, Susan, that brings her morning bread and ale must must know that there's this very secret, very forbidden letter just hiding underneath but she doesn't betray any hints that she knows… yet. Each day, day after day, Susan comes and knocks on her door to present her the morning's meal and hands it to her before curtsying to leave. Anne is left bewildered and highly suspicious for very obvious reasons.

She has pondered it over and over again especially when she's task to set up Their Majesty's breakfast making sure that the small vegetable fork is placed next to the meat fork for eating, the soup spoon just slightly left to the butter knife but never beside the cutting knife for very important reasons, and that the seat pillows are fluffed to their very most fluffiest for maximal comfort. She even got a small but very nice compliment from His Majesty on the splendid job for fluffing his seat pillow! It at least made up for the snide glare directed to her by Her Majesty. Just because her sister was pregnant with the Duke's baby and his Duchess was Her Majesty's niece didn't mean that by giving her awful snooty looks would suddenly make Mary not pregnant. Surely it would be much easier to get the Duke to stop his philandering ways instead!

No matter how much pondering, subtlety asking, and squinting her eyes at anyone who so much as looks at her Anne is no closer to finding her secret admirer than was when she first decided to keep the letters. By her hundred-twelve letter she is stuck sitting in her chamber, like a fool day after day, looking at all the letters for a clue, a hint, or just anything of something that would just at least tell her how communicate back.

Under the cast of the warm fire burning and crackling in its little hearth, Anne widens her eyes and her mouth forming into a delicate round oh, oh! With determination setting in as she smiles the same very alluring and captivating smile of hers that had obviously captured someone's soul, she knows what she must do.

The next morning when Susan comes just as she does day after day, Anne is ready and hands her a very small and very discrete letter of her own. Susan merely raises her left eyebrow and then with eyes twinkling drops into a deep curtsy.

—

Anne never really found out who the secret admirer was but now she could write at least write back. Susan, obviously in the pockets of her wealthy and influential admirer, served as their go between. Anne was very embarrassed that on the next day Susan had come with a smile rather than her usual bland boring expression.

Her cheeks were so redden that His Majesty even expressed concern for her health and then promptly excused her from the rest of her duties for the rest of the day. Her Majesty wasn't pleased with His Majesty interference to which His Majesty replied rather blandly that now she understands how he feels. Not wanting to be a part of that mess Anne retreats as quietly and quickly as she can. She spends the rest of her day in her chambers wondering and dreaming of her handsome charming secret admirer. He never reveals anything but Anne thinks he's a little arrogant, a little spoiled, and a little (a lot) lovely.

When she writes her thirteen letter to him she gets another letter from her mother asking for her presence as Mary enters her confinement period. They – mostly father – writes, prays, hopes, wishes into existence that Mary gives birth to the Duke's bastard son. And so she excuses from Her Majesty's service without showing her fear under Her Majesty's deathly glare so that she could help (serve) Mary. She packs all her luggage along with her treasured secret letters tucked in its own secret compartment and then left for Hever Castle.

—

The whole time she's here she's stuck in a hot, stuffy, and dark room because someone (cursed them!) decided that these conditions were the most ideal for birthing a royal – albeit bastard – child. As if she doesn't already hate everyone – mostly father – for demanding that she be at Mary's beck and call to ensure that the child is healthy and born a son she will most definitely hate Mary at the end. She's also starting to think that her father's going mad if he doesn't stop shouting 'bastard SON!' after every mention of the child. As if anybody that so suggests that the child is anything but a son it would curse the Boleyn family with the cruelest of fates by having Mary give birth to a girl. As if having a living breathing healthy daughter was worse than a weak sickly legitimate prince.

And so Anne goes and does her best not to roll her eyes and make a face when Mary asks for more asparagus and especially to not shove the pillow in her face when it needs to be fluffed again. All in all, Anne can't wait till Mary finally gives birth and she can return back to Court. She wonders if her secret admirer is still writing daily to her or if he's stopped and waiting for her return. She's certainty still writing to him every day that she can hardly hide her own letters in the secret compartment. She just needs to make sure that George stays out her room and very, very far away from her luggage.

By the time she begins her fortieth-nine letter, Mary has gone into labour and they were just now hours away from the child's birth and the fate of the Boleyn's future. She never finishes the letter having been rushed away by the ladies hired by the Duke and in haste left the letter on her drawing table.

Fourteen hours into Mary's labour, Anne is exhausted, tired, and just wants to end her misery. The room never felt more hotter, darker, and damper than ever as she crouches by Mary's left with her mother across on Mary's right both holding onto Mary's hands as she screams, cries, and pushes to bring the Duke's bastard into the world.

She's trying to follow her mother's lead and whispering encouraging words to Mary but she's just so tired that she can barely pay attention to anything but the pain exploding in her hands. After a particularly painful agonizing squeeze Anne can barely recognize how quiet the room is before the sounds of a baby's cry rings through. The midwife carrying the baby in her arms congratulates Mary on the birth of a healthy son. Mary bursts into tears as she asks for the baby. The dread and tiredness in Mary is all but wiped away when the baby is placed in her arms.

At this very moment Anne knows that from now on the lives of the Boleyn family will forever be changed.

—

She's so tired from the ordeal that she doesn't have time to think of anything but sleep when she collapses on her bed. She doesn't even notice that her fortieth-nine letter is no longer on her drawing table or that her room is slightly astray. Anne just sleeps peacefully with a small content smile on her face knowing that everything is over.

When she wakes the next morning she writes her fiftieth letter with her morning meal waiting as the ink dries before putting away in its secret compartment. She has a long day ahead of her with the baby's christening later in the afternoon and entertaining the Duke's party that had arrived earlier this morning. Anne has never seen her father more happier than today and if she can trust George happier than the day he was chosen to carry the canopy for the Prince of Wales' christening.

Anne stays close to her mother as the priest baptizes the baby with holy water watching the joy on the Duke's face when the babe cried out signalling that the devil had left. This small child was the very image of his father and the only son to be born to the Duke and would surely be loved by his father. She prays that the Duchess and Her Majesty would show mercy towards the innocent child.

—

The day before Anne is set to return to Court, she has been order to her father's study. He stares at her unmoving in his seat as Anne stands unsure what to do. She waits for an eternity and seven for her father to do something or say something before he just merely dismisses her with a flick of his hand. George says nothing when she asks him if he knew why father had called for her. He only shakes his head vehemently denying anything leaving her a little suspicious but by dinner with the matter long forgotten Anne doesn't notice the secret worrying look shared between her parents.

She returns to Court the following day after leaving behind Mary and the baby, Hal. They are to stay at Hever until Mary has recovered her strength where she is then expected to move to the Duke's country estate up north to raise the child away from the harmful and polluted London air.

She is not surprise when she had been reassigned to the elder Princess Mary's household given the awkward situation. She would hardly be please herself if one of her ladies-in-waiting's sister had given birth to the son that her own niece has tried for years to do. But at least she had been given a private chamber again which only meant that she could still receive her letters in secret away from prying eyes and ears.

The very next morning, as if nothing had changed, Susan comes knocking on her door presenting her with the morning ration of bread and ale and her secret letter. Grinning to her Anne exchanges the meal with her very own letter.

—

Christmas season was fast approaching when Anne woke with a strange feeling of anticipation brewing in her stomach. The English weather had finally turned chilly and cold but no one paid heed as everyone was focused on the Prince of Wales' return to Court to celebrate his thirteen birthday. Known as the Christmas' babe the young prince was born in the early wee morning hours of Christmas after the Queen had suffered a long and hard labour. His birth was truly a Christmas present to all of England after the Queen had miscarried another prince the year previously.

This morning's letter came no differently than all the others but Anne felt that Susan was acting different. There was just something about her smile that made Anne feel like something was fluttering at the edges of her stomach. She could hardly finish her morning meal only taking small nibbles of her bread in between sipping her ale.

Her eyes widen as she blinks once, twice, thrice, the letter slipping out her grasp and landing silently on the table. Her secret admirer had asked - no pleaded - that she would grant him his greatest desire by agreeing to meet him in two days' time during the noon meal in the private gardens.

Anne sits still and unmoving reading the letter over and over again. Her eyes weren't deceiving her and he had finally asked to meet! The knocking on the door brought Anne out of her disbelief as she quickly shoves the letter under the meal tray.

When she returns back to the table and firm in her resolve she writes the two words (yes, please) that would change her world. Placing a quick kiss of luck she tenderly hides the letter inside her third (third!) secret compartment along with this morning's letter.

—

Sitting on a small and awfully cold marble bench with her clock wrapped snugly around her, Anne waits hidden behind a rather large bushery. If she hadn't received instructions on how to find the spot she would have surely missed it and then she would have never met her secret admirer. The air was frigidly cold making her wish that her secret admirer had chosen a warmer place to meet instead. Exhaling a sigh of uncertainty she could see the small cloud of breathe slowly dispersing into the cold air.

She was surprised to see how easily it was to leave during the noon meal given her duties but she gather it was more due to the fact that the princess was called by Their Majesty's to join them on their meal. Regardless of the reason Anne was glad that could leave and finally put a face to the man she's been writing to in the past last six months.

The noon bell chiming behind her started Anne out of her thoughts. Looking up the familiar clanging the bell had faded into a quiet twinkle in her ear as her heart thumped beating loudly leaving her breathless at the sight in front of her. Standing in his thick fur coat with a gleaming crown of jewels on his head were a pair of dark and steady eyes striking fear into her soul.

This man, this secret admirer of hers was the King of England.

—

Author's Note:

Hi guys please excuse any grammar and/or spelling mistakes you find because this was unbetaed. If you haven't noticed this story is set in a AU based partially on the real historical Tudors and the tv show. I hope you guys enjoyed it!