Author's note: Hahaha, I am very sorry. I imagine a two year wait between chapters lost me some fans but I truly appreciate all of your support over the long period of time I have been writing this story.

As usual, I own none of these characters.

Whitehall Palace

July 30, 1534

At one point, Chapuys thought that he may have enjoyed arranging an Imperial and English alliance through marriage. Some years ago, when the now-deceased Princess Mary was supposed to marry the Emperor, he had enjoyed his time at the English court. Queen Katherine was gracious and kind to him and expressed all outward joy at the alliance. She had gently ribbed Chapuys that she was displeased that the Emperor had not come to visit yet and had not written in ages.

Queen Katherine was truly gracious, despite the hardship she had endured in those days, with the constant threat of her husband's brother who wished for her daughter's throne. He could tell that Queen Katherine was desperate to arrange her sister-in-law's marriage to her nephew, to keep her daughter's position secure.

Yet, no one at the time could predict the hardship she was yet to endure. Before he even departed England to bring news of the Emperor's future's wife beauty to him, the elder Princess Mary had eloped to her brother's common friend, a man who was rumored to be unworthy of the title of gentlemen. King Arthur had done right by his wife and daughter to banish them to the country and cut off their pension—a harsher man may have killed the pair of them, but King Arthur was known to be magnanimous—but hopes of a renewed alliance vanished before Queen Katherine's eyes. He remembered, as clear as any memory he had, Queen Katherine's attempts to keep tears of disappointment from welling her eyes when she was tasked with telling him the news personally.

And Chapuys shuddered to think of the hardships she endured after he had departed England. The young Princess of Wales had been taken from her parents far before her time, and no other children were borne of the union. By the time Chapuys returned to England in a more lasting capacity, some months after her death, all the court could discuss was Duke of York, and his common future bride. Chapuys personally found it distasteful, as Queen Katherine and King Arthur were still in mourning for their only child, but the young Duke and his betrothed pranced around Whitehall, relishing in the absence of their King and Queen.

Anne Boleyn, now the Duchess of York, was young then and plainly nervous with the attention being paid to her but took her new position in stride nonetheless. The court at that time was still in mourning for their Princess, and the Duke of York said all of the right things to convince the court that he did not wish for his niece's death—or play any part in it—but Chapuys could tell that the Queen's loss was his gain.

And it had been that way ever since he returned. The Duke and Duchess of York presided over court as if they were equals to the King and Queen, despite, in Chapuys opinion, being unworthy of such treatment.

Chapuys would have perhaps found it in his heart to forgive the Duke and Duchess for their ill-concealed happiness after the Princess's death, as it was understandable that two young people would be enthused at the prospect of one day becoming King and Queen, even if it was at the expense of the two best sovereigns in the whole of Christendom, aside from his own master, if problems had not persisted still.

For the most part, the Duke of York, while engaging in some unfortunate dalliances that quite publicly upset his wife—who in his opinion acted unbefitting of her station—seemed to have grown out of his youthful impetuousness and took the task of learning how to become a King seriously and tried to learn from his brother. His spies in the Duke's and the King's households informed him that the two brothers were close, and the Duke of York tried to ease his brother's burdens of governing as of late. They also remarked that the Duke of York was learned and thoughtful, and a patron of the arts.

The Duchess of York was also rumored to be as intelligent and thoughtful as her husband, but Chapuys thought that her intelligence was a dangerous weapon as opposed to a heartening one. Perhaps if she was like Queen Katherine—who seemed to be her friend and ally in spite of her flaws—a good Christian woman who was devoted to her country and her family, Chapuys would have been able to overlook her previous behavior, just as Queen Katherine had done.

But Anne Boleyn was unworthy of the title and position that the English royal family had entrusted her with, this much he was sure of after a decade spent at the English court. He had it on good authority that Anne was deeply involved in the reformist movement that was overtaking Europe. She had employed a private Secretary who attended secret Lutheran meetings. She kept a copy of Tyndale's English Bible outwardly displayed in her chambers. She conducted private meetings in her chambers with like-minded men and women. She had convinced Cardinal Wolsey to let her practice her reformist ways in peace and had somehow entranced the entire royal family to allow her to do the same, now that Wolsey was installed as Pope at her behest—leaving her even freer to practice her heretical ways safely.

Her wicked influence over King Arthur, especially, was no more apparent than in the way that Sir Thomas More, the godliest man Chapuys knew in England, had been hamstrung in his ability to stomp out heresy. When he had been appointed as Chancellor some years ago, Chapuys had been heartened to know that England would the Emperor's ally in tackling the growing heresy throughout Christendom, as he had dined with the man on many previous occasions and he was confident that More was the right man for the job.

But after Wolsey's departure, More was informed by King Arthur that any heretics he wished to burn would have to be presented to him first. It went beyond the King's usual generous spirit towards his subjects, as he had previously allowed Wolsey and More to carry out the spiritual matters of the kingdom without much input. But More had made it well known that he wished to increase the finding and burning of heretics once Wolsey had left for Rome, and he was confident he would have the King's blessing.

And King Arthur had not approved a single execution, even if the heretics had not recanted. He informed More to exile them instead, either out of London or out of the country in the more severe cases.

More was confused by this apparent change of heart from the King at first, as Queen Katherine had his ear normally, and she was also distressed by the surge of heresy in the country.

It did not take either of them long to discover that the source of the new obstacle was the Duchess of York herself, specifically, her new-found influence over the King. From Chapuys's vantage point, it was not apparent at first, and King Arthur was still clearly devoted to his wife above all other persons living. But it was not hard to see that he had developed a special relationship with his sister-in-law over the past few years. The King often spent his free moments at Hampton Court, even when his brother was at Whitehall. When the King and Queen and Duke and Duchess were seen together, often King Arthur and Anne would be seen laughing and talking to each other, as if they were the oldest of friends. Many courtiers remarked how loving the whole family seemed, including the Duke and Duchess's children, whom the four of them shared a great interest in.

It was now obvious to Chapuys and More that Anne had influenced King Arthur beyond just sisterly affection, just as she had seduced the Duke of York when she was a young woman. Chapuys did not think she was as great a beauty as some had remarked, but she was clearly capable of bewitching the men in her life. No one would dare suggest that King Arthur enjoyed carnal relations with his sister-in-law, as he was as honorable a man as any, but not even he was capable of resisting her requests to him. And Chapuys was hurt for Queen Katherine, who was too gracious to say anything about the King's affection for Anne or to make her displeasure known.

There were also rumors that the Duke of York was cruel to his wife, though it was difficult for him to believe that, given the way that he fawned over her in public and paraded their three children around like they were his most prized possessions. He had married her for love, and Chapuys found it hard to believe that he could lash out the way that some had said. Though, if it were true, he could not blame the gracious lady for welcoming Anne, as Queen Katherine would hardly begrudge Anne's attempts at safety, even if she were a dangerous heretic.

Today, thinking about Anne's dangerous influence over all of England, it was hard for him to keep the scowl from his mouth and plaster the diplomatic smile he had perfected over years to hide his true feelings. After all, it was Anne's son who would be King one day, and the Emperor hoped that his daughter, the Infanta Maria, would be his consort. It was a grand marriage for the English royal family, better than they could have expected, but he knew the Emperor needed the alliance of England just as badly, as he would require the considerable wealth of the country at some point to help finance his conquests. And the Emperor had remarked that it was better that the alliance be formalized sooner, rather than later, as the impetuous Duke of York was more likely to spend the considerable wealth his father and brother had maintained.

He had dreaded the day when King Arthur summoned him to his privy chamber, as he knew that Anne would be there and he would have to act as if he did not know of her heresy. When he woke to the message this morning, weeks after the French delegation had left, he knew that the unpleasantness could not be avoided any longer. While the prospect of the Lady Elizabeth marrying Prince Philip had been more enticing, due to the large dowry she was likely to come with, Anne had exerted her influence to get her daughter into a French marriage, despite the Queen's familial relations.

As he walked through the corridors of Whitehall towards the King's rooms, he wondered if Anne cared at all about how Queen Katherine must feel, to have her royal birth right overridden by the whims of an English common girl.

He could hear her laughter from outside of King Arthur's rooms as soon as he approached and could deduce at once that she only cared about herself.

Burying his feelings as best as he could, Chapuys smiled widely as he bowed first to the King and Queen and then gave a slightly shallower bow to the Duke and Duchess. "Your majesties and your graces, thank you so much for taking the time to see me. As you know, my master is most eager to secure an alliance with your country."

He wished he was more shocked that Anne responded first and he found it increasingly difficult to hold his tongue, especially as he stole a glance at the King and Queen and could see that they were not bothered at all. This heretic was running the country and none of them cared. "Your excellency, we have arranged a marvelous banquet in your honor tonight, and festivities all week to celebrate the betrothal of Lord Edward and Infanta Maria."

"It is my Queen's and I's dearest wish to see our two kingdoms joined together, once again, through marriage." King Arthur smiled as he spoke, placing his hand over his wife's and squeezing. Chapuys felt heartened at the sight, cheered to know that, no matter what Anne tried, the royal marriage was as strong as it always had been. The Emperor had often remarked that he was happy that his Aunt was treated well, despite the fact that she was childless. Looking at them, he could tell that they were the happiest marriage he had ever observed among royalty, and he knew that the Queen felt blessed, even if she had no heir and had lost her daughter.

He looked directly at them, ignoring the Duke and Duchess as much as he could. "My master hopes that I will be able to put the finishing touches on the marriage agreement this week and bring him the happy news as soon as possible."

"Lord Edward will be at the banquet this evening, we hope that you will have a chance to speak to him, as he is a most excited future bridegroom," the Duke of York responded, also grabbing his wife's hand and then kissing it. "He is our kingdom's greatest treasure."

Chapuys nodded somewhat tersely. From all accounts, Lord Edward was a kind boy, but he had also heard concerning rumors that he was slower than his siblings and had trouble reading. The royal family had done all they could to keep it quiet, and the Emperor was too eager for the alliance to go through to question him much further about it, but Chapuys worried that the future King Edward would be weak on his throne and constantly threatened by his older half-brother and younger brother.

He would never voice these concerns to the King and Queen and knew that if any problems occurred in the future, the Emperor would safely renege on the agreement. After all, nobody could blame a sovereign from breaking a marriage agreement if his future son-in-law could not write to his daughter.

King Arthur studied his face, trying to carefully discern if he had any knowledge of Lord Edward's struggle. "Until this evening then, Ambassador," King Arthur dismissed, and he was all too happy to comply, finding the experience uncomfortable.

The English royal family had a united front, but he sensed that it was difficult for them to avoid speaking over each other. They were four strong personalities, and he had to tread carefully to avoid upsetting any of them. Not for the first time, he wished that the Emperor had sent him to a different country.

Later in the evening, when he had eaten more than he had since he had moved to the dreary place and had sung the praises of the Infanta Maria to the entire royal family and to her young future husband, he was approached by Thomas More as soon as the tables were cleared for dancing and he watched from above. "How did you find everyone today, Eustace? Will the alliance move forward as planned?" More looked anxious.

"Yes, they agreed to the Emperor's terms and are requesting the lowest dowry of any of her other suitors. Your country's treasury is appealing to my master, Thomas."

More smiled and let out a laugh that sounded more like relief than joy. "God is good. I fear that, without a more . . . orthodox influence, Lord Edward will turn out like his mother, and separate the kingdom completely from Rome." He hoped that speaking frankly with Chapuys would not harm the alliance, but he also knew that Chapuys was not a fool, and could view with his own eyes the influence Anne had over them all.

More knew that it was too dangerous to move against Anne, a thought that haunted him most nights. He had been slowly building a heresy case against her Secretary, as Cromwell had become less careful as his favor with her had grown over the years, but not even that would reduce her esteem with the King, and puzzling enough, with the Queen. And, with the way things had been going of late, he was sure that the King would spare Cromwell's life, and possibly allow him to keep his position.

More knew Cromwell had helped Anne hire Lord Edward's tutor, a French man, who probably shared her sympathies. The Queen had been too busy with running the kingdom, alongside the Duke of York, to notice how deep Anne's influence had become. He feared often that it was too late and that, once she became Queen, it would be too dangerous for any man of good conscience to speak against the spread of heresy. And he was sure that Anne's ultimate goal was to completely divorce England from the Pope's influence, and while she would not succeed while King Arthur was alive, she could certainly convince her husband, or her son, to do so.

More knew that there had been fractures in the marriage, but there were rumors that Anne was with child again. It certainly seemed like Henry was back to adoring her, as he had done so publicly before they were married. He watched, with ill-concealed concern, as Henry bowed to her at the ending of their dance, and kissed her hand deeply. He looked over at Chapuys, who was wearing the same expression, and they both watched as Henry went to talk to his friend Brandon and Anne moved over to speak to King Arthur. Both noticed as she touched his arm and laughed at his joke.

"She rules already, doesn't she?"

More looked over at Queen Katherine, who was not paying attention to her husband. In private conversations with her, he knew that she was secure in her husband's love for her. It was evident that King Arthur still loved her, but that perhaps his closest friend at court was Anne. She knew how to command his brotherly affection in a powerful way.

"The Queen is beloved by her husband, this much is sure, and he trusts nobody else to run his affairs when he is unable to. And the Duke of York is as devoted to his wife as ever. But make no mistake, failing to please Anne would be like failing to please the Queen to the King. He is protective of her, especially since Queen Elizabeth died."

"She does not seem like she needs protecting," Chapuys remarked. While he found her over-confidence distasteful, it did not seem like Anne allowed many people to bother her.

"His grace has been known to have a temper. The Duchess appeared at the Christmas festivities a few years ago with a blackened eye. The King has been devoted to her since, and to the Lady Elizabeth, who he treats as his daughter. And the Queen approves, because she has been her close friend since shortly after their marriage."

"Despite her views?"

"I believe the Queen loves her in spite of them, but the King is indifferent to it. He knows that my attempts to stomp out heresy in this country have upset her, and that is why he has listened to her."

Chapuys shook his head solemnly but did manage to smile when he watched the King take the Queen's hand and spin her, somewhat gracefully, somewhat clumsily, around the Great Hall. Despite their ages, they looked like fresh newlyweds. Anne and the Lady Elizabeth had been pulled into a conversation from the side of the Great Hall, but pulled themselves out of their conversation to clap as soon as the King spun the Queen quickly. He looked over at them at winked. Henry, alerted by their sound, then walked over and took his daughter's hand and began to dance with her.

If they were not all wearing some of the finest clothes available, he would mistake them for a family that lived under one tiny roof, who were forced to be as close as they were due to their poverty and shared space.

"And Eustace, I encourage you to accept this. This country has never experienced so much sustained peace. The people love to see the royal family united, and Anne is almost as beloved as the Queen, her children even more so. Infanta Maria will be beloved, and safe, regardless of if her mother-in-law is less than desirable."

Chapuys nodded, knowing and seeing with his own eyes that More was right.

Hampton Court

September 15, 1534

Anne lamented that her little girl did not stay little forever. Elizabeth was only nine, but already she could feel that her daughter had become a great lady, seemingly overnight. She cherished the time that they spent together, more as of late, in her rooms. Today, she marveled as her daughter played the harpsichord, which soothed her nerves.

She had felt the child in her womb quicken the other day, a child she has suspected was there for the first time when the French delegation had come in June and had denied to herself. But her breasts had felt tender and she was unable to keep her breakfasts down, and she was unable to lie to herself any longer.

It was not that she did not wish for another child, but the thought of losing another child—or losing her own life—had made her nervous. She did not wish to die before Elizabeth truly grew up, and she did not want to miss her two sons grow into men, like she had watched Hal do.

The baby moved uncomfortably at the thought of its half-brother and his troubles. She and Henry had put off the issue of Hal's marriage until after the Imperial alliance had been formalized and the summer progress had ended. But now, as the weather started to cool, there was no more waiting to be done. The last time she had broached the topic with Henry, he had been unwilling to discuss it beyond what had already been said. He told her that Hal was to marry who they dictated, and that his son did not have the right to pick his own bride.

Anne, as much as she loathed upsetting her Uncle Norfolk, bristled at Henry's hypocrisy. She remembered when they were first to be married, in the early days when Katherine had been determined to stop the whole thing. Henry had railed against his family, loudly and often in her presence, telling her that he would never let them control his desires and that he would have her as his wife because that was what he wanted. He remarked, more than once, that the least his family could do was allow him to marry who he wanted because of the way he had been treated his whole life.

Anne could hardly believe that her husband could not recognize the same sentiment in Hal's pleas to them. But then again, Henry was a stubborn man who took immense pride in their children, which could quickly turn to possession, just as he had exercised over her at times when she had fallen short of what he expected of her.

Normally, and since Elizabeth's death, when she struggled with getting through to Henry, she went to Arthur, who had become her truest and dearest friend. If it was about a more intimate problem, she went to her sister, but she knew that was not an option this time. Mary had expressed reserved joy over Hal and her daughter's budding romance, both thrilled for Cathy's future prospects but aware that Anne was in a difficult position with her stepson's intransigence. She could not speak freely with Mary, as it was unfair to ask her to be her sister at the expense of whatever ambition she had for her eldest daughter.

That left Katherine, who had graciously agreed to meet her at Hampton, despite how busy she often was. She loathed to bother Katherine, although they wrote to each other often, mainly about her children but also about her household, as the two women had ensured that high born ladies were spread somewhat evenly among their households, with Katherine of course getting first pick and more ladies. Their relationship remained close and immensely friendly, but the two of them barely spoke in-person outside of events they were all obligated to attend at Whitehall.

But she also knew Katherine took her responsibility seriously as the female head of their family in the wake of Elizabeth's death, and she also felt badly for not consulting her more often. Katherine had always come to her aid when she asked, whether it came to her marriage or her children's futures, and she knew that Hal's marriage would be no exception.

She heard the guards outside of her doors announce the Queen's presence, and she stood immediately to greet her. Elizabeth also stopped playing and stood up as well, a smile beaming on her face. She loved it when her Aunt and Uncle came to visit her, they always praised her beauty and intelligence, and more importantly, made her mother happier than almost any other visitor, even happier than her Aunt Mary and Uncle George's visits. Today, however, her mother did not look as happy to see her Aunt Katherine as she normally did. Elizabeth watched as the two ladies embraced happily, as they normally did, and beamed at Katherine's usual praise of her, but her mother still had a solemn look on her face.

Strangely enough, her cousin Cathy looked concerned too, especially after Anne whispered something in Katherine's ear and Katherine looked over at her. Cathy knew that she could not leave the room while the Queen was there, and kept her eyes downcast as she sat by the Duchess' fireplace with Anne's linens sitting on her lap, casually mending some of the tears in them. Elizabeth was confused about the sudden interest in her cousin, but said nothing. She was sure that once her mother wanted her to know about why the Queen had come to visit, she would tell her.

As willing as she was to do her duty by her family and her country and marry the French prince, she also dreaded the day when she no longer be able to speak every day with her mother. She and her mother had become nearly inseparable over the past few years, since her grandmother had died and her brothers had become more occupied with their studies. She was still extremely preoccupied with her own studies, but knew that she needed to spend more time with her mother before her marriage. She knew that she could be married at twelve, but that her father and Uncle Arthur did not want her to leave for France until she was at least fourteen. She was grateful for that, more than she could express.

Her mother approached her, a pensive look still on her face. "Darling, the Queen and I are going to talk a walk outside. We'll be back in time for supper. Don't neglect your French today." Anne knew that Elizabeth sincerely wished to observe her household as often as she could as she grew older, but that Elizabeth would much rather spend her days in the school room. She did not want her daughter to neglect her studies, and had secured a promise from Arthur and Henry that her daughter could continue to study as her brothers did until she got married.

"Of course not, lady mother. Your majesty," Elizabeth turned to Katherine and dropped into a graceful curtsey. Normally she would not be so formal with her, but she knew that she could not be so informal with all of her mother's household in attendance.

Katherine smiled at her niece, admiring how lovely she had become and suppressing her own selfish sadness at the sight. Mary would have been a fully grown woman at this point, likely married with her own children. Katherine missed her every day, despite the joy she did take in Anne's children.

She knew that Anne had dangerous religious beliefs and that More and Chapuys were disappointed that she did not act against Anne, or at the very least, were confused about why she was so close to Anne. She also knew that Anne had influenced Arthur and Henry both to adopt more reformist beliefs. But neither More nor Chapuys understood how grateful she was to Anne for allowing her to be in her and her children's life. She would always love her for that, and would never turn against her, no matter what their differences were.

God had taken her daughter from her, and for a long time after that she had questioned her own faith and God's plan for her and her husband. She had always strongly believed that God had guided her mother's hand in arranging her marriage to Arthur, and that it was her destiny to be the Queen of England and continue the English royal line through hers and Arthur's children. When Mary died and her courses stopped, she had never felt more lost.

But then Elizabeth grew older, Edward and William were born, and they loved her. Anne's children loved her like she was their second mother, and while it did not completely fill the void in her heart, she would have been miserable without their love and would have felt completely dissociated from the future of the country she had been raised to believe was her birthright to rule. Another woman may have shut her out, and Anne very easily could have. She could have ignored Katherine completely, as she was a childless Queen without any independent power. But Anne never did, and Katherine would never stop loving her as if she was her sister for that act of kindness.

The two women reached the gardens of Hampton, which were relatively secluded, and began to walk side by side now that they were out of the sight of the rest of the court. Nan and Maria distanced themselves from their mistresses, both of them used to affording the two women privacy.

"What troubles you?" Katherine asked, thinking it was best to get to the point. She was somewhat surprised by Anne's invitation, but was glad that she felt comfortable enough to come to her with her problems. The two women were friendly, but she knew that Anne often sought advice from her sister or Arthur when she needed it. She also knew that people may have whispered about Anne and Arthur being too close, but she was comfortable enough with her relationship with Arthur to know that they were nothing more than friends. Henry, on the other hand, had not been able to conceal his discomfort with his wife's closeness with his brother. But Katherine, despite her earlier jealously, knew that Arthur loved her and only her, and that he loved Anne like a little sister.

"Hal is displeased with our choice of bride for him. Apparently, my cousin Mary has been quite rude to him about his legitimacy." Anne felt her irritation rise anew. She loved Hal just as much as her other three children, and as much as the one growing in her belly now. She hated that he had to carry any shame about his status, which was not his fault. And she hated that Henry had refused to humor him in this, or at the very least understand where he was coming from.

Henry loved his children very deeply and she never doubted this, but with Hal he could be impatient when Hal became sullen. He had often expressed to her in private that Hal was luckier than he realized that Anne had treated him like the rest of the children, and that he should not be ungrateful for what they had done for him. Henry resented when Hal looked sad when he had to sit away from the rest of them when foreign delegates came to Court. Anne understood Hal's moods, as she too was upset that the six of them could not be as much a family in public as they were in private. She had urged Henry to be more patient with Hal, but her pleas had mixed results, and Hal and his father had barely spoken to each other since the recent unpleasantness.

"And I imagine he has his own mind about who he wishes to marry?" Katherine did not remark that he was much like his father that way, not wishing to offend Anne. Now, with the benefit of hindsight, she knew that Anne and Henry's marriage had worked out for the best for everyone, as Anne had proven a capable Duchess of York in more ways than one and Henry would have likely bristled and married Anne anyway, without the family's blessing. But at the time, Henry's defiance had irritated Arthur and Katherine as much as it was likely irritating Henry and Anne.

Except, Anne did not seem irritated. She seemed concerned more than anything about Hal's future and his wellbeing, just like Katherine herself would have been if there were problems with Mary's marriage or her future.

"My niece, Catherine Carey." Henry had forbidden Hal from coming to Anne's rooms until things had been settled, to keep him away from both Mary Howard and Cathy. Hal had been a constant, if quiet, presence in her rooms for many years and she missed him. She knew that this had to be resolved, quickly, before her relationship with her son deteriorated. She went to visit him as often as she could, but it was not as frequent as it once had been, and she already knew that Hal was sensitive about his place in the family.

Katherine nodded. "Well, that could be worse. I know that you do not want to upset your Uncle Norfolk, but the whole point of arranging Hal and Mary Howard's marriage was to keep him close to your family. Cathy achieves that all the same, and he'll be happier with her, I imagine." Katherine knew that indulging the whims of the children was not always wise, but here it sounded like the solution was simple, especially since the betrothal between Hal and Mary was not yet formalized.

"Henry is not so content to do that. He says that we have selected a bride for him and that is final. He thinks that Mary will come around to the arrangement the more time she spends with Hal, and that he is far too young to know that he loves Cathy."

Katherine nodded, as if this was a rational thought. Henry did have a point, but that was not the way their family had worked, ever. The last time an unwilling child had been forced into a marriage, she eloped with a simple commoner and destroyed the hopes for an Imperial alliance for years. Elizabeth and Edward were both serious children who took their duties seriously, and if one of them had acted this way there would be more cause for concern. But Hal was a young man who had risen the highest that he was going to. Katherine did not think that there was any harm in him picking another bride from Anne's family.

"Well then, as you and I have often done when it comes to your husband, we will have to go above him," Katherine proposed with a slight smile, as if this had ever been simple. She was shocked that Anne had not yet gone to Arthur, but was oddly flattered that she had come to her first. Katherine may not have had much of a chance to be a mother, but she was a woman, and she understood Anne's dilemma and desire to respect her husband's wishes when it came to his child.

But she thought, in this instance, pretending that Hal's whims were foreign to him—as if he himself had not had the same whims when he was Hal's age—was a foolish choice on Henry's part. Katherine's relationship with Henry was always tepid, and while she had considered him a friend now and, more importantly, like a brother to her in many ways, she did not think her influence was so great as to influence him when Anne could not. But Arthur could. Arthur had not always been able to stop Henry from acting in self-destructive ways, as only dear Queen Elizabeth was capable of that, but he was perhaps their best chance if, as Hal's sovereign and uncle, he decided to make a different marriage alliance for him.

"Henry will not like any meddling in the affairs of his son. While I love Hal as my own, in this matter, Henry has made it clear to me that, as I am not his real mother, I cannot have too much of a sway in this decision." She found it odd that, despite Henry's insistence that Hal was lucky to have Anne act as a mother when his was long cold in her grave, he was insisting that Hal's marriage was his and his alone to arrange. She wanted so badly to respect him in this, because she knew that he was right in some ways and that she had so often overstepped her bounds with him, but she did not want Hal to suffer needlessly for his father's pride.

Katherine nodded and puzzled over the dilemma. Solving this issue and ensuring Hal and Henry were both happy would be difficult, but not impossible. Perhaps the Duke of Norfolk would have to be unhappy—or, appeased by a better match for his daughter.

If the Duke of Norfolk was encouraged to renege on the marriage arrangement, Henry would be suspicious, but if Anne could convince him to act like the idea was his alone, perhaps Henry would not be so upset. Perhaps the egos of the men involved could all be salvaged—Hal could marry his love, Henry could save face, and the Duke of Norfolk could get his daughter a higher prize than the illegitimate son of the Duke of York.

"The young Earl of Lincoln is the son of a Princess of England and stands to be a prominent figure at court in the coming years, and already is a very wealthy young man." Katherine did not wish to mention the unspoken truth that it was possible that young Edward Brandon could one day stand to inherit a dukedom as well, if Henry, once he became King, raised his best friend to the highest ranks of the nobility, and also rewarded his mistress by making her one of the highest ranking women in the country. She did not want to remind Anne of her husband's great betrayal, even though Anne coexisted peaceably with Jane now for the sake of harmony in the nursery, but certainly reminding Norfolk of the great love the future King had for Edward Brandon's father would sweeten the match for him.

"And he is not yet promised," Anne finished the thought, a slow grin spreading on her face. Edward Brandon was a few years younger than Mary Howard, but such age gaps had not been an impediment before in these arrangements. And although Mary was of age to marry, she could not help but think that she would be comfortable if any young woman under her care was a bit older before she was forced to wed. Mary was her cousin, and even though she had proven herself to be an insolent young lady, she still had a care for her prospects and wellbeing. God forbid she end up like Henry and Arthur's grandmother, married too young and forced to endure childbirth before her young body could handle it, resulting in her near death and likely infertility for the rest of her life.

Cathy was young too, but she thought that Hal may be contended with a longer betrothal and if she and Henry accepted his choice of bride. She knew that the original plan was to have Mary and Hal marry when they both turned fourteen, but that it was unlikely that the marriage would actually take place then. She was sure that the same would be true for Hal and Cathy. She also knew that her children's royal birth demanded that they be promised and married far before she preferred, but if she could spare the other children in her care that same fate, she would be somewhat mollified.

"The problem is making this look like the ideas of men, instead of our idea. I know you said you did not wish to involve Arthur but, perhaps, in this case, it cannot be avoided. If it is claimants to the throne that we wish nullified by arranging matches with your family, it makes more sense to have the young Earl married to a Howard to ensure loyalty to your Edward," Katherine reasoned, thinking the solution all too logical. But while she and Anne could walk in the gardens and arrange it for themselves clear-headed, the egos of the men involved would be the more difficult task.

Anne paused, thinking that she owed Katherine an explanation and an apology regarding Arthur. The two women had never spoke to each other about Anne's relationship with the King, but she was sure that Katherine and Arthur had conversations amongst each other regarding it. They shared everything with one another, Anne thought with a pang of envy. "I did not wish to involve Arthur because Henry would not accept me plotting with him about his child. And, I," she paused, taking Katherine's hand, stopping their walk and forcing Katherine to look her in the eyes. It had been a long time since she had truly looked at Katherine, and she was struck by the content look in her eyes—Katherine had the eyes of a happily married woman and honored Queen. And Anne still saw traces of her fabled beauty that had been remarked on when she came from Spain all those years ago. Guilt overwhelmed her—how could she be so foolish as to cause any rift, or to even think that her presence could cause such a rift, to Katherine's marriage? She felt her voice stall and tears come to her eyes.

"Anne, what is the matter, what is it?" Katherine asked, worried that perhaps Henry had been cruel again. Arthur had told her that the Yorks had been getting along better with each other as of late, and that Anne was with child again—her condition was evident to Katherine, albeit barely—but she knew how unpredictable her brother-in-law could be. She also knew that Henry had accused Anne of having an affair with Arthur, which was a thought that she found equal parts amusing and alarming. Henry resented that Anne trusted Arthur more than him, but her husband was the most soothing presence she had ever known. Henry would of course cynically and suspiciously view that as betrayal, as he could never fully accept his brother or his affection for what it was. And Henry could not appreciate that Arthur was a great man, a greater man than Henry could ever be, and that people were drawn to Arthur as they were drawn to Henry, even though he was not as physically strong.

"It's nothing, it's just . . . I am so sorry, sister, for the way I have used your husband for my own ends. There was a time when things in my marriage were so broken, and my own brother so cross with me and my father so absorbed in his own ambition, that I had no other man in my life I could trust. And he allowed me to unburden myself so freely that I sometimes forgot myself, forgot that he belonged to you above all others, and for any pain that I caused I am so, so sorry for." Anne let out a breath she did not realize that she had been holding for some time now. Katherine had been so busy with affairs of state, and often their conversations revolved around the children. She should have said it to her a long time ago, but she was too selfish to see how much she had to have hurt her at that time.

When she gathered the strength to look at her again, Katherine's smile was unfeigned and kind. "My dear girl," Katherine began, sitting the both of them down and putting a hand in her hair to comfort her as if she were a small child, as if she were truly her daughter. "I know what you were doing and I was never cross with you for any of it. Arthur kept things from me he should not have, but that was not your fault." Katherine had truly never faulted Anne for any of it. Arthur was doing his duty by Anne, as his sister, and he forgot his duty to Katherine as his wife in the process. But, as they had always done throughout their marriage, they had fixed it and managed it together.

"But I want you to know that no matter what, I never thought that I should be Queen before you, or over you. You are my example and my guidepost, and I never took it in my head to love Arthur as any more than a brother." Anne needed her to know. She needed her to know that she never wanted to usurp the affection of her husband.

"Oh Anne, part of why I love Arthur so much is that his heart is so big, and so full of love, and that he shares that heart with more than just me. Never fear. If Henry has made you feel that you have done something wrong, rest assured that I do not share that sentiment." Katherine had been jealous, for a time, and resented Anne slightly for her beauty and her fertility. But she never truly thought that Arthur was not hers. And she also knew and had observed with her own eyes that, despite how wretched things had been between Henry and Anne at times, they loved each other. Perhaps not as deeply as the love she and Arthur shared, but theirs was a partnership that had been forged through pain and constant honesty with one another. Anne and Henry had been lucky enough to never suffer as she and Arthur had, and had never need to rely on themselves alone. They had children and Queen Elizabeth's support, as well as hers and Arthur's. They had never been an island.

Anne nodded, tears of relief and joy falling down her face. "Thank you for understanding." She allowed herself to be vulnerable in front of Katherine in a way that she had not in some time, and hugged her as if she were hugging her sister by blood. "I felt that when Elizabeth died there would be nobody else I could speak to this way, but I was a fool for that too."

Katherine had loved Elizabeth dearly, and missed her everyday, but knew that Anne would never come to her while she was alive, not like this, and Katherine could not feel sad at that consequence. Elizabeth was never going to live forever, and she knew that their mother-in-law would be happy that Katherine and Anne were close, and had avoided the uncomfortable topic of religious reform with one another.

Katherine knew that Anne had influenced Arthur to be merciful to heretics, and that Sir Thomas resented Anne for that, and worried that Katherine's influence with Arthur had waned in favor of Anne's. But Katherine never had the stomach for the number of burnings that Sir Thomas had advocated for. She knew what her mother had done in Spain to nonbelievers and heretics, and as a child and as a young Princess of Wales she had admired her mother for her strength. But with the wisdom of age, and with her own time as Queen, she knew that ruling by fear alone was not sustainable, and that her mother could convince her subjects to change what they said their faith was to avoid the pyre, but not what was in their hearts. All subjects should come to fear their monarchs, yes, but they should also love them. Religious reformation was dangerous, but she never doubted that Arthur remained a true Catholic, or that he shared in Anne's beliefs. Anne had appealed to Arthur's inclination for mercy, and once that had been ignited in him, Katherine knew that it was a battle she would lose. And she could not say that she was truly sorry for it, as many of the men who stirred trouble in England were gone from their shores and were elsewhere, in the Protestant states where their beliefs were accepted. As long as England stayed loyal to the papacy—and Wolsey as Pope ensured that such faithfulness was in their best interests—there was no harm in exile as opposed to burning. Better to avoid making martyrs of men who were wrongheaded.

She did not agree with Anne's beliefs, and knew that she kept secret books in her rooms and engaged a Secretary who was practically a Lutheran, and she could never abide by that. But Anne was a smart and stubborn woman, and Katherine could not hope to change her mind or stop her from going to her husband. The peace they had enjoyed since Edward's birth was precious to her, and she would never disturb it. Better that Anne view her as a friend when she became Queen, and perhaps then she could curb some of Anne's more radical impulses if she tried anything rash.

She had come to accept that Anne was the future, and the best she could do was influence her. Anne would not take kindly to her telling her she was wrong, so she held her tongue.

Katherine patted her hand by way of response. "Well, I know that, if she were with us, she would tell us to ensure that Hal was happy and knew that he was loved by his father. So we will see that come to pass, and we will tell Arthur to speak to Norfolk about a new marriage for his daughter, one that is more advantageous for this family." Katherine knew that Anne could likely convince her uncle to formally betroth his daughter to the Earl of Lincoln, but she would not make her do that. She knew that Anne's family were vipers, and she did not want to make her face them if she did not have, even though she knew Anne would be successful.

"And Cathy?" Anne asked, knowing that Norfolk would not be happy if his daughter was jilted in favor of Mary's child—he had not yet forgiven her for marrying William Stafford and, even though he was a Baron and Mary was her chief lady once more, Anne doubted he ever would—and the appearance of that would need to be avoided.

"Once Norfolk independently agrees to wed his daughter to the Earl, which he will do if the King commands it of him, then another woman of suitable age would need to be found from your family. Who better than your beloved niece?" Katherine could not help a smirk from forming on her face. She hated that Henry could not just allow his son to be happy, but if he would continue to be difficult, they could work around it and this was the best way to do it. "I will speak to Arthur tonight, I am sure he will understand and agree with us. Once Norfolk agrees, Brandon will have no choice but to agree, lest he look like he harbors ambitions for his son."

The line of succession was abundantly clear, but the wars that happened before were still fresh in the minds of some, even as most of the people who were alive at that time were dead or too young to remember the troubles when Elizabeth of York's relatives had turned against one another, cousin fighting cousin, brother fighting brother. Edward Brandon's blood made him a threat, even if his father was loyal to Henry above all others, so loyal that he married his cast-off mistress and, if the rumors were to be believed, had fallen in love with her, even though he kept mistresses still.

Anne nodded, and allowed herself to smile, happy that Katherine had forgiven her for loving Arthur too freely, and had helped her see her way out of this fog. She put her hand on her stomach, feeling grateful that her child would be born to a family that wanted to make its members happy. At her gesture, Katherine placed her hand over hers. "I hope your child has not been disturbed by his half-brother's troubles."

"No, she is quite well." Anne responded. She was confident this child was a girl. "She will of course be named for you." Her last daughter, dead before arrival, was never formally christened and never had a name, even though she was referred to as Katherine by her and Henry. Still, she wanted to honor her dear friend, and would not allow her grief to sully what her friend deserved. "And I hope that someday she will be as happy as you are," Anne expressed.

"I have no doubt that she will, with you as her mother." Katherine stood up and looped her arm around Anne's, and the Queen and the Duchess of York returned to their walk, content with each other's company and all that they had accomplished together, and what they were sure to accomplish yet.

Whitehall Palace

Arthur came to Katherine's rooms that evening, laying a kiss on her lips as she sat in her chair, reading some reports that she had missed that afternoon while at Hampton. "Good evening, my love. I hope you had a pleasant visit with Anne," he remarked, taking the chair opposite her. He thought she looked particularly beautiful and happy this evening, and he relished in it. Katherine too often looked as he used to, when he could fully partake in the governing of his country without it weakening his body, overburdened with the affairs of their kingdom. He felt his desire rise for her, not wanting to wait until their conversation was over before taking her.

Some may have thought that he was too weakened to be a proper husband to his wife, but he felt better these days, as well as he had in years, and he wanted nothing more than to have her at that very moment, but it was not their way. They always discussed their days before retiring for the evening, so he stayed seated.

"She and the child are well, and Elizabeth grows taller and more beautiful each time I see her. And the boys are doing well, Edward has apparently progressed with his reading as well as could be expected, and William still has the look and attitude of his father." The state of Edward's education had weighed on them, but Katherine trusted that Anne had it well in-hand, and that the tutor she hired would ensure that Edward would be able to be a worthy King when his time came. "The problem, however, is Hal."

Arthur could not say he was surprised at this. Hal was often a sore spot for his family, and he wished that the boy could be more content in his status. But as the only acknowledged bastard in their family, Arthur knew that it would always be such, unless Hal came to accept it. Arthur had hoped his elevation to viscount would solve the problem, but perhaps that had been naïve. "What can we do?" he asked, sensing that Katherine had the answer.

"Hal is displeased with our choice of bride for him—apparently Mary Howard has been quite rude to him, and he loves Anne's niece, Catherine Carey. Anne and I decided that we should propose a new match between the Howard girl and Edward Brandon, and then later propose Cathy. I told her you would speak to Norfolk, and have it come from you, not from her, as to not upset Henry."

"Seems sensible. I do think Henry will be suspicious regardless, but I do not know why he cannot make his son happy. The poor boy has so much less than his siblings, despite our best efforts otherwise. The least Hal can be allowed is to pick his own bride, as his father did before him." Arthur knew how stubborn his brother could be, so it did not surprise him that Katherine and Anne felt the need to concoct an elaborate plan around Henry's desire to have his will executed at all costs, but he hated that it had come to this.

If Arthur had betrayed his marriage vows and fathered a bastard, he knew that his son could not be welcomed into the bosom of his family, as Hal had been, but Arthur would want him to be as happy as the circumstances of his birth would have allowed. His children by Katherine could never have picked their own spouses, as they would have needed to make a valuable alliance through marriage, but a bastard could never be more than just that.

It was as if Henry did not know how truly blessed he was to have four living, healthy, and beautiful children at his disposal, when he and Katherine would have given up their crowns just to see Mary grow into adulthood. The least he could do was make the unhappiest of his children at least somewhat happy.

Katherine paused, not wanting to drudge up the uncomfortableness of the past, but also not wanting to keep things from him. That was how things would sour between them, even after this long, and she could not and would not bear that. "She also spoke to me about you and her. . . about any hint of impropriety between the two of you, and apologized for any pain she caused me."

Arthur felt his blood cool, thoughts of his wife in bed with him that evening flying from his head. He did not regret getting close to Anne, to loving her as a sister, to considering her his closest friend after his wife. There were mummers amongst those at court, as there had been his entire reign, that he was a King under petticoat rule, and he would not deny that he took counsel from Katherine and Anne more than he did from any man, and he still believed that the wisest course of action because they were the two smartest people he knew. But if getting close to Anne had hurt his wife—he did not give a fig for Henry's feelings on the matter, as without his cruelness Anne would have had no need of his company—he truly regretted it. He did not care what they whispered about him, and never had, but Katherine's opinion of him mattered to him above all others.

"Did you accept her apology?" He asked, hesitating slightly. But he needed to know the answer, despite his own feelings of guilt coming to the surface. Henry's accusation, and Anne's tearful admission of that accusation, still haunted him some nights. Henry's beliefs could be written off has paranoia, but if Katherine had felt betrayed, he would never forgive himself. She had confronted him shortly before Wolsey had been elected Pope, but they had not discussed it since, even though his friendship with Anne persisted. If he had neglected her in anyway, that was his fault, not Anne's.

"I told her there was nothing to apologize for. Was I right to do so?" Katherine believed what she had said to Anne, that she was secure in her marriage and her husband's love for her and did not begrudge Anne's friendship with Arthur, but she still wanted to hear it from him, and wanted to look at him when she answered.

"Yes, she does not owe you an apology. I do. In helping Anne, I fear that I have neglected you. If you have ever felt that way, I am truly sorry, just as I am sorry if it's caused you any humiliation at court." He was not so naïve as to think that there were not some at court that found his relationship with Anne strange and too close for even brother and sister, but he did not care about that—but Katherine may. Katherine may have cared about her perception amongst their subjects, and he should have taken that into consideration. "But I hope you know that I love you above all others, and I have never even considered taking another woman to my bed, especially Anne."

Katherine smiled at him, and he felt his desire return again. "I do know that. I have never doubted that. And how can I feel neglected, when you come here every night and love me as you have done since those early years at Ludlow?" She felt warm when she looked across the fireplace at him, the light dancing on his face, his blonde hair almost looking like a halo. He was still so handsome to her. "As I have loved no other man but you."

Arthur crossed the room and lifted her up, kissing her passionately. "Wait," she said, putting her hands on his chest to still him. "What did you do today?" she asked, the mirth in her eyes evident at her stalling. They had always discussed both of their days before retiring, and she did not want to end their conversation talking about Anne and Henry.

"With you plotting to see our nephew married to the woman of his choosing, I had to entertain petitions and go to Council. It was dreadfully boring and all I could think of was tonight," he said quickly, returning to kissing her neck and undo her hair from its simple twist. "Oh, my dearest Catalina," he whispered in her ear.

"It's been some years since I've been called that," she remarked, as she untied his doublet, tugging at the stays.

"My grandmother made you change your name, I should have told her no. I should have never stopped calling you that, the name you were born with."

"No, she was right to tell me my new name. Catalina was who I was before I was your wife and the woman you loved above all others. That is not a time of my life that I hope to remember." A long time ago, she thought her sainted mother was the most important person in the world, but it could not be. She had learned from the mistakes of her mother—and from her mother and father's marriage—and been better for it. She was happier as Arthur's wife than she ever was as Infanta Catalina, and it took her far too long when she was younger to realize that. She hoped that Infanta Maria, the next Spanish Princess to come to this strange and wonderful land, would be just as happy as she was, even if it was with another woman's son and not her own, as she had once dreamed.

"Alright then, my dearest Katherine, my only beloved. Tell me where to kiss you next, and I shall obey."

Hampton Court

Anne had come by his rooms a few days ago to tell him to be patient, that she and the Queen had come up with an idea that would take a few months but that he would have his heart's desire. Her smile was wide and she seemed confident.

Hal had faith in her, and in the Queen, knowing that they were as formidable as any pair when they worked together, but he could not quell his anger towards his father. It should not have been necessary for Anne and the Queen to work around his father and his father's ridiculous designs on his future.

Why his father would not allow him to be happy, and to let him have the only thing he ever asked for, was beyond his understanding. He never asked for a title, or for his own grand apartments, or for a large allowance to furnish them. The only thing he had asked for was the liberty to pick his own bride, and the only person who cared enough for him to ensure that he could be happy was Anne.

Elizabeth too, had also sensed his recent displeasure, and he felt his heart swell with love for his sister, his only true friend after Cathy, when he remembered how indigent she was on his behalf the evening previous.

"I never liked Mary Howard, I always found her to think too highly of herself. She is not a suitable bride for you, and papa should see that." Elizabeth thought the solution far too simple. If Hal loved Cathy, who was a much kinder person than Mary and a much better wife for him, she did not know why their papa would refuse his request. She knew that she, and Edward, had to marry for the benefit of their uncle and father, but Hal did not. Hal was not a prince, but he was freer than them in a lot of ways.

"I would think so too, Lisbeth," he said, using his childhood nickname for her, hoping to keep the venom out of his tone towards their father. "But you know how he can be. He said that I must do something, so there can be no negotiation."

"He hit mama because she disobeyed him." Elizabeth still did not know the full story of why her papa hit her mama, but she knew that her father's temper only came out when any of them dared to argue with him. "Please be careful. I would not have him hurt you, too."

"He will not hurt me, but he will make me miserable."

Elizabeth paused and then reached in to hug her brother. "I will do everything in my power to see to your happiness, brother. If he refuses you, he will not refuse us both."

Hal very much doubted his sister could do much more than Anne was likely already trying to do on his behalf, but he knew that she still meant to help him, and that's all he cared about.

At the thought of Elizabeth risking her position with their father at his behest, his little sister who already shouldered so much of their family's burden at her young age, even though all he truly was asking from their father was to be happy, filled him with a rage he thought he was not capable of. Bad enough Anne, who his father had been cruel to in the past too when she dared to stand up to him, was wiling to risk herself for him—he could not allow his sister to do the same.

He felt his feet carry him to his father's doors before he even realized that he had arrived. His father's groom, a man he recognized but whose name he could not place in his rage induced stupor, announced him and let him into his father's apartments.

His father was thankfully alone, seemingly engrossed in some sort of volume with a thoughtful and almost quizzical expression. Hal was glad that neither Anne nor Edward was with him, as he knew that both of them were more frequent evening visitors to his father's rooms than he ever was.

Hal had adored his father for as long as he could remember, finding him the strongest and bravest man in the world for most of his life. He remembered longing for his visits when he was young, before he had been moved into Hampton permanently as a full member of the family. His grandmama was the most frequent visitor aside from his father and mama, who he now could barely remember, and she too told him stories of how brave and gallant his father was, and how she would pray every night for him to turn out just like his father, her darling son.

When he got older and moved into Hampton, he remembered his father making sure to be kind to him, to still treat him kindly and to pay attention to him, even when it became apparent that his new half-siblings were accorded more respect and status than he was. Edward's birth had not changed things much at first, but as he got older that had changed the calculus significantly, as his brother was much younger than him, and thus needed the attention of his parents more often, and was the heir to the throne. Edward was the light of his father's life, that much was obvious, even when Edward's education had turned into a bitter disappointment.

Hal, who had tried not to cause a stir by behaving modestly, turning down monies to decorate his rooms more lavishly even when Anne insisted, had become somewhat of a disappointed to his father as Edward grew other, even before this. Hal enjoyed reading more than hunting and enjoyed spending time with Anne and Elizabeth over his father. Hal had grown to admire his uncle Arthur more as he had gotten older, watching how kindly Arthur treated the Queen, the woman who he obviously adored above all others, and how kind and fair-minded he was in his dealings. Hal found his father's quick temper and disrespectful treatment of Anne less appealing as he had come to realize such behavior was not required of truly gallant and noble men. Consciously or not, he had pulled away from his father, even before he dared to stand against him.

Looking around at his father's rooms, with the trappings of his status everywhere, he never felt more out of place in his father's life. His father had married the woman he loved, but had not been content with that, and needed validation from every source he could find, right down to the decorations in his room. Hal's modestly decorated rooms only needed one thing to feel complete, his Cathy. Cathy would make him feel whole and wanted, even if his father could not.

He just needed his permission to marry her.

"Father," Hal cleared his throat, sounding weaker than he intended. Henry looked up though. "Father, we must speak."

Henry looked at his eldest son, blinking the weariness from his eyes from reading over the latest bill to dissolve a corrupt monastery. He knew that Anne liked to discuss these things with him, and she was due in his rooms at any moment. He had thought that he had heard one of his grooms had announced somebody, but he was too engrossed to realize that it was Hal, standing before him, looking intensely angry in a way that he had only ever recognized in himself before. "What is it?" he finally asked, all of the sudden impatient.

Hal was precious to him still, even if he could not see it for himself. Hal was his oldest child and would always be special to him, but he had also come at a crucial time when his position in the world was uncertain. Hal was a reminder that he did not always need the approval of his brother or Katherine to be happy, or to father children, but such approval would make his life and the lives of those he loved so much easier. Hal had been the first time that he realized that he was willing to fight for that approval, and his precious baby son had deserved everything that he could give to him.

Edward was Anne's son and therefore he knew he would be capable of ruling England just as well as any boy on earth, more so, even though he struggled with reading Henry had come to learn that Anne was right that his struggle with reading had nothing to do with his intelligence, which was just as fierce as his parents'. But looking at Hal now, handsome at his nearly fourteen years of age, Henry knew that his sometimes bookish and shy son could have also been a great leader like Edward would come to be. In so many ways, Hal reminded him of Arthur, perhaps the most out of all of his children.

At the thought of how difficult things must be for Hal, Henry felt himself soften and gesture to the chair across from him. He watched as Hal's eyes followed the groom who had poured them wine to the corner of the room, where he finally settled to afford the father and son privacy. Hal took a large sip of his wine before speaking, reminding Henry of how he used to act before having to speak to Arthur.

"I cannot allow this to continue. I love Cathy, as much as you love my lady mother. I know you think us too young and too foolish to know for certain, but it is the thing that I am the most certain of every morning when I wake up. She makes me so happy, father, in a way I did not think possible because of…" he felt himself trail off, not wanting to unnecessarily upset his father but wanting him to know. Wanting him to truly know what living with the name FitzYork had been like while he had been surrounded by his legitimate siblings.

He did not begrudge or envy Edward or Elizabeth, or even little William, of their burdens that came along with their status. But his status could only be laid at the door of one man, and he was the only man who could fix the displeasure that he felt.

"Because of what? Because you are my bastard son and have been given every comfort in the world?" Henry asked, feeling his temper rise again. How could Hal be so ungrateful everytime they spoke to one another? Was this how it was to be now, for the rest of their lives? Would Hal continue to use his status to guilt Henry into giving him everything he wanted, including maybe his legitimacy? A place in the line of succession? Surely, he would not dare to ask over Edward, but perhaps William? Elizabeth maybe?

It was not that he did not feel sympathy for Hal, but he had done everything he could to make the boy feel loved. It was not his fault if he did not see or appreciate that.

"Because I am your bastard son and you do not love me enough to give me the one thing I have truly asked for! You can take my title, hell, you can take my name and give me whatever name you like. You could say that I was truly the son of Bessie and some other man. I do not care as long as I can have the one person who makes me feel like I am worth something!"

"You may have never asked for any of these things with words, but you have in your actions. You chose to decorate your rooms as if you were some poor relation, instead of a beloved son of this family. You sit silently while we all have meals together, sometimes engaging with your sister but not with me. You ask for so much when you fail to recognize how much you already have, and fail to afford me with the filial love your father deserves." Henry was too proud to admit that his son's words, and the honesty which radiated off of him, impacted him. He would not yield, not when he had already given him so much and he had proven himself so ungrateful.

Hal felt hot tears well in his eyes, tears he knew would not help his cause but that he could not prevent from flowing. "I love her, father. The thought of her marrying another man makes my skin crawl. If you do not let me have her, I will run away with her and you will never see me again."

"You hate me that badly? What have I done to you?" Henry asked, fearing the answer.

"You did not marry my mother! And you hit the only woman that I have never known as a mother when she dared to defy you!" Hal's response was immediate, surprising even himself. But it was true. His father's sly remarks about how often he read inside of rode, how often he spent time in Anne's rooms instead of his, they had torn away at him bit by bit. But he did not hate his father for it. He hated his father for taking a woman to bed who was not his wife, impregnating her and recognizing the child, but failing to have the decency to wed her when he was already unwed. And then, when he did marry his bride of choice, daring to strike her when all she ever did was love him and bear his children, his longed-for legitimate heirs.

He loved his father, that much he could not deny as tears flowed down his eyes from the bitterness of his father's disappointment in him, but he also hated him too.

Henry sighed, feeling sadness at Hal's response, his anger deflating. He knew that Hal would one day wonder why he did not marry Bessie and he married Anne instead. Things could have been different if he had, he would like to have thought that he and Anne were destined to marry, but he could have insisted on doing the honorable thing at the time, before Anne was even on his mind. He could have fought for Bessie, but he did not. And he knew in his heart that it would have been futile—but he also knew that he did not love her. He never could have loved her, not truly. But Hal did not need to know that, because despite his waning feelings for Bessie at the time, he had wanted Hal. God forbid Hal think that he was unwanted, or fail to remember that Henry had always fought for his position as best he could.

"I did not marry your mother, your true mother, because I could not. Your Aunt Katherine wanted me in the church, and your Uncle Arthur did not know what to do with me. Your cousin the Princess of Wales was still alive and I was the only threat to her position. They never would have let me marry and have you born legitimate. It would have been too grave a threat to their daughter. You must believe me when I say that I was bitterly ashamed that I could not do the honorable thing, but I was also a lonely young man who felt unsure about his place in the world. Your mother brought me great comfort."

"As Cathy brings me comfort. But I will not dishonor her. She is too grand a lady for me to do that to her."

Henry, despite resolving himself to stay calm, felt his anger return. "Your mother gave herself to me willingly, and I was kind to her. And you—your position, thanks to my efforts on your behalf, is nothing like mine was in those days! Your brittle self would have broken at the pains I had went through as a young man. Anne brought me out of it, but I met her when I was much older than you are now. If you had more faith in me, you would know that I am doing you a favor. You are too soft though, and always have been."

Hal knew that tears would only reinforce his father's opinion of him, but he could not help himself. He would have no victory here tonight, and he thought that he was going to be sick all over the floor, his father's expensive floor. He felt himself rise from the chair when a hand stilled him. He looked up, and saw black hair through his blurred vision. His mother—the woman who loved him, not the one who also loved him and brought him into the world—put her hands in his hair and turned her attention towards Henry.

"What on God's earth are you doing?" Anne asked him, not bothering to keep the sharpness out of her tone. She had wanted to discuss religious matters with Henry tonight, as her plans were still in motion with the King and Queen and Norfolk, but she knew that her night would not go as planned as soon as she heard her husband berate his son. "How dare you speak to our son like that!"

"Anne . . ." he began, knowing that he had likely come across as too harsh, and immediately regretted his words. Hal's fragility had bothered him, but he had lashed out because he knew what his son was asking for was not unreasonable.

Anne, now ignoring him, knelt before Hal. "My precious boy, I am so sorry he has upset you thus." She paused to kiss his temple, wiping his tears from his eyes. "You are not soft or brittle. You are strong, and it was so brave of you to come here to ask for what your heart tells you want. But you have done enough tonight for your cause, my love, I will take over from here." She helped Hal from the chair and motioned for the groom sitting in the corner. "Make sure he gets to his rooms safely. I will be by later to check on him."

Once Hal was safely out of earshot, she turned back to Henry. "Do you have any idea what kind of damage you are doing?" she asked, not able to stop herself.

"Damage? You think him that fragile that he cannot handle his father yelling at him, reminding him of what he has?" And if that was the case, Hal needed to be tougher, Henry thought, though he saw the sense of not saying such a thing to Anne when she radiated with fiercely protective anger for the boy she loved as a son. He had thought himself lucky, typically, to have a wife who loved his son as her own, but at the moment he felt himself cursed.

If he had a more obedient, more jealous, wife, he would be able to see his son married to the woman he chose for him without such debate.

"Not to him, to you. To your relationship with him. He is not so young that he will forgive all of his easily, you know. He is too old to ever forget this, to forget his father's callous disregard towards his feelings and happiness." Anne wanted to shake him, to berate him for being so foolish, but she kept her hands folded in front of her and her posture straight. She would not show weakness in front of him, not when she desperately needed him to hear her, for Hal's sake and for his own.

"He will forgive me, in time," Henry said, sounding more confident than he felt. Would he have forgiven Arthur if he refused to allow him to marry Anne? Did he ever forgive his father for ill-treating his mother? For forcing him to study to become a churchman? For stealing his youth by placing him in his brother's shadow and under his grandmother's watchful eye?

He liked to think he was better than the men who controlled him once, before he was the heir apparent to throne and father of England's heirs. He liked to think that, but he could not convince himself of that at the moment.

"Did you ever notice that George and my father do not speak to each other at court?" Certainly, they were pleasant enough to each other, Anne thought to herself, as her father would never allow his only male heir to totally drift away from him, but there was a coldness there that Henry would have to be naïve not to pick up on.

"I suppose I have, but what does that got to do with Hal?" Henry asked, feeling irritated. He was sure that there some point to what Anne was saying, but he was so frustrated that he felt like he could not wait for her to make her point.

"George did not want to marry his wife. He hates her so badly, and he has no children from his marriage. He begged me to speak to my father about it, years ago, when I was pregnant with Elizabeth. My father told him he had no say in the matter and that was it." Anne shuddered at the memory of her father coldly telling her that if she had loved another man beside Henry she would not have been allowed to marry him. She had come to an accord with her father as of late, but she would never truly forgive him or love him as she used to because of how poorly he treated her and her siblings in the wake of her marriage.

Hal would never forgive Henry if he was trapped for the rest of his life with a woman who he hated and who would never respect him because he was illegitimate. They had the power to make him happy, and she felt rage at Henry's intransigence.

Henry did not respond, so she continued. "In my experience, this will destroy our family. Hal will never love you the same way he does now if you make him marry my cousin. He may end up resenting Elizabeth and Edward too, as George resents Mary and I. Or perhaps Elizabeth and Edward will resent you on his behalf." Her sweet William was too young to understand the machinations of his father, but maybe one day he would come to learn. And maybe the child she had in her belly would feel the same way too. The four of them had less of a choice than Hal, but they would be loyal to their brother, as she was to George, and their powerlessness would bind them together in a such a way that she and Henry would be unable to get through to them.

The happiness and closeness they currently enjoyed was more fragile than she thought her husband realized.

"So we just give him what he wants because we feel badly? What if he asks to be set above our son, because Edward still cannot read and Hal will be a young man with a family of his own?" He knew that he was grasping a bit, as Hal had never demonstrated the slightest inclination towards becoming his heir, but he would not lie to Anne. It was a real fear, and it was something they had to contend with.

Anne sighed and grabbed his hands, feeling a little tender towards him. She knew that this fear was real, how could it not be? "Then we will tell him no. We will strip him of his titles and status and make him a poor relation. Because we have the power over his life, and he knows it. Allowing him to marry the woman he loves will not make him that prideful."

"How can we be sure?" He wanted so badly to believe Anne. He did not want Hal to be miserable, but he did not want to so easily give into his children's whims. After all, he had been Hal's age once, and demanded the world. But, he did not take it. He waited, and God provided. God had blessed him and Anne with abundance in their marriage and they were favored by the Lord to become the next King and Queen of England. He would just have to trust that God would provide again.

Anne, as if she could read his mind, smiled slightly. "My love, we can never know what God has planned for us. But we must have faith in our children, who are the most darling four children we could have been blessed with. Hal will not move against us. He will be happy with his bride and his life and be our loyal boy once more."

"What about your Uncle Norfolk?" Anne was right. She was always right. But they had to do right by her uncle too, who could make a great deal of trouble for them if they displeased him.

Anne smiled, thinking Katherine would forgive her for spoiling their plans to Henry. After all, they all had worked towards the common goal of Hal's happiness, and she had succeeded.

After his father's groom left him in his own chambers, he knew he ought to retire for the evening and believe in Anne, who had always looked after him.

He found that he could not.

His feet carried him, almost automatically, to the rooms where he felt the safest. He knew that he could go to Elizabeth, who would calm him down. But, it was getting late, and as he wandered through the dark corridors of Hampton, he knew that burden his sister with this.

He wanted a different kind of comfort, in any event.

Anne had recently renovated much of Hampton Court so that every one of the ladies in her household had their own chambers. Cathy's were modestly appointed, as to not show favoritism despite her Boleyn blood, but they were comfortable enough.

Cathy should not entertain a man alone in her room, let alone the Duke of York's bastard son. Hal knew what kind of position he was going to put her in.

He also knew that his father was never going to let him be happy. So he would take that happiness for himself.

Cathy opened the door as soon as he knocked, recognizing the sound of his tap and knowing that he had gone to speak to his father that evening. When she opened her door and saw him, barely holding back tears, her heart broke.

"He said no. Anne came in but I doubt she will be able to convince him."

Cathy felt her heart drop into her feet. She knew that soon, if Hal's father did not agree to let them marry, that her mother and stepfather would arrange a marriage for her. Her mother told her that, the longer she stayed unattached and rumors swirled about her and Hal, the more difficult it would become for her to find a good match. She knew that they were running out of time before both of their parents decided they would have to be with other people.

"We have to leave and marry in secret. My father has a hunting cabin not too far from here. My Aunt Mary married my Uncle Charles in secret some years ago. We can find a priest and they cannot deny us."

"And you think they will let us come back here? After we betray them?" Cathy asked, feeling both irritated and elated. "You could lose everything." That he was wiling to do that for her was touching, but terrifying.

"Without you I will have lost everything." He could give a fig if his father thought he was foolish. He knew the way he felt. He grabbed her hands and pulled her back towards the door. "We do not have to come back. We could live off the land and go far away from this place, from these people who do not love us enough to make us happy."

"Hal, we cannot survive like that. We were not born for that." Cathy also did not want to leave her family behind. She loved Hal, but the thought of never seeing her mother or her siblings again was too big of a burden for her to take on.

"Then let us just have this night, then. We can marry and be together, and if they break us apart after that we will at least have been married for as long as we could be. Please, Cathy, please."

She knew that she wanted to be with Hal, very badly, but she did not know if she could betray her family like that. The strength of his passion frightened her and she did not think he was thinking straight. She had made her decision, they could not. She unclasped his hands from hers. "I am sorry, Hal, but you need to leave. We need to wait for the Duchess to get through to the Duke. We should not be hasty."

Hal nodded, walking away from her silently, blinking back tears.

He did not know why he did what he did next. He could not believe that she came to her door.

"My lord?" Mary Howard asked, blinking back sleep from her eyes. She barely registered that it was Hal, standing there, looking angry and hurt. She let him in and shut the door, her thoughts still blurry from being woken up suddenly.

She also barely registered his lips on hers and his hands on the stays of her night dress. "What are you doing?" she asked sharply, pushing him away.

"We will be stuck together for the rest of our natural lives. I would like to see what my father is forcing upon me before that happens," he replied tonelessly, returning his hands to her breasts.

"What on earth is the matter with you?" she took another step backwards, frightened. "You ingrate bastard," she spat.

Her words broke his trance and he stepped away, pulling his hands with him. Hal knew that he was being unkind and that this was not chivalrous, it was not the way his uncle Arthur would act. He regained control of himself, but still felt his anger. "Do you have any idea how miserable you make me?" he asked instead, putting more distance between them. "I am sorry for my actions just now, and for any pain they caused you, but I am not sorry for who I am."

Mary was startled by his honesty and by the raw hurt in his eyes. She felt her pride dissipate. "I am sorry as well. It is not your fault that you are a bastard, just as it is not my fault that I am a woman. We go where we are bid." In the harshness of the situation, both of them stripped of their finery and of the glare of the Court, Mary knew that he was just as frustrated by his powerlessness as she was of her own. She closed the gap between them a bit. "Perhaps we can find our own happiness, our own power."

Hal stepped closer and studied her. She was not ugly, in fact, she was quite comely. She was not as gentle or kind as Cathy, but the sharpness of her was not so much of a bad thing. Maybe they would be a formidable pair at Court. Perhaps he could grow to care for her—even if he would never feel the same passion for her as he did for Cathy.

Cathy did not love him enough to run away with him, and to give up everything for him. He loved her that much. It hurt to find that love unreciprocated, even though he knew that what he asked of her was unfair.

Perhaps his father was right, and he mistook his lust for love.

Perhaps his father knew what was best for him after all.

Perhaps Cathy did not love him, and was using him for his status as well.

Perhaps Mary was where God was telling him to make his home.

Wishing to stop the confusion in his head, he closed the gap between him and Mary and kissed her.

She did not push him away this time.

Hi, sorry this took so long! I hope you all enjoyed it. I could not help myself and needed to make Hal a bit of a hormonal teenager. He is Henry's son, after all. Like I've said for the past few chapters, we are coming towards the end, although I still love writing these characters so finding an end point has been very hard.

I look forward to hearing your thoughts, if any of you are still out there -Marissa