Firstly, sorry about the long wait. University, family and moving house does a lot for interrupting the whole writing process. Secondly, thank you sooo much for the reviews you've written, I appreciate them a lot. Now back to the story!

Weeks hurried by, they turned to months and those same months made a year. A whole year had almost past yet life at court remained the ritual it would always be; Dinners, dances, dalliances and the ever present buzz of people wanting to reach the King's ear, but none had such near a place as Anne Boleyn. There were the inevitable rumours; Anne was pregnant, she and the King were secretly married, yet regardless of the sneers and whispered comments, Anne basked in the path of his Majesty's bounty like a cat in the midday sun.

Though life seemed unchanged, save for the face of lady at the King's side, all talk was of the arrival of Cardinal Campeggio and the impending legatine trial of Queen Katherine. But, for all the certainties of courtly life, the smooth and uncomplicated supplication of a Queen was not one of them. The process was frustratingly slow and Anne knew why. The Pope and his minion Cardinals, including Wolsey, were intentionally delaying the trial and waiting for Henry to either get bored or settle for a compromise. Henry, being the fickle King the whole of Europe knew him to be, was already showing signs of buckling.

In the palace's private gardens, Anne and Henry were walking. Until that moment they had both been in excellent moods, since it seemed the Pope had already decided in favour of the divorce and the couple could at last begin preparations for their marriage.

"Also, for the sake of appearances, there is something else." Henry broke from Anne's embrace and moved just out of reach, he seemed uncharacteristically awkward. "For a while I shall have to share Katherine's table... and sometimes her bed."

Anne stopped dead and glared at him, her jaw innately clenching and lips pursing into a sulkish pout.

"Her bed?"

Henry smiled ingenuously and said in a coaxing voice, "It's nothing, my lawyers have advised that to do otherwise would risk a countersuit. I could be seen to be acting against her conjugal rights."

"You think it's nothing to go back to bed with your wife?"

"What do you think is going to happen?"

"What usually happens." And Anne stormed off.

It was also plain knowledge to anyone in Henry's inner circle that the King, Wolsey and Campeggio, when they should have been focusing on preparing for the trial, were desperately trying to persuade Katherine to take the veil and retire to a nunnery. Of course, Katherine refused. She saw it as her God given right and purpose in life to be the Queen of England until the day she died.

Anne marched down the corridors of the palace at Whitehall, three attending ladies in tow, to her father's rooms. All she passed bowed or curtsied as though the Queen were passing and Anne could not help but feel the part, the only thing missing were the jewels. However, all confidence and feeling of satisfaction could be knocked down by a single face.

"Your Grace."

"Lady Anne" Charles bowed. Onlookers would see nothing in their exchange that hinted at discomfort or awkwardness. For their history, and its lingering effects, they managed to converse soberly though, whether the other knew or not, it was mutually felt they would prefer to meet alone.

"You are well?"

"I am."

"And your wife?"

"She is well also."

"I hear your wife has bore you a healthy son, your Grace" Anne said, her voice lacking in all celebratory.

"Anne.."

"No. I'm glad. I'm glad. Excuse me your Grace."

Anne walked away without another word, swallowing her protestations and grief like a bitter pill. All this time he had avoided him, that priority being nevermore so vital since the birth of his son. She knew they were wed and that the marriage was a loveless one and could take some console from the belief that they did not share a bed - many marriages made of convenience often resulted in the partners living separately, why should Charles and Margaret be any different? However, the birth of a child, a son of all things, confirmed that, regardless of love or the lack of it, the unhappy pair were still partaking their conjugal rights.

She carried on down the corridor, forbidding herself from turning her head back, and busied herself with playing Queen. Yet, there was that niggling feeling; the heightened sensation of anxiety that is ingrained on the human mind from the days when they still ran from wild beasts, and she knew that should she turn, she would see him still standing there looking at her. The feeling faded when she turned a corner and disappeared only when she wrapped her knuckles against her father's chamber door.

.

Thomas Boleyn was slowly pacing beside his desk, his left hand cradling his chin while his right folded under it across his stomach. Norfolk was sat at the desk staring blankly at the window while his brain trickled over the recent events at court.

"Papa, you- Uncle," Anne hurried a bowed head towards Norfolk not having expected him to be present, "you sent for me?" Boleyn continued to pace.

"Things are taking too long" The anxiety noticeable in her father's voice.

"And that's my fault?"

"Regardless, the King needs further persuasion." Norfolk said.

"What else do you want me to do? I made him fall in love with me! I speak against Wolsey at every turn! What more can I do? Would you have me poison Katherine for the sake of your precious titles?" Norfolk shot her a warning look; Katherine was still the Queen and if any should have overheard that little outburst they were fully entitled to call it treason.

"No, nothing so drastic," He slid a book across the desk towards Anne. It was a book she had poured over many times, Martin Luther's 'On the Babylonian Captivity of the Church'. In it Luther examined the seven sacraments of the Catholic Church, attacking the practices as a burden on believers only to display papal authority, like an opiate for the uneducated. In Catholic kingdoms the work of Luther was highly heretical and the possession of such books banned, punishable by branding or death by burning.

"Where did you get this?" Anne picked up the volume and flicked through the pages, she saw the pages and passages were marked, sentiments that had particularly spoke to her underlined in faded ink; this was indeed her copy "You have no right to go through my belongings.."

"We have every right." Norfolk took the book from her hands and feigned to read his prop.

"The King is on the edge of a great change, if he will not jump, then he must be pushed" He snapped it shut and placed it back on the desk as he eased his old bones back in to the chair.

"I've taken the liberty of speaking to Mr. Cromwell for you; he is sympatheticto your philosophy." Norfolk scoffed at the word, he was of the breed that kept their faith in their accountants' books and defined their deity by how far up in the world the believer may rise; hell was just a tick of the light. Anne reached for her book only for her father scoop it up first. He held it at Anne's eye line, again using the book as a prop to illustrate his point.

"I make no point of deeming what people should or should not think but Wolsey knows that we are his enemy. If we could find this, so could his spies. Be more careful with future copies." He nonchalantly threw the book into the nearby fire, the flames burning away the evidence of ownership. Anne balled her fist and bit her tongue as she watched her principles turn to ash. "I want to rid the world of Wolsey but I do not want to lose my daughter in the process."

"No, of course not, it would be such a shame to lose your family's greatest benefactor."

.

As expected, little more than a week later, Anne was sitting quietly by her chamber window, sewing a panel for her sister Mary, when Thomas Cromwell, the King's secretary and Lutheran sympathiser, was shown in to Anne's private apartments.

"Lady Anne," He said quietly. Anne put aside her work and rose from her seat, putting aside her embroidery.

"Master Cromwell. Do you have a message from the King?" She asked with a mix of hesitation and anticipation. Although she resented her father and uncle for presuming such action on her behalf she would be a hypocrite if she did not admit that she had been waiting for Mr Cromwell's visit with some trepidation.

Cromwell shook his head, gave a subtle glance over the room to check for servants, or Wolsey spies, who may report on their meeting, and lowered his voice. "I think we understand each other. A mutual friend, Mr Fysh, now living in exile in Holland, has sent me a gift for you." Cromwell produced a heavy book from his side. "The Obedience of the Christian Man, by William Tyndale. It contains many good criticisms of the papacy and of the arrogance and abuses of priests. You will find it most illuminating." Anne took the book, a slight ripple of excitement shiver through her fingertips and up her arm. He warned her to keep the book hidden but this she already knew, even without her father's lecture. Wolsey, More, there were plenty of men willing to burn or torture those who did not subscribe to the old beliefs, such treatment from so called 'men of reason'.

As Cromwell turned to leave Anne called him back and requested that he take a trinket, a small favour laced with gold and red thread beaded with pearls, to the King as a token of her love. When she was alone Anne could not return to her needlework. She immediately sat and held the book in her hand. Slowly she pulled back the cover, opening the book's virgin paper and read the title page;

The Obedience of a Christen Man, and how Christen rulers ought to govern.

She paused, tipping on the verge of the proverbial dagger. Once she had read the book, once she had introduced the King to the chapters most relevant to his great matter, there would be no going back. Playfully she flicked the pages quickly then with a devious smile began the first chapter.

Ainsi sera, groigne qui groinge. Let them grumble, that is how it is going to be.

.

.

Laughter and loud voices filled the hall as the men ate and the musicians played. The food, as always, was delicious and the hall was a dazzling array of gorgeous clothes and flashing jewels. Another night at court, another banquet. For those not in resident at court, whether Lords from country estates or foreign delegates visiting, the nightly diversions the King arranged were no doubt entertaining and splendid but, for all Henry's opulence, the threshold for tedium had been reached and for Anne this dinner felt like the one before and the one after. Anne was sat with her father and brother far to the King's right, Anne's usual place was occupied by a princess. Margaret, recently and rapidly recovered from childbirth, had come to court. Anne's spit was practically venom.

A servant paused beside her and offered a plate of fruit arranged to look like a bouquet of flowers. "From His Majesty" he murmured setting the plate down between Anne and her father. Anne looked up the table to find the King watching her. He inclined his head with a little boyish smile and Anne likewise. Picking an apple from the platter Anne gave a small, quiet, satisfied giggle to herself. She sunk her teeth into the red skin and bit out a chunk of white, juicy flesh then with a cursory glance back up the table she saw the eyes of Margaret and Wolsey on her, both frowning, and Anne shot back a look of a victory.

However, there was another pair of eyes drawn to Anne. Well, there were many eyes drawn to her but only one other pair was important. Charles, sat by his wife, had his eyes trained on Anne since the moment she entered the room. Even as the meal ended and Anne glided to the floor, her attention fixed to the King, almost desperate to meet his gaze, Charles continued to stare at the mystical beauty which made the lavishly attired ladies look like frogs in the mud. Courtiers began to gravitate toward her, all frantic for her favour. Charles turned to his wife, who was staring at Anne with her lips curled. The princess abruptly got to her feet and stomped down on to the floor making a bee line for her brother. She stepped in front of him and curtsied, blocking his path to Anne. In vain she tried to dissuade him but only provoked him.

"Look to your own marriage." He hissed before stalking back to his path.

Anne curtsied demurely to her King, even the guards stood stoic at the far doors could see the air between them burn. They danced, only their hands faintly touching, their eyes locked, and they circled the floor in an ageless game of seduction. Their bodies drew close, retreated, touched, withdrew, and all the time the music played. Henry watched Anne as if he would devour her. They danced as if they were alone in the room, oblivious of the watching eyes, the whispered comments and the speculation.

The song ended and, in front of the whole court, Henry kissed her hand. To the side Anne spied Wolsey eyeing the King, the unwritten sign of 'we must talk'.

"Should I come to you later?" Henry whispered.

"Not unless you have your annulment in hand."

Henry sniggered then skulked away to attend his business and Anne went back to her seat at the Royal table, taking the chair beside the King's. She called for some wine then sat back in her chair watching the rest of the court flitter about; she couldn't decide if they were more like a flight of sparrows or a nest of fire ants. There was the sound of heels clicking towards her from behind.

"Still leading my brother on? Well, I should never have expected more from a Boleyn."

"Oh Margaret" Anne took a large sip of her drink. "I cannot help that his Majesty is compelled by the attraction of youth. Surely you remember what that was like – even though it was such a long, long..." She inclined her head in greeting to a delegate from the Florentine court. "...long, long, time ago."

Margaret sat down beside Anne. "You should aim for someone of your ilk. I would suggest an actor but there seem to be none here. I suppose one of the serving boys would do."

Anne casually leaned over to Margaret. "You know Lady Margaret, with all the titles his Majesty so generously and so willingly bestowed upon my family; I believe a Duke would be more appropriate." She quietly sneered by Margaret, so close that each letter nearly licked at shell of her ear. Anne slowly dragged her eyes across the floor to settle on where Charles stood talking with the young Earl of Leicester. She turned back to Margaret whose mouth hung open, speechless. "You say I should look to my own kind, isn't that rather hypocritical coming from you?" Anne drained the remainder of her wine and waved the servant over to refill her glass. The ladies sat in silence for some time, Margaret furiously wordless and Anne drank glass after glass, she rather liked the buzz of wickedness it gave her. Eventually she couldn't resist the temptation any longer.

"Tell my Margaret, what is it like to live in a loveless marriage?" She laughed out loud and got to her feet, descending to the dance floor and taking her place amongst the sparrows. All about was mirth and laughter but Anne watched Margaret who was still sat, her eyes fixed in resolute hatred and indignation. Charles had seen the exchange and though he had not heard them, he knew something was amiss. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Margaret leave the table and slowly make her way towards Anne.

"If you get your way, which brats often do, you'll find out soon enough." She said calmly and almost kindly before turning to leave the hall. Anne suddenly raised her glass and called a toast.

"To the Duke and Duchess of Suffolk! A healthy son, Henry was his name? You must be thrilled, the son of a bastard next in line to the throne!" She gave a hearty, if not forced, cheer and started to drink when Charles darted out of the crowd and grabbed her arm, pinning it to her side and spilling her drink.

"Anne. That is enough." She broke away from his grasp; no one else in the room made a sound or dare move.

"Come now your Grace. Princess Mary is a sickly creature with a cruel temperament, even if she were to live to maturity who would marry her?" She scoffed.

"And since my coming to Court the King has not once visited the Spaniard in that manner, though I don't think it would matter since she's beyond any use." Anne laughed, it was a cruel and bitter laugh, and then started to twirl about the floor. She shouted at the musicians to play yet they remained still.

"Enough" Charles grabbed her again, this time with more force, his fingers digging in to her supple flesh and, for want of a better term, nearly dragged her out of the hall, kicking and screaming.

Anne screeched at him to let her go and when that failed she scratched him. Realising her nails did nothing to wound him she sharply kicked at his shins. Her toe connected with his leg and he released her but only temporary. In a flash Anne learnt why soldiers did not wear skirts. They gave the enemy something to grab. Charles, his rage starting to boil, reeled Anne back and with a considerable struggle flung her over his shoulder. Even though she could not run Anne proceeded to thump his back and kick at his chest but to no avail. She carried on all the same though.

Eventually, after a lot of bruising and harsh words, Charles reached Anne's chambers. Once inside he threw her off on to her bed, it was the only soft thing he could find. He began to leave when Anne called him back.

"You married the fucking Princess! It would have worked but you had to marry the fucking Princess!" Her anger, which had stirred so much drama earlier, crashed into despair and hot tears flooded her eyes.

"Anne, don't do this."

"It would have worked! We could have run away to France, to Italy, anywhere! Now it's too late..." Her voice failed her. Charles' strength floundered and he returned to sit beside her. Anne rested her head in his lap, occasionally sobbing, and unconsciously Charles ran his fingers through her hair, stroking her as one does when calming a devastated child.

"You do not love him."

"What else am I supposed to do? You married his sister. He was half a mind to cut off your head for that, how do you think he would react if you stole me from him too."

"I thought I already had?" He made her giggle and the tears stopped. Awkwardly she got up and rested her head on his shoulder. Charles cradled her in his arms, time slipping by into the night and only the lengthening shadows told of its passing. Gently he turned to look at her; Anne had fallen asleep a while ago yet he had hardly noticed since she had been so quiet and not put her weight on his shoulder. Carefully he lay her down and loosened the strings on her dress to make her more comfortable. He got to his feet but found himself unable to leave. She looked so peaceful. She did not look like someone who was unloved by family, or that was being used for others gain, she did not look unhappy. Charles leant one knee of the mattress and very delicately kissed her lips.

"There will come a time when I cannot do that." He whispered. She made no sign of waking so he kissed her again. He rested his face beside hers and breathed deeply, lilies, roses and a trace of jasmine. The scent of heaven. Charles stood and reluctantly tore himself from her side. He left her to sleep and savour the freedom she found in it but he did not go back to his wife.

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