A/N: Let me start with an apology for taking so long to update. To be truthful, life had gotten so busy that I hadn't even noticed it had been so long!. The majority of this chapter had been written a while ago, but it wasn't until recently that I was given the time to actually finish it properly. It is a long chapter, 28 pages I believe, so I hope that somehow makes up for the wait you have had to endure.

I also promise to work on updating my other stories as well. I will have more time, I am on break from uni. The Mistress and the Queen seems to be the next story likely to be updated. While my other stories next chapters have all been planned, I just need to make a start with putting those plans into words and paragraphs.

Thank you everyone for you continued support, and to everyone who has reviewed or favourited myself or any of my stories. I do make a promise that these stories will not be abandoned, even if it takes me a while to get a chapter out know that I am always working on them.

On with the story now, as always I own nothing but my ideas.

Chapter 27:

14th of January 1553

Hampton Court

For ten years preparations had been made for the Duke of Yorks progress to Scotland and for ten years Anne had dreaded the fact that the day drew nearer and nearer to coming, and now it was here and Anne wanted nothing more than to go back to that day ten years ago when she had agreed to see her son married to Scotland and refuse.

Alexander was only ten it didn't seem right that he be taken from her at such a young age. How had she ever thought ten was a sufficient age? Of course she knew that nothing could be done now, no matter how much she might have wanted to see the betrothal broken, her reasons for doing so were purely selfish, it was to England's benefit that her son marry the little queen, and as England's Queen it was her duty to see it done, just as it was her sons duty to leave her (his father and his siblings) behind.

To his credit Alexander stood tall and strong, his parents on either side of him, dressed richly and vibrantly in Tudor green. Anne could not tell if he was nervous or scared about the magnitude of what was soon to happen to him, but then Alexander had always been the hardest of her children to read. From his infancy her second boy had always had a stubborn and independent streak, more often than not he reminded her of Henry (especially in their earlier years), while often serious he was also extremely passionate and out of all of her children he was the most easily angered. She thought too that he would be quite the ladies man, often she had caught him staring longingly at Charlotte's female companions (most of whom were some years older than him), he knew he was a charming and good looking boy and (like his parents had before him) he knew how to use such things to his advantage.

It would not be a trait that endeared him to the Scots and Anne just hoped that her little Duke of York was smart enough to not land himself in some strife with the little Queen.

To Anne it seemed as if the whole of England had come to see their Duke of York off to Scotland. Henry's court was full of servants and nobles alike and the whole of their extended royal family (residing in England) were in attendance. And the streets were filled too, Anne had been told that the commons of England had filled the streets from London to Scotland in the hope of seeing their Duke of York make his way to Scotland, where (as his aunt had done before him) he would see England and Scotland united again.

Henry's sister had once acted as a sign of peace between the two nations, now their son would be following in his aunt's footsteps with his marriage to the Scots Queen.

Henry, standing on the other side of Alexander, was clad in black. Despite the fact that they were supposed to be celebrating , the royal family were also in mourning. Eleanor Brandon had succumbed to her illness and died leaving her young daughter motherless and her father and uncle devastated. As such her children (and Princess Margaret), step-children and the Brandon children were all dressed in shades of deep blue and black, all except for Alexander of course, Anne had not thought it fitting to keep him in his mourning clothes on the day he was to make his way to Scotland and his future bride. It would not do them well to make a bad first impression on the Scots.

It had not of course all been mourning over the past years, Elizabeth had birthed a second healthy son, Francis, almost two years ago now. Her daughter had had more luck in the royal birthing bed than Anne had, by all accounts Henri and Francis were healthy and strong boys, both of them the very image of their father, but now Elizabeth wrote that she longed for a daughter to go with her sons, unlike Anne who had always prayed for sons in the early years of her marriage, Elizabeth now had the freedom to pray and hope for a daughter, having already secured the French succession for her husband.

And in England, Anne had also been making preparations for the weddings of her two middle children. To her it seemed only yesterday that she had been bringing Charlotte into the world while William was nothing more than a toddler waddling behind his elder sister. Now in a few months time they would both be wedded and bedded and no longer children in the eyes of the law.

Despite the fact that Charlotte was the younger of the two she would be the first married. The wedding was to take place in April on the exact day of Charlotte's fifteenth birthday. Like her elder sister before her Charlotte was expected to take her wedding vows at a younger age then her intended and at a younger age than her brother. As the Prince of Wales the date of William's wedding had been carefully decided upon, neither she nor Henry had wanted to see him married too young, the betrothal agreement that had been signed many years before had seen an agreement between Spain and England that William and Margaret would be married once they had both reached the age of seventeen.

That hadn't stopped the Spanish ambassadors requesting an earlier wedding of course, almost a month after Margaret had arrived in England Anne and Henry had had to fight off attempts to see William married almost immediately. She knew what her future daughter-in-laws family feared of course, the reason for their impatience, and Henry knew it too, though neither of them would speak of it aloud nor give it any weight.

Margaret's father and uncle feared for the English succession, they feared for their daughter's prospects of securing that succession without a quick marriage and bedding. They feared that Henry would soon die and that when William took his place as King of England that he would forsake the Spanish princess for some other foreign bride or English noblewoman. They wanted to see the marriage done quickly to ensure that it would be Margaret's son that would one day succeed to the throne of England.

As always Anne could not help but shudder at such thoughts, she knew her husband's best years were behind him. She knew that there would be a time, in the near future where she would have to live in a world without Henry in it, but that didn't mean she could bear to think of it or even put such thoughts out loud.

Henry was sick often, his leg troubled him more and more, but he still had his, mind, his wit and his charm. His kisses still left her breathless, her body still ached for his touch, and still he visited her bed often and willingly. Every time a sickness took him Anne feared for the worst, and every time she had to accept that the world she had known for so long would soon change. And so she cherished every moment she had left with him, she cherished the good days, the moments they had alone, the ones they had with their children, and just hoped that Henry would live to see William have a son.

Henry had always worried for the succession, they had three legitimate sons, and Elizabeth had two little French princes, yet still he worried for the succession if William and Margaret failed to bear a healthy son as he and Katherine once had. And so Anne just hoped and prayed every day that Henry would see the Tudor line secured by their eldest boy, so that he would feel content in knowing that they had indeed created the beginning of the golden world they had envisioned.

She and Henry had been married for twenty years before their marriage they had had almost a decade together. Anne could not imagine a life without her husband in it, and in times like these she could not help but wonder if her own children would one day feel as she and Henry felt for one another.

It was a well-known fact that her marriage, the marriage that had made her Queen of England, had been a love match, she chose to marry Henry, none of her children had been given such an opportunity. Elizabeth had married Charles to secure a French alliance, and while Anne thought that, after the birth of two healthy sons her eldest daughters marriage had perhaps become one of love and affection, she knew well enough that it hadn't started that way. Elizabeth had faced years in isolation from her husband and his court, fearing day in and day out that her marriage would be annulled. Despite the odds Elizabeth's marriage had proved successful, Anne just hoped the same would one day be said of the marriages of her younger children.

In that regard, Anne was only certain about Charlotte's marriage. She had known Henry Brandon throughout her entire childhood, and already Anne knew that her daughter, fourteen and growing more beautiful everyday, had her betrothed wrapped around her fingers. Anne had always been adamant that the marriage would be a success, and so far both Charlotte and young Henry seemed determined to make it so. Already Charlotte talked about the names of their future children and what palaces they would keep residence at.

Anne did not know if it was reasonable to have such hopes for her boys' marriages. Margaret of Austria had lived in England for three years now; she and William had been living at Ludlow together during that period. The female companions that had once been apart of William's household now acted as the young princesses ladies in waiting, along with three female companions that had journeyed with the girl from Austria. From all the reports she and Henry had been given the two were pleasant towards one another, they took walks in the gardens of Ludlow and dined together every night, they led dances together and seemed to be a happy couple. Yet Anne sensed no warmth in their relations, they did what they did because it was expected of them, her son acted out of duty and nothing more, perhaps once they were married and bedded things would change, perhaps one day love would grow but for now Anne doubted such a progression would be forthcoming in the near future.

It was harder for her to make a determination in regards to Alexander and Harry of course, Anne had had no physical or personal contact with either the Queen of Scotland or young Marie Eleanor of Cleves. She did know one thing for certain though, for Harry, who was so quick and easy to give love and affection it would be easier to warm to his new wife, especially if she was a pretty girl as she was said to be by the Cleves ambassador. Anne just hoped that the seven years Alexander would have in Scotland before his marriage would do him well, she just hoped that he and Mary Stuart would be able to develop a fondness for each other in that time.

Edward's marriage was of course a different matter entirely. His marriage to Anne's niece would not take place for another three years, and like Charlotte had with young Henry Brandon, young Annie seemed to have Edward bending to her every will. Annie (like the rest of William's old female companions) had joined Margaret of Austria's household, and so she and Edward spent the majority of their time together. When William and Margaret walked in the gardens, Edward and Annie were always a few steps behind, when William and Margaret dined together, Edward and Annie were always next to them, When William and Margaret led the dancing there was Edward and Annie dancing behind them. Yet where William and Margaret were cold and courteous with one another, Edward and Annie were warm and affectionate, they looked at each other with mischievous grins in their eyes and constantly seemed to be laughing with one another.

If Edward had ever felt slighted by his lowly marriage to Annie, Anne had no doubt that such feelings how now disappeared.

For the most part they had forced their children into marriages of duty. They were royalty nothing more could have been expected or done in such matters, and yet Anne could not help but think that her husband had once married out of duty, and he had taken mistresses and sought a divorce that tore apart his country, even if is was for her. What if William or Alexander one day felt the same as their father had with Katherine, what if they one day too sought another to warm their beds and their hearts.

She shouldn't be thinking so hard on such matters, not now, not when she would soon be forced to bid her son farewell, without any inclination on when they might one day be reunited.

It was highly likely that she would never see Elizabeth again, nor meet any of her grandchildren by her eldest. Would she now have to accept the same fate with Alexander? Scotland was closer than France it was true, and there had been talks of both royal families attending the wedding, but Anne gave it little hope or weight.

Alexander would become the property of Scotland and it's Queen once he crossed into their boarder, just as Elizabeth now belonged to France and Margaret of Austria to England.

She had to prepare herself for the likely reality that she would never see her boy again.

Already they had said their goodbyes as a family, already Anne had bid farewell to her son as a mother as Henry had as a father. In the privacy of their own apartments many tears had been shed, but now it was time for a more formal farewell. Anne had to bid farewell to her son as a Queen now, and despite her years of royal training and Queen ship, Anne did not think she could maintain the level of distance and formality that was expected of her.

As Queen, Anne had always behaved with dignity and grace, she had always known to keep her emotions hidden behind her royal station. It would be expected of her to smile and wave at the commons as her son mounted his stead and made his way to Scotland, any tears that might have welled up in her eyes would be fought and shed in the privacy of the castle walls. That would be the expectation of the commons, the court and her family, but Anne found she had no strength for such facades.

" Alexander," Anne called stopping her son in his steps as he made his way to his horse, immediately Alex turned to face his mother and Anne could see that he was fighting his own tears and anguish.

Without a care for tact and protocol nor the crowds of onlookers analysing her every move Anne ran at her son and buried herself in his embrace.

Anne did not know how long she held him, covering him with kisses and whispering soft words into his ears, but she did know that such an embrace would never be long enough. In this moment she was a mother before she was a Queen.

Eventually Henry made his way next to her, she felt him wrap his arm around her, she heard him whisper soothingly into her ears as he broke their embrace, but she took none of it in, her only focus was on Alexander.

She could tell with just one look that her actions had affected him. He was distressed to see her pain, she could see the tears shining in his bright blue eyes and she knew he was fighting to keep them unshed. And for her that was enough for her own tears to stop, she had to be brave for him no matter how hard it might be.

It was Alexander who was being taken away from his home and his family, it was him who should have been crying and wailing, not her….she needed to be his strength now more than ever.

And so reluctantly Anne nodded her head and put a smile on her tear-streaked face. At her signal, Henry gave his own and once again Alexander made his was to his mount, and Anne knew she could do nothing to stop him this time.

She had to let him go.

28th of January 1553

Holyroodhouse Palace, Edinburgh

Relieved. That was how Alexander felt the first moment he laid eyes on Holyroodhouse….nothing but relief.

Their journey from London had been long and tiring, as his was a royal progress it was expected to be grand, it was expected that they would make stops at many important houses, from London to York and from York to Edinburgh. It would have been easier perhaps if their journey had taken place in the summer or spring months, rather than in the height of winter, but Alex knew better than to complain, he was a prince his duty would always come before his own comfort, such a lesson had been drilled into him often.

Besides, he knew well enough (from listening into the conversations of the adults around him) that the Scots were eager to see him arrive in their country. They wanted him and the little Queen well acquainted with one another before their wedding took place (in seven years time).

They wanted to control him. His father had informed him of such often enough for Alex to know it to be true.

" Never forget you are an English prince," His father had said to him in what was to be their last private encounter with one another, " You know your duty in this marriage, you must ensure that the little Queen and her lot keep the peace with England, for your brothers sake and that of your future son."

His aunt Margaret had once been the symbol of perpetual peace between England and Scotland, yet Alex knew well enough that she had failed to keep the peace in most regards. Alex could not allow such failures to be associated with his own tenure as a consort to Scotland.

He had to do everything in his power to do his duty to his family and England. He must always be a Tudor above all else….just as his father had always told him.

His marriage to the Scottish Queen was to be a symbol or perpetual peace between their two nations. It was imperative that that peace remained perpetual.

While he had felt relief originally at the sight of Holyrood, that relief quickly turned into a bundle of nerves when he, and his party, where standing in front of the large double doors of the throne room in what felt like no time at all.

Alex did not think he had ever felt so nervous in all his years. Was this how William had felt when he was presented to Princess Margaret? How Elizabeth had felt meeting Charles of France? Behind those doors was his future wife…the woman he was to be bound to for all his days. What would he think of her? Was she dull and ugly? Or beautiful and charming? All he knew his intended as was the little queen; he had hardly any other knowledge of her.

She was not even a month younger than him, Alex knew that much, and she had been a queen from all but the moment of her birth, that fact alone would mean that she held the power in their marriage. In England, Alex had been the Duke of York second in line to the throne…. his birth had been awaited for decades… he would not be so important in Scotland. No, in Scotland, Alex would be a symbol of peace between two countries; he would be Mary's consort no different to how Elizabeth was consort to the King of France.

He would pay deference to a woman. He would have to please her. He would have to father sons on her. When his brothers' married they would hold the power in their relationships, Alex knew that he must hold no illusions to do the same in his own match. It was a hard truth to swallow for a Prince who had been raised with such importance laid on his own being, but it was one he knew he must bear.

At least in the beginning, his fathers words echoed in his ears, once you have her love and affection she will grant you power, in his fathers ideal situation he and Mary would be joint rulers of Scotland, Alex just had to make her want the same thing in turn. A hard thing for him to accomplish with a girl he did not know.

He was charming, he knew he was, he had been told so often enough. The girls at Hatfield, even those in Charlotte's household, had been enthralled with him, but this was not Hatfield and the Scottish Queen was not another Rich or Dudley girl for him to impress….she was a Queen. No matter her years, the girl was a Queen he had to remember that above all else.

At the Earl of Surry's signal, the large doors creaked open and Alex found he could not move, " Have strength, your highness," Henry Howard whispered in his ear, guiding the young prince into the throne room as the royal herald announced them.

" His Royal Highness, Prince Alexander the Duke of York!"

Immediately his eyes found her. In truth it would have been hard for him to have not recognised her for who she was. At ten the throne she sat in seemed much to big for her, she was flanked on either side by (who Alex assumed was) the Dowager Queen Mary (her mother) and the Earl of Arran (Scotland's Regent and the little Queen's heir).

His intended did not impose the striking figure he had imagined in his mind, like him he supposed, she was only ten it was hard to be imposing at such an age. She had the red hair of their shared linage, a pale complexion and a small stature, she was pretty and dainty but she was not the beauty her mother was beside her and she paled in comparison to his own mother and sisters.

Yet he would not deny that there was something captivating about her, no one looking at her, in a French gown of cloth of gold, would be able to deny her royal status. She held herself with poise and grace and to Alex seemed to be looking him up and down with a well-trained eye.

At his entrance, Mary rose from the dais, her mother and the Earl both dropped into respectful bows as she passed them before falling into line behind her, Mary may not have reached her majority but in this instance the strictess degrees of royal protocol must be demanded.

" We welcome you to England, Your Highness," Queen Mary greeted in her girlish voice, Alex could not detect her thoughts towards him, her face was as impassive as a stone and her greeting civil and courteous.

Alex bowed deeply before making his own response, " I am pleased to meet Your Majesty, I anxiously await the day we are to be wed."

" I have had a dagger made for you," Mary added turning to her mother for the prince's gift, " It is to be a symbol of the friendship between out two great nations."

" Thank you, Your Majesty," Alex said accepting the gift with a smile, " I will treasure it always. And for you I have bought a fine English mare, would you like to see her?"

Immediately Mary turned to her mother, the girl is a queen yet still she seeks her mother's approval, who gave her assent with a nod.

It seemed, Alex thought as he took the little queen by the arm, that he had passed this test.

15th of February 1553,

Louvre Palace, France

Rooms of Queen Elizabeth

"Henri, ma chérie, fais attention," Henri, darling, be careful, Elizabeth admonished half heartedly as she watched her boys duel each other with wooden swords. Henri, as always was too rough with his younger brother, while Francis made no protest (he was too scared of being banned from such play if he complained), Elizabeth always thought it best to stress caution on her eldest.

"Oui, Mama," Yes, Mama, Henri answered hardly sparing a glance for his mother as he continued clashing wooden swords with his sibling.

Elizabeth shook her head slightly at his nonchalance, before turning her attention back to her sewing. Boys will be boys, she thought she would not put a damper in their fun unless it was absolutely necessary, besides it was good that they played together so well, there was never much jealousy between them and for that she would always be grateful.

They were so close in age and so alike in looks that from afar they often looked like twins. Only a mother, Elizabeth thought, could truly see the (differences between them. Henri was a Valois through and through, while Francis, although dark haired like his brother, favoured his Boleyn heritage and he had her eyes….the eyes of Anne Boleyn. Their personalities too complimented one another, but Elizabeth always thought that there couldn't have been two more different boys.

Henri was affectionate and charming, always into some kind of mischief whereas Francis was more studious and serious always eager to please his royal parents.

Elizabeth was forever thankful for them both. They had saved France from a succession crises and in turn they had saved her and her marriage from certain doom. She knew she was lucky to have two boys in such close succession but that did not change her determination that her next baby would be a girl.

She had not yet informed Charles of her third pregnancy, of late he had been far too preoccupied with matters of state or more to the point to matters of war.

Her husband had done as his family (and the French) had so often done. He had made war against the Holy Roman Emperor, she knew his intent well enough, to recapture Italy and ensure French, rather than Habsburg domination of European affairs. Thus far Charles had opted to remain in France and exert his power from their capital in Paris. Yet she knew he had an itch for more than the political side of the war, for much of his life Charles had been a third son, he had been groomed for the life of a soldier and while he was doing a commendable job on the throne, Charles no doubt thought that he would be better served leading his men from atop of a horse.

It was a reality she found quite hard to bear. In those first years of marriage Elizabeth had never thought it possible that she would grow to love her husband, now it was hard to imagine a time when her heart didn't leap when she laid eyes on him, or a time when her body did not long for his touch.

And he loved her. Elizabeth never doubted such a fact anymore, she had no reason to. Before Henri was born she had managed only to secure his lust for her, her boys had secured his love and her position. She held power now, Charles listened to her advice, he sought her opinion often, he never made a decision without first consulting her. She was a Queen and not just because she had married a King.

Sometimes Elizabeth thought she held even more power than her mother did in England. She wouldn't be able to stop her husband setting off to war though-she didn't have that power.

"Sa Majesté, le Roi," His Majesty, the King, Elizabeth startled slightly at the sound of her grooms voice. She had not expected him to come so soon, and in her heart she knew what news he was bringing her.

Shaking, Elizabeth rose from her seat signalling for the boys to stop their games and stand before her as the little princes they were. Of course as soon as they laid eyes on their father their sense of protocol and decorum left them and they were running into his arms with squealed "papa's."

Charles gave them each a kiss and ruffled their hair as he always did but she could see in his eyes that he came before her with ill tidings. Everything she feared was now to come to pass.

" Jane," Elizabeth called motioning for her grey cousin to come beside her, she could hardly stop her words from shaking and in her nervousness she slipped back to English, " take the boys to their nursery. The rest of you leave us."

No one dared refuse her, as they made their curtsies and their bows she felt as if they all knew what was to come.

"Tu ne me laisseras pas," You will not leave me, Elizabeth ordered fighting back the onslaught of tears that were threatening to fall, "Tu ne quitteras pas nos garcons." You will not leave our boys.

"Elizabeth, ma chérie, s'il te plaît, ne rends pas cela plus dur que ça ne l'est déjà," Elizabeth, sweetheart, please do not make this harder than it already is, Charles begged softly, he made to move beside her but quickly Elizabeth fled from his embrace. If he touched her she would break, whatever strength she pocessed would dissolve.

"Vous abandonnerez votre peuple, vous abandonnerez votre maison, vous abandonnerez votre famille," You will be abandoning your people, you will be abandoning your home, you will be abandoning your family, Elizabeth knew she was being unfair but she could not stop the words from leaving her mouth, you will be abandoning me, the words hung in the air unsaid but she knew her husband felt them as much as she did, "Et pour quoi? Un peu de gloire sur le champ de bataille?" And for what? Some glory on the battlefield?

"Je les laisse tous entre de bonnes mains," I am leaving them all in capable hands, Charles answered softly ignoring the last of Elizabeth's outburst. She was thankful of him for that, the last of her words had not been very Christian. All Kings sought glory on the battlefield but Charles had been raised to be a soldier, he felt useless locked away in Paris.

"Dont?" Whose? Elizabeth questioned unable to think of a single man who would be able to take her husbands place.

"Le tiens," Yours, Charles answered closing the space between them in two easy strides and engulfing her in his arms, immediately Elizabeth collapsed into them, the heaving sobs that she had been holding in coming out in an onslaught, "Vous serez régent de France, vous le tenez pour nos garcons." You will be regent of France; you will hold it for our boys.

"Je suis enceinte," I am pregnant, Elizabeth sobbed though she knew even that would not make him stay, "C'est une fille cette fois, j'en suis certaine." It is a girl this time, I am certain.

"Ensuite, elle sera aussi belle que sa mere," Then she will be as beautiful as her mother, Charles answered and Elizabeth could see that now it was her husband holding back his tears.

"Vous reviendrez de ces batailles," You will come back from these battles, Elizabeth ordered as she buried her face in his neck, "Vous reviendrez chez nous," You will come back to us…. You will come back to me.

"Je vais chéri. Je promets." I will sweetheart. I promise.

April 21st 1553

London

Charlotte's wedding gown was exquisite. It had been constructed from cloth of gold and white lace, and while it felt heavy on her body, Charlotte would not complain of its weight, it's beauty was more than worth the pain it would cause her. On her neck she wore a grand necklace, her father had had it commissioned in honour of her wedding day, in her hair she wore a veil of white lace (it's train was longer than that of her gown), which sat, prettily around her tiara. Her dark locks she wore down freely as an unmarried virgin, after that day it would be the last time she would be able to do so.

Charlotte remembered her parents once calling Elizabeth the most beautiful bride they had ever seen, after today she knew that title would fall upon her. Many ambassadors had tried to win her hand for their sovereigns or Crown Prince's, even though it was well known that she had been betrothed to Henry for years, Charlotte was just glad that her parents had not been tempted. She had no desire to leave England, where she was so beloved, as Elizabeth and Alex had had to, nor did she have any desire to be married to a stranger, as William was soon to be.

She loved Henry Brandon and it was no secret that he loved her fiercely in return.

Her parents had spared no expense for her wedding, and it seemed that all of London had turned out to see their youngest princess married. The last royal wedding that had taken place in England had been that of her half-sister and Uncle George, but Charlotte doubted very much that Mary had been granted a weeding so grand.

Her brother too would be married the following month and Charlotte could not help but wonder as to how her parents could possibly give him a wedding to match her own. As the Prince of Wales, William's wedding of course more important, his bride was a Spanish princess, Charles and Ferdinand would not be pleased if Margaret's nuptials were seen to be less extravagant then Charlotte's own.

Her parents had done well to compensate for the fact that William's intended now took precedence over her, they had made it clear that as the daughter of the current English monarchs Charlotte would never have to curtsey Margaret unless she had Charlotte's brother on her arm and only if they were in a public setting.

In time that would eventually change, Charlotte would not be the daughter of a sovereign forever, it was a fact that made her even more thankful of her parent's protection, Charlotte would cherish such a thing as long as she was able. Besides it wasn't as if Margaret was difficult, she was pompous and pious and had an air of arrogance that only a Spaniard could, but she was also kind and charming and Charlotte never had any trouble conversing with her. She was not Elizabeth, the Spanish princess would never take the place of Charlotte's true sisters (Elizabeth, Mary and even little Annie who they had lost too soon), but it had been easy enough to adapt to her presence and Charlotte called her sister without any issue.

It saddened her to think that two of her siblings would not see her wed. The Tudor family was forever growing and expanding but sometimes it felt to her as if she was losing more members than she was gaining. It was a stupid thought of course, Elizabeth and Alex were not lost to her- they were not dead like Annie or her cousin Eleanor- and yet Charlotte knew it was unlikely that she would ever see either of them again.

She would not let such thoughts ruin her wedding day though. She would live up to her mother's motto and be the most happy.

18th of May 1553

Palace of Westminster

Rooms of the Prince of Wales

He was stupid, immature, vain and foolish, William was well aware of such facts, yet he was also aware of the fact that they would not deter him from his current course of action. This would be his only opportunity, for tomorrow he would be a married man and everything would be changed.

Edward had looked at him like he had grown two heads when William had given him his request but William had also seen the understanding in his brothers eyes, more than anyone Edward would understand for he had seen it all come to pass, he was the only one William could trust for he was the only one that had been there with him through everything.

He had had half a mind to call his brother back, to put a stop to it all before he had allowed it to truly begin, but he had been unable to find his voice and truth be told he didn't have the courage to stop Edward from doing his bidding….he needed this more than he would have ever cared to admit.

It was late (of course) such things couldn't be done in the light of day, not when all eyes where on his every move, his fathers health was slowly declining (it was no secret) and already the eyes of the Tudor court where turning towards their future king. He just prayed that Edward was discreet in his dealings, but then Edward always seemed to know how to not draw attention.

As soon as he laid eyes on her all of his doubts and worries left him. William was aware of his brother's presence, standing behind Eleanor with his head bowed and his hands firmly clutched in front of him (no doubt he wished to be elsewhere) but William could barley take his eyes away from her for a second. She was beautiful, now more so than ever before.

Given the hour she was dressed for bed, in a lace white nightgown that hung off her shoulders, she had a light green cloak draped around her for warmth (and modesty) and her light locks hung loose around her shoulders- he had never before seen her in such an intimate setting and for more than a few moments he was lost for words.

Eventually he found them, " Edward, leave us."

" Liam…" Edward started his eyes still not leaving the ground; he would be determined to act as a chaperone no matter how uncomfortable he might feel. To Edward-a bastard- nothing was more important than reputation.

" Edward, please." William was aware of the desperate tone his voice had taken but he couldn't bring himself to care.

Edward hesitated for only a second and before William knew it he and Eleanor where standing alone in his chambers for the first time in all their years of knowing one another.

"Ellie, I…."

" Your highness, I must say I am surprised to have been summoned to you," Eleanor interrupted, " And at such a late hour as well. You must forgive me for being so unprepared to be received by you."

It was not hard to detect the anger in her tone. He would be lying if he said he had not expected it. Things had changed between them since Margaret's arrival and for that he had no one to blame but himself.

" It is I who begs your forgiveness, my lady." William stated trying again; she wasn't going to let this be easy on him.

" Oh? Whatever for?" Ellie responded her sarcasm evident.

"Eleanor, please," William begged, he hated seeing her so angry with him, " This is already difficult enough."

" Difficult?" Ellie implored, her face full of rage and her eyes like fire, " Don't you dare try to tell me that these last three years have been difficult for you. Or have you forgotten that I have been here this whole time? It wouldn't surprise me if you had since you have hardly spoken a word to me since she arrived."

She did not speak to him as if he were a prince, let alone the heir to the English throne, she spoke to him as if he were just a boy and she was just a girl.

A girl he had hurt, and for that he did not know if he would ever forgive himself.

He had thought it to be the right thing to do. Margaret had been his intended for as long as he could remember, he always knew a Spanish princess would be his wife, and he had always intended to be a faithful husband, just as he had always known his father to be.

He wasn't stupid he of course knew that his father had had affairs and that those affairs had resulted in the births of his two half-brothers, but King Henry's last affair had ended before Charlotte was even born, William had no memory of his father taking mistresses, but he could only imagine the pain it would have caused his mother.

William had not wanted to be that kind of man. He didn't want to be that kind of husband, that kind of father or even that kind of King. He had been determined in such ways…..before Ellie had walked into his life and in turn his heart.

For the vast majority of his life Eleanor Rich had been all he had ever known. They had grown up together and in turn fallen in love. It was a chaste love, they had never even kissed, but it was love nonetheless, and now as he became a man William wanted Ellie in ways he had never wanted her before. Yet he was a man promised to another, and he had seen Alex and Elizabeth do their duties by England, he in turn had to do his duty as well.

England needed their Spanish alliance, but he needed Ellie….not that it mattered of course he was the Prince of Wales first and William Tudor second. He had a responsibility to England and its people as their future king and so when Margaret had arrived on English soil he had made the decision to cut his ties with Ellie.

It wasn't easy of course. He couldn't even bring himself to tell her and she was a lady-in-waiting to Margaret so of course he still saw her most days, but he never spoke to her, he never singled her out or even acknowledged her. In hindsight he could have handled it better, but he hadn't wanted to give Margaret or her Spanish ladies any reason to think something untoward was happening.

He wanted nothing more than to protect Ellie's reputation and he had succeeded in that, no one but Edward knew of there being anything more between them, but William could no longer deny that he wanted something more.

He had tried with Margaret. God save him he had tried. She was a beautiful girl, and in her own way she was charming, she was always sweet and deferent towards him, she tried the things he enjoyed just to please him, any Prince would be happy with such a woman as a wife. But he was always comparing her to another, and at times he found her arrogant and pompous, touching her felt wrong and always he found himself thinking of how differently Eleanor would act in the same situations.

" I thought I was doing the right thing," William mumbled looking at his feet, so he didn't have to face the hurt in her eyes, " I was promised to Margaret."

" And you still are," Eleanor ground out between clenched teeth, her eyes shining with unshed tears, " Or have you forgotten you are to be married tomorrow?"

How could I?

" Of course I didn't," William responded, his own anger and frustration beginning to appear.

" Then tell me Your Highness, what possible business do you have for me?"

He closed the gap between them with two long strides, he tried to take no notice of her flinching when he pulled her hands into his own larger ones, she was so very beautiful, " Say the word Ellie and I will put an end to it all."

For a moment he thought she had softened towards him a very brief moment, and then her hand were out of his and the anger was once again flaring in her eyes.

" What are you saying?" She questioned her hands waving about her as she marched across his bedchambers, " Can you even hear yourself right now?"

" Ellie, please listen to me," He pleaded she just had to let him speak, " I don't love Margaret, God help me I have tried with her, I want only you…"

" Stop it William," She croaked, and for the first time he noticed the tears falling down her face, " Just stop it. We can never be. Your parents would never allow it….England would never allow it."

" I will speak to them, Ellie please they will listen to me." They too once married for love.

" No, they wont." She put forward reasonably, but it was like she had not spoken.

" If they don't I will threaten to renounce my claim…."

" And I would be the whore who sent us to war with Spain?" Eleanor flared, " Or the whore who saw England left in the hands of a child?"

" My mother and father would never let it get that far, they would risk war with Spain for me, I know they would," No he didn't.

" They would send me to a nunnery and you would still marry Margaret, William you know this please."

" I want to marry you," Again his hands were in hers, this time she did not fight him, " you will be my Queen."

" I don't want to be your Queen," her eyes never left his as she spoke, and the words echoed in his ears.

" Have I been a fool then?" William spat tearing his hands away from hers, " have I imagined these last years between us? Have I imagined that you might have loved me?"

"No," Eleanor croaked, " I love you, I have always loved you, but I will not be your Queen. I will not let you tear your country and your family apart on my account. William, please you know as well as I that we can never be married, you have to marry Margaret."

" Then there is no hope for us," William stated, but his eyes were almost pleading with her to contradict him, to ask for the one thing he could not ask of her.

" There is another way we can be together," She answered, speaking the exact words he had been thinking.

" I could never ask that of you," William replied, " It would ruin you."

" I could live with the consequences," she said firmly, " but you would have to promise me three things."

" Anything," He replied, his head spinning, he hadn't yet quite comprehended what they where promising each other, " I will give you anything."

" Other than your wife you will take no other but me to your bed," Eleanor started, letting out a great sigh as she spoke, she must have thought of this before, " You will recognize any children I might bear you as your own and you will never force me to marry."

" Eleanor," William said, placing his hands on her shoulder and keeping his eyes on her own, " Are you sure?"

" Yes," She answered her voice trembling only slightly.

When they kissed for the very first time it was like they were the only two people in the world and for the rest of the night everything else disappeared.

19th of May 1553

Westminster Abbey

Margaret had decided to wear gold on her wedding day. She had of course thought to wear white, as a symbol of her purity, but had decided against it when she had found out Princess Charlotte had a desire to wear the colour. With their weddings so close together Margaret had not wanted it to be seen as a comparison, of course their weddings would be compared, as all royal weddings were but Margaret had wanted to make sure that there were some point of difference between herself and her sister-in-law.

She could have of course demanded that it be she to wear white. She was the future Queen of England and her intended the Prince of Wales, Charlotte was a second daughter, destined only for the marriage bed of an English Duke, she was much beloved of course, but she was still a second daughter nonetheless. Margaret herself was a seventh daughter, but from a young age she had been destined to be England's queen. Yet Margaret had not wanted to cause any unnecessary tension between herself and England's self-righteous princess, and so Margaret wore gold on her wedding day.

It was an exquisite gold lace dress, with a veil that had been created to match it perfectly. Queen Anne had helped her design it (as she had helped Charlotte and the French Queen), and she had even lent her one of her own tiaras to wear. She had been blessed with the English royal family, truly she had. The King and Queen were kind to her and had taken her into their family with open arms, Princess Charlotte (despite her temper and self-rightous attitude) was a sweet girl with charm and wit to rival her mother, and Harry and Alex had been warm with her from the very beginning, already she missed Alex and his stubborn ways.

Of course she also had to be thankful for her betrothed. William was kind and courteous towards her, so far he had given her no reason to complain and in time she did not doubt that they would grow warm towards one another. He was not the grandest match, England was only a small nation in comparison to Spain, but he would make her a Queen when once she had been destined for nothing other than a nunnery. She was the only Queen out of her sisters (since her eldest sister Elisabeth's passing) and it was likely that she (the seventh daughter) would remain so. All her sisters were promised or already married to Duke's, and little Helena would answer their fathers desire that one of his daughters enter a nunnery, she would do her parents proud in England. It was her destiny.

Katherine of Aragon too had once had such a destiny, Margaret was reminded of the last Spanish Princess to marry into the Tudors every time she laid eyes on the Duchess of Wiltshire, in another world her little Arthur would have been the Prince of Wales, but in Margaret's world The lady Mary served to remind her of her duty. Her duty to her husband and her duty to England.

She had to produce a son for England, and she had to do so quickly. King Henry, who had once been thought to be incapable of bearing healthy sons, had been given sons by three different women. Bessie Blount had born the Duke of Richmond, Queen Anne, the Prince of Wales, The Duke of York and the Duke of Bedford, and Jane Seymour had given him Edward Fitzroy the bastard Duke of Wessex. It was only Katherine of Aragon who had failed in her duty, and if Margaret failed in hers it would seem to England as if their bloodline was cursed.

" I, William, take thee Margaret to be my wedded wife," He was very handsome, Margaret thought smiling as William recited his vows, and he seemed to be happy, the happiest she had seen him since arriving in England, " to have and to hold from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, till death so us part, and thereto I plight thee my troth."

All she had to do was reply now, and they would be man and woman, husband and wife, future King and Queen of England.

" I take thee, William, to my wedded husband, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love, cherish and obey and to be bonny and buxom in bed and board, till death so us part, and thereto I plight thee my troth."

Their kiss was cold and chaste but it was met with thunderous applause from the commons and nobles alike. Already the people of England adored their future monarchs and in time her husband would come to love her too.

It was now that she became what she had always been destined to be, and she would not let anything stand in her way. Not now, not ever.

21st of May 1553

Louvre Palace, France

Rooms of Queen Elizabeth

This would be the first time that her husband would not be present for the birth of a child. She had dealt with his absence these past months; she had buried herself in the running of the country and in her boys of course. She refused to be parted from them, no doubt her mother had often craved such a luxury, to have her children about her always, but Elizabeth could have it no other way. With Charles abroad and at war, Henri had to be with her always; she had to act as his protection, as a shield from those who might seek to gain from any misfortunes that may happen in the battlefield.

Her children would never be used as pawns against her. Charles had made it clear that she was to be named as Regent if anything were to happen to him (God-willing he was safe and away from any danger), yet still she had to take precautions. And if Henri was with her than Francis too had to be, she had to have control over her husband's heirs, she had to ensure their safety at all costs, for Charles and for France.

Such things had of course been made difficult when she had entered her confinement, but she had done her best to manage them from the birthing bed. She had entrusted Jane Grey to see to the boys day to day needs, and every day they visited her, growing stronger and more beautiful each moment she laid eyes upon them. That decision had been made easy enough; it was the matters of the country that had plagued her with many sleepless nights. She had to entrust the regency to someone, it would not be seemly for her to rule from her bedchamber, but she had refused to give control to one of the men on her husbands council, she had to have eyes and ears on everything, the person she entrusted had to be more than an ally, they had to be family. Naturally, Elizabeth's choice had fallen upon the Duchess of Berry, such a choice had turned some noses of course, but Elizabeth was a Queen, it was not her job to please it was her job to rule.

"Je peux voir la tête, Votre Majesté," I can see the head, Your Majesty, the midwife announced from between Elizabeth's legs, it took all of her strength not to let out a sigh of relief at the words. This was her third labour, and it had not proved to be any easier than the last.

She knew how it went now of course, she would push once or twice more and then she would be met with the piercing scream of her child, of her daughter, yes Elizabeth was certain that she was delivering France's newest Princess.

As if on schedule she felt the infant leave her body and an infants wail fill the walls. As soon as she heard the cry, she knew she had been right (so far she had not been wrong on these matters) she had born a daughter.

"C'est une fille, Votre Majesté," It is a girl, Your Majesty, the midwife announced holding her daughter up for her inspection, "Une princesse pour la France," A princess for France.

Not once did Elizabeth feel disappointed at her daughter's sex. Not once did she wish the girl was a boy. It was a sad realization for Elizabeth to know that her own mother would have felt immense disappointment at Elizabeth's own birth, she would have prayed every night for the child in her womb to be a boy and no doubt she would have wished countless times afterward for Elizabeth to have been born male. Even with Charlotte, Elizabeth knew her mother had been somewhat disappointed, they had had Liam of course, but without a Duke of York her mother was not secure, it wasn't until little Annie's birth that Queen Anne could have truly felt pleased to have given birth to a daughter instead of a son. And such joy was soon mingled by immense grief, she could not help but thank God that she had had an easier run in childbearing than her mother.

Henri and Francis had come so close together and had both been so healthy and strong that Elizabeth had been able to hope for a daughter and be glad to have one. She did not ever want to feel the pressure she had felt with Henri again. She vowed that she would never be disappointed in the sex of her children.

She would have boys and girls both, many of them, and she would be glad for them all.

"Elle est belle, soeur," She is beautiful, sister, Margaret exclaimed as she bought the still screaming princess to her mother, "et plus comme vous alors les garcons," and more like you then the boys.

She spoke the truth; Elizabeth thought looking at her daughter for the first time. Like her brothers, the little French princess took after the Kings side in looks, but she had traces of Elizabeth in her that they boys did not poses and like Francis she had the eyes of Queen Anne.

"Elle est parfait," She is perfect, Elizabeth muttered, kissing her daughters little fingers, how quickly they forgot how small a baby could be. Already Elizabeth was in awe of her.

"Le roi at-il laissé des instructions quant à son nom?" Did the King leave any instructions as to her name? Margaret asked staring at her new niece fondly.

" Non," No, Elizabeth answered with a smile, as always he left such things to her, as if to reward her for bringing their child into the world, he had left her with only one instruction, if she bore a daughter, Elizabeth was to grant her the title of Princess Royal of France.

She had named her first son Henri for her father; Francis had of course in turn been named for Charles' own father. Elizabeth would have loved to have honoured her mother by naming her daughter for her grandmother, yet in the same breath she thought against naming her daughter Anne, she didn't want the French to start whispering that Elizabeth was bringing too much of England into France, and Anne was such an English name (and would obviously be linked to England's Queen).

She had to think of a way to honour her mother and her daughter's French legacy all in one.

"Elle sera Anastasia" She will be Anastasia, Elizabeth put forward firmly.

Anastasia, The Princess Royal of France.

1st of June 1553

Ludlow Palace, Wales

Rooms of the Princess of Wales

A piercing scream filled the halls of Ludlow, awakening the Prince and Princess of Wales from their slumber with a start.

"What was that?" Margaret asked her voice trembling ever so slightly.

" A maid probably saw a rat," William put forward with a yawn, intending to roll over and fall back to sleep.

" In my country a woman would never scream at such things." Margaret answered pointedly.

William had to fight the urge to roll his eyes at her Spanish pride. He was trying with her, God help him he was. He had made vows before God to love and honour his wife and he was determined, at the very least, to try.

His relationship with Ellie did not change the fact that he was now a wedded and bedded man. He had a duty to secure his fathers bloodline and as such he was obligated to get legitimate children from his Spanish wife. Eleanor even encouraged him with his efforts- until Margaret fell pregnant their relationship had to remain a secret. They had agreed on that, he and Eleanor, he could not announce their relationship nor could he name her his official mistress until the Princess of Wales was with child- otherwise there would be talk. Talk that he wasn't taking his royal duties seriously, and no doubt the Spaniards would be less likely to make a fuss of his extra martial affairs if their Princess was carrying an English heir in her belly.

And so William tried, he was pleasant and charming towards his bride (especially in public) and it was well known at Ludlow (and no doubt his fathers court) that the Prince of Wales visited his wife's bed often. Truthfully it was not a hard task, what young man didn't want to be in the beds of two beautiful women? And they were so very different, with Ellie the nights were sweet and pleasurable with Margaret they were passionate, aggressive even, they were both so determined to do their royal duty. For the vast majority of the time he enjoyed Margaret's company, he was happy to have her as his wife so long as he had Ellie as his mistress, but at times, like this, she made it somewhat difficult.

His retort however, we are not in your country my love, was cut off by another scream, this one more frantic than the last.

That was not the scream of a woman who had seen a rat.

"Margaret," William began, already he was climbing out of her bed and pulling on a robe, " stay here."

For a moment she looked as if she might argue with him, but another scream quietened her immediately.

William took no notice of his wife's ladies in the sitting room as he made his way into the hallway but once he got there he wished with everything that he had that he could go back.

His cousin Annie was in hysterics. She was dressed for bed and was surrounded by guards and Lady Bryan was standing over her.

" Liam, oh Liam," She called when she laid eyes on him. His feet carried him to her but around him was nothing more than a blur.

Every night Annie was led into Edwards's rooms (by Lady Bryan) to wish him goodnight. It was a practice they had been conducting since their betrothal was finalized. The state Annie was now in and the proximity she was in to his brothers rooms could mean only one thing- something was wrong with Edward, something was wrong with his brother.

" Annie, what's happened?" William questioned crouching down to her level; he tried to ignore the fact that his voice was trembling.

" I went to wish His Grace good night, as I always do and…." She broke off into sobs without finishing her sentence and William felt his heart thudding in his chest.

" And what Annie?" William questioned forcefully dreading her answer, " What is wrong with Edward?"

" He is unresponsive," Annie let out with another sob, " almost completely unresponsive and he has a fever. Oh God Liam what if it is the sweat?"

Unresponsive. The word kept echoing in his head over and over again until it was all he could hear.

" Is he alive?" William questioned frantically, where they trying to tell him his brother was dead?

" Yes," For now, the words hung in the air unspoken, " He is just…"

Unresponsive.

" Send word to my parents immediately," William ordered before making his way towards his brother's bedchambers. They would try and stop him from entering no doubt.

Let them try.

A/N: I apologise again for leaving you all with such a cliffhanger. As those who know their Tudor history will be aware Edward Tudor did not live long after this period. Whether or not he suffers the same fate in my story, well you will have to tune in for the next chapter to find out!

The death I had eluded to in the last chapter was that of Eleanor Brandon, daughter of the Duke of Suffolk and Mary Tudor, the Dowager Queen of France. She died as she did in history.

This chapter saw Alexander, The Duke of York, make way to Scotland where he will (in 7 years time) be married to Mary Queen of Scots. This was our first proper insight into Alexander as a character and I hoped you all enjoyed it. You will also be given more of insight into his twin, in time but for Now Harry is staying in the background.

For Elizabeth in France her time has been met with a mixture of grief and happiness. Her last pregnancy resulted in the birth of a second son (Francis) but her husband has made war with Spain and has in turn decided to seek glory on the battlefield. He has left a pregnant (for the third time) Elizabeth as his Regent and during his absence she has given birth to the couples first daughter, Anastasia the Princess Royal of France.

Back in England we saw two weddings take place.

Charlotte has married Henry Brandon and I promise our youngest Tudor Princess' marriage will be a happy and uneventful one.

While William has wed Margaret of Austria, but not before taking Eleanor Rich as his mistress. This love triangle will be an important part of the rest of the story- so stay tuned.

The next chapter will be full of twists and turns for all of our characters.

I do hope you enjoyed this chapter please leave me a review to let me know your thoughts, thank you as always.