Two nights later, the King had called for an elaborate feast to he held. Almost the entire court was in attendance and it truly was the grandest feast to be held since Christmastide. The King was in good spirits, a wide smile upon his handsome face as he watched his court from his throne. Jane was by his side, her kind smile plastered to her face as Henry lavished her with his attention.

Anne kept out of his sight. She had no desire to know if Henry had learned of her actions two days previous, though she was sure that Henry would have made an example of her by now if that was the case.

Though Anne made to dance with those that asked her, including her young knight from Christmastide who was as eager as ever, she was here for one purpose. Norfolk had just returned to court that day after a months absence, and it was with cold hearted glee that she sought him out and told him all about Thomas Boleyn's latest scheme.

Norfolk's eyes were icy glaciers by the time she had finished, his fury that Thomas had gone against his direct orders to stay out of the King's affairs written clearly on his face.

"I have already dealt with George, and I have plans for my dear sister-in-law. I trust that you can deal with my father, yes?" Anne said quietly.

"Rest assured, Niece, that your Father will not be a problem any longer," Norfolk replied stiffly. Anne hid a smile as he excused himself and left the hall. Though it grieved her having her uncle deal with Thomas Boleyn, Anne knew that it was the only course of action she could take. Her father would never listen to Anne if she confronted him, no matter what threats she had up her sleeve. But Thomas Boleyn was Norfolk's faithful dog, she was almost sure that he would get back in line once more.

Still, Anne was not finished for the night, and she was just finishing her second goblet of wine when Nan sauntered to her side and whispered in her ear, "Lady Rochford is just about to leave."

Anne smiled, a terrible cold curl of her lips. She picked up two full goblets of wine and quietly thanked Nan. Ignoring her weary eyes, Anne spied Jane's retreating figure as she made her way through the crowd. Anne quickly followed after her and stepped directly in Jane's path.

"Lady Rochford," Anne greeted with a polite smile. Jane stumbled back, her shrew like face frowning at Anne as muttered a greeting. Anne's smile widened. "How fares my nephew?"

The woman's pinched face relaxed into a smile at the mention of her son. Anne pitied the boy for having such hateful parents. "He is well, Your Grace. Thank you."

"I beg your pardon, but George never did tell me his name."

"We named him after your Father, Your Grace, to show our respect," Jane replied haughtily, as though she should be proud of her miserable father.

Anne's mouth twisted in amusement. "Indeed. Come and have a drink with me, tis been so long since we last spoke." She held out a goblet of wine, not giving Jane the chance to refuse.

Jane hesitated, but she took it and smiled tensely. "Yes, I suppose that you and I do not have much reason to see one another these days." Jane's eyes sparkled with malice as she boasted, "The Queen relies on me, you see. Of course, I have my Thomas to look after as well. A son is such hard work! I do not have time for much else."

Anne paused at the blatant audacity of the woman and any pretense of small talk disappeared.

"Do not presume that because you are married to my brother that I will not end you," Anne said sweetly, a dangerous smile fluttering on her lips.

Jane reeled back, her face the picture of shock. "Your Grace?"

"Do not play the fool, Jane," Anne continued, leaning in closer. "I have had men killed with nothing more than a smile and a whisper in the King's ear. I may not be in his favor anymore, but I do not need the King to get rid of my enemies. Think of how easy it would be to get your head on the chopping block."

"I am practically your sister and yet you make these threats!" Jane said, outraged.

"You are no sister of mine," Anne replied. "Can you see the gentleman standing next to Master Cromwell over there?" Anne nodded in his direction, a wicked smile curving her lips as she met one dark eye. "He is my dear cousin, Sir Francis Bryan. He's good friends with Henry these days, and upon my return to court he has become something of a friend to me as well." Francis gave her a sly smile as Anne waved at him lazily. "Imagine my surprise when he told me of how my sister-in-law was heard plotting the King's death with my brother!"

"I would never do such a thing!" Jane gasped.

Anne shook her head in false sympathy and soothingly said, "Of course not, but Francis is the King's friend and he would protect him at any cost. Of course he must report the matter!"

"Why are you doing this?" Jane cried, her eyes full with tears as she realised that Anne was not playing a game.

Anne's smile vanished, her lips curling into a snarl as she halted her pretence. "The moment you brought Elizabeth into your schemes your life was over. Did you honestly think that I would sit back and let you get away with using my daughter?" Anne hissed. "I own you now. You will report to me all of the Queen's movements and of any information you hear. The second you disobey me and step out of line, Francis goes to the King and tells his little tale and poor little Thomas will be growing up without his mother. Understood?"

"Yes, Your Grace," Jane whispered, her hand trembling as she wiped away a fallen tear.

"Good." Anne looked at Jane in disgust. "Get out of my sight."

Jane scurried away like the rat that she was, and Anne watched on with a satisfied smile. Anne took a long sip of her wine and just as she lowered her goblet, she caught the blue eyes of Charles Brandon watching her. He stood next to his shrew of a wife, though he clearly was not paying a slip of attention as she prattled on in his ear. Anne raised her goblet to him, a smile curling her lips in amusement. She turned away from him and slowly made her way to Nan's side once more. Nan watched her carefully, her eyes nervous as she whispered, "Anne, there is a rumour that the Queen-"

Henry held up his hand and all music and chatter ceased. Nan broke off and shot Anne a look of despair as the King stood, his voice clear and his smile blinding as he announced, "The Queen is with child!" The joy was evident in his eyes as a cry of jubilation sounded from the court.

Though her lips trembled, Anne smiled politely and tried with all her strength to keep the tears at bay. Nan stood close to her, offering her comfort in the only way possible with so many eyes on her. Anne could feel the malicious stares and the whispering of her name. How Jane Seymour was bound to give the King his long awaited son. How had he ever loved the barren Anne Boleyn?

"That was incredibly cruel," Anne murmured to Nan, her eyes fixed upon her former husband as he turned to his new wife and kissed her cheek lovingly.

Anne felt as though she had been kicked in the stomach.

Foolish, foolish girl.

Henry looked at her then, and if he were any other man but Henry, she could have sworn she saw guilt flash across his face.

Anne turned away, ignoring Nan's sad eyes and made to leave. She cared not what was said of her. Let them talk! She could not torture herself with this any longer.

Anne escaped to the only place guaranteed solace at this time of night, the gardens. She made her way to her favorite bench surrounded by trees that were guaranteed to hide her from prying eyes. The gentle cold wind caused her to shiver, and it really hit her then.

For this first time in a very long time, Anne cried. She cried for the Elizabeth, her darling daughter who deserved to be a Princess and loved by all. She cried for the babies she had lost. But Anne mostly cried for herself, for everything she had lost and for all of the pain that was sure to come.

Anne knew that she was not a good person. She had schemed, lied and stolen another woman's husband. But had she not already paid the price for her crimes? She had lost the man that she had loved, she had been humiliated, had felt her children being torn from her body-

She did not deserve this.

She did not deserve to watch Henry fawn over his beloved wife and see her belly swell with his son whilst her own remained empty.

Anne clasped a hand over her mouth and sobbed. She had no idea how long she sat there, shivering and crying as she tried to repair the latest crack in her damaged heart, but at long last, Anne's tears dried. For now, all Anne wanted was to head back to Pembroke with her daughter safely by her side, where Henry and his whore were nothing more than a painful memory.

Alas, it was not meant to be.

Taking a shaky breath, Anne clutched her skirts with trembling hands and stood-

Only to find the Duke of Suffolk staring at her ten feet away.

She had no idea how long he had been stood there. Anne made no move to wipe her tears as she met his cold gaze in defiance. Let him see the damage he helped create. Approaching him slowly, Anne's eyes narrowed into slits at the realisation that he must have come to gloat.

He looked down at her, that impressive jaw of his clenched so tightly that Anne was sure that he would break his teeth. He was beginning to sport a beard, and to her dismay it suited him. He looked older, wiser after his efforts to quell the rebellion in the North. Charles Brandon did not look like the impulsive young man who eloped with the King's sister without his blessing anymore.

He looked every bit the powerful man his title had made him.

His blue eyes were completely unreadable and just the sight of him was enough for Anne to smirk mockingly. "Have you come to gloat, Your Grace?" she taunted. "Or have you come to amuse yourself further and be witness to my pain and humiliation once more? I do hope that it was entertaining enough for you."

Brandon pursed his lips, his face carefully blank as he stiffly asked, "Are you well, madam?"

Anne paused, her smirk slowly disappearing as his words sank in. "I beg your pardon?"

Brandon's jaw clenched even tighter as he ground out, "I asked you if you are well."

"Oh," Anne said, completely at a loss. She studied him, the tense shoulders and his rigid posture. He looked as though he himself was unsure why he had asked after her wellbeing. Anne's smile was bitter as she replied, "No, I am not, Your Grace." Brandon looked uncomfortable as she peered up at him, and her gaze sharpening as she continued, "But I will be. I shall never shed another tear over that man, Your Grace."

Something foreign flickered across the Duke's face at her words, but it was gone in a flash. He made no move to answer, and Anne's frustration grew with the infuriating man.

"If you are not here to taunt me, then why are you here, Your Grace?" Anne demanded, pulling a malicious smirk to her lips as she stepped closer to Brandon. "Surely it is not out of genuine concern for me?"

That familiar anger burned in his eyes at her words. "This was a mistake," Brandon bit out coldly, already turning to leave.

Anne followed after him, her smirk curling into a snarl as strode away. "Why do you hate me so much?" she called after him, her voice taunting and bitter. Brandon ignored her, his hands curling into fists. It shot a thrill through her knowing that she affected him so! Still, his unjustified anger towards her was grating on her last nerve and she was tired of being on the receiving end of his cold glares.

"Oh come now, Your Grace!" Anne called out. "Am I really that bad?"

Brandon stopped at last and whirled around to face her, his carefully constructed mask slipping away as he peered down at her with such wild anger. "After everything you have done, how could you possibly think that anyone would like you?" Brandon snapped.

The words did not affect her. She had heard it all before and so much worse. "We were allies once," Anne reminded him. "You plotted at my side too. You are just as guilty for the sins I have committed."

"And I regret it everyday," Brandon hissed. "Good men died because of you-"

"You speak as though Henry had no choice in the matter. He is the King, he sentenced these good men to death, not I." Anne paused and stepped closer to the Duke. "You hate me because you cannot hate the King. He may have been your friend, once, but that thing that sits on the throne is no longer a man. He is a monster." Anne stepped closer again until she was only inches from him, her eyes glittering as she peered up at him. She leaned in and softly whispered, "Perhaps you even hate yourself, Charles Brandon."

"Hold your tongue," Brandon warned, his tone full of lethal intent.

Anne's lips curled in amusement. "Tell me, do you speak to your wife with such passion?"

"Do not speak of my wife!" the Duke snarled his frame seeming to enlarge as he stood over her threateningly. It was the first time she had been so close to a man who she did not call husband, family or friend. He was so much bigger than Henry's lithe body, his shoulders broad and chest wide and for one fleeting second, Anne was curious to see just what Charles Brandon was hiding under his clothes.

Anne reeled back, her scathing retort about his shrew of a wife long forgotten.

She shook herself. She did not desire Charles Brandon.

It was loneliness, she reasoned. Nothing more.

Still, Anne stepped away, her thoughts a mess as she spoke. "The mistakes that I made, they were made out of love. For Henry. For my daughter. Even for myself. I fought for love, and I fought for power and I lost it all. I am lucky to be alive, and I shall cherish every moment that I have with my daughter." Anne paused, her heart bitter as she continued, "My past actions do not mean that I deserve to be humiliated like that."

"Then perhaps you should leave," he said snapped, though there was less bite in his voice, his glare not as cold.

Anne snorted. "And leave my daughter? The King will not allow Elizabeth to leave. Elizabeth is my life, my own heart. I will not leave without her."

"I will look out for the Lady Elizabeth. You have my word."

Anne looked at him in disbelief. "Your word means nothing to me," she said. "Why are you so desperate for me to leave?" she demanded bluntly, unable to conceal her puzzlement.

"You being here complicates things," is all the Duke replied with. Anne shook her head, her eyes narrowed in suspicion.

"I have already spurned your precious Henry. I am of no threat to you any longer. I am not seeking vengeance if that is what you think. I only wish to live in peace with my daughter," said Anne, her passion growing as she continued. "You and I are not so different. You may not have been born into nobility, but you clawed your way into the King's heart, just as I did. His love for you granted you land and even a dukedom, just as he made me a Marquess. We played a game, Your Grace, and we have both risen higher than we could ever dream."

It was the thing she respected most about him. He had come from nothing, but now Charles Brandon was one of the most influential men in the country with his dukedom and his friendship with the King.

She knew better than anyone how powerful Charles Brandon could be when he wished it.

Anne paused, her voice gentling as she said, "You only know a part of me. The ruthless, love stricken woman who would have done anything to get what she wanted most in this world. But that is not all of me."

Other than the slight clenching of his jaw, Brandon hid his feelings well. He was an unreadable book to her, and it frustrated her to no end . "I assure you, I know exactly what sort of woman you are," Brandon replied, though the words lacked his usual cold bite when he was forced to speak to her.

She could not help herself.

Anne curled her lips into a smirk and stepped closer to the Duke. "And what kind of woman do you think I am, Your Grace?" she purred, looking up at him coyly. It was a game that she used to enjoy once upon a time, back when she had the attention of every nobleman at court and the most powerful man in the country.

These days she had their attention for the wrong reasons.

But there was something about the way Charles Brandon was staring at her that made her feel beautiful once again, he made her heart pound against her chest, and it was not in fear.

In that moment, Charles made her feel alive.

"A harlot? A whore?" Anne shrugged indifferently. "Your words will not offend me Your Grace, I have heard it all before."

Brandon's mouth twitched into something that she was sure was a smile. She relished in his reaction, although he tried to hide his intrigue with distaste.

"Be careful, Your Grace," Anne gasped, her eyes dancing playfully. "You would not want me to think that you could possibly be enjoying my company." With that, Anne smiled that coy smile that brought England to her knees and softly said, "Goodnight, Your Grace," and made her way back into the warmth of the palace.

Unbeknownst to her, the Duke did not look away from her retreating figure until she was out of sight, a reluctant smile playing on his lips.