Broken Crown

Prologue

I was never destined to be queen. 

If not by the restrictions of my sex, then by the restraints of my birth order. My brother, Henry, the Prince of Wales, was born three summers before me. Therefore as the eldest son of our father, King Edward of England, he assumed his rightful place as heir. Henry was the golden prince, the face of a bright new future for England while I was merely another pawn, an opportunity for an alliance through marriage. 

Henry spent his life with a silver spoon in his hand, enjoying all of the privileges entitled to the future king. My father and mother spoiled him, and why should they not? He was the long awaited heir, a sign from God that my father's rule was favored. I read once that there were festivities for weeks following his birth as the entire country celebrated the arrival of their future king. Kings, princes, and dignitaries from all across Europe sent gifts, even the King of Scotland himself sent warm wishes to my parents. 

The sun had finally shone on England, crops flourished and all across the country there was peace and prosperity. A new era had dawned on my parent's reign, and things had finally began to look up for the both of them. 

So imagine their joy when my mother discovered that she was with child once again.

I was never told the full story of what occurred the night of my birth, but from court records I gathered that my father made the difficult decision to save me over my mother, in hopes that I was another son for England. However, I was born a girl and my mother never recovered. Now I was remembered as the girl who killed the beloved Queen of England, the pitiful little princess cursed with the name of the woman who died bringing her into the world. 

My father always resented me for the death of my mother, and thus I was raised outside of court, as far away from him as possible. So while my brother was receiving the best education my father could find, I spent my days in the forgotten libraries of old and abandoned castles, where I held my own small court. Henry grew up in the spotlight, adored and respected in the eyes of the English court, while I gained a love of something far greater. 

Travelling. 

I spent my summers in the lush hills of Burgundy, welcomed with open arms into the court ran by my uncle, the Duke. Autumn was spent in the beautiful and majestic palaces of France, where I forged alliances and created peace in the country that my father could not. I then moved onto Italy during the winter months and it was there that I fell in love with art and music. I soaked up whatever education I could, determined to educate myself beyond the restraints which my father had placed on me. Finally, I ended my travels in Spain during spring, constantly in awe with the luxury and opulence which accompanied the Spanish monarchs. 

I became fluent in multiple languages, learned the subtle nuances that accompanied diplomacy. Every court welcomed me with open arms and bestowed upon me all of the rights and luxuries that I was denied in England. I would have spent the rest of my days traveling across all of Europe, never making the trip back to England, to the country where I was shunned and ignored. Why should I have longed to return back to my father, a man who had only written a handful of letters during the years that I had spent abroad?

And yet here I was, on a ship heading back to England, back to a life that I was never meant to have. With a title that I have never meant to have had as well. 

I was returning as Anne, Princess of Wales, now cursed with the name of my dead mother and the title of of my golden brother, who I just learned had passed from this world. And without a wife or a child to carry on his legacy, I was the one to pick up his mantle. And so the little girl who grew up far from the court would soon become its monarch. 

I, despite all of the obstacles placed in my path, would one day be know as, Queen Anne of England. 

Long may I reign.