When Henriette Boleyn - the young, alluringly beautiful and tempting sister of Anne and Mary Boleyn - returns from the French court, she finds herself enchanted by the handsome King and soon becomes entangled in an extravagant mess, in which she and...
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SOME DAYS HAD passed and Henriette had deliberated over every possible decision she could make. She did not wish to sacrifice her virtue for the sake of seducing the King—her sisters had both done that, and she thought of where they stood; one married off to an unhappy husband after being discarded, and the other playing at mistress while their father and brother watched on with their unyielding ambition.
She wanted to be different, and yet court hardly offered her that chance. If word got out that she had tried to win the King's affection, she'd be deemed a whore just like her sister. And yet, she wanted to please Charles, for even though she attempted to fend it off, she blushed whenever she thought of him, and in her heart she knew she would likely do anything for him.
Henriette settled on a decision. She would be a spy, but she would not follow after her sisters. She told herself that she was doing this for herself, but part of it was that she did want an opportunity to see Charles more often, even if she kept it secret to herself. She could still keep her wits about her and enjoy how he flirted with her... Not that she would tell a soul that she liked all of his endless flattering.
꧁꧂
HENRIETTE SAT IDLY in her apartments, working on a piece of embroidery which was looking quite sad. Usually she was much more attentive, but this poor bird had lumps and bumps about it, owing much to her distracted mind. Her family had journeyed into London for the day, and she chose to remain behind, not particularly interested in the hustle and bustle of the city when she could remain in her solitude at court.
She was still quite frantic about what she ought to do—for she had reached a decision, yet her own emotions betrayed her from time to time. She wished to shun all her feelings, and yet, she took some delight in them, the beating of her heart, the catching of her breath when Charles' looked at her. It was misery! She was brought to such woe that she could hardly bare it, but was determined that she should do whatever she could just for a single moment with him.
Henriette was brought out of her reverie by the turning of the doorhandle, though she bowed her head and focused back on the needlework, not wanting for a conversation with her family who were likely to be boisterous. Henriette did not realise, however, that she was actually in the company of somebody else entirely; somebody who would hardly agree with her ignorant nature.
A cough echoed across the room, and Henriette glanced up, almost jumping to her feet in fright when she saw that it was the King. He towered above her, bedecked in gold-trimmed finery, and she stumbled into a curtsy, half-struck with terror at making one wrong step.
'Your Majesty!' She tilted her head in shame, but seemed to have caught him in a tasteful mood, which she was glad of, for she did not wish to be next on the chopping block.
