The Other Henry VIII

Strength in Pain

Diana's POV

24th June 1522

I am to die.

They came in here, to my cell in the Tower with my low-spirited cousin Catherine serving me, and said that the King has finally made up his mind. I will be executed at midday in five days time on Tower Green and my marriage to Henry will be dissolved anytime from now to then. I think he wants to sever all ties to me, to show the world how strong he is, when in reality he is just jealous.

The King has never been the sort of man to accept second place. He has always been handsome and charming and active with some sort of power over most women. The very idea of a woman who does not worship him is almost absurd. One like this who he is married to? Ha! Impossible.

In his mind, anyway. I've never really liked men who are arrogant and egotistical: they serve no purpose when the girl is as educated, wealthy and beautiful as I am. Well, used to be. I have gotten so used to this imprisonment that the gloom has melted into sheer insanity. And now, when my future is bleak, all I do is think mad, almost hysterical thoughts.
I want to scream. I want to tear past the guards, past these old stone walls and shout in my husband's face that I he must not let me suffer for so long as I do. I want to argue and shriek and cry over little things like we used to do. But at the same time, I want to laugh in his face.
I have found strength in my pain. There is nothing much left in life for me if I cannot return to my beloved, so I have decided to welcome Death wearily and accept my fate. But, that doesn't mean that the King can keep me here locked away while he deliberates.
I lean my head against the grubby glass window and sigh. This wasn't how my life was supposed to go.
I had promised myself as a child that I would marry for love and die in a bed with my family around me, dearly beloved and comfortably wealthy. I don't think there was ever much of a chance that my dream life would come true, so it isn't too disappointing.

There is a banging on the door suddenly, but I don't turn my head. It's probably another depressing message that I don't need to hear.
"My Lady! My Lord Cromwell is hear from His Majesty the King!"calls out a guard roughly. I hear the door open and (after Catherine has padded out) it closes.
I stand up silently and slide past Thomas to check if the guards are listening. It seems to be empty outside my door once more.
"You have no idea how much I worry about you,"whispers Thomas. I can feel his eyes on me as I return to my seat by the window.
"Tell me this business, then,"I reply dully. I cannot bring myself to meet his eyes, those warm and trustworthy brown eyes.
"Business..." he falters. "Of course. His Majesty the King, Henry VIII of England, has declared that on this day—the 24th June—his marriage to you is null and void. Your title as Queen of England is forfeited and you shall be known henceforth as Lady Diana Westerly."
Here, Thomas pauses. "Diana, look at me."
I shake my head.
"Diana, please." I can't do it. I can't look at him without my heart breaking all over again.
"I can't," I state quietly.
"Diana."

Slowly, I turn my head from outside towards Thomas. His face is pale and worn like mine, eyes desperate. I rise again and take two steps towards him.
"I love you," he says softly. "Just because I have to let you go, it doesn't mean I want to."
I gaze up at him, tears forming at the corners of my eyes.
"I know."

For a few moments, we just stand there; eyes locked, arms awkwardly hanging by our sides. It feels like heaven and hell at the same time, the joy of being with him but the pain of having to be even farther apart later than we are now.
Then, ever so slowly, he leans down and kisses me gently. We both have tears sitting on our cheeks and I close my eyes solemnly. I do love him, but it just isn't enough.
I want this to last forever.

Thomas pulls away and pecks my forehead, then my hand, and bows. I think he is hiding his tears from me. He is trying to be strong and not fall apart.
"Goodbye Diana. Over these years your love has kept me alive through everything; I'm sorry mine couldn't do the same for you."
And with that, he bows and leaves.
I am alone again.
Standing here like a statue.

And then, I cry.

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Lady Bryan watched from the window as the carriage bearing the King's two youngest daughters drew up in front of Westhorpe House. It was small and modest, with two horses and two footmen. Not much, for two Princesses.
Some servants went to meet it, so as to take their bags, but Lady Bryan reckoned that there wouldn't be enough. The daughters of the adulterous witch would have been left as ordinary children if little Princess Clara had not stepped in to ask whether they could keep her company.

Lady Bryan observed one little girl jump out of the carriage, holding the hand of another who followed soon after. The bigger one was Elizabeth for sure: it was hard to make out faces from that distance but the bright red-gold hair was a clear giveaway.
"May I go and meet my sisters, Lady Bryan?"asked Clara from behind her. Lady Bryan turned to the impatient girl,who sat with a book on her lap, and sighed.
"Of course, Your Royal Highness. It would be nice for them to meet you, I'm sure."
Clara grinned and stood up, leaving her book on the chair. Lady Bryan suspected that the Princess never really had been reading, the excitement of meeting her little sisters after so long was too much for a ten-year-old.
"Thank you!"she said sweetly and hurried out, her ornate little gown flying out behind her.

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Clara's POV
I hurry out of the house towards my sisters. I can't believe that they are really here, that they can stay with me. Panting with excitement, I scoop up my blue skirts and run outside up the large front path. Lizzie and Esther stand outside their carriage, faces shining in the sun, wearing plain brown travelling dresses. It is awfully unfair that just because their mother is imprisoned, My Father the King has stopped sending enough money for them to have nice new gowns like I do. It is such a shame, for both of them will be prettier than me when they are older. Their mother Lady Diana (I am told I must not address her as the Queen anymore) is incredibly beautiful; even I know that.

Elizabeth beams at me, her eyes bright, and curtsies. She is a little taller than Esther, with a mischievous face and curling ginger hair tucked under a small cap. "Clara?" she asks me innocently. I nod.

"This is Westhorpe House, where I live. You are going to live with me now." I kneel down next to  Esther. "Is that alright?" Elizabeth nods enthusiastically and nudges her sister.

"Yes," whispers Esther timidly at last. I hold out my arms and hug my little half sisters warmly. I love both of them; shy, dark-haired Esther and cheerful, bright-eyed Elizabeth. Soon, I think, Lady Diana shall be dead and we motherless children will have to stick together.