Being in the King's court is a game.
For each ladder you climb, there is a snake around the corner that can cause your downfall back to square one or much worse.
Just roll the dice and play on.
ओह! यह छवि हमारे सामग्री दिशानिर्देशों का पालन नहीं करती है। प्रकाशन जारी रखने के लिए, कृपया इसे हटा दें या कोई भिन्न छवि अपलोड करें।
8th June 1520, The Great Feast
The whole thing was an entire parade of which King had the best assets. In entire honesty, it was all quite embarrassing but obviously this was nothing any man would dare say aloud if they want to keep their tongue or their head.
"What are you thinking Charles?" Compton smirks, watching his best friends wondering eyes scanning the women around the room. It wouldn't be easy for many men to concentrate when there were so many beautiful women in one room.
"I know what you're thinking" Knivert joins in on the conversation, "or should I say whom you're thinking of" His eyes follow the direction of Charles's which lead to the back of Arabelle's head.
"I have a wife." Charles simply states with dignity, breaking eye contact from the blonde curls that held at the back of her head.
"Like that's ever stopped you before." William chuckles, Anthony joining in. Charles shook his head with with laughter at his two friends but it was a front. That hurt. It wasn't their fault though, but rather his own. He loved Margaret once, but like many men, his wife lost her appeal over time as they fought often and spent less time together. He knew he shouldn't but he actually enjoyed his time away from her.
"William. Anthony. Charles." The King grinned, breaking Charles from his thoughts as he sat beside him, slapping him on the back. "Is this not just the most remarkable feast?"
"Yes Your Majesty." He nods, forcing a grin.
"What's a matter Charles?" The King frowns, "Look around you!" Henry smirks and Charles knew exactly what he meant.
"I think I've just drank too much." He lies.
"I know what you're drunk on." Henry looks around the room, his eyes diverting to the woman King Francis has previously told him about, 'The English Mare'. He had to have her. "Do you see the Lady in the burgundy dress Charles?"
"That's William Carey's wife." William interrupts, glancing over at the Boleyn girl. "A waste really."
"I'm going to send for her tonight." Henry confirms.
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The feast had been going for a few hours. Arabelle had managed to reacquaint with her two other cousins Elizabeth and Henry. She had not seen them in years, and she had come to realise that both were just as proud and arrogant as their father. Besides Anne, her Father was the only other person in the room that she wanted to spend any time with.
"Ah, we meet again." Charles grins, walking towards the young blonde. He had a goblet of wine in his hand, which was probably his tenth of the night. You would have to be stupid to not realise he had drank a lot.
"So we do." Arabelle simply replies, continuing to walk.
"Care to dance, Lady Stafford?" He holds out his hand, to which Arabelle flinches. How did he know her family name? Was it because of the Anna scandal?
"Arabelle!" A voice, belonging to her Father calls. She sighs with relief as she looks over to him then to Charles with a gentle nod before walking to her father. "Maybe another time?"
"What did he want?" Henry grunts, glaring over at Brandon.
"He just apologised for running into me earlier." Arabelle lies. She could tell her Father was not in a good mood and she didn't want to amplify it anymore.
"Stay away from him." He warns, "Stay away from all of them. Henry, Knivert, Compton. All of them."
Arabelle nods in response, looking over at the men all now laughing together.
"They're all trouble."
"So I've heard, Papa."
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27th June 1520
The whole affair was finally over, and it had relieved Arabelle. She had danced and ate enough to last her a lifetime. She had enjoyed spending plenty of time with her Father after many years of being apart but she was glad to be rid of her Uncle and Cousins and all their berating of her.
Anne had finally introduced Arabelle to her older sister, Mary Boleyn Carey. She was a girl of no older than twenty years of age, with dark hair and even darker eyes. Many said Mary was much more beautiful than Anne, but without being biased, Arabelle had to disagree.
"My Father is happy." Anne breaks the silence between the two as they stroll through the French gardens. "King Henry sent for her."
"But she is married?" Arabelle couldn't help but comment. It was a foolish reply though, many men and women have more than just their marital relationship.
"And it's the King we are talking about." Anne giggles at her friends reply.
"I suppose if she is in the King's favour then the rumours about her may be put to rest." Her comment was perhaps insolent but Arabelle didn't mean anything malicious by it.
"She's not the only one, Arabelle." Anne retorts. "I think it is wrong with the names they all call her."
Arabelle felt sorry for Anne. She really did. Anne lived constantly in Mary's shadow. Though Anne was much prettier, in Arabelle's opinion, it was no doubt that she was much more clever. Mary was quite simple, in both looks and personality, a kind lady though with good grace and a flirtatious attitude. That's what the men liked.
"She's not ambitious like my Father and Brother." Anne continues, upholding her sister and her reputation. "She won't realise what she is getting into."
"I am sure it is nice to have men fall at your feet." Arabelle comments, it really seemed like Mary had it all, except a respectable reputation.
"They only fall enough to have her to bed, but for nothing more." The younger Boleyn girl admits. "They say that King Henry grows bored quickly of his bed warmers and I doubt it will be much different with Mary yet my Father does not see that."
"Well at least your Father is so passive to allow Mary to behave in such a manor without reprimanding her." Arabelle advocates. "My Uncle Edward would not be so kind if he was Mary's father. I am unsure what will happen with cousin Anna? I mean he even had my Aunt sent to a convent for laying with a man before marriage." A sigh escapes her pouty lips. "It's enough to never want to ever be involved with a man."
"Well then..." Anne steps in front of the Stafford girl, holding both of Arabelle's wrists with a grin on her lips. "Let's hope that we can stay in France forever and serve Queen Claude til the day we die." Both girls erupt in laughter.
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A/N: Another update just in time for the new year! I'm really enjoying this story so far as much as I love history and the Tudors. As I keep saying, I have a lot of plans and ideas for this story so hold out! It's about to get a LOT more juicy especially as we all know a certain Edward Stafford is in line for his head on the chopping block 👀 can we all also take a moment for Arabelle and Anne's friendship because I love it so much and I love writing it! I'll genuinely be upset when the days comes that I won't be able to write them any longer ☹️ Please comment, like and let me know your thoughts as it really does make my day! Thank you for reading x
