The Other Henry VIII

A Queen Sacrifice

"My Lady? My Lady?"

The Queen of England let out a muffled groan and nestled further into her linen sheets. "What is it?" she murmured, yawning into the darkness of her pillow.
"Your breakfast awaits you, My Lady. The kitchens sent it up not half an hour ago, but we thought we'd let you rest a little first."
"Let me rest a while longer. I'm not yet hungry."
There was a brief pause, and for a moment Leia thought her lady had gone. Then: "Pardon me, My Lady, but His Majesty has required that the entire court join him on a hunting excursion in an hour."

All of a sudden, the Queen burst forth from her covers like a butterfly from its cocoon — only rather more dishevelled. She groaned again as the brightly-lit chamber came into focus, obscured by a veil of her own bedraggled hair.
"Another hunting excursion?" she grumbled, rubbing the dust from her eyes, "We really must return to London soon, before my husband runs out of activities to pass the time."

Lady Francesca, widow of executed heretic Lord Richard Montague, was bustling around the room compiling a large bundle of clothes in her arms, which she finally set upon the chest at the end of the bed. As she bent down, the chain around her neck swung forwards, revealing a gleaming gold ring inlayed with amethysts: her husband's wedding band. Leia sighed mournfully. She knew Francesca had harboured Protestant sympathies long before the Reformation, but that had not made her love her Catholic husband any less. One could scarcely imagine the trials of raising four children alone, forever stained by their father's crimes. It almost compelled Leia to regret what she and Cromwell had done, how swift and merciless they had been. England had needed change, certainly, but by education and compromise, not torture and death. That had never been her intention.

According to her ladies, who were unusually loquacious at breakfast, the King had been up and about since dawn. Rather strange, thought Leia, considering the whole court had danced and quaffed and gorged themselves senseless late into the previous night. In fact, when she and Henry — breathlessly enervated as each other — had collapsed into bed at some ungodly hour of the morning, he had expressly proclaimed that he planned to sleep until noon. But, now that she recalled, there was that nonsensical idea of Suffolk's to play a tennis match at dawn. Perhaps Henry had risen early for that; after all, it was just the sort of thing in which two men with far too much money and time on their hands would love to participate.

Precisely one hour later, the Queen emerged from the palace dressed head-to-toe in a splendid black and white riding habit. Her hair had been trussed up into a net of silver thread and crammed under a linen coif, to which her fashionable black velvet beret was pinned at an artful angle. At least it was an uncommonly cool day for the height of summer, otherwise she would be sweating profusely beneath the multiple layers of fabric. As she crossed the courtyard, slipping her hands into leather gloves, the white ostrich feather on her cap bowed low like a courteous lord.  Henry was readying his horse not far to her left, but Leia strode on past him without a sideways glance. She always made sure not give her husband too much attention, lest he should think she cared for him and used that care to his advantage. His ego was monstrous enough as it was.

At the far end of the yard stood Lydia, her red roan palfrey, whose reins were in the firm grasp of Leia's favourite stable-hand Owen. She greeted him with a smile and exchanged a few words of small talk, all the while stroking Lydia's neck affectionately. She was about to mount when someone cleared their throat behind her.
"Your Grace!" exclaimed Leia in surprise, before correcting herself. "Verity. Are you not preparing your mare for our hunt?"
"Your Majesty," replied her cousin, curtsying hastily, "Indeed I shall. I... I only wished to ask something of you."