Tudor Rose

xxi. a facade of perfection

November 9, 1514

The coronation was quick, but beautiful. King Louis XII, a man of nearly fifty years and in need of a male heir, seemed unsurprisingly pleased with his youthful wife. His predicament wasn't too uncommon. He had two lovely daughters. Claude, thé oldest, was married and the first in line for the throne, and Renée, who was only four years old, was second. Naturally, he wanted a son and Mary was thought to be capable of it. But the one thing I'd learned from my newfound friendship with Mary Tudor was that she was less than happy about sharing a bed with someone so old, and I believed she was entitled to that opinion.

The coronation was followed by a celebratory feast in honor of the new queen, and my own family's visit.

Katherine got along well enough with Princess Renée which pleased everyone. They danced around with a few other young French noble girls.

I scanned the room for my ladies. Clara was talking to two distinctly French women not too far from the young princesses, and Isabell was dancing with a duke. Mary was with her sister Anne and her father, and they were talking in a corner. Occasionally, Anne or Mary would look over at us, Henry more often than I.

"You have some admirers," I whispered to him, motioning slightly to the two Boleyn girls.

He placed a hand on mine reassuringly. "Yes, but I have eyes for only you."

"I can't wait to return to England," I said, "France is beautiful, but England is where my heart is at."

"When did you become so poetic?" Henry asked, smiling.

"I am the least poetic person here, Henry," I argued.

"'France is so beautiful, but England is where my heart is!'" he mimicked in a high pitched voice, laughing. I laughed along, humored by his poor impression of me.

"'I have eyes for only you!'" I countered, throwing an impression back at him.

"But really, are you sure we can't stay a bit longer? Even Katherine is enjoying our stay here."

"Yes, I'm sure," Henry responded firmly, his decision unwavering, "We are the king and queen, Anna. We can't stay away for too long, no matter how much grief you are feeling." He mumbled something incoherent afterwards, but I didn't dare question it.

I nodded, though I was a bit annoyed at his tone. "I was only asking."

A hopeful French girl strode over, a smug grin on her face. Clearly, she had been listening and thought she was capable of using our small disagreement to her advantage. It amused me to think she was naive enough to think herself capable of getting into becoming Henry's mistress, even if it was only one night. Henry and I opted to share a bed while in France, so she would have no luck.

"May I cut in, Your Majesties?" she asked, her voice laced with an impossibly thick French accent.

"No," Henry said. He didn't hesitate one bit.

I selfishly smiled as she walked away, huffing a breath of disappointment and embarrassment as she left. I almost felt sorry for her. Being turned down by the king of England must have felt humiliating, but I really didn't know a thing about that. I only knew what it was like to be chased by him, to have him desperate for your attention and admiration. Though it should have felt nice to be so wanted, it wasn't always. I felt trapped sometimes, and had to remind myself that I chose this life, not the other way around. 

"You're very decisive this evening," I pointed out bitterly, alluding to our disagreement of returning to England.

"I'm sorry, Anna. There's just a lot of pressure on me at the moment. I didn't mean to take it out on you," he amended, "I think I'll retire to our chambers for the evening."