Tudor Rose

xxvii. wishing wounds the heart

August 2, 1515

My agonizing screams could be heard quite a distance away from my chambers, at least that's what I heard a maid gossiping about rather than attending to me. She was probably right, and the longer it took, the more hopeless I became. 

I turned to Clara, who was dutifully wiping sweat off of my face. She smiled encouragingly.

"Clara, if I-" I could hardly speak, and the pain felt worse by the minute.

"My promise to you still stands," she said, somehow understanding what I was going to say. "You don't need to worry about that."

"Thank you," I said, breathless and exhausted.

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One more hour had passed, and the physician said that things were looking glum all around. According to him, the baby's chances of survival were as unsettling as mine, and the king was unusually irritable. I could almost imagine Henry sitting alone, and yelling at people for no apparent reason. 

Still, the pain persisted and there were no signs of it ending anytime soon.

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It was as if a huge weight had been lifted off of me, and the air was suddenly filled with the piercing screams of a newborn child. I threw my head against the pillow behind me, relieved that the child was safely delivered. 

Almost immediately, the child was placed in the arms of a wet nurse. The physician examined the child from a few feet away, his face revealing no emotion. 

I looked up at Clara again. "Is it a boy? Oh, please tell me it's a boy," I said between heavy and scattered breaths, "If it's a healthy son, Henry will finally treat Katherine as she deserves to be treated."

Clara only nodded, walking off. She whispered a few things to the physician, then to the wet nurse. I watched her carefully, my head still pounding. I noticed the room beginning to clear out, which was nice considering it had been bursting at the seams for the harrowing twenty-eight hours prior. 

I noticed Clara had returned to my side, and I glanced up at her, hopeful and eager. She seemed sad and sullen, though.

"It is-" she said.

"A girl, isn't it?" I interrupted.

She cast a remorseful smile at me. "Yes. The child is a girl," she said, "But she is beautiful; blue eyes, dark hair, even Henry's smile."

I nodded happily, beaming with joy. 

"My son has my smile?" a new said loudly.

Henry entered the room, his eyes tired from the waiting. He smiled proudly at me and the baby, but I knew the joy would be short lived. The son he desired so badly was simply not meant to be, it seemed.

"Henry," I said calmly, "Our child is a... a girl."

He shook his head, clearly in denial. "No," he said firmly, looking between the baby and me strangely. I couldn't tell if he was angry, disappointed, or temporarily displeased. Then, he set his intimidating gaze on the innocent physician.

"Henry, don't do anything rash. Please," I warned.

He didn't listen. Instead, he glared coldly at the physician, his face red. I felt bad for the physician, who had done everything he needed to. The baby and I were both alive, which was all Henry told him to make sure of. It wasn't his fault the child was a girl.

Henry must have realized that, because he turned to me.

"You failed me again," he said coldly, "I now have two daughters and a dead son. You have put me in a terrible position, Anna!"