A/N Hey guys! This is the final part of you are my sweetest downfall! Thank you all for your tremendous support, it has meant so much to me and I am glad that so many of you are enjoying it. If any of you have any fic prompts that you would like to send me so that I could write for any of you and post them on here let me know! Thanks again you guys and I hope you all enjoy this as much as I enjoyed writing it. Please review! Thanks :)

Until next time,

Fionakevin073

Part 2: Resurrection

i.

Anne would look upon this moment with confusion, bitterness and thankfulness in the years to come.

Anne had turned to look at Henry, stepping away from Charles as she did so, taking notice of how his cheeks were flushed red with anger, and how his jaw was locked and his hands were curled.

"Majesty," she murmured softly, curtsying, her heart hammering like a drum in her chest. She felt as though she were about to be sick. His eyes were like a wild storm, almost black. Anne could practically feel Henry's fury and hatred roll off of him in waves, wrapping itself around her neck like two hands squeezing the life out of her.

Charles bowed at Henry, his body tight. The room was still silent. No one said a word, waiting for Henry to explode.

And just—

Just as Henry took a breath took a breath to speak (yell or shout more likely) , Anne's saviour came barreling into the court, his voice loud and shrill, "The Queen has collapsed your majesty! The physician needs to speak with you at once!" Gasps echoed across the room as the King's eyes widened with shock, momentarily forgetting his rage. "Of course," he said quickly, walking briskly across the room to where the man was, "Thomas, Edward, join me." Anne heard the two Seymour brothers move from wherever they were in the room, but she did not remove her eyes from Henry, her breath caught in her chest.

And just as Henry passed by them, he stopped and turned around to face Charles. "I will speak with you later," he warned, before hurrying out of the room, everyone bowing or curtsying at his back. Anne let out a short breath of relief, shooting Charles a quick glance before moving away from him, eager to dispell any rumours of their affair. No need to add wood to the flames, she thought bitterly, and began to follow the sea of people exiting the room, desperate to return to the privacy of her chambers.

Charles does not stop her.

ii.

Anne remains in her chambers with Elizabeth the following day, practicing her embroidery. She watches Elizabeth embroider with a keen eye, unwilling to remove her gaze from her daughter. Anne was aware of the possibility that at any given moment, guards could come into the room with a warrant for her immediate arrest, and so whenever she did look away from Elizabeth, it was to cast a wary glance at the door.

For hours they stayed that way until eventually there was a knock.

Anne jumped in her seat, her heart in her throat.

"Elizabeth," she said softly, watching as one of her ladies went to see who it was, "Come here."

Her voice was calm for the most part, but even Anne could hear the slight hint of hysteria in her voice. Elizabeth obeyed her quickly, moving to stand in front of her. Anne moved so that she was now on her knees and held onto her daughter's hands, pressing a kiss to each one of them. "I love you Elizabeth," she says tenderly, reaching up to cup her daughter's cheek, "And I am so very proud of you."

When the door opens, Anne rises to her full height, still holding onto one of Elizabeth's hands.

To her eternal surprise, however, there were no guards there to take her to the Tower. There was no raging Henry or smug Seymour with a warrant in his hands. There was only a messenger with a letter from Pembroke.

"From Master Lewis your grace," the messenger says, handing the letter over to Nan.

"Thank you," Anne replied, slightly floundered.

She rips the letter open when he leaves the room, her eyes scanning over the words eagerly.

Dear My Lady Marquess, Master Lewis's familiar handwriting said:

I do not wish to overtly alarm your grace, but it has come to our physicians attention that your youngest son William has caught a fever. He had begun to scream furiously into the night almost a week prior, but we thought that it was only a small cold or that he was merely missing his mother. The doctor says that it is not a major fever but that it might be advised. . .

Anne had already told her ladies to begin packing her things.

"Mama why?" Elizabeth cried out, her eyes widening.

"Your brother William is sick sweetheart," Anne told her hurriedly, causing Elizabeth to gasp with worry. "I must go and inform the King," she murmured and stalked out of the room, her heartbeat echoing in her ears. Anne did not even notice the stares she received as she walked to the great hall, still in a slight state of shock.

Though Anne did not notice that everyone was celebrating something either.

It was only when she was bombarded by the sight of a brightly dressed court and smug looking Seymour's did Anne realise that the King was celebrating something. Henry was sitting on his throne in the centre of the room, with a bright smile on his face as he listened to whatever it was that Thomas Seymour was whispering in his ear. Anne was too overwhelmed with worry and concern for her son to care about whether or not Henry was still angry with her— he could kill her if he wanted to, just as long as William did not die.

My poor William, her heart cried, my darling boy. He needs me. Please God, let me go to him. Let him live.

The room grew hushed when she stopped in front of the steps that led to Henry's throne, kneeling in front of him.

"The Marquess of Pembroke!" a servant announced. Anne kept her head bowed throughout the exchange, clutching onto the letter tightly.

"I hope you have heard the great news, Lady Marquess," Henry called out happily, though there was a small hint of satisfaction in his tone. "The Queen is with child."

It hurt.

Anne would not deny that.

But she had no time to worry about how she felt about the news— she had far more important things to worry about.

William William William William—

"My deepest congratulations to you both," Anne replied with surprisingly realistic enthusiasm, lifting her head to meet Henry's slightly surprised features, "I hope that she will birth you a healthy son." The words made her throat burn. Anne took a deep breath before continuing, inwardly sending a quick prayer to God as the words left her mouth. "Your majesty though it pains me to leave these joyful activities, I am here to ask for you to let me and our daughter Elizabeth return to Pembroke at once. My youngest son—" her voice broke tinily, though Anne was quick to recover from it, "has gotten sick with a fever and my steward has informed me that the Doctor advises for me to return home incase—incase he dies." Anne grew dizzy merely saying the words; the reality of such a situation would be far too painful for her to bare. She waited for Henry to respond, biting down tightly on her lower lip.

Something changed in his gaze as he looked at her. Something in his appearance softened.

"Very well," he agreed softly, much to Anne's relief, "You may return to your estates."

Anne's smile was genuine as it spread across her lips.

"I thank you deeply your majesty, and once again, my deepest congratulations to you both."

She stood from where she was on her knees, curtsying deeply before turning to leave the room.

"But the Duke of Suffolk remains here until further notice."

Anne's smile nearly slipped right off her face.

"Of course your majesty," is all she said in return, turning around to face him and being sure to keep her smile on her face. "As you command."

And then she left the room in a hurry, eager to be return home and be with her sons.

iii.

Anne allows Elizabeth to go and say goodbye to her father before they leave and whilst she waits by the hastily packed carriage, a servant comes up to her, his face slightly flushed as he tells her, "The Duke of Suffolk wishes to see you before you leave, Lady Marquess. He said that it was urgent." Anne frowns at his words, troubled before nodding.

"Nan, if Elizabeth returns and I am still gone, prepare to leave for the moment I get back, is that understood?" Nan nods, bowing her head.

Anne takes a deep breath and allows the man to escort her to Charles's outer chambers— a public place, where others could see the interaction— and for just a moment, she acknowledges how odd the request was. Why would Charles ask to see her, especially when they were under such scrutiny? More importantly, why would Anne agree? You want to say goodbye, her mind whispered, chances are, you may never see him again. Anne did not attempt to understand why her heart twisted at the thought and merely brushed her feelings aside, her mind chanting William William William William.

She enters the outer hallway that led to Charles chambers (few others were there, but when Anne looked back on this incident later on in life, she noticed that there were people for Charles's purpose) and just as the man was about to open the door for her to enter, the door opened itself, as if on cue.

Anne could not have come at a more opportune time.

For before the door could open, a flushed looking Jane Rochford exited Charles chambers, her hair ruffled and her clothes wrinkled. Anne stopped in her steps, her heart sinking to the bottom of her stomach. But besides that, her blood flared at the sight of her brother's widow but other than that Anne felt more disgusted than angry. Anne's eyes glared daggers into the sight of her head and the blonde woman gasped loudly at the sight of her, blushing to the roots of her hair.

Anne's gaze narrowed even more when Charles entered the room, looking disheveled. Anne heard the people in the hallway begin to whisper furiously when the Duke met her gaze, unashamed. He planned this, Anne realised, he knew. Anne was not sure whether or not to be mad or glad and simply decided to avert her eyes and curl her lips with disgust.

"I wished to say Farewell, Madame," Charles said stiffly, keeping his gaze aloof.

"Farewell Sir," she replied emotionlessly, curtsying before walking away.

She did not look back, even though a small, tiny part of her wished to look back at her friend one last time. When Anne eventually returned the carriage, Elizabeth was waiting inside it, looking eager to return home. She frowned when she noticed Anne's stony expression and asked curiously, "Is the Duke of Norfolk coming home?" Anne felt something painful encircle her heart as she replied, "No, Elizabeth. He is not." The door shut after her words and then, finally, thankfully, they began the journey home.

How strange, Anne thought as Elizabeth fell asleep, I thought that I would not return home but in reality it was Charles who did not. Fate is a strange thing.

iv.

It had taken them two days to reach London from Pembroke.

Anne commanded the coachman to get them back to Pembroke in one, fear and worry making her go slightly mad. The coachman managed to do so, and Anne immediately burst out of the carriage when the door opened, with Elizabeth at her side. She hastily greeted her assembled household and made her way into the castle, her heart running wild, echoing in her ears and rising in her throat.

"How is he?" she asked Master Lewis shrilly, after he had begun to walk aside her, matching her quick, brisk steps. "His fever has slightly cooled, my lady Marquess, may I ask about your journey and stay at court—"

"Our journey was fine and our stay at court was. . . eventful, Master Lewis. Though your concern is touching I am more eager to discuss my sons. How is William? Where are George, Mark and Francis? Where is the physician?" Elizabeth winced at her slightly raised tone and Anne sighed loudly before releasing her hand and bent over to kiss the top of her head. "Go to bed darling," Anne advised, "Take a nap."

"But—"

"Your brothers will be here when you wake," Anne told her gently, catching Mistress Ashley's eye from where she waited at the end of the hallway, "Mistress Ashley will get you ready for bed." Elizabeth nodded warily and Anne smiled at her, effectively dismissing Elizabeth to her chambers.

Anne waited until Elizabeth and Lady Ashley had disappeared before she talked again.

"Where are they?"

Master Lewis looked as though he had aged 10 years from the last time she had seen him, with dark circles evident around his eyes, giving him a haunted, tired look.

"The physician is with the rest of your sons in their nursery. Lord William has been kept in one of the guest rooms since his illness developed, for fear that the other boys may also catch the illness."

Anne's heart crumbled in her chest and she felt faint, as though she were about to fall over.

"Oversee the unpacking of the belongings we took to court," Anne heard herself say faintly. Master Lewis nodded at her orders and bowed, signalling his departure. "Master Lewis," Anne called out, stopping his steps. "Thank you." He nodded in acknowledgement before leaving.

Anne wasted no time in making her way to her sons nursery, where sure enough, Anne saw her sons in their cradles with Mark screaming wildly, as if recognising that she was home. Anne paid no head to the doctor and immediately rushed over to her sons, a smile wide on her face as tears pierced her eyes.

"Shh my lovely," Anne hushed, lifting Mark gently into her arms, cradling him against her chest, "Mama is here, shh shh." Mark quietened almost instantly, cooing at her and grabbing at her hair with his small fists. "You've grown so big," she said, her voice almost awe like. I missed so much, Anne thought, my poor boys.

After Mark began to fall asleep, she put him back before carefully picking up George and then after she had greeted him and marvelled at how much he had grown, she had replaced him with Francis, who was still wide awake and was blinking at her rapidly, his eyes an extraordinary shade of blue.

"My own heart," she murmured, smiling.

That smile automatically dissolved when she heard the Doctor clear his throat.

"Madame my name is Phillip and it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance," he bowed at her, his features taunt and serious.

Uneasiness crept over her, making Anne wary.

"Likewise, Doctor," she said quietly, shifting Francis so that he was propped up by her hip. "How is he?" she asked quietly, desperation laced in her voice.

William William William—

His name was a prayer in her mind and a ghost on her lips, making the whole world grow small and everything else seem so tedious. Instantly, she felt a tremendous amount of guilt and shame; Anne had been more concerned about making it out of London alive instead of being here with her sons. I am so sorry, she thought miserably, pressing a kiss to Francis's head.

"He will live Madame," the doctor said, causing a small, choked cry to escape her lips. She cleared her throat immediately, trying not to seem too emotional. "May I visit him?" Anne asked, her voice hopeful. The doctor smiled at her, not unkindly, and nodded.

"And the rest of my boys? Are they well?"

"They are in perfect health, Lady Marquess," Philip told her, his old brown eyes filled with a paternal warmth that Anne had not seen in a long time. "Good," Anne said, relieved. Anne gentle placed Francis next to his brothers, sending the now sleepy babes a kiss before turning to face Philip once more. "Thank you." Anne's thanks was genuine—perhaps the most genuine she had ever been in her life. "Name your reward and you shall have it." At the unsure expression on his face Anne added, "At least tell me when you think of one." He nodded at her, smiling faintly once he realised that she had no intention of backing down.

She cast one last glance towards three of her boys and then hurried to the room where they were keeping William.

Anne was not sure what to expect.

Her dreams had been plagued by images of William looking sickly and weak; with red skin and blood curling screams. But her boy, her youngest, handsome, precious boy merely looked small. His dark tuffs of hair were still the same on his head, except for the small bead of sweat that sparkled on his forehead. He looked fine.

"Oh my own heart," Anne whispered with relief, cradling him against her chest. He gurgled at her, his eyes an impossible shade of blue. "Have you missed me, my handsome boy?" she cooed, pressing a kiss to his forehead, "Because I missed you." He started to cry slightly, causing Anne to rock him soothingly in her arms as she hummed a lullaby.

"Mama is here now," she says lovingly, "Nothing will ever hurt you or your other siblings, I swear it."

v.

William recovers quickly after they return to Pembroke, and soon enough he is sleeping again with his brothers in their large nursery, his illness having long since passed. It had been close to a month that they had returned home and there had been no word from court.

From Charles.

Elizabeth missed the Duke as well and had been saddened for close to a week when Anne had told her that Charles would most likely never be residing at Pembroke ever again. In truth, it saddened Anne as well, more than she ever thought it would, but she would not allow herself to be bothered by such emotions.

Her focus was to remain on her children. She had already been sidetracked by the ongoings of court and had no desire to risk her life by returning to it ever again unless it was absolutely essential. She had no idea whether or not Henry would even care to see Elizabeth again since the Seymour girl was with child— or whether he would attempt to come and visit Pembroke to assess whether or not the boys were his.

Despite her determination to no longer think of Charles, Anne admitted to herself in the darkest hours of the night while she lay in bed, restless, that she was lonely. More importantly that she missed his company. It was different in the way that she had missed Henry once their marriage had begun to fall apart. Anne longed to be able to have a friend again; true, she had her ladies but they were not equals. They were there to serve her not to be her friends. Madge and Nan were the closest people she had to friends. She had Elizabeth and her boys as well as the members of her household, who were always warm and kind, but still, Anne was lonely. Anne felt. . . useless almost. Elizabeth's education was being well planned; Mary's children had returned to her before they had gone to court and thus she did not need to keep an eye on them either. Her boys were too young for her to be concerned with such things. It was simple: Anne had nothing to do.

Doctor Phillip noticed that and made good on his promise to inform her when he had come up with something for her to reward him with.

"Doctor Phillip," Anne greeted from where she sat, having been busy embroidering. The Doctor had stayed at Pembroke per her request, just in case William caught ill once more. Anne was not willing to take any risks with her son's life. "My lady," he said, bowing.

"How may I help you Sir?"

He shifted under her gaze, folding his hands together in front of him.

"Madame a few fortnights ago you asked me to inform you if I thought of anything as my reward."

Anne blinked, unsure of where he was going with his speech.

"Yes indeed I did Sir," Anne replied, staring him straight in the eyes.

The man looked uncomfortable under her gaze and cleared his throat loudly before continuing:

"Madame the school in my village— for boys— burned to the ground not two years past. I have been struggling to raise the funds to have it rebuilt and—"

"You would like for me to sponsor you," Anne finished, thinking the proposal over.

"Indeed," he agreed readily, "You would be credited of course, your grace and would oversee it's construction if you wish."

It took several moments for Anne to respond.

"Alright," she said finally, a small smile painted on her lips, "Alright."

vi.

Anne's work with the reconstruction of the school busy's her until the month of July. Anne had greatly enjoyed overseeing it's construction, planning for it, and visiting the village to donate money to the poor. She had taken Elizabeth with her once— with numerous guards accompanying them of course— and had watched with delight as Elizabeth happily handed out some money and bread to the villagers.

It was good to feel useful.

Though Anne had to admit, now that summer had finally arrived and the gardens were in full bloom, it was nice to simply be with her children and have a picnic out by the water. She was dressed in a bright yellow gown whose straps were loose on her shoulders, exposing her pale skin. Her hair was down and loose, her dark tresses moving slightly when a pleasant breeze hit. Anne was sitting on the large cloth that the servants had laid out for her and her children, with several pillows scattered across said blanket. She was covered by a shade that they had set up now that it was Summer, so that her, Elizabeth and the boys would not become lightheaded due to the warmth of the sun.

Her boys were dressed in all white, except for the small ribbons that Elizabeth insisted remained tied to their small delicate wrists. They were in the elegant baskets that Anne had had made for them for such occasions, though George was now in her lap, his back against her breast as she watched Elizabeth play with her dog by the water. "Look at your sister!" She exclaimed playfully, watching as his eyes followed her every move, "Isn't she beautiful?" At his slightly perplexed expression she laughed heartily, smiling widely at the sight of Elizabeth. "But do not worry my boy, you are beautiful in my eyes too." She pressed a kiss to his forehead, her smile widening when he let out a loud pleased sound. Her ladies were also enjoying themselves as well; they were sitting a good distance away from her and children, as to give them privacy (in similar conditions that she was in) and Anne smiled at the sound of their laughter.

It was a good day for them all.

George was back in his basket when Elizabeth returned to sit with her, the skirts of her blue gown having been stained with mud. Her pup, which she had named Lady, barked happily as it sat a few meters from them, curling into a small ball. "Oh my darling girl," Anne called out happily, opening her arms so that her daughter could run into them. "Look how big you've grown." Anne marvelled at her daughter's beauty, even at the age of three Anne could see that she would become one of the most breathtaking women in Europe.

"I love you Mama," Elizabeth chirped happily.

Anne's heart immeasurably swelled in her chest.

"I love you too my darling Elizabeth and I bid you never forget it."

And they were happy.

And then Anne saw something—someone out of the corner of her eye and suddenly became aware of how her ladies giggles had suddenly quietened. She turned her head toward the black clothed figure and gasped aloud at who it was.

"Henry."

Elizabeth leapt out of her arms and onto her feet, her eyes wide and her cheeks flushed with excitement. "Papa!" she exclaimed, hurrying over to Henry. The commotion caused the boys to wake from their nap with sharp cries, distracting Anne from the sudden change of events. "Shh my loves," Anne hushed, slightly panicked and then nearly gasped with relief when her ladies showed up behind her, each one of them picking up the crying babes and rocking them in their arms. She sent them a look of gratitude and rose onto shaky legs, turning around so that she caught view of Henry swinging Elizabeth around in his arms.

Why is he here? Oh dear god will I ever be free of his wrath? Will he take me away from my babes? And then another thought struck her with terror: Will he take my children away from me? Anne winced at the thought, before forcing her legs to move in Elizabeth's direction, trying to rearrange her features into a neutral expression. "Your majesty," she stated, her voice light as she curtsied, "What a pleasant surprise." Anne was suddenly aware of her simple appearance: her gown was one of the simplest one's she owned and had never worn in front of him before and she was wearing one of her older, worn pairs of slippers.

She met Henry's gaze with a forced smile, watching with a wary heart as he placed Elizabeth on the ground beneath them.

"Is all well at court?" She questioned pleasantly, trying to calm the beating of her heart.

"Everything is fine Madame," Henry informed her, his blue eyes shining under the sun's rays, "I embarked on a progress not too long passed and I realised that one of the castles that I was staying at was close to here and I wished to visit my daughter." And your sons, Anne wanted to add, but she knew that it was not wise.

"I am sorry if I inconvenienced you in any way, Madame." Though his words were apologetic, his tone was anything but. Henry was a King.

"Of course not your majesty," Anne assured him, her body relaxing when Elizabeth returned to her side, "I am merely surprised and ashamed that my home is not prepared for such a royal visit."

"You need not be."

Anne smiled forcefully at him and nodded her head slightly, to indicate that she would follow his command. His returning smile was thin lipped and insincere as he stared into her eyes for a few moments, before becoming distracted by the cries of one of her sons, which Anne recognised to be William. She closed her eyes tightly, sending a quick prayer to God that Henry would not become angry or irritated at her boys.

"Forgive my son William for his cries your majesty," Anne said apologetically, "He is not used to strangers." Henry snapped his gaze back at her, his blue eyes wide as he nodded, though he did not act as though he had heard what she had said as though he were in some kind of trance.

He moved past Anne and extended his hand to Elizabeth, causing her daughter to grasp onto it. Anne followed behind them warily, meeting Nan's gaze over Henry's shoulder. Her ladies stiffened at the sight of the King, trying to balance the squiggling babies in their arms. "Put them in their cradles," Henry commanded. Her ladies shot her a quick glance and Anne nodded indirectly, causing them to obey the King's orders without a word. William was still screaming at the top of his lungs and they all stood there awkwardly for such a long time that Anne could not bare it any longer.

"Leave us," Henry commanded, as Anne moved to William's basket and picked him up gently, rocking him against her chest. "I'll talk to you soon Elizabeth," he said gently, leaning down to press a kiss onto her forehead. Anne heard her ladies and Elizabeth return to the castle and she shot Elizabeth a quick smile before she left, though she was preoccupied with trying to calm William, even though George, Mark and Francis were resting in their baskets quietly.

"Shh, my love," she whispered, her back slightly turned so that she was not facing Henry. William began to calm down eventually, his screams calming into whimpers. It was then that Anne shifted so that she was facing Henry once more, having the urge to step in front of her resting sons and shield him from his view.

"Who is this lad?" he asked her softly, with a gentleness in his tone that Anne had not heard him direct towards her in a very, very long time.

"William," she answered hesitantly, "He is the youngest."

Henry nodded his eyes focused intently on the little boy in her arms.

"He looks like you," he told her, a small, genuine smile appearing on his lips.

Anne let out a tiny amused sound— though she was still not fully comfortable in his presence— and replied, "He is the only one who received my hair colouring. The other boys look like—" you.

Anne's cheeks flushed slightly as she corrected herself hastily, "Have Elizabeth's colouring."

She had not said it outright but she had implied it: the boys were of Tudor blood.

If Henry was angry with her for the implication, he hid it well. Instead, he moved over so that he was facing all three of the remaining baskets, with Anne by his side. He inspected the babes carefully but not harshly, and asked her quietly:

"Which one is George?"

Anne shifted William in her arms, careful to keep her voice gentle so as to not startle him. "He is the babe with the red ribbon your majesty," She answered softly, "Elizabeth insisted that they keep wearing their ribbons so that she would never have any doubt as to who each one of her brother;s were." Anne then looked down at William and smiled.

"William is the only one whom was easily identifiable when they were first born because of his hair but Elizabeth insisted that he continue to wear his green as well, so that he did not feel left out." Henry smiled as well at his— their— daughter's antics. Silence formed after her words and she watched with a half-baited breath as he moved on the Mark. "And this is—"

"Mark, your majesty," she replied quickly, observing as he fingered the ribbon adorned around his little ankle. "Mark," he repeated, as though the name were in a foreign language and he was trying to pronounce it properly. "And then this must be Francis." Anne was not sure whether that was a question or a statement. "Indeed your majesty, he is the quietest of them all." Anne's body tensed when he bent over and picked Francis up carefully and she watched with a wary eye as he lifted the boy in the air. William gurgled at her neck, his hands petting her dark curls.

"They are my sons," Henry declared.

Anne was so shocked she almost dropped William.

"I shall acknowledge them and provide for them. They are my healthy boys." He cradled Francis to his chest before carefully replacing him with Mark and then George. "And this is my eldest son. My precious boy." He pressed a kiss to the side of his forehead, causing George to let out a loud, pleased sound. "He knows his father," Henry commented lightly, almost as if he was in awe of them. Though Anne was relieved that he was acknowledging them and realising the truth, some bitterness and anger swelled in her chest, making her throat close. They could have been your heir's, she wanted to hiss at him, my—our— precious, beautiful, lovely boys could have been princes and Kings if it were not because of you. Our daughter Elizabeth is the brightest girl in the whole of England and you took her crown away from her too.

Henry did not notice the anger stirring within her.

He placed George back in his basket and turned to look at her.

"Let me see my youngest son," he asked her, not unkindly.

Anne did not want to let go of him but nonetheless she carefully transferred William into his arms and nearly smiled when her boy immediately started to scream at the top of his lungs.

"He is a fine weight," Henry told her over his screaming.

"And with strong lungs, your majesty," Anne replied in jest.

He let out a small laugh and put William back into her arms but not before placing a kiss on his head. Anne's eyes widened with surprise when his hand touched her elbow in a loose hold. "Thank you Lady Anne," he said genuinely, "For giving them to me."

I didn't do it for you.

"My children are my world and my heart, your majesty," is all she said in turn. Henry's eyes looked glazed over with tears as he turned to stare at the other three boys once more. "The Queen shall give them and Elizabeth a brother and when they are older, they can be his companions." Anne felt physically ill at the thought.

"As your majesty wishes."

There was a moment before he said anything.

"I have to leave soon, Lady Marquess and I wish to say farewell to Elizabeth and then return her to you. I must continue on my progress."

"You must leave so soon?"

"Yes," Henry admitted, though he did not look eager to be parted from their children, "There is some business that I must take care of as King."

"Of course your majesty," Anne said, trying to brush away the small sliver of disappointment that had formed. It was odd; she wanted him to leave but at the same time she also wanted him to stay. She desired for him to leave their children alone and yet she wanted him to be their father and acknowledge them. She hated him and she love—

No, Anne told herself firmly, no.

"I shall send you some presents in not two months passed," Henry informed her, "Some for Elizabeth, many for the boys and a gift for you."

"Your majesty that is not necessary—"

"It is, Marquess Anne," Henry interrupted shortly, "I have not been a father to my sons since they have arrived on this Earth and I fully intend on making up for it now."

And though his words are kind and full of love for his children, Anne is suddenly reminded of a very different time.

For the love of Elizabeth have mercy!

No! I loved you! I loved you! And I love you still!

Your majesty I beseech you!

"Of course your majesty," Anne says faintly, sounding distracted even to her own ears.

And then shortly afterwards, Henry leaves to say goodbye to Elizabeth and by the time her daughter returns to her and her brother's, Anne wondered as to whether or not it had simply been a dream.

vii.

True to his word, by mid August, numerous gifts arrive for Elizabeth and the boys. From dresses to books to toys to new sheets, Anne and Henry's children were lavished upon. Henry had sent so many presents in a single day than most royal parents gifted their children in an entire year. It made Anne both happy and wary to see him pay so much attention to their children, and he had requested that she sent him weekly reports of their wellbeing, so that he was informed and involved with their upbringing.

"Papa has not sent you a gift Mama," Elizabeth pointed out, looking troubled.

"That's because he wanted to show his love for you and your brothers Elizabeth," Anne told her kindly, smiling slightly. Anne remembered what Henry had said: he said that he would give her a gift but Anne was worried as to what it was. Perhaps it would be a chopping block and an executioner, she pondered grimly, though she was careful to keep a smile plastered to her face so as not to upset Elizabeth.

And then finally, after all the boxes and chests had been opened, the messenger who had brought them the gifts handed her a letter from Henry.

Dear Lady Marquess Anne of Pembroke, Henry's familiar scrawl wrote:

You have given me sons, just as you had promised long ago. Not only that but you have given me a beautiful, intelligent daughter and despite all the ill that has happened between us, I no longer wish for you to be unhappy or to undergo any harm. Our history is long and painful Anne but there had been a time when I had loved you with my every breath and I would like to think, that looking back on it now, despite your actions, that you cared for me during those first few years. Your love for our children is undoubtable.

Thus I conclude that despite. . . .

Anne read the rest of the letter hurriedly, her mind warring with various thoughts and feelings.

He truly believes that I am guilty, he thinks that I never loved him—

And then there was also, Charles, Charles, your friend Charles he is—

As if on cue, Master Lewis entered the room and bowed before telling her, "Madame there has been a rider with a small guard of men seen heading this way, shall I raise the guards—"

"No," Anne said sharply, a small smile on her face as she rose from her chair, letting the letter fall to the ground.

"It is the Duke of Suffolk."

"Uncle Charles is returning home?" Elizabeth asked excitedly, her eyes wide with amazement.

"Yes he is," Anne said, laughter in her voice, "He really is."

—

Anne does not go to greet him at the front of the house when he arrives, leaving it to Elizabeth, Master Lewis, her ladies and Lady Ashley to greet the Duke. Anne remained in her apartment, reading a book. Or at least attempting to read one. She had re-read the same passage four times and then on the fifth, she finally gave up and shut the book closed just as the door opened and Charles walked into the room. He halted in his steps at the sight of her and Anne rose slowly, her heart beating frantically in her chest. She remembered how cold their farewell had been; how formal and restricting. She recalled how he had looked at her coldly when she had caught sight of Jane Rochford and then she was suddenly unsure of how to greet him.

Her lips parted as she stared at him, her heart sighing with relief once she noticed that his appearance had not changed over the last few months they had spent apart.

"Your grace," Anne greeted quietly.

"Lady Marquess," he returned in kind.

There was a beat, a moment before the tension broke.

Anne let out a relieved gasp and hurried over to him as Charles extended his arms out so she could barrel into them. His arms fastened around her waist tightly as hers encircled his shoulders. "You're alright," she said, her voice muffled from where she had buried her face on his chest. He pressed a kiss to her forehead in response. "I'm alright," he repeated, his voice light. Anne felt as though she were floating. "And the boys— Henry acknowledged them in front of the whole court. You should have seen the look on the Seymour's faces—"

"I don't want to talk about them right now," Anne said, pulling back slightly so they could stare each other in the face and raised her hand so that it was touching his cheek. "I do not want them to ruin this." He smiled at her in understanding, and then bent down so that their foreheads were touching each other. They breathed the same breath; their hearts beat as one as they held onto one another, pleased to be in each other's presence once more. Charles leaned forward and pressed his lips against hers gently, taking her breath away. Anne pulled back slightly, a smile forming on her face when she caught sight of his own one. She was the one to lean forward this time and press their lips together, sighing loudly at the familiar sensation. It was already dark by the time Charles had arrived and Anne had given explicit instructions for Elizabeth to go to bed after she had finished greeting the Duke and had dismissed her ladies for the night.

They stumbled a few steps back as their kisses grew harder, Charles leading them from the outer apartment to her bed chamber. Her hands worked quickly on untying the laces of his doublet and he worked on undoing the laces of her gown. They parted, staring at each other with wide eyed expressions before falling back into each other.

viii.

It is the next day that they walk together in the gardens, catching up with each other. His son Henry had arrived at Pembroke after his father because he had travelled all the way from his estates, having returned to his home whilst his father stayed at court. Charles told her of the ongoings of court, how Jane Seymour had been very ill due to her pregnancy and how the King had taken a mistress.

"How fitting," Anne had commented wryly, causing Charles to roll his eyes at her.

Anne told him of William and his illness and how she had helped with the reconstruction of the school. Then she told him of how Henry had come to Pembroke for only a few hours and had declared himself to be the father of her son's.

"It was odd," Anne recalled, "I had never seen like that. His eyes had teared up as though he could not. . ."

Anne sighed loudly, unsure of what to say.

"I don't think I've ever seen Henry cry," Anne confessed, looking anywhere but at him.

Charles disentangles their arms and lets Anne walk ahead of him slightly, a slight breeze ruffling the skirts of her gown.

"He cried over you."

Anne stopped, feeling as though a bucket of ice water had been poured over her.

Something sad and heavy sighed in her chest as she waited for him to finish.

"When he was first told about the charges against you by Cromwell— and after he told Henry that they were supposedly true, he sobbed. It was as though his heart had been torn out of his chest."

Anne shifted unsteadily, feeling her eyes grow uncomfortably wet.

"Why are you telling me this?" she asked quietly, turning her head so that she could observe him. Charles looked resigned as he stared back at her, before shrugging.

"I don't know," he confessed.

Anne blinked at him; once, twice, her eyes blurring with tears. It was not long before he embraced her, cradling her head in the crook of his neck. "I do not know how to stop," she whispered frustratedly, "I wish I could. Oh God—" she let out a shaky breath against his skin.

"Sometimes matters of the heart can not be explained, Anne," is all he said, running a gentle hand through her locks.

Perhaps he was right, Anne thought miserably, perhaps she was doomed to love a man she hated forever.

—

Later, they watch Elizabeth and his son play with the boys in the garden.

The sun is high in the sky and there is a slight breeze in the air.

Anne feels different now, lighter almost.

"We will be happy," she says quietly, holding onto one of his hands.

He smiles at her from the corner of her eye.

"We will," he agrees.

And they were—

But not for as long as they hoped.

ix.

Jane Seymour dies in early October due to going into labour too early and because of the complications that arose because of it.

Because of said complications, her child died as well.

It was a son.

Anne does not go to court during the mourning period but she sends Charles and Elizabeth in her stead and writes a letter to Henry offering him her deepest condolences.

One month later each of her boys say their first word.

For every single one of them, it is Mama.

They begin to take their first steps in the mid November, shortly after their first birthday.

Henry had travelled to Pembroke for the day to be with their sons, aware of the fact that they were too young to travel the journey to London. Anne had asked Charles to visit his son on his estates, unwilling to tempt Henry's rage. Henry is quiet as he held them, his expression all the more solemn due to his black clothing.

And as the books say, life moved on.

Her and Charles stayed at Pembroke with Elizabeth and her sons and Henry visited once every so often. She corresponded with Mary frequently and rejoiced at the news that her sister was once again with child.

And her life was good and happy and simple.

Except for one single occurrence.

Thomas Boleyn visits her shortly after Charles had returned to Pembroke. The sky is dark and gloomy when he arrives at Pembroke, with no announcement or no word of his journey there.

He had not written to Anne once since she had been released.

Anne listens to his speech with a coldness that she did not know she possessed. She can feel Charles grow angry beside her but she merely feels tired and void. Her eyes pierce into her father's, those dark eyes of hers that he had once said were like dark hooks for the soul were staring at her father with neither love or compassion.

"You will leave at once," Anne told him indifferently, "I never wish to see you again. You are no father of mine— you stopped being my father long ago. I ask of you to leave and never come back." He had stared at her with bewilderment, at first begging for her forgiveness and then bargaining before growing angry with her, calling her selfish and a disgrace for a daughter.

Charles had taken a hold of him and shoved him against the wall, his expression furious. He whispered something into her father's ear that Anne could not ear but had a profound affect on him, as his face turned white.

"Anne—"

"Leave. Now."

He died approximately two weeks after he returned home.

Anne did not attend the funeral.

(Anne began to identify that day as the day that everything began to change)

x.

June 1538 Pembroke Castle

The Pilgrimage of Grace had ended and the leaders had been captured.

Charles had written from court to tell her of the end of the rebellion— he had been summoned to court by Henry to help him fight the rebels and Anne had spent two months worried sick, prepared to leave Pembroke if the rebels ever came near the castle. Fortunately for them, they did not but Anne was still incredibly worried that Henry would succumb to the pressure and make Mary 1st in line.

He had no legitimate children according to his laws and Charles had written to her that Thomas Cromwell had been trying to marry Henry off to some German Duchess. Cromwell had been walking on shaky legs recently, as the King blamed him for the uprising. It made Anne want to laugh slightly; the argument that had put Anne at odds with Cromwell is what is leading to his undoing, the same way he had sought hers.

"Mama!" George exclaimed excitedly, smiling wildly at the sight of her. His brothers followed in suit, stumbling on their little toddler legs as they ran over to her. Anne crouched down and extended out her arms so that she could hug all of her boys. She smiled apologetically at Lady Bryan (Henry had ordered Lady Bryan to come to Pembroke since there was no use for her over at Pembroke and she was now her boys keeper) over George's shoulder, who smiled in turn. Elizabeth was taking her more advanced lessons with Lady Ashley in the study next door and though Anne wished to visit her daughter, she did not want to interrupt her studies and concentration, knowing that Elizabeth had just begun to learn Greek in addition to French.

"How are my angels this morning?" she asked, pressing kisses to each of their cheeks.

"Good Mama!" William told her, hugging her longer than his brothers.

"Is that so?" She asked the rest of them, smiling when she saw Mark and Francis nod eagerly with George.

"Good," she declared, giving them her undivided attention.

Her boys had grown much over the past year, no longer needing ribbons to identify whom was who any longer. George was the split image of Henry, with his reddish gold locks and blue eyes. Mark and Francis were the brothers who resembled each other the most; with Henry's mothers colouring and his eyes but her nose and mouth. William however, had grown into the split image of her. From his dark locks to the colour of his eyes, William was the male version of her appearance. George was the leader of the small band of brothers, fancying himself to be a valiant knight and a hero. Mark was more demure than his brother and more interested in knowledge and books but he had inherited Henry's temper. Francis remained the quietest of her son's, following his brother's and offering ideas in a quiet tone. William was the more mischievous of them all; he was the planner of the boys adventures and George was the one who lead them on it. The brain and the heart, Anne sometimes thought.

Anne leaves them after a short while and goes to her study to where she had left an unopened letter from Mary. They had been planning for them to come and visit with Mary's newborn son, whom she had called Robert. It was about time that her other children also arrived at Pembroke for their lessons. Mary had been unwilling to let them travel so far whilst the rebellion was ongoing, which was a feeling Anne understood.

To Anne's surprise however, Master Lewis was standing in her study along with an old woman with grey hair, who looked vaguely familiar.

"I apologise for not warning you of this woman's presence Lady Marquess," Master Lewis told her apologetically, "But she just arrived and she said she had met you before—"

"You are Doctor Phillip's wife," Anne recalled, remembering the woman from the time she had met her briefly a year prior.

"Indeed I am Lady Marquess," the woman said, curtsying clumsily.

"May I ask why you are here?" Anne questioned politely, folding her hands together in front of her.

The woman— Alice, Anne believed her name was, shifted uncomfortably and it was then that Anne noticed the hard lines of grief and stress that were evident on her face, that had not been there a year before.

"Lady Anne. . . when the rebellion started, some of the rebels stormed through certain villages and forced many of the men to follow them against the King, by threatening them with death or violence or worse. My husband was treating some of the wounded in one of the villages where the rebels were most prominent and they threatened him into treating their wounded by taking a hold of our son, whom had travelled with his father in order to learn his trade. Now, he is to be executed by the King for assisting the rebels and I come here today to beg of you to save him. Please, Lady Anne. My husband will die a painful death— hanging and quartering and I do not even know where my son is—" She was on her knees now in front of her, trying not to cry.

Anne was moved— she was. She desperately wanted to help them she did, but Anne was still wary not to get on Henry's bad side, for fear of the consequences. Despite the massive improvements that had occurred over the past year, Anne still feared that Henry would someday change his mind and take their children away from her or have her executed. Asking him for mercy for a man he believed to have conspired with those who rebelled against him was a near death sentence but still—

Doctor Phillip was a kind, innocent man who had saved William from death.

He did not deserve to die for a crime he had not committed.

And Anne understood the wife's feelings; she had been in her position before, powerless to help a loved one when they were faced with death.

She would not wish that on anyone.

"Alright," she says finally, her voice firm, "Alright."

xi.

Anne had debated on whether or not to take the children with her to court. On one hand, it may make Henry's mood better and be more willing to listen to what she had to say. On the other however, Henry might think that she was using her children as a bargaining chip; as a tool to control him. Additionally, if Henry grew angry with her and ordered her arrest and/or execution, Anne had no desire for them to witness such a thing. And so, she reluctantly decided to leave without them. She left for London about a week after Alice had visited, her heart heavy in her chest after she had said farewell to Elizabeth and the boys. It was the first time she had parted from them for more than a day since she and Elizabeth had gone to London last April.

It filled her with anxiety but Anne knew that it had to be done. Besides, she reassured herself, she was not planning on staying for very long.

It was moments like these where Anne wondered how she had been able to bare having Elizabeth live and be raised at Hatfield instead of with her. The journey to London was relatively smooth and Anne arrives there two days after leaving Pembroke, this time without Elizabeth by her side. She feels her absence tremendously as she climbs out of the carriage. Unlike the last time Anne was court, this visit was sudden and unannounced and this time there are no crowds here to greet her. It hasn't changed at all, she thought grimly. Not even after Jane Seymour's death.

A servant came up to her, looking wide eyed and startled at her appearance. She gave him instructions and watched as he fumbled for a moment, before leaving some guards with her carriage and belongings before escorting her to be received by the King. Anne's heart was beating so loud she was sure that the servant could hear it. She felt as though her body was trembling due to the sheer force of it. Anne saw people gasp at the sight of her once she was led into the crowded room and the crowd parted immediately at the sight of her.

"The Marquess of Pembroke the Lady Anne Boleyn. Mother to the King's daughter Elizabeth and his sons George, Mark, Francis and William and is here to request an audience with the King."

Anne caught sight of Charles next to Henry, her heart leaping to her throat at the sight of him standing there, looking healthy. What are you doing here? He asked with his eyes. Anne looked away from him so that she could observe Henry instead. Henry was surprised to see her there, that was evident but he did not look displeased.

"Welcome to Court, Marquess Anne," Henry greeted, his voice pleasant enough, "How are the children?"

She saw Mary flinch out of the corner of her eye from where she stood in the crowd.

"Our children are very well, your majesty and are in good health."

"And yet they did not join you on your journey? I must say this is a rather great surprise to see you here."

"I apologise for my hastiness," she said formally, keeping her tone pleasant, "But I had to make the quick journey here to see your majesty and talk to him of an urgent matter."

"What urgent matter?" Thomas Cromwell asked from the other side of Henry.

Anne's gaze grew cold at the sight of him, hatred boiling in her belly. "Master Cromwell I mean no disrespect when I say that I would like if the King consulted in this matter." His jaw tightened at her words. She had not seen him while she was last at court because he had been sent on some diplomatic mission of sorts, much to her relief. Anne had not been in his presence since he informed her that the King planned on sparing her life.

"Very well, Lady Anne," Henry declared, his eyes piercing into the side of her face, "What urgent matter brought you to court on such short notice?"

Anne took a deep breath, her nervousness making it difficult for her to breathe.

She knelt in front of the steps that led to Henry's throne, her dark red gown in a pool beneath her. Her ladies followed suit.

"When I was last at court your majesty, if you recall m— our son William grew ill with a serious fever that required me to return home immediately with Elizabeth in case he died." Even now, it was a difficult thought to bare let alone voice aloud. Henry also winced at her words, clearly uncomfortable at the thought of William dying or he was remembering the death of his precious Seymour and her babe. "There was a Doctor, an elderly man called Philip who nursed him back to health and saved him from death. I was recently informed by his wife that he had been forced under duress to help some of the leaders in the rebellion, and nurse some of the rebels back to health. I am here to plead for mercy your grace, he is an old man who has done no wrong—"

"No wrong?" Cromwell questioned sharply, "He aided the leaders of the rebellion that questioned the King's actions and wished to overthrow him. He nursed and helped several of their soldiers— soldiers whom I am sure murdered some of the King's men— back to health so that they could continue with their plot! If that is no crime in your eyes Madame, I would hate to see what you do consider to be wrong."

"His son was captured by the rebels when he travelled to a village to help treat some of the sick," Anne shot back, "The rebels threatened to murder his son if he did not help. His only child would have been killed Master Cromwell. By no means do I agree with the end result of his actions but I understand why he succumbed to their threats." Her gaze returned Henry now, who was watching her with an aloof expression. "Your majesty," she said, more quietly now so as to highlight her desperation, "If it had been you in his position and he had threatened one of our sons or our daughter— one of your precious children, would you not have done the same?"

Silence followed after her words. Cromwell shot the King several glances before looking back at her, his eyes narrowing into slits. Charles watched her with a clenched jaw as well, clearly uneasy with her asking that of the King. One two three four five. Elizabeth George Mark Francis William Elizabeth George Mark Francis William her mind chanted, trying to cal herself down.

"Very well," Henry decided, "I will let him return home." Anne smiled brightly, the weight of the world being lifted off her chest. "Thank you your majesty," she told him, "Thank you." He nodded at her, a swirl of emotions lingering in his eyes as he motioned for her to stand.

"Your Majesty if I may—"

"No you may not Master Cromwell," Henry interrupted sharply, causing Anne to stiffen with shock. So this is what Charles meant by Henry become unsatisfied with Cromwell. "I am letting an innocent man go home to his wife and his son. A man whom also happened to save one of my own."

Cromwell grew quiet, his face turning pale.

Let him experience the same fear that I felt, Anne thought bitterly.

xii.

But Anne should have known. Cromwell is the kind of man who will strike his enemy where they are weakest and so when Anne has been court for two days Thomas Wyatt arrives at court. Anne had been watching the dancing from where she sat at the high table next to Charles— two seats over from Henry, apparently being the mother of his sons gave her the 'right' to do so— when she caught sight of him staring at her. She let out a loud, startled breath, her eyes growing wide. Charles followed her gaze and found who she was looking at and turned to look at her with concern.

Anne couldn't breathe.

All she could picture was her brother being beheaded along with Mark, William, Henry and Francis. All she could think that while they were dead, their bodies rotting in the ground, the only one whom was guilty of having touched her was alive and she had not even been married to Henry when that had happened, though their courtship had just begun. Speaking of which, Henry had left the table so that he could greet some diplomat of sorts and so Charles was free to ask: "Anne, are you alright?"

She didn't reply for several moments and instead turned her head so that she could stare at him in the eyes.

"He's the only one who was guilty," she murmured, fingering her necklace.

Charles did not have to ask to know what she was referring to.

"The only one. . ." Anne scoffed gently at her words and rose from her chair, unable to bare being in the room any longer.

She did not miss Cromwell's calculating look at the exchange between her and Charles.

But Anne had been smarter this time around. To eliminate any suspicion that she had Charles or some other lover visit her chambers, Anne had commanded that two of her ladies sleep on mats on either side of her bed, another by the foot and the fourth beside her, so that if they were under oath they could testify that Anne had never slept with any man under Henry's roof. Anne did not interact with Charles if she could help it—unless Henry put them in a position where they had no choice, such as now. It would seem that people did not forget that he had indeed slept with her brother's widow. Anne had understood why he had done it and Charles had apologised for it but no one else needed to know that. If Cromwell was trying to ruin her by suggesting that she was sleeping with Charles, he would be hard pressed to find any evidence.

But little did Anne know, Cromwell did not seek to ruin her relationship with Henry; he had done all the damage he could do there. No, Cromwell wanted to weaken her, to make her feel completely alone at court so she would return home. He feared her influence over Henry; her desire for revenge after everything that had happened to her and her family.

And he had just the right information to do it.

Anne had been in the apartment of her chambers, writing a letter to Mary when Master Cromwell was led into the room.

"Cromwell," Anne greeted shortly, not rising from her chair to greet him.

"Lady Marquess," he returned, standing right in front of her desk.

"How may I help you on this fine day Sir?"

Cromwell did not answer her question, instead choosing to respond with another.

"Are you writing to your children?" He asked cooly, avoiding her gaze.

Anne narrowed her eyes at him, not in the mood for his games.

"No, my sister Mary," she corrected, a slight hint of defensiveness in her voice. Cromwell noticed and seized on it;

"I suppose that your children are doing well," he continued, "It must be hard for them to be so far from their father and to see him so little. Though I suppose it is not so bad considering they have their Uncle Charles to keep them company."

"What do you want Master Cromwell?" she asked, her voice hard.

"Nothing," he replied, raising his hands innocently, "I was merely surprised that Charles could stomach being around them or you for that matter, considering that he—"

At Anne's frown, he raised his eyebrows in triumph. "Ahh, so he did not tell you. How surprising. I knew that he was capable of lying but. . . being cruel? I never suspected that of him."

"Stop talking in circles and get to the point—"

"I was merely wondering how you could allow you and your children to grow so close to the man who informed the King eagerly of your crimes, Lady Anne. I must admit, I was astonished at your powers of forgiveness, considering how insistent he was that your brother be charged with incest. Surely you must have put it together, Madame, you are incredibly intelligent after all."

Anne merely sat there, speechless.

How could you not have known? How how how how how how how how how how how—

"You're lying," Anne said faintly, glaring at Cromwell.

He smiled at her, though it was without warmth.

"Go home Lady Anne," is all he said before walking out of the room.

When her ladies re-enter the room after he leaves, Anne says:

"Tell the Duke of Suffolk to come here and tell him that it is urgent."

xiii.

When Charles arrives, Anne is still sitting at her desk, trying to comprehend the various emotions that were blooming inside her.

"Anne?" he asked concerned, "What is it?"

Anne rises from her chair slowly and does not look at him, for fear that if she did she would either scream and cry or hit him.

"I do not know how I never put it together before," she whispered, something heavy and horrible spreading through her chest, tying around her neck like a noose. "How could I have not known? How?"

"Anne what are you talking about—"

"You know what!" She spat at him, her eyes wide and full of rage, "The charges against me were your fault."

Charles paled instantly, his mouth opening with shock.

Oh God it's true. Oh dear God.

Anne nearly collapsed but instead she let out a hysterical laugh and moved towards him, anger making her blood boil.

Anne slaps him across the cheek with all her might. She puts all of her pain, anger and hurt into it and watches with satisfaction when his cheek already began to bruise. He stays like that and does not move, letting her enact her rage on him, which only served to infuriate her further. "Why aren't you saying anything?" Anne snapped angrily, shoving him with all her strength so that he moved back a few paces, startled by her actions. "You monster!" she hissed, slamming her hands against his chest, "How—how could you?"

Anne felt as though she could no longer breathe due to her rage. Due to the hate that had sprung in her heart and taken over her body. "My brother is dead because of you— Mark is dead. Innocents are dead. I almost died!"

"I know," Charles kept on whispering, "I know."

"Elizabeth was almost left without a mother. My sons would have been killed with me!"

"I know."

"Say something other than that you coward!" Anne yelled, hitting him. Charles finally began to try and calm her down by attempting to grab her wrists so as to stop her onslaught of abuse. "Ah!" Anne said, as though he had burned her, "No! No no no no no no!" Anne backed away from him, tears spilling down her face furiously, causing her anger to grow twice fold. He followed her trying to trap her against his chest as though she were some wild animal he was trying to tame. "Don't you touch me!" She hissed. "Ah! no no no no no no God!" He wrapped his arms around her stomach from behind and clutched her to his chest, so that her back was flushed against him. "Don't cry," he begged, "Please do not cry. Stop it! " And then more gently, "Stop."

"Let go of me!" Anne raged, thrashing against his hold, "I never want to look at you! I can not bare your touch! Let go of me!"

He let her go, albeit reluctantly and watched with a solemn yet pleading expression as she told him, "I never want to see you again. I never want to be near you again. I— I—" she let out a breath and swiped at her eyes, unable to stand looking at him with that desperation in his eyes. "My god how could you?" She asked, her heart breaking in her chest as she bit down tightly on her lower lip to stop her sobs from escaping her lips.

"I never meant for that to happen," he said quietly, as though he were a child, "I merely wished for him to divorce you—not to— not to kill you or the others. He was never meant. . . I never meant for that to occur but by the time I realised just how bad Cromwell was making it seem, it was too late. Henry was already convinced that you had betrayed him with every man you had met while you were with him—"

"I do not want to hear your lies," Anne interrupted, finally having reached a sense of calm. "You are a liar and a murderer. Now if you would your grace, get out of my chambers."

"Anne—"

"Get. Out."

Charles left without a word, leaving Anne completely and utterly alone.

xiv.

Anne leaves court a week later with Doctor Phillip by her side.

Charles does not come back with her.

As a matter of fact, Anne does not see Charles again until January of 1539. He had not returned to court from his estates for Elizabeth's or the boys birthday celebrations, despite the lavish festivities that Henry had thrown in their honour. Anne is glad of it too. Mary had visited with her husband and children and had calmed her slightly, reminding Anne that Charles was a good man who made a mistake but all that served was to rip the wound open again.

Charles returns to Pembroke when snow is falling heavily on the ground. Anne had heard that he had been sent to observe Henry's new bride and escort her back to England but other than that news of him was scarce. Elizabeth and the boys ran up to greet him, laughing and smiling at the sight of their beloved uncle. Anne is too tongue tied to say anything, and observes him with cold eyes, waiting for her children and her ladies to leave the room.

"I know that you are angry," he told her hesitantly, "And you have every right to be. I just. . . before I left I wanted to see you again, in case I do not return and I wanted to apologise. I know that I have no right to ask for your forgiveness so all I am going to say is that I love you. I am in love with you. I thought that I loved my previous wives Mary and Katherine but I do not think that I have ever loved anyone until you. Not truly. You are kind and passionate and selfless and giving and I am so sorry that I let my hatred for the men in your family extend to you. I—I know better now. I know that it is not enough to change what happened but. . . I love Elizabeth, George, Mark, Francis and William as though they are my own. I would kill for them and for you— I would die if it meant protecting them and you from harm. And Anne if you would just let me I will spend the rest of my life serving you, as though you were my Queen." He knelt in front of her, though he kept his gaze plastered to her face. "If you never wish to see me again, I understand."

For a moment, Anne was too overwhelmed to say anything.

"Come back home safely," is all she decided on saying, "Come back to me."

Charles smiled.

xv.

They grow back together slowly and by the time Charles returns in April, Anne has fully let go of her anger.

And then for two short months they were happy once more and then—

Cromwell met his doom.

He was charged with high treason and found guilty within a fortnight.

Henry had not been pleased with his betrothed and had had her sent back to her country with jewels and a fortune but that had signified Cromwell's last failure.

Charles and Anne are summoned to court by Henry and they obey but they leave the children behind, only taking his son with them.

(One of them does not make it back)

xvi.

There are two moments when Thomas Cromwell had a tremendous impact on her life. The first is when he brought her downfall and near-execution.

And ironically, the second is when he redeems her.

Cromwell is dressed all in white when he climbs onto the scaffold, looking as though he had expected to end up there someday. Anne knows that she should not be there— how people disapprove of the fact that she is there but she feels as though she owes it to him, somehow. As though she owes it to herself. They have come full circle. Charles stands next to her with his son Henry standing in front of the both of them.

Anne stares at Cromwell steadily, her mouth pressed into a fine line. She supposed she should feel joy at the sight of her enemy's downfall but all she feels is this massive void where her heart should be. He had once been her ally in her quest for the crown. He was responsible for the deaths of her brother and four other innocents. All she feels is sadness as she stares into his wide, haunted eyes. Charles glances at her with concern and moves one of his hands off Henry's shoulder so that it brushes against her own gloved one. Anne smiles faintly at the action and whispers, "Thank you."

He smiles at her, though it does not reach his eyes. Anne turns her attention back to Cromwell, her jaw locking. The crowd is loud and wild at the sight of him, yelling murderous words that make Anne want to close her eyes and hide away.

"All I have wanted to is to serve his grace to the best of my ability," Cromwell begins, wincing at the shouts of the crowd. "I have been untrue and selfish in my position of power, and for that I ask his majesty and the Lord to forgive my corrupt soul." The crowd quietens slightly and Cromwell searches through the crowd, looking for someone. Anne feels a chill run up her spine when their eyes meet and his mouth opens slightly, as though something just occurred to him. Something passes between them during those moments, regret mixed with guilt and a sudden desperation for forgiveness. A sudden need to right a wrong. To bring justice. There was only one thing Cromwell could do that would bring her justice and that was to clear Anne's name and in order to do that he needed to confess.

No, Anne thinks, fear turning her into stone, don't do it.

Cromwell took a deep breath and spoke:

"I have been convicted and found guilty of treason against the King," he begins, his voice loud and sure, 'But in order for justice to truly be served and for my soul to be purged of my crimes there is one more thing I wish to confess." Charles grip on her hands tightens as the crowd begins to stir. "The rightful Queen is standing in this crowd. Queen Anne was innocent of all charges—I fabricated the evidence and had several of her alleged lovers tortured in order to extract their confession. They were all innocent and unjustly condemned. I hope now that those who conspired against this poor innocent lady will now be brought to justice like myself—"

Anne gasps, losing some of her balance and Charles wraps an arm around her to steady her.

"These men include the Spanish Ambassador and—" The list goes on and on until he reaches the last name, the crowd now having grown completely and utterly wild, screaming and yelling frequently and loudly.

And then he condemns another person she cares for to death:

"Charles Brandon."

What have you done? she thinks, right before her world turns dark, what have you done?

xvii.

When Anne wakes she finds herself in her chambers, her ladies sitting on chairs surrounding her bed. It takes her a moment to remember what had happened and it makes her feel nauseous all over again. "My lady!" Madge exclaims, hurrying over to her once she catches sight of her trying to lift herself up, "The physician said—"

"Damn whatever the physician said," Anne snaps, frustrated with herself for feeling so dizzy, "Where is the Duke of Suffolk? Where is Charles?"

Nan and Madge share a look that makes Anne's skin crawl and a shiver run up her spine.

"What is it?" she demands, her eyes growing wide, "What is it Madge?"

Madge looks down at the floor, fidgeting under her gaze, "The Duke of Suffolk has been imprisoned in the tower of London and has been charged with treason, conspiracy to murder and fabrication of evidence that led to the unlawful imprisonments and deaths of Lord George Boleyn, Sir Henry Norris, William Bereton, Sir Francis Weston and Mark Smeaton." Anne exhales loudly, feeling her eyes grow wet and a crushing weight being lifted onto her shoulders. It felt as though she were carrying the weight of the world.

"And what of Elizabeth and my sons? What of the Duke of Suffolk's son Henry?"

Nan was the one who answered now.

"My lady your children remain at Pembroke and have not been notified as to the recent events—"

"Good," Anne murmured absentmindedly, "I wish to tell them myself."

She waved her hand at Nan, urging her to continue.

"As for the Duke of Suffolk's son. . . he has been confined to his chambers with one of his tutors by order of the King until his father's trial has finished. If the Duke of Suffolk is found guilty he will be stripped of his lands, titles and leave his son with— "

"Nothing and no one," Anne interrupts, her head throbbing.

God help me, Anne thought, pressing a hand to her temple. She had managed to prop herself up against the pillow as they spoke and now more than ever was desperate to leave her bed and seek answers. "Madge," she commanded suddenly, breaking the uneasy silence, "Help me up." Madge took one look at her and did not bother to voice her earlier protests. Anne resisted the urge to grunt at the sudden pounding of her head as Madge wrapped an arm around her waist and helped her out of the bed, with Nan and the rest of her ladies staring at her uneasily. "Make me look presentable for court," she commanded and then clapped her hands impatiently when they stood there, unsure of what to do. Her ladies worked quickly to rid her of her sweat soaked gown and were fast to dress her into another. Nan began to brush her hair as Madge dabbed at her face with a damp cloth.

Though Anne desperately wished for them to finish—she was bordering on impatient— the moment they did, she suddenly had no desire to move. "Thank you," she murmured, nodding to her ladies in thanks. Anne turned to face the door of her chamber and exhaled, straightening her back against the weight of the world. Her heart pounded furiously in her chest like a war drum, doom boom doom boom doom boom, over and over until it echoed in her ears.

And then, before she could talk herself out of it, she hurried out of the door, though she was careful to keep her expression composed. "Madge," she commanded, as she walked briskly down the hallway with her ladies behind her, "I wish for you to find some parchment and write a letter to Master Lewis to inform him of what has happened and to tell him to inform the children that I will be extending my stay in London."

"Yes my lady," Madge echoed and Anne heard her hurried footsteps back to her chambers do to as she had asked. Anne had not stopped her pace to look but she could imagine that her ladies face's were panicked and stressed. "Katherine," Anne called out, catching the attention of another of her ladies, "I wish for you to go to Henry Brandon's chambers and tell him a message from me—"

Anne halted at the sight of the doors that led to where she was sure all of court was gossiping about what had happened. She turned to stare at the girl, her gaze firm and unwavering, leaving no room for error or misinterpretation. "Tell him that he is not alone and that his father loves him very much. Tell him that I will speak for him on the King's behalf." Katherine nodded before hurrying away to follow her instructions. Anne turned to face the door once more and exhaled, a noose tightening around her neck. Calm yourself, her mind instructed, think of Elizabeth and George, Mark, Francis and William— Charles and Henry need you. Charles, your closest friend, needs you.

Anne continued on until she reached the door that led to the King's audience chambers. Guards surrounded the doors, closing it off from the public and allowing no visitors. Anne ignored the whispers that erupted the moment she entered the room; ignored their gazes and stares and glares. She had long since stopped caring what others thought of her. She shot a cold look in their direction, daring them to say anything. Some lowered their gaze in shape— there were few people in the room and most that were there she recognised but did know personally— and others merely pretended that they had never been looking in the first place. Anne had to resist from scowling; cowards, she cursed them viciously.

She stalked up to one of the guards, staring him down.

"Tell the King that I wish to speak with him," She commands, as though she were a Queen. As though her whole world had not just been torn apart yet again. The guard blinked at her and yet Anne could see some unsureness linger in his eyes. "The King has commanded that no one else other than his advisors be in that room, Lady Marquess. He does not wish to see anyone else—"

There was a loud shot that came from behind the door.

Still, Anne was not deterred.

"I am sure that his majesty will make an exception," she replied cooly, making sure to keep her features smooth, "Tell him that it is the Marquess of Pembroke— the mother of five of his children— and that it is an urgent matter." The man fidgeted and nodded, though he continued to look reluctant. Anne resisted the urge to sigh with relief when he disappeared behind the door and it felt like a lifetime before he eventually reappeared, looking rather pale.

"His majesty has told me that he will speak to you as soon as he can but not at this moment's time. He has instructed me to escort you back to your chambers and strongly encourages you to recover from your recent fall—"

Anne shook her head in disbelief but knew what he truly meant. Henry wished for her to be in chambers until he was ready to speak to her—until the evidence that had had her condemned to death was truly false and that everything that Cromwell said had been true. He wished for her to stay away from everyone and keep her mouth shut, so as not to make him seem that much more a fool. Oh Lord give me strength, Anne thought tiredly and with an angry flourish, turned on her heel and stalked away, not waiting for him to finish for fear that she would push past him and barrel through the door to confront Henry. You must not anger him, she advised herself as she walked back to her chambers, if you wish for him to be merciful, he must be calm.

Anne did not leave her chambers for a week before a servant was sent with a message that Henry was ready to see her. She had spent that week worrying, pacing and writing letters to Elizabeth and Mary— to the latter simply to assure her that she was alright (for now anyway). Anne walked steadily behind the guards, her ladies close behind her as they walked to the King's audience chamber. She could hear the crowd murmuring from a distance away. Anne made sure to keep her head held high and look forward, not wishing to give them the satisfaction of seeing her be scared. Anne was not scared for herself— at least, she had managed to talk herself out of being scared for her life— she was more terrified for Charles and his son. Her ladies had stayed with her when she had confined herself to her chamber and no one seemed willing to discuss Brandon's trial with her. Henry would not kill her or have her harmed, of that she was sure for the most part. The only thing that she believed without doubt was that he would not harm their children.

The crowd parted instantly at the sight of her, the room suddenly growing deadly silent. Anne met Henry's gaze from where she stood, waiting for the servant to announce her. "The Lady Marquess of Pembroke, Anne Boleyn. Mother to—"

"I know who she is," Henry interrupted cooly.

Anne resisted the urge to wince.

There was a moment before either of them spoke. Anne's lips parted— words escaping her as felt her heart begin to race. "Your majesty," Anne curtsied and surprised the both of them by going onto her knees and keeping her head bowed. You must be obedient for Charles and Henry. You must. It is their only chance. No one else would dare speak up for the Duke of Suffolk and his son for fear that they themselves would be executed or imprisoned.

"I am your humble and obedient servant," she began, keeping her gaze trained to the floor for several moments. "I have loved and cared for you ever since I first laid my eyes upon you. I know— as I am sure the whole of Europe knows— that you are a great King. That you are merciful and just and trusting." Anne lifted her eyes to meet his now and he seemed so large as he loomed over her, making her chest tightness. Henry's mouth was pressed into a firm line as he stared at her but Anne could see his eyes soften as he stared at her and the sight gave her courage. "Which is why I am here to humbly ask your majesty to not execute the Duke of Suffolk for his crimes—" everyone behind her immediately gasped loudly, so loudly that Anne had to stop talking and wait for them to quiet down so that Henry would be able to hear her speak. "And ask of you to allow his son to become the Duke of Suffolk in his stead. I am pleading with you for mercy, your majesty." There were some outraged cries from behind her, some marvelling at her audacity to ask that of a King and others outraged by her request.

Henry merely tilted his head as he gazed at her, some emotion in his eyes that Anne could not identify.

"Why would you ask of such a thing?" He asked her finally, clutching onto the arm of his throne, "He is an accomplice with the murder and unlawful execution of your brother and other innocents. He is almost responsible for your near death, Lady Marquess. Are you meaning to say that you have forgiven him for his betrayal?"

"Yes," Anne replied steadily, her hands resting on her knees.

"So much blood has been spent your majesty," Anne said, a hint of desperation in her voice, "Innocent blood. Blood of people that I loved and cared for. Yes he may be partially responsible your majesty, but that does not mean that his son— his innocent son, so much like how my brother was innocent— deserves to pay for his father's crimes."

"Have you truly forgiven him?" Henry questioned, his voice growing harder now.

"Yes," Anne admitted, their eyes meeting— it sends a jolt down her spine.

Anne waited in agony for Henry to respond, though she was careful to try and hide it. Her heart pleaded with his, desperate for him to understand—to agree. To show the mercy that she knew he was capable of. I do still love him, Anne realised in that moment, as they gazed into each other eyes, not as I used to before, of course, but I. . . I can not explain it. I hate him as I love him. I fear him as I care for him. I long for him as I dread for him. He was my downfall. He is Charles's and Cromwell's and Wolsey's and More's downfall; amongst many others. But God it was the sweetest one.

"Henry Brandon will be allowed to retain his lands and his title and will be allowed to returned to his estates, where he is to remain until told otherwise." Anne felt the burden on her shoulders lessen slightly but she still sensed the but coming. "However, Charles Brandon has confessed to treason. He has admitted that he lied to his King and to God and that he is responsible for the death of innocents. He will be sentenced to die a fortnight from now." He stood from his throne and looked up from her, addressing the whole room. "However, Lady Anne's pleas have touched me greatly and I shall grant him the mercy of a quick, painless death by decapitation, instead of drawing and quartering, a death befitting that of a traitor."

He walks down and extends his arm to her. Anne takes it reluctantly, her mouth dry. Anne met his gaze for a brief moment before quickly looking down before she could see that her eyes had begun to water slightly. "Thank you, your majesty," Anne told him, her voice soft and gentle. "Thank you."

Anne rose to her full height and though she knew she had won in some sense of the word, her heart sunk in her chest at the thought that she could not save Charles. Henry grasped onto her elbow with one of his hands and murmured quietly, "You may go visit him if you wish." Anne nearly gaped at him with surprise; she was stunned at his generosity, at his kindness and lack of anger. He feels guilty, Anne realised, he knows the truth. He knows that I was—am— innocent.

Anne's breath caught in her throat and she had the sudden urge to topple over, her bones feeling weak and fragile all of a sudden. She cast him a small smile, and then a small wounded sound—so quiet she almost did not hear it— escaped her throat. "Majesty," she murmured curtsying and then hurried out of the room when he dismissed her with a slight nod of his head.

xviii.

Tower of London, three days before the Duke of Suffolk's execution.

Charles looks as though he has aged a hundred years since she last saw him. His eyes, once light blue and vibrant are now dull and lifeless, with large black circles under them. His face is unnaturally pale and covered with grime, and it looks oddly thin, having lost it's healthy glow.

He rises at once when he sees that it's her and Anne rushes over to him, to steady him so that he does not fall over.

"Anne," he whispers, grasping onto her hands.

"We haven't much time," Anne said hurriedly, her eyes wide and her voice hushed. "I convinced the King to allow Henry to continue on as the Duke of Suffolk. He will leave him alone, Charles. He is not to be punished for your—" She stops herself from continuing, her throat suddenly raw with emotion, leaving her incapable of words. Her eyes shine with tears as she stares into his eyes and just as a sob leaves her lips he hugs her close, allowing her to bury her face into his shoulder. "I do not wish for you to die," she whispers, a tear slipping down her cheek. Her heart aches at the thought of her longtime time companion and lover being sentenced to the scaffold for a crime she had long since forgiven him for. He is the closest thing her children have to a father. She loves his son as though he were one of her own.

"This is my punishment for a choice I made that resulted in the deaths of several innocents." His voice is soft, soothing, and his breath gently caresses the top of her head. Anne shakes her head as she wraps her arms around his waist. "I forgave you a long time ago," she confesses truthfully, "You did not wish for them to die. That had not been what you had wanted." She can feel his lips curl against the crown of her head. "But if it had not been me that had mentioned those foul rumours, they would still be alive. Elizabeth would be princess and your sons would be in the succession and you would still be Queen."

Anne pulls away from him, though she still holds onto his hands.

"Thank you," he tells her, kissing her hands tenderly.

Anne smiles at him, before gently retracting her hands from his hold and swipes at her eyes.

"It is I who should be thanking you," she tells him. He snorts in derision but his eyes soften as they probe into her own. "Don't watch," he says suddenly. Anne frowns at him, confused. "Do not come to watch me die. Please, I beg of you, do not come." Anne wants to protest and scream at him but she can not make herself do so. And so, silently, she nods.

She leaves moments later, a lifetime of words she wished she had the time to say on the tip of her lips.

(In the end, she breaks her promise. She creeps into the crowd, wearing a large, black hood that casts a shadow on her face and hides it from view. It is a cold and grey day, with no sign of the sun. The sky is a dark grey canvas, and the clouds are so heavy it appears as though they would brush against the tips of her fingertips if she were to raise her hand. The crowd is loud and hateful but she tries not to be affected by their words.

Charles is escorted onto the scaffold by a group of guards and he does not seem afraid. He looks peaceful, resigned to his fate. It makes her want to weep. The crowds scathing words do not seem to bother him and there is a moment when he simply stands there, searching the crowd for someone. Their eyes meet and he does not seem surprised to see her there. He smiles at her—directly at her, so she knows that it is for her— and then looks up at the sky.

Anne holds her breath when the executioner raises the axe and the breath she lets out after it comes crashing down sounds an awful lot like a sob.

And then it is later that night, after she returned to the castle when she realised that she may have been in love with him after all)

—

Anne is crowned Queen once more in the year 1539, three years after she had first been stripped of the title and a month after the death of the Duke of Suffolk.

Henry surprises both her and the entire country when he kneels in front of her once she had been re-crowned, as though he were paying homage to her.

Anne had risen from the ashes and enacted revenge on those who had tried to bring her downfall.

Epilogue

Anne watches her children play in the gardens from afar, watching them with a faint smile on her face. The sun is shining brightly, a yellow hole amidst a sea of blue. There is a slight, pleasant breeze as she watches them run across the green hedges that are intertwined with roses and other various flowers. The love she holds for them burns brightly in her chest as she listens to their giggles. Though the sound does nothing to lift the weight of the crown on her head. A crown had never once been so heavy in the past for her; after she had first become Queen, it had felt as though a crown were meant to be there all along. Now, it feels heavy and uneven, something that she desperately wishes to discard every moment it lays on the top of her head. There is a small glimmer of satisfaction however, that she will not deny. She has begun to grow more and more used to it.

She gazes at her children once more and a deep sadness and uncertainty forms within her, making her teeth clench. She presses a hand against her neck, leaning against a pillar. She does not notice Henry slide up next to her until she can see him from the sides of her vision.

"Henry," she murmurs, slightly startled, though her gaze still lingers on their children.

He smiles at her softly, though it does not reach his eyes. He stares at her for a moment—she does not drag her gaze away from her children— and then follows her gaze, a small smile forming as he watches her— their children. "What are we doing Henry?" she asks quietly, tilting her head ever-so-slightly, "We are no longer the people we once were."

There is a moment before he replies.

"No," he agrees, his voice soft, "We are not."

"What remains?" she questions seriously, shooting him a glance.

He turns to look at her now, taking a step closer to her so that their shoulders now brush against each other.

"What remains is the love we have for our children. What remains is the future, Anne. What remains is the possibility that we may fall in love with each other again, if only given time." He reaches for her hand hesitantly and when she does not pull away or tense at his touch he grasps onto it fully, though his grip is loose.

A small smiles plays on her lips as she stares at him, a gleam in her eyes.

"I suppose that will be enough."

Henry laughs; loud and biting.

"As you say, my queen," he tells her, shaking his head with amusement, "As you say."

—

Anne Boleyn is a historical figure that has fascinated historians for centuries. Her rise to power, her fall from power and then her eventual rise once more has proven to be one of the most interesting stories that has ever come to pass in history. At first fiercely hated by the English people during her first reign (1533-1536) , by the beginning of her second reign as Queen Consort of England (1539-1547) she was one of the most beloved Queens to ever come to pass. Her passion for charity along with her intelligence and wit made her one of the most influential consorts that has ever existed. Mother to the Queen of France, the King of England, King Consort of Scotland, Duke of Suffolk, and then Duke of Pembroke (who also happened to be the husband of Anne of Cleves brother's daughter, his heir) her children left a mark on the world that continues to be felt today.

Anne's relationship with Henry following their second marriage has continued to puzzle historians for years. On the one hand, how could Anne ever love the man who had had her brother killed and had almost condemned her to death? But on the other hand, Henry showed on numerous occasions over the years his true remorse over his actions and the intense love he held for his wife. He also demonstrated a great trust in her, leaving her to rule as regent when he left for war and naming her the chief executive of his will when he died. Anne's feeling towards her husband are still unclear but according to most witnesses their marriage appeared to be one of true companionship and love the second time around, though it reportedly took a year of them being remarried for them to begin sharing a chamber. They never had more children. Henry never took a mistress— at least an official one, though there were rumours that he courted one woman, there has been no historical evidence as to the fact.

Anne continued to hold Charles Brandon in high regard and made sure that his son was well cared for. When Henry Brandon became ill in 1551, 4 years after the death of her husband, Anne was there during his final hours when he named one of her younger sons his heir. Elizabeth continued to hold the man who had been her father for a few years during her childhood in high regard as well, and when she gave birth to her first child, a boy, the Dauphin of France, she called him Charles.

Anne Boleyn died in the year 1561. Loved and well reputed, she was thoroughly mourned by the people of England and her children. Her son King George, instead of having her buried with his father, had her body buried with her brother in the new, elaborate tomb that Anne had had her brother's corpse moved to in 1543. There they both lie, joined in the afterlife.

Here lies Lord George Boleyn, unjustly condemned, whose kindness lights up the sky each night, joined by his sister Queen Anne Boleyn, the most happy. Here they both rest, forever in peace, forever in heaven, a symbol of hope and justice. May they be remembered for the rest of times.

(They were)