Prologue
January, 1536

The image of them burned in her mind, shrouded by pain and anger and grief; still unprocessed. She blinked away unshed tears and backed out of the room as calmly as she'd entered.

She could hear panicked whispers being exchanged, and the hurried shuffle of Lady Jane's slippers as the king shooed her from the chamber. Anne absorbed it all, waiting patiently behind the door. Her hand still rested on the knob, hesitant and shaking. But she did not cry. She did not scream. Instead, she allowed the king a moment to compose himself, held her chin high, placed a hand firmly on her swollen belly, and opened the door.

"Anne," he greeted coolly, as if only moments ago she had not walked in on him sitting with his lover in his lap. "How do you fare, sweetheart?"

She regarded his question for a moment, rubbing her hand in slow, deliberate circles over her stomach. "I am well. In fact, we both are," she said after a time, glancing his way. "Well indeed, and growing larger by the day."

Henry paused, eyeing her calculated motion. "Anne, what you saw..."

"... I saw nothing," she interrupted, considering her words carefully. Her husband's eyes were glossy with anticipation when she turned to face him, and she could see beads of sweat collecting on his forehead. "I saw nothing, and I will see nothing until I retire for my laying in, when I birth our son and he is placed in my arms."

Silence blanketed them, until, slowly, understanding shone in his features. His mouth, once agape, pressed into a firm, thin line. "Of course," he replied, reaching his hand out to her. "You have my word, sweetheart."

She took his hand and he raised their joined fingers to her face, caressing her there. The gesture did little to console her. Only precious moments ago, that hand had been on another woman's cheek, and his lips had been in her ear, whispering sweet nothings. No, Anne thought, willing the image away. She would not think of the whore Jane Seymour. She could not.

The babe kicked within her, her strong little prince, and gone was any thought of that milk-faced wench. "Henry..." she breathed, instinctively pulling their twined fingers to her belly. At first there was nothing, and the king stared down at her with confusion; but then the babe shifted inside her, and it was like the king had become a boy once more.

His face brightened and his eyes were alight with joy. He smiled grandly and cupped her stomach fully, laughing. "Oh, Anne," he murmured warmly. "Oh, Anne, what a gift you are giving me. Our boy... Our Edward."

He made to kiss her, but she pulled away from him, staring down at the roundness of her belly. "It would do well to remind Your Majesty that what is given can be taken away," she said quietly, her eyes flickering to his face. His smile had gone. "I have your son inside me, Henry, I know it. A prince to continue your legacy. Do not risk him over a foolish, feather-headed girl."

It was the last they spoke of the matter.

Author's Note: The scene in which Anne discovers Henry and Jane has always been like salt in an open wound to me. It's so raw and emotional, and utterly heartbreaking... so, after rewatching the show, I decided to change it. Anne deserved better, so I'm writing better. It will give me some peace of mind, even if it's just fictional. Anyways, this is not meant to be a very long story. Perhaps just a few chapters, as I see fit. Or perhaps not. Who knows. As of now, I have it written in about three or four parts, but if I get pleasant enough feedback I may consider extending it. Whatever the case may be, I hope you all enjoy the ride!