ISABELLA

  I BELIEVE IT WAS MY MOTHER WHO ONCE SAID that even if you never loved someone, their death wounds your heart. I never truly understood that saying until now, as I accompany Anne to Henry's bedside. I don't believe Anne ever truly loved him, but seeing the expression on her face, I realize she is struggling. She is hurting, and I don't know if she's more hurt that I acted without her permission, or that Henry is dead.

  I know their courtship was one-sided, and it was mostly Henry pursuing Anne despite her numerous rebuffs. She loved another man, but he was torn from her because of Henry's adamance. I know all this through a mix of stories told by other nobles here at court, and partly from Anne herself. As I sat with her night after night, basking in the glow and warmth of her fire, she would tell me about those days. About how she fled England to escape him, and came back at her father's summons, and how she could not escape Henry that time. She told me how she felt as she faced Katharine before the queen's divorce, and how that night she didn't sleep.

  I know what happened weighs on Anne. Perhaps that is why she tried to reach out to Katharine's daughter Mary so many times. She tried to be a kind stepmother, and even intervened on her behalf with the king. I remember the day Anne came into her chambers, visibly upset that the king would not let Mary and Katharine see each other again.

  If I were in Katharine's stead, she'd told me when I asked why she cared, I would be beyond heartbroken were I not allowed to see my child.

  She made a very good point that day.

  The problem is that Mary has still treated her cruelly. I know that despite Anne's attempts at making a friendship, Mary has spit in her face several times. She blames Anne for what happened to her mother, and I understand her anger. Surely I would feel the same if someone had replaced my mother as Lady Windsor and my father had disowned me. Then again, would it be entirely that mistress' fault if my father chose to act in such a manner? Anne did not force Henry to do anything.

  The walk to the king's chambers is silent save for the click of heels against the stone. Mostly servants are out at this time of night, save a few nobles who are sneaking off to visit each other in hopes of not getting caught. I walk behind Anne. Her silence is enough to let me know not to talk, but I do anyway.

  "Your Highness," I whisper. In the quiet of the halls, my whisper sounds like a shout. I dare not address her by her first name here, lest anyone nearby wonders why I address her disrespectfully. "Are you alright?"

  I also cannot say anything revealing out in the open.

  "Quite," is her curt reply, and Anne's pace increases. I must match hers.

  "Perhaps a bath when you get back?" I offer. As her favorite lady-in-waiting, I am one of the very few who have the privilege and honor of bathing her. It's a task only the most trusted ladies-in-waiting have, and it's a sign of hierarchy. Anne's other ladies, including the Lady Jane Seymour that it's rumored Henry was eyeing, defer to me, especially concerning matters directly pertaining to Anne. That is another honor I carry—to speak to the queen, one must speak to me.

  I am very guarded with who I allow to meet with Anne.

  "Yes," she agrees, her tone giving away nothing. "A bath."

  I make a mental note to arrange for that as soon as we are back in her chambers. But all too soon, we arrive at the king's, and Thomas Cromwell's cold expression greets us. He is a powerful man, and he used to be a friend of Anne's before he turned on her. Or he was powerful, as the king's right hand and chief minister. With the king gone, however, I imagine that Anne will have ways to deal with him. He is a threat to both Elizabeth and Anne, and the chances of him potentially striving to aid Katharine of Aragon should she attempt anything is too great. He still has some power here, but Anne's importance has greatly increased too.

  "Your Highness," he greets. His eyes flicker to me. "Lady Windsor."

  "Isabella, come," Anne snaps, and I wonder if she snaps because she's angry at me or annoyed with Cromwell's presence. I follow Anne into the darkened room.

  I have only been in this room once before, and I hated it as much then as I do now. The first thing I notice being back is the vile smell of vomit and piss. Both are in accordance with the poison Henry was fed, but I still nearly vomit myself at the stench. The room is stifling and dark, and my eyes fall on the wine goblet fallen from the bed. Dried wine remains on the floor like a mocking bloodstain, remembering me of what I did to the King of England. The former King of England.

  I am not proud of it, but I feel no remorse.

  To my surprise, Anne's hand creeps into mine. She draws in a sharp breath at the sight of Henry's cold body rearranged on his bed. When I left him, he had collapsed onto the floor, unable to sip from his fifth goblet of wine. By the time he hit the floor, he was dead. I assume Cromwell wished for the king to look presentable, even in death.

  Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  "Your Highness," Cromwell's voice speaks. "My condolences, but we must discuss the future of the country soon."

  He is nervous. Elizabeth is the only true heir, and Cromwell surely wants to seize power. "And we will." Anne doesn't bother looking at him as she responds. I am proud of the way Anne's voice does not shake, nor does it show any other sign of weakness.

  "Perhaps soon, Your Highness," he insists, and I feel Anne's hand tighten on mine. This gesture I know is not in anger at me, but at Cromwell's blatant disrespect for the position Anne now tentatively holds. With Henry dead, and the sole heir Elizabeth much too young to rule on her own, Anne is the most powerful person in England. As such, she should rightfully be addressed as Your Majesty.

  Cromwell is playing with fire.

  I wonder if Anne will let me torment him. I hope so, but this time, I will ask permission before acting. It leaves a slightly bitter taste on my tongue to even entertain such thoughts of asking permission, but I swore an oath to Anne. One I have already broken tonight. I wish I could I say I will not ever break that oath again, but then, that would be a lie.

  "As I said," she states again, "we will. Yet should we not grieve His Majesty the King before we even attend to such matters? England has its heir. First, we must bury His Majesty with all the respect he is deserved."

  Cromwell's expression sours as Anne diplomatically tells him to shut his mouth. He is powerful, one of the most powerful men in England, and with Anne's claim to the throne unsteady at best, she can not outright offend him. Even now. I would spite him too, but it is not my place. I am well known at court for what I supposedly do, and Cromwell is no exception to those who have heard of my reason for staying at court. I cannot give him any further incentive to hate me. . . not outright, anyway.

  Many think I stayed here for the money. It is true that being the lady-in-waiting to the Queen brings in money and prestige, but I already had both.

  Anne gives me something much more invaluable.

  Anne quietly dismisses Cromwell, her tone brooking no argument as she explains she'd like to be alone with her husband. I stand back as the door shuts behind the lord, watching my mistress as she paces to the bedside. She is quiet. I do not speak, knowing Cromwell will be listening in, and out of respect for the fact that I have just murdered her husband.

  "Isabella," Anne whispers, and her head inclines slightly. Not enough for her to stare into my eyes, but enough that I move forward to her. "Why did you not warn me?"

  For that, I have an answer Anne will not like.

  "My lady, I. . ."

  It appears Anne has chosen to breach private matters in Henry's chambers. I question her decision silently. I am afraid of being overheard, but she clearly does not share my concerns. Or perhaps she does, and she cannot care about the risks of speaking more freely right now.

  "Well?"

  This time, her head turns further and her dark eyes lock onto mine, daring me to look away. "My lady, I thought it would be easier if I. . . said nothing ahead."

  From the angle I am at, I can see the way her jaw clenches ever so slightly. She is angered, and it honestly annoys me. Can she not understand what I did for her? For the sake of England? For Elizabeth? I have promised her and Elizabeth a brighter, better future, if only Anne can be strong enough to secure it. And yet she doubts me still, snaps at me still.

  I am not as patient as I appear.

  "So you thought to go behind my back?"

  This again. I thought she had accepted his death when she kissed me in her most private chamber, when no one but us mattered in the world, in her embrace. Clearly, I was wrong.

  "My lady, I did not mean to upset you." My voice is but a whisper as I step forward, the silver of my skirts glittering in the dying embers of Henry's chamber fire. "You must see this as a good thing, for you and your daughter. Mary has no right to the throne, and even if she fights this, the law is on your side. On Elizabeth's side."

  "And did I not state you were to always obtain my permission for this?"

  Her vehemence takes me back. Anne has whirled on her heel, but her voice remains as soft as ever, and I suspect she is still trying to protect me from any incriminating words to eavesdroppers. Even now, when she is angered with me, Anne's first instinct is to protect me. Many would find that romantic, but I find that it irritates me.

  She is right, though. The deal we made so long ago haunts me now. She shielded me from bitter accusations made by Lady Willoughby and her husband, and in return, I pledged my loyalty. But loyalty turned into love, and I found myself trapped at Hampton Court Palace. And part of my loyalty was to always let Anne know, even if subtly, who would die soon. Understandably. When she became Queen, it was important for her to note who might die, and who should absolutely be allowed to live. Still, I move about court quietly here and there, allowing women to rid themselves of abusive husbands.

  "You did, my lady," I agree, my tone quiet. I look down, swallowing as I smooth my skirts down. Even if I wished to argue with Anne, I barely have any grounds. "But Elizabeth was in danger, my lady."

  I love that little girl as though I had borne her myself.

  "But I did not ask you to help her," Anne hisses at me. I continue to stare at the ground, which has suddenly become very interesting to me. The silence stretches like an ominous sign, and it almost feels as though Henry's corpse might sit up and accuse me of murder. Her tone has left me cold and angered, but she is my queen and if I talk back to her, I can certainly expect punishment. Anne finally turns back to the door. "Come."

  I follow my queen through the doors again, finding the hall devoid of Cromwell and any servants. We pace back to Anne's rooms, and I find Anne making sure I am more than a few steps behind her. She is quite beyond angry, but I cannot blame her.

  The halls are quiet, but by morrow, they will be alive with rumors and shocked whispers of the king's demise. As I follow Anne, I begin to ponder on how the nobles will react. It's now I realize suspicion will be cast almost solely on her, especially with this timing. After all, everyone knows Jane Seymour was the king's new fascination. Naturally, Anne will be suspect in his death.

  We reach her rooms quickly, but Anne stops before I can step in.

  "Isabella?" She turns back to me at the door. Her eyes, which are always described as exquisite, are as cold as winter, and I almost involuntarily shiver. "Rouse Jane Seymour for me. I'd like to have her bathe me. You may let the servants know to prepare a bath."

  I am left standing in the hall, staring at my queen in utter surprise.