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July 16, 1557
-YEARS AFTER the threatening, heavily imposing shadow of Henry had receded, the unwanted wife still lingered.
Anna of Cleves lay in her bed, knowing her time was near. And she was rather glad she was dying with her fellow, faithful servants and friends of her household about her. There was a time when she feared she would die just as poor little Kathryn Howard had gone.
She looked back on those days as she lay sick in her bed. It always surprised her, how she had survived the tyranny of Henry VIII.
Anna remembered that night, seeming to be years ago...when she was hopeful to be Queen of England, eager to meet the handsomest Prince of all Christendom...when she was still naive and unknowing; when Lady Rochford and Kathryn Howard was still alive.
She remembered well the big, fat stranger that waddled in, who kissed Anna full on the lips...she remembered spitting away the taste of him.
She simply couldn't be blamed. No-one had ever told her how stupidly vain this King was, playing masquerade. Ignoring the fact that he was no longer young and dashingly handsome, but he was growing old and sick and fat.
That day started everything, Anna supposed. From then on the King disliked her. He didn't consummate the marriage (oh, how embarrassing it was, to lay there in bed listening to Henry's snores the whole night!), he smiled at her in front of crowds and kissed her hand when in reality he never held any love for her; in his broken pride, he refused to accept this foreigner princess.
Anna was at first heart-broken and uncertain. She had been sent by her power-hungry brother and expectant mother to please the King, and bring him away from his strange religion which consisted of what pleased him, to being a Lutheran like her. And so Anna knew she failed; and she was uncertain of what to do next. Her upbringing left her ill-equipped for such matters.
With nothing to do, Anna befriended her step-children in her husband's rather vocal disappointment.
Anna smiled. She remembered meeting the little boy Edward, with his fair curls and cherubic face, how he would toddle around her and name the various objects around the room. She remembered meeting Elizabeth, with her bright mane of red hair, and already-wary dark eyes, the way she spoke with such charm. She remembered meeting the Lady Mary, how her usually grim and sad countenance had dropped upon befriending the new Queen. Anna grew to love all of them; if only she could feel the same for Henry.
Because, as time wore on, Anna was alarmed at this King Henry. He was moody, frequent to bad tempers and rages. She saw how his beady eyes would dart across the room suspiciously. She heard how he had executed some of his closest friends because they went against him.
And so, when the time came at last for Henry to dispose of her, Anna had been absolutely terrified out of her wits. Her foolish brother hadn't taken precautions; apparently, she was betrothed to some son of a duke before; and now Henry was saying that they were still betrothed, thus his marriage to Anna was null and void.
The idea was absolutely ridiculous. Anna found herself resenting her brother and Henry. She persisted the contract was off; had been ever since her father died years ago, but Henry wouldn't listen. It occurred to Anna that he was finding a way to get rid of her; trying to find a reason, so when he did get rid of her, his conscience would be given a false sense of goodness.
Anna wanted to gag at this King's morals.
He had done the same for his two wives already; why wouldn't he again? Would he simply have her exiled in poverty, like Katharine of Aragon? Or executed like Anne Boleyn?
YOU ARE READING
The Six
Historical Fiction'Divorced, beheaded, died; divorced, beheaded, survived." In this way, the six wives of Henry VIII were remembered not for how they lived, but in the way they died. It is impossible to know exactly what they were thinking or had to go through, in h...
