tear me to pieces, skin and bone

Chapter Eleven

Although nobody would speak the words in the King's presence, Anne heard the whispers about her. How she was a witch and bewitched the King to love her and tempted him away from his good wife. How she was barren for surely a King as virile as Henry would have gotten a child on her already. How child born from her body would be a monster. How her body was said to be deformed and was marked by the devil. How she had lain with half of the French court and was far from the virgin she had once claimed to be. How she was a whore-

Only one of the many whispers about her was true, and had it not been Anne's own decision to become the King's mistress? Had it not been her own choice to give her heart to a married man?

The whispers did not bother her. The opinions of others had long ceased to matter to Anne as she took up the task of claiming the crown for herself.

When it came to loving the King, there had never been a choice. Her family had seen to that. But loving Henry? Henry the man, not the King. Well, Anne only had herself to blame for that.

There were perks to being loved by a King. The endless gifts and her new title meant a lot to her, but the moments they got to spend together alone where they were just Henry and Anne, two souls in love that even the Church or marriage could separate, meant everything. Waking next to him every morning in his bed, eating every meal together, spending every free moment he possessed together, laying together, sleeping together, living together-

Anne would never tire of it. She was sure of it.

He was hers as she was his. Not a thing in this world could tear them apart. She was sure of it.

Even his wife.

--

"The Queen has asked the King to come to her bed once more, sister," George whispered in her ear as Anne breathlessly smiled across the hall at Henry once he returned to his throne after a turn on the dancefloor with her.

Smile vanishing, Anne turned to her brother, her expression a storm of emotions as she demanded, "How do you know this?"

George smiled tauntingly and hissed as Anne pressed the heel of her shoe into his foot. "Speak at once," she said, glaring up at her brother.

George offered her his arm and led her to a deserted corner. "Peace, sister. One of father's spies brought the news to us today. It appears that our good Queen Catherine is making a play for her husband once more."

Fury burned through Anne at the audacity of the woman.

Could the cow not be content with the crown upon her head and her son? Must she take Henry from her too?

"And what was Henry's answer?" Anne bit out.

George grinned. "Catherine is the King's wife, Anne. If he wishes to go to her bed, there is little to be done about it."

And that was the truth of it, was it not? Despite whatever claim Henry had on her, Anne had no claim on him. Henry would bed whomever he pleased be it his wife or another, and Anne had little choice but to grin and bear it.

Except that she would not. He promised her that there would never be another but her-

My body and soul, they are yours Anne.

Gripping George's arm tightly, Anne pulled him to her, her lips curled into a snarl as she hissed out, "Do not taunt me, George. What did he say?"

George pulled himself out of her grip and glared down at her. "He said no, Anne. Of course, he said no." He casted a wary glance around them and hushed his voice even lower. "The Queen has not bled since she birthed the King's son. The physicians are sure that she is barren, and no amount of pleading will get Henry into her bed without the promise of a child." George grinned and it was a greedy, feral thing that made Anne's stomach turn. She knew that expression all too well. "It looks like the King is all yours, dear sister."