The Queen's Gambit (The Tudors)

Chapter 1

Italy
Sitting beneath the sprawling canopy of her garden, Eleanor basked in the serene beauty of the Italian countryside. Her garden was a symphony of vibrant colors, with roses, tulips, and wildflowers painting the landscape in shades of pink, violet, and gold. The rich scent of jasmine wafted through the air, mingling with the hum of cicadas, creating a harmony that soothed her soul. Overhead, the sun's rays filtered through the leaves, casting a dappled light over the scene. It was a place where time seemed to stand still—a sanctuary of peace and beauty, far removed from the intrigues of royal life.

A rustling in the distance broke the tranquility. Eleanor's gaze shifted toward the sound, where a guard approached, his dark livery of Italian nobility sharply contrasting with the soft hues of the garden. His posture was formal, a reminder of the world she had left behind. Bowing deeply, he held out a sealed letter bearing a familiar, intricate royal crest.

"Your Royal Highness," the guard said, his tone solemn, piquing Eleanor's curiosity. She accepted the letter, her fingers brushing over the wax seal as nostalgia flickered in her mind. The formality of the address and the elegant script stirred old memories. Settling into a nearby chair, the soft cushions cradling her form, she carefully broke the seal, anticipation building as she unfolded the parchment. The familiar scent of England—the crispness of the parchment, mingling with the floral fragrance of her garden—carried her back to a life she had once known.

The words of King Henry VIII awaited her:

"Dear Eleanor,

The absence of your presence here has created a void that is felt by those closest to you. Mary speaks of you often, longing for the guidance and warmth you have always provided her. Charles, too, feels your absence keenly, and I myself cannot help but think of you daily. You are missed more than you can imagine.

Italy, with all its beauty, may have captured your heart, but there is something here that can only be found in England. I offer you residence on one of my finest estates, a place of comfort and peace, should you choose to return. I cannot guarantee the tranquility you have found abroad, but I can promise that your return will restore the vitality this court has been lacking.

Please consider this, Eleanor. Your presence is needed here. Mary needs you. And so do I.

Yours sincerely, Henry VII King of England."

Eleanor's fingers lingered over the signature as her thoughts drifted back to England, to the life she had once known at Henry's side. The letter, though framed as a request, was much more than that. It was a plea, a subtle reminder of the ties that still bound her to the kingdom she had left behind. There was no mention of Catherine, of course. Henry had carefully omitted any reference to the queen, who, despite the civility they maintained, harbored her own quiet disdain for Eleanor.

The warmth of Italy had soothed Eleanor, allowing her time to reflect and heal. Yet, here in the garden she had come to cherish, she felt the familiar pull of duty—a tug that reminded her that England, for all its politics and intrigues, was still her home.

Rising from her seat, her decision clear, Eleanor called for her personal guards. A smile played on her lips, both determined and wistful.

"It seems we are heading back to England," she said, her voice steady with resolve but touched with excitement for what was to come.

With one last glance at her garden—a symbol of the peace she had created for herself—Eleanor turned and walked back inside the villa, her steps light with the promise of a new chapter, and the challenges that awaited her across the sea.

England

The journey from Italy to England had been arduous, but Eleanor felt an undeniable sense of familiarity as her carriage approached the towering gates of the palace. The imposing stone walls loomed ahead, a reminder of the life she had once known intimately. As the carriage rolled through the palace grounds, Eleanor sighed, a mixture of relief and apprehension settling in her chest.