Before Anne Boyeln, there was another. This is her story.
Scarlett, an orphaned, seventeen-year-old girl grew up on England's monarchy, tending the stables. Scarlett's gift of beauty soon becomes a curse as she catches the eye of the most powerful...
It was mid-1525, and my sixth month of pregnancy. The little King inside me was ever growing strong. The King's weekly visits had become even sparser, and I fretted what was on his mind - or worse, who was on his lap.
I called for an audience with the King, and it took 3 days until my hearing was granted. I rolled over one morning to the strength of the King laying beside me.
"My honey sweet Scarlett," Henry spoke, placing his cold hand around my belly. "How have you been feeling this week?"
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"I've been managing, your grace," I groaned, rolling over to meet his gaze. "How is England?"
"Obeying, dear Scarlett." He continued, changing the matter of discussion. "The orchids have grown quite wild this month, would you agree?" He probed, and by his tone, I feel as though this innocent question had ulterior motives.
"Yes, as a matter of fact, I visited the bloomed last week," I said, getting out of bed warming myself by my bedroom window.
"Who escorted you, may I ask?" his posture erect with authority and meagre ego as he began redressing.
"Sir Tyson, your grace."
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Henry's eyes shot icy but soon relaxed as he knelt down before me. "Hmm, Sir Tyson is a very handsome bachelor, would you agree?"
My eyes fell to the ground, "I had not noticed my King." I lied.
"Lies." The King shot back, "You have eyes Scarlett, as do I."
"That may be true Henry, but your eyes seem to travel much more than mine."
Henry laughed, he knew my words were true. He then lifted my leg up onto the window sill bench and caressed my thigh. "Well, I'm sure no other man can make your heart race as fast as I can." He whispered, kissing the top of my knee, and then letting his lips trail down further towards my belly.
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