Evermore

Chapter II

BRING ME MY CHILDREN

Greenwich Palace, May 21, 1536

In the quiet of her bedchamber, Anne, the young Queen, stirred from a fitful sleep to the dimness of predawn. Her slender form was draped in layers of white muslin, the fabric cascading around her in gentle folds, accented by flowing sleeves and cinched at the waist with a delicate light blue sash—a choice made in honor of her newborn son, the prince.

Near the crackling fireplace, her maids—loyal yet unremarkable in appearance—were engaged in preparing a wardrobe for the infant prince. Among them moved Lady Jane Seymour, whose presence had not been removed from the Queen's household despite Anne's misgivings. Her hands trembled as she sewed a tiny gown, mindful of the Queen's ire that simmered beneath her composed exterior.

"You...!" Anne's voice cut through the air, laden with resentment as she sat up in bed, fixing a piercing gaze on Jane. "How dare you show your face here!"

Startled, Lady Jane and the other ladies-in-waiting rose in unison, bowing deeply before the Queen, save for Jane whose eyes met Anne's with fearful intensity.

"Majesty," they murmured in unison, their voices a blend of deference and trepidation.

But Anne's focus was solely on Jane, her eyes flashing like lightning ready to strike. Despite the lingering pain from childbirth, she rose swiftly from her bed, advancing toward Jane with a palpable intensity. "Get out!" she commanded, her voice cutting through the room.

Aware of the Queen's potential for violence, Lady Jane hastily retreated from the bedchamber, leaving a murmur of concern among the remaining ladies. Anne's hand found a golden candle holder, its flames casting flickering shadows across the room, and she hurled it at Jane with fierce determination. "Don't you dare return!" she shouted as Jane dodged the projectile and fled.

In that moment, Anne's sister Mary burst into the chamber, concern etched across her face. "Sister!" she exclaimed, rushing to Anne's side.

"I want her gone!" Anne seethed, her hands clenched at her sides as she paced. "She's the reason Henry turned on me, the reason George was killed!"

Before another moment passed, King Henry entered in haste, drawn by the commotion that echoed through the palace. His eyes sought Anne's, a plea for reconciliation etched in his troubled expression, but she turned away, refusing to meet his gaze.

Mary embraced her sister, offering comfort. "Calm down," she urged gently. "I'm here."

Anne pushed Mary away gently, her anger palpable. "I bore you a son," she declared, her voice sharp with accusation. "The least you can do is send your mistress away, so I can have peace, knowing she can't harm me or our children."

Henry absorbed her words with a measured silence, then withdrew without a word, leaving Anne seething with frustration. "Bring me my children," she commanded to her maids, her tone firm. "Both of them, before dusk. For their safety."

Mary furrowed her brow in concern. "The Seymours can't be trusted, Anne," she murmured softly, taking her sister's hands in her own. "If Henry doesn't approve..."

"I understand," Anne interrupted tersely, withdrawing her hands. "But you must ensure their safety, even if they can't be with me."

Mary nodded solemnly and departed. Left alone with her homely maids, Anne regarded each of them in turn, gesturing for them to follow her into the sitting room. "Not you," she said sharply to the others who moved to join.

The maids fell into step behind their Queen, heads held high with unwavering loyalty, while the remaining ladies-in-waiting murmured amongst themselves about Anne's demeanor, feeling the chill of her displeasure even in her absence.