Evermore

Chapter III

DEATH

Greenwich Palace, May 22, 1536

Young Queen Anne's sister, Mary, braved the tempestuous mood of King Henry the day after her sister's vehement request. She pleaded with him to consider Anne's wishes, but the king's response was uncompromising. "There are protocols to be followed, Mary, and I will not break them because your sister distrusts the guards assigned to our children," he retorted, his voice rising with each word. "If Anne wants something from me, she should come and ask herself!"

In the midst of this heated exchange, Lady Jane Seymour quietly entered the room, flanked by her father and brother. Mary shot them a glare filled with hostility. "With all due respect, Your Majesty," she interjected, maintaining her composure, "the Queen's concerns lie not with the guards but with those who nearly caused her demise and that of your precious son, the future King of England."

King Henry raised a hand to silence Mary, then turned to address the Seymours with a commanding gaze. "Leave," he ordered tersely. Mary suppressed her frustration, replying with a stiff curtsy. "As you wish, Your Majesty," she said obediently.

John, Thomas, and Jane Seymour exchanged subtle smiles as they departed, knowing the king's dismissal implied his favor towards them. "Arrogant wench," Thomas muttered under his breath, a smirk playing on his lips.

Lady Jane shook her head at her brother's audacity. "You shouldn't have said that," she whispered in rebuke. "Anne will hear of this, and I'll bear the consequences of your brashness."

Thomas shrugged nonchalantly and approached King Henry, whose attention was now turned away. "Are you well, Your Majesty?" Jane inquired softly, circling around him and gently taking his hands in hers.

A warm smile softened Henry's features as he lifted her hands to his lips. "I am now," he replied tenderly, kissing her fingers.

Jane smiled in return, her touch lingering on his knuckles. "Would you honor me by accompanying me to the ball I am hosting tomorrow night in celebration of my son?" she asked, hoping for his agreement. She admired him not just for his crown but for his charm and felt joy in his eyes.

King Henry pivoted on his heels, addressing John and Thomas with a slight tilt of his head. "Gentlemen," he declared, his voice resonating through the chamber, "you too are invited to celebrate the arrival of my son."

"Indeed, Your Majesty," John Seymour affirmed proudly, casting a brief glance at Lady Jane, who had managed to retain his favor despite recent tensions. "Nothing would bring me greater joy."

Thomas Seymour nodded in agreement. "Nor I," he added.

Before further words could be exchanged, the grand doors burst open, and Thomas Cranmer stormed into the room, his rosary tangled in his trembling hands.

"What is the meaning of this commotion?" demanded King Henry, his brow furrowed with concern.

"It's the Queen," Thomas Cranmer exclaimed urgently.

King Henry abruptly released Lady Jane's hands, his expression a mix of fear and disbelief. "What has happened to her?" he demanded, striding towards Thomas Cranmer and seizing him by the robes. "Tell me!"

Lady Jane exchanged a worried glance with her father and brother, silently beckoning her over.

"She has fallen gravely ill," Thomas Cranmer blurted out. "The royal physician fears she may not survive the night."

"What do you mean she may not survive?" King Henry's voice cracked with anguish. "She is the Queen of England! This realm depends on her! Our children need her! I need her!"

Lady Jane gasped, her hand flying to her mouth in shock. John Seymour's initial anger softened into concern for the dire situation, realizing the gravity of what was unfolding.

Thomas Cranmer struggled to find the right words. "It is believed she contracted an infection due to the unsanitary conditions of childbirth, Your Majesty."

King Henry was overwhelmed with guilt as he realized his mistrust and decisions had endangered Anne. If only he had trusted her and not listened to Thomas Cromwell, their son might have been born under safer circumstances, attended by experienced midwives instead of household maids.

"I must go to her," King Henry declared, his heart racing as he turned to leave the room.

Thomas Cranmer followed close behind, aware of the urgency of the moment.

John, Thomas, and Jane Seymour followed suit. "Your time is near, Jane," Thomas remarked callously. "The king's attention will soon turn to you, as will the crown."

Jane shook her head, her voice filled with disdain. "Shame on you, brother," she snapped, though inwardly conflicted by her own ambitions. "May God forgive you for your callous words."

John's patience snapped, and he delivered a sharp slap across Jane's face. "Your brother speaks truth," he asserted coolly. "Once the Queen is gone, the king will likely choose you as his next wife. And if fate allows, her children will follow her to the grave."

Their conversation was abruptly interrupted by two passing guards who overheard their treasonous talk. "A death wish upon the Queen is treason, my lords," one guard warned sternly before they turned the corner.

Jane cradled her stinging cheek and shot a glance at her father, torn between loyalty and self-preservation, fearing his wrath or worse.

John seized Jane's arm roughly and thrust her towards Thomas, instructing him to escort her back to her chambers. He then hurried after the guards, slipping them a pouch of gold to ensure their silence.

Meanwhile, Henry dashed through the corridors, heart pounding with worry, until he reached Anne's quarters. Inside, Anne writhed in agony, pale and weak in her bed. As Henry approached, she recoiled from his touch, crying out in pain.

"Let me go!" Anne screamed. "I want to die in my sister's arms, not yours! You're the reason I'm dying!"

Thomas Cranmer observed the blood-stained sheets with a heavy heart, clutching his rosary tightly as he silently beseeched God for Anne's survival, joined by her loyal maids who surrounded her bed.

Henry's heart shattered at Anne's rejection, reluctantly placing her back in her sister's arms. "If she dies, you all die!" he threatened the physician before storming out of the room, tears streaming down his face, consumed by anger, guilt, and the looming possibility of losing the woman he loved — a woman he had once fought so hard to make his queen, now slipping away due to his own mistrust and decisions.

Anne pushed herself up in agony, clutching her abdomen. "Ahh!" she cried out, the pain intensifying. "Bring me my children! I must see them one last time!"

Her sister embraced her tightly, attempting to calm her. "Hold on, Anne! You will survive this! God will intervene!"

The tension and despair gripped the castle as Anne's fate hung in the balance, Henry's heart breaking with each passing moment, praying desperately for a miracle that would spare the life of his beloved queen.