𝓣𝓱𝓮 𝓦𝓸𝓻𝓭𝓼 𝓞𝓯 𝓘𝓷𝓷𝓸𝓬𝓮𝓷𝓬𝓮

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Life feels burdensome, burdened by remnants of the past. Grateful to escape England, I embark on a journey granted by God to distance myself from my father's crimes. I offer prayers for his soul, anticipating the holy lights that will greet me at my life's end. While God's punishment may not touch everyone, I pray for the souls of England, yearning for a sovereign to instill the true faith. True faith alone can purify their souls, preventing damnation through heresy. The ship sails toward Spain, a destination I appreciate, thankful for the marriage I have arranged for myself. God has witnessed my virtuous character, and I am content. I express gratitude to my protector and for everything bestowed upon me.

GOD DAMNS ME! A leg that refuses to function curses me, and my daughter's betrayal takes her to Spain, pledging loyalty to the emperor. She remains obstinate, blind to the fortitude of the true religion established in England. The Protestant Faith, in contrast to the perceived superstition, lies, and scandal of the Catholic faith, will lead England to thrive. Though the Pope has exiled me, I care not, for I serve God alone; I am the head of the church. My daughter's secret marriage to the Ambassador, negotiated for the emperor, irks me, and I hope the emperor recognizes my plight and returns my untouched daughter. The planned marriage to the Duke's son meets my disapproval; I shall sanction nothing. I could have her executed for treason, but I choose to impede her deliverance, praying for her return to senses. Until she begs for my forgiveness under the scaffold light, my anger at her betrayal remains. At least I finally have a son, securing the succession. Reports assure me of his thriving condition, and I anticipate more heirs in the future.

My boy is flourishing; he is still young but robust. I always knew I could achieve this, and Anne Boleyn has indeed delivered me a son. Master Holbein has prepared for the new coronation, a privilege for the queen consort of England. England will have a proper queen, and Anne Boleyn has not failed me. I will not forget; a king never forgets his queen.

Assured of recovery by my doctors, this prolonged sickness was but a passing phase, a second chance granted by God. Despite losing a leg, Master Holbein has crafted something suitable, and I will follow my conscience. God has blessed Master Holbein's hands with a gift from above. Living in unfamiliar circumstances, I sit in my chambers, hearing the court celebrate the son I finally have. I will never forget my son Richmond, Henry Fitzroy, who would have been my heir but has now returned to me. By God's holy light, he was born legitimate, and I pray that he awaits me at the gates of St. Peter. God, in His mercy, will reunite us. He has given me life and a male child, relieving me of past struggles. Having glimpsed my future, I listened to my heart and gave Anne Boleyn a chance. I have forged my path and am truly the head of the Church of England. A state of peace will prevail, avoiding scrutiny of the falsity of the Catholic faith. The crackling fire, the warmth of the room, as I sit quietly, sipping wine from a cup once belonging to my father, a great king who survived a historic battle against Richard III. Thoughts of my mother, Elizabeth of York, and the bloodline I descend from fill my mind. Conflicted with emotions and reflections, I ponder the tales of my great-great-grandmother, Jacquetta Woodville, and the complex history of the women who played significant roles in my family's past.