𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐆'𝐒 𝐒𝐇𝐀𝐃𝐎𝐖, the tudors

𝟓

The atmosphere at court shifted with each passing day, a silent storm brewing beneath the gilded tapestries and whispered words. Charlotte felt herself ensnared in a tightening web, her fate no longer hers to shape. Henry’s nightly visits took on a gentler tone; he no longer demanded the physical satisfaction he once craved but instead spoke tenderly to her swelling belly, resting a possessive hand upon it and murmuring promises of a future in which she would wear the crown beside him.

It was a nightmare. Every time he professed his plans to make her queen, her fear deepened. She had no certainty that the child she carried was a boy, nor did she desire to bear the son that Henry hungered for. In her heart, she both longed for a daughter—believing it would allow her freedom from Henry's grip—and dreaded one. If she bore him a girl, he might banish her from court, release her from his affection, and she could flee England with whatever she could carry, perhaps even start over in a foreign land. But it was just as likely he would discard her like he had Anne, or demand yet another child from her, using her until she, too, was empty and discarded. She saw no escape.

Anne, meanwhile, seemed to grow frailer by the day. Having sensed Henry’s growing obsession with Charlotte, Anne rarely appeared outside her chambers and spent her hours in quiet sorrow with her daughter, Elizabeth. The little princess had become Anne’s last vestige of hope. She saw in her child the potential for strength, brilliance, and grace. She had tried one final time to secure her position by giving Henry another child, but the miscarriage that followed sealed her fate. As Anne mourned privately, she knew that her days as queen were numbered, and with a sense of resignation, she began to prepare herself for the worst.

On May 2nd, Anne was arrested on charges that stunned the court—accusations of adultery, treason, even incest with her own brother. Charlotte watched in horror as her former queen was imprisoned, knowing well that these accusations were nothing more than Henry’s cruel excuse to rid himself of the woman he once loved. By May 19th, Anne’s life was forfeit, and she was led to the scaffold, leaving her daughter behind to bear the stigma of bastardy. Elizabeth, once cherished, was now stripped of her title, her future uncertain, a mere pawn in her father’s ruthless game.

Just seven days later, Henry’s promises became reality. Charlotte was forced into a hastily arranged marriage, a coronation of grim urgency that bound her fate irrevocably to the king. She was Queen of England—a title that filled her not with pride but with dread. As the crown was placed upon her head, the weight of her new position pressed down, chaining her more firmly to Henry than ever before.

The shock of the ceremony had barely faded when, that evening, a sharp pain seized her abdomen. Her water had broken, and the agony of labor followed soon after, a brutal reminder of the life that had formed under circumstances she had never chosen. The pains were unrelenting, each contraction tearing through her, binding her to this child that bore the blood of a man she despised. She was terrified, trapped in a space between hope and fear as she faced the reality that her entire future hinged on the life about to enter the world.

Henry, breaking with tradition, insisted on remaining in her chamber. His presence loomed over her as she labored, his expression a blend of curiosity, anticipation, and impatience. He wanted to witness the birth of his third child, to see for himself whether Charlotte would deliver the son he had been denied for so long. She could feel his gaze upon her, as if he were watching her every breath, every strained moment, weighing her very worth against the outcome of this birth.

The hours dragged on in agonizing pain, and Charlotte felt as though she were being torn apart. She clung to the thin veil of hope that, perhaps, fate would show mercy, and she would bear a girl, a child who would release her from Henry’s obsession. But the thought was fleeting, overshadowed by the king’s presence and the knowledge that her life—her very existence—would be determined by the outcome of this brutal, unyielding ordeal.

Finally, as dawn broke over the horizon, her cries filled the chamber, and the child was born. Henry leaned forward, eyes wide with anticipation, as the midwife held up the infant for him to see.

The tension hung thick in the air, everyone waiting for the midwife’s words that would seal Charlotte’s fate.