Tudor Rose

xix. loss and love

October 5, 1514

The knocks woke me, causing me to roll off of my bed clumsily. Henry walked in, a worried expression plastered on his face.

"Anna, you need to come with me. Now," he demanded.

"Not until you apologize for all the things you said yesterday," I countered.

"Anna!"

"Just say you're sorry," I pleaded, "Please."

He sighed reluctantly. "Anna, you know I'm sorry. I didn't mean what I said. It was a stressful moment, and we were both very flustered."

"Thank you," I replied, "I also regret the things I said. Now, if you could kindly wait outside, I'll be dressed and ready shortly-"

"There's no time!" Henry exclaimed, flustered. He grabbed my hand affectionately, and I could see the concern in his eyes. 

"Is it about our son?" I asked.

"Yes."

"Is he...?" I didn't dare utter the word.

"Not yet."

"Soon?"

Henry looked to the ground. "It's likely."

__

The first thing I noticed when I reached the nursery for our little prince were the bloody cloths scattered frantically everywhere. It was a horrific sight, and heartbreaking. The room was humid and condensed, and there was hardly any space to move between all of the people. In the center of all the commotion, our sickly son was laying, filling the air with pained shrieks. Henry and I marched over. The physician, who looked sleep deprived, could hardly look at us.

"Well?" Henry said, "Is Edward going to survive?"

The short pause before his answer was the most anticipated answer I'd ever awaited.

"He will not."

I sunk to the ground, tears following immediately. Henry sank to my level, wrapping his arms around me.

"Shh... it's alright, my love. Let's talk to our son for a moment, Anna," he suggested.

I shakily stood up, and addressed the mass amount of people. "Could everyone leave the room for a moment?" It came out as a question, but there was really only one answer. Everyone filed out, even the physician, who had been quickly speaking to my husband.

Once we were alone, it was horrifying. I looked down at my son, who was wrapped in bandages and scraps of fabric. Even with all of the coverings, he was still bleeding significantly more than he should have been. We weren't just about to lose a son, we were about to lose England's male heir.

"Our poor son," I mused, "He does not deserve this. He's only a baby."

The baby stopped crying, forming a small smile. He looked up at us with a trace of happiness. In the short month we'd spent with him, it was clear he loved us as much as we loved him.

 "I'll always treasure our time together, Edward," Henry added, planting a small kiss on the infant's delicate forehead.

"Our little alien was too good for this world," I said through tears, mentioning Kate's comment about her brother on the day he was born.

Edward let out a soft laugh, and then slowly, as if he were trying his very hardest to hold onto us and this moment, his eyelids fluttered shut. Prince Edward, heir to the English throne and our beloved son, taken from our world as just an infant.

__

October 15, 1514

For the first week, all I could do was cry. Even Mary was saddened. My only joy was seeing my daughter and playing chess and card games with Henry.

"How is your sister, Mary, doing in France?" I asked.

Mary Tudor, Henry's sister who I'd only met a few times, married King Louis XII on the ninth of October as part of a peace agreement. The whole affair was orchestrated by Thomas Wolsey, without mine or Henry's permission. We only found out when a series of letters were sent to us from Mary and Louis, informing us of the ceremony, sending their condolences, and discussing other frivolous topics.

"She seems indifferent about the whole thing, except for the difference in age. He's 52, and she is only 18. Louis is in dire need of a son, and he hopes Mary can provide one," Henry explained monotonously, "Wolsey allegedly arranged the whole thing without telling us."

"Mary Boleyn said her sister Anne is one of Mary's ladies. I can't say I'm disappointed that Anne will be preoccupied in France, thus unable to come here," I admitted, "One Boleyn girl is plenty."

"Is there something wrong with Mary?"

"She's just... ambitious, I suppose. We don't always get along the best."

"What a shame."

I placed a few cards down, nearly winning. "And how is Margaret doing in Scotland?"

"She wrote to me not long ago saying that some of their accents are so strong she can hardly believe it's the same language," Henry chuckled. "Her duties as Queen Regent hardly ever cease. She sounds exhausted based on her letter."

"She's a lovely woman. I enjoy her company," I said.

"And how is your family?" Henry asked. He placed the last card of his down, childishly happy. "Look, Anna. I won."

"It was just luck. Let's play again," I answered, "Elizabeth and her husband are doing very well. She gave birth to a daughter recently. The poor thing was born a few months early, and she's apparently very small, but appears to be healthy enough. They named her Jane."

"How exciting for them. Are they comfortable in their new home?" Henry asked, handing me a new set of cards.

"Yes," I responded, looking through the cards thoroughly.

"And what about Beatrice and your parents?"

"Last I heard, Beatrice headed back to her home to be with her husband, daughter, and the orphaned noble boy they took in. She seems to be doing very well. Katherine definitely misses having Lucy around, though," I said, "And my mother and father are doing the best they possibly can. My father is unsurprisingly very bitter about being banished from court and my mother just wants me to be happy."

Henry nodded along as I spoke, listening intently. "It sounds like everyone, excluding your father, is doing well," he said, "Have you seen Mr. Holbein's portrait of you?"

"I have. I thought he did excellent, but I can't figure out how he crafted such an accurate portrait without me knowing or being involved," I responded.

"I asked him to do it in April, and it was supposed to be a birthday gift for you," Henry explained, "The original one was done in time, but I thought it was ugly so I made him redo it."

"My birthday is the first of May, Henry. It's October now."

"I made him redo it a few times."

I raised an eyebrow, challenging him.

"Maybe a lot of times?" he amended, laughing.

For the first time in weeks, we were happy and laughing. It became clear that, slowly, we could put our lives back together, if we really tried to.

~

published august 26, 2020