The King's Sister (closed for Niceandbrutal)

Mary Tudor knew she would be destined for great things. She was a Princess of England and the reigning King’s, King Henry VIII, favorite sister. Or more so the only sister he still had the power of controlling as she was the only one that was still unwed. She was not the last one to leave her mother’s womb, but the youngest to survive infancy.

Mary was close with her elder brother, King Henry VIII. Henry wasn’t the oldest male out of his siblings, that was their eldest brother Arthur, but he had died. Arthur was the heir apparent for many years allowing Henry to live a childhood of luxury but not of full responsibility.

Similarly Mary wasn’t the oldest girl out of their siblings, Margaret was, which allowed a more lax childhood for Mary. Thus this lead to Henry and Mary to have similar childhoods as they were only five years apart. They both held the responsibilities as having bloodlines to the English throne, Henry more than Mary, because of his sex. But neither thought they would ever be on the English throne.

That was until their eldest brother Arthur died, when Henry was only 10 years old making Henry the next heir apparent. Henry VIII then became King when their father King Henry VII died when Henry VIII was 18 and Mary 13.

Mary was blessed with a fair complexion and long red golden hair, a trait she inherited from her mother, the Elizabeth of York. She was tall for her sex and always had a difficult time finding a suitable dancing partner at the court festivities.

She had grey eyes that twinkled in the candlelight whenever she was truly amused. Her beauty was well known in court and across England, making her known as the most beautiful woman in England. Foreign ambassadors visiting England spoke highly of her, making her the most talked about Princess in Europe.

Mary was the epitome of a perfect princess. She was well educated and studious. She took interests in her studies, especially of foreign languages. Which were partially spurred as she knew her future husband wouldn’t be someone of her own choosing. She knew she would most likely find herself in a foreign court. She disliked the thought of having to live in a court where servants and guards spoke in a language unknown to her even if she had her own ladies in waiting.

She would have liked another fate, a fate where she could marry out of love. But as the King’s sister, as a princess she knew that was not possible. She knew her marriage would be used for a political alliance for her brother, for her King, for her country, for England. Just as her own elder sister, Margaret was sent to Scotland to marry their King at the tender age of 14. Now Margaret was the Queen of Scotland and Mary, at the age of 18 was to follow the footsteps of previous princesses and become the queen of a foreign country in the name of her family…

King Henry the VIII adored his younger sister, Mary. She was beautiful, intelligent and most importantly the perfect pawn to his alliance with France. He had his foreign ambassadors and his council form a peace treaty with France ensuring an alliance in the form of a marriage with their aging King, Louis VII. He had hoped that at least for his favorite sister it was someone more formidable and not a fifty year old king nearing his death bed. He would have liked to accompany Mary to France for the special occasion, but as King of England leaving his country for his sister’s wedding was not an option.

Thus Henry enlisted his best friend, Charles Brandon to accompany his younger sister. Charles and Henry had been best friends since childhood. Charles’ father was Henry’s father’s standard-bearer at the Battle of Bosworth Field and even lost his own life when slain by Richard III when protecting the their country’s flag. Charles grew up in court and he and Henry, despite their difference in background quickly became good friends.

Henry had summoned Charles to his throne room on a sunny spring morning. The sunlight peaked through the windows as Henry sat in his intricately carved throne. A red tapestry with his family’s emblem the tudor rose and his own insignia hanging behind him.

His wife, Queen Catherine was absent from the room as she was busy tending to her swollen belly. Catherine had become increasingly weary about her pregnant state ever since her last miscarriage and kept most of her days in her chambers. With guards by King Henry VIII side and his councilmen standing in the room waiting to be called on by their king, Henry waited for his friend, Charles to enter the room.

Charles Brandon was in a hurry. He'd been summoned to court on official business with his friend and confidante Henry VIII, king of England.

At the age of 30, Charles Brandon had already been married twice and was betrothed to Elisabeth Grey, the Viscountess Lisle. As a part of the wedding contract, he'd been made the Viscount Lisle. He was master of the Horse and had been granted several tracts of land from his friend and king after the french campaign of 1513. With a tall and muscular build, piercing blue eyes and dark hair and beard, Brandon struck an imposing figure, compounded by his wearing black clothes with hints of white for contrast to underline his severity.

As a result of being the sole surviving son of Sir William Brandon (Henry Tudor's standard bearer on Bosworth field, killed by Richard III himself), Charles Brandon had wanted for nothing as he grew up in the household of king Henry VII. A bit older than his king, they'd still become close friends as they grew up under the same roof. They both were rambunctious young men that excelled in jousting and swordfighting, and they both had an apetite for all that a privileged life had to offer, be it food, entertainment or women.

The day Henry VIII became king he called for Charles and asked him to be both confidante, advisor, and moral support, Henry being only 18 when he ascended the throne. To Brandon's joy Henry turned out to be a popular king, known for his beauty and prowess as well as for his healthy outlook regarding the good things in life. In short, life was good for Charles Brandon and his dear friend and commander.

There was only one cloud on the horizon. He'd only entered the marriage contract with the Viscountess Lisle at the urgings of his friend and king, but his heart belonged to someone else entirely. Mary, Henry VIII's younger sister, a radiant beauty with copper red hair and striking grey eyes, contrasted by a beautiful pale complection. Unlike many women at court, she was also an interesting conversationalist, taking her studies seriously. Charles had spent many evenings in the company of Mary and Henry, talking, joking and laughing. And little by little he'd lost his heart to her.

But that was irrelevant. He was betrothed to the Viscountess Lisle and Mary was promised to the king of France as part of a peace treaty. Peace between England and France had seemed a fool's dream, but the talks had proceeded with some success, and Mary would be there to seal the deal. She would do her duty and bring peace between the two nations. But Brandon's heart was still heavy with longing for her.

Arriving outside the throne room, the doors were opened as a herold announced Charles Brandons arrival. King Henry cut the herold short: "Yes yes, I know my good friend and advisor! Approach, Charles Brandon!" The gathering of men and the way he addressed him told Charles that this was official business. He spoke: "I live but to serve you my king, and I made haste when you summoned me."

Henry looked at him with a serious visage, but with a twinkle in his eyes. "My friend and advisor Charles Brandon, terror of the french cities Thérouanne and Tournai! Why do you suppose I summoned you here?" Charles gave this some pause. The king would sometimes speak in riddles, with hints there for all to see. His referencing of the battles of last year told Charles that this had something to do with France and... what? What else was there to do with the peace treaty with France than to marry off Mary?

Comprehension dawned on Brandon as the king watched him closely. "Yes Charles, I charge you with escorting my dear sister Mary to the court of Louis XII of France to give her hand in marriage in my stead."

Charles Brandon bowed. "Your wish is my command, my king," he said, real affection in his voice. As he righted himself, he caught a glimmer of doubt in Henry's eyes. Something wordless passed between them and Henry abruptly
called: "Leave us! Charles, come sit by my side."

As the room emptied, Charles approached the throne and sat down beside his friend and king. "I can tell you are troubled Henry," Charles said. "What is it that concerns you?" Henry slumped in his throne before he turned towards his friend. "Is this right, Charles? Mary is a grown woman to be sure, but the king of France is old enough to be her father, and in frail health at that! You know how much I love my sister, Charles. And I know you love her like a sister as well. Tell me plainly, have I done wrong by her?"

Charles pondered for a moment. "No my friend, you have not. As far as royalty goes, duty comes before personal concerns. Your father knew this. Your older brother knew this. And you accepted this when the crown was thrust upon you five years ago. Mary is as strong as you in some regards, she will understand and accept her fate, though she may like it as little as you did when you assumed the responsibility of a king."

Charles heard that his words rang hollow, but they seemed to console his friend. Charles lay a hand on the king's shoulder and said: "I promise you, I will endeavour to make her journey as safe and pleasant as possible. And I will keep an eye out for her in the french court to see that nothing untowards befalls her. I give you my word my friend. My king."

Henry looked somewhat relieved. "It is my wish that you stay with me, dear friend," the king said. "There will be an announcement feast tonight, where we formally announce Mary's betrothal to Louis XII. She will want some familiar faces around her, Charles. For her sake and for mine, be there for us."

The castle was abuzz with the feast for the evening. Mary spent the sunny spring day outside roaming the castle grounds. She had no desire to see her brother and even thought about pretending an illness so she could recluse herself in her chambers. But she knew as the Princess of England and as the future Queen of France, a title she had no desire of having, she had to be present at the feast, especially when the purpose of the feast was to announce her wedding.

When it came evening and time for the feast, Mary made wore a red gown, symbolism for the Tudor rose. The gown was embroidered with gold and lace, making sure she was best dressed at court. Her hair was down but pulled back and on top of her head laid a gold tiara adorned with a large ruby in the middle and then flanked by two pearls on either side.

She wore a pearl necklace with a gold cross in the middle, showing her Catholic faith. She held tightly to her fate, not as much as Queen Catherine, but she was a steadfast Catholic as she always attended mass and wore a cross at all times. She knew that the church and the throne were interlinked and knew one would not survive without the other.

By the time Mary entered the great hall of the castle, the feast was already underway. People were dancing, the tables were filled with food, colorful bouquets of flowers decorated the table and everyone greeted the princess with either a bow or a curtsy. Mary was happy to see a welcoming, grandeur feast, yet she had no desire to be present. She quickly made her way through the crowd and greeted her brother the King.

“Your Majesty.” Mary said as she approached the large center table and gave him a deep curtsey.

“I thought you were going to be absent from your own feast.” King Henry said with a slight annoyance as he took a sip of wine from his goblet. The pregnant Queen Catherine was sitting next to him and gave Mary a welcoming smile.

“I apologize your majesty, it took me a while to find the perfect dress and the perfect…well…” Mary said as she eyed the tiara on her head, her body still in the uncomfortable position of a curtsey with both of her knees both bent, her left leg swept under her right.

The King scoffed, he knew how much her sister liked the crown jewels.

“I’m sure as the Queen of France you’ll be given many more crown jewels.” He said with a smirk.

Mary smiled and politely nodded at her brother, acknowledging his words yet not making any verbal comment.

“You may stand.” The King Henry said with a smile as he beckoned his favorite sibling to sit next to him.

At once Mary stood up and sat next to her brother.

“I really am sorry, my King, I just…there was so much to choose from and I…” Mary continued to ramble. Her lack of decision making skills was not the reason why she was tardy to her own feast, yet she continued this fable as she did not want her brother to be cross with her.

“Its fine, you’re only here for a couple more days…” Henry said as one of the servants filled Mary’s goblet with wine. Henry would have started a fight with his sister as he didn’t like having to wait, yet with their limited time together playing nice seemed to be the better option.

Mary smiled, “Thank you, your majesty.”

“Since I won’t be able to go with you to France…I’ve asked Brandon to accompany with you to France.” Henry said as he watched his sister’s plate being filled with food.

“Brandon?” Mary asked, making sure she knew who her brother was referring to.

“Yes, Charles, he will act in my place…or in our father’s place.” Henry said with a slight smile, the two both missing their deceased parents. Mary picked up her fork and slowly started to eat her dinner. She had no appetite, not sense she knew of her departure date to France, yet with her brother next to her she had to eat something.

Mary smiled and nodded her head. She knew her brother was close with Charles Brandon and even looked as him as a confidante. She had to admit she had a soft spot for Charles yet she always kept an arms length away from him as he was notorious for his womanizing ways. A quality she knew that her brother also shared, but a quality she found heinous in men.

But it was hard not to smile when one was around Charles since he had piercing blue eyes, a strong muscular build and a smile that always bordered on the line of mischief and sincerity. One might even say Mary had a liking to Charles, yet it was a liking she never thought would translate to anything substantial.

“Well…I would prefer you to come, but I understand… and I’m glad you chose Charles…and not one of your councilmen. He will do.” Mary said with a big smile, but something else was one her mind, a request she had that she had not had the courage to say out loud.

Henry looked at his sister and studied her carefully, he knew something was on her mind.

“Say it.” Henry said as he took another long sip of his wine, letting the fermented grape juice sit longer than necessary in his mouth prior to swallowing it.

“Pardon me, your highness, I’m not sure…” Mary quickly said, unsure of how her brother would respond to her words.

“I’ve known you since birth, something is on your mind, say it now.” said Henry.

Mary blushed, she glanced at Queen Catherine, then at the people dancing in front of them and then back to her brother.

“Your majesty…” Mary said carefully.

“Yes, my sister?” King Henry said with an elevated right brow, giving a quizzical look.

“I understand the necessity of my marriage to the King of France, and I’m…I’m…” Mary was unable to find the words to express her feelings, so rather than find the perfect word she pressed on and said what was on her mind.

“When I marry next, which I’m not sure when that will be, but I’m sure sometime in the future since the King of France is an elder man…I would like to marry for love.” Mary said as she looked deeply into her brother’s eyes.

King Henry stopped as he studied his younger sister carefully.

“You want to marry for love?” Henry said with a scrunched face, making sure he understood his sister correctly.

Mary nodded her head, she made sure her words were clear even with the music being played.

“Yes…for my second marriage…I would like to marry for love…to marry whomever I choose…please my brother…my king…I ask you…” Mary was in midst of speaking but Henry, unable to give his sister a formal response just slowly nodded his head.

“Is that a yes?” Mary asked with a big smile on her face, hopeful in her brother’s response.

Henry sighed, he had no desire to promise his sister such an outlandish request. She was a princess, her marriage should always bring an alliance to their country, marrying out of love was a luxury he could not grant her.

So instead of answering her question he rose to his feet. To this the music stopped and the guests all looked at the center of the room, their attention on their host, the King of England.

“My people…I thank you for coming tonight as I formally announce my sister’s wedding to the King of France, Louis XII.”

The crowd erupted in clapping as Mary smiled and slowly bowed her head from her seat.

“I also wanted to announce that my dear friend Charles Brandon, will be henceforth known as His Grace, The Duke of Suffolk.” Henry said as he raised his goblet for his dear friend.

“Since I have this mighty kingdom, England to run, I have asked my dear friend Brandon, now to be known as the Duke of Suffolk to accompany my dear lovely sister to France. Now let us feast! To my sister, the future Queen of France!” King Henry said as he raised his goblet and then drank a large sip of his wine, hoping that his sister would never mention about marrying for love again.

Charles Brandon spent the rest of the day with his king planning the journey to France. They agreed that a show of force was called for and they agreed that a troop of the household cavalry plus a smattering of knights and nobles would suffice as a royal escort. Some of the knights were eager young men out to prove themselves, and jousting to celebrate a royal wedding was tradition. Brandon would himself participate in the joust.

The announcement feast started with Charles sitting comfortably near his friend and king, his bride to be by his side. The feast got under way as the guest of honor was conspicuously absent, to the point where people started to murmur and speculate if she'd show up at all. And then the herold announced her, causing King Henry to murmur "finally!"

The doors opened and the throng parted to let a vision of beauty pass through. A red gown embroidered with silver and gold accentuated her radiant beauty, as did the necklace and tiara. Charles sat like a fool, his hand halfway to his mouth, holding a morsel of food. He'd never seen Mary as beautiful as she was tonight. Charles checked himself. You're practically ogling her! he chided himself. His staring hadn't gone unnoticed. Elisabeth nudged him sharply in his ribs, a stern glance from her causing him to avert his eyes for a moment.

Charles heard the exchange between Mary Tudor and her brother, the king. Although Henry tried to put on a grumpy demeanor, his love for her was apparent. He knew he'd rarely see her again, so he swallowed his pride and was nice to her. As she sat down next to her brother, she lowered her voice so that Charles heard but one sentence from their conversation: “You want to marry for love?” This from Henry in an incredulous tone. Charles thought the request understandable but unreasonable. As a royal person she was not free to choose her partner. But secretly, he wished that she marry him. For love.

Then Henry rose and announced Mary's betrothal to the king of France. There was some applause which Charles joined in out of courtesy. He hated the thought of giving her away to someone they'd considered their enemy only a year before. Such are politics, he thought. The king still stood before his guests. His next announcement confirmed what Charles already knew, his escorting the royal princess to France. And then Charles gaped, as the King formally announced that Charles henceforth was to be known as the first Duke of Suffolk.

“Since I have this mighty kingdom, England to run, I have asked my dear friend Brandon, now to be known as the Duke of Suffolk to accompany my dear lovely sister to France. Now let us feast! To my sister, the future Queen of France!” The king drank a toast and then sat down, a teasing grin directed at Charles as Charles sat with his excited wife to be by his side. "You're a Viscount AND a Duke!" she enthused, a big smile on her face. Charles smiled at her enthusiasm. She was a sweet young woman, but he had no amorous feelings for her though he loved her.

For the next few minutes he accepted congratulations from his peers as well as from those who wanted to ingratiate themselves with him. A close friend of the King and a Duke in his own right was indeed a powerful man. His liege had been more than generous with him. When the small throng of well-wishers had parted, Charles rose and asked for silence.

Henry VIII looked expectantly at his friend, Charles Brandon; 1st Duke of Suffolk, the Viscount Lisle, and master of the Horse, advisor, confidante, and good friend of the king. Charles grew dizzy for an instant before righting himself as he started to speak: "My liege, you honour me greatly. And I thank you for bestowing this title on me, your humble servant." There was emotion in Charles' voice as he'd never expected such an honour. "And I thank you for trusting me with England's greatest treasure. I refer of course to your sister Mary who, by marrying the king of France, will ensure peace between our great nations." He glanced at Mary, and his heart lurched. "I vow before all gathered here that I will ensure a safe passage for you or die in the attempt, my princess." He paused, then: "I propose a toast. To princess Mary, future Queen of France! May our countries never again be at war with each other!"

They drank in silence and Charles said a muted "Thank you," before sitting down again to scattered applause. As the revellers started talking and dancing again, Charles stood up and excused himself to his wife to be before approaching King Henry VIII and his sister Mary. First he thanked the king personally. He grasped the king's hand and shook it vigorously as he again thanked him for the new title. King Henry, never one to turn down good wine, was slightly inebriated and in a boisterous mood. He roared good-heartedly and slapped Charles on the back as he was thanked. "Not at all, dear friend! This is for your service to the kingdom as well as for our friendship and your good advice. This is well deserved, your Grace!" Charles, overcome with emotion, bowed. "Your words honour me, my King. If I could ask the King for a favour? I would very much like the pleasure of a dance with the royal princess." Henry looked at him and with a voice filled with laughter roared: "Ask her yourself, man! Ask her yourself!"

Charles approached Mary Tudor, almost awestruck by her beauty. He bowed before her and held out his hand to her: "Dear Princess, would you do me the honour of dancing with me?" He looked at her expectantly.

Princess Mary carefully watched Charles as he approached her brother and herself. Mary gave him a small polite smile and then glanced over at Elisabeth. Elisabeth quickly blushed and quickly bowed her head from where she was seated. Mary knew that the union between Elisabeth and Charles was not out of love, but was an arrangement most likely helped by her brother the King of England. Despite Charles’ friendship with Mary’s brother, he himself had very little land.

Mary almost felt bad for Elisabeth as she never had a say to who she wanted to marry, but at least she would stay in her native country and at least she wasn’t marrying someone who had passed their prime and had already lived half a century.

Mary placed a polite smile on her face as Charles and her brother joyfully talked. Mary knew her brother’s joy was stirred by the wine he had been gulping down most of the night. She had no idea what the two were talking about, nor did she have a desire to listen to their conversation.

So when Charles approached her and asked for her hand to dance, Mary was pleasantly surprised. Mary smiled big and nodded her head. Charles was one of the more taller men in court and she had no desire to eat the plate of food in front of her, a dance with Charles was the perfect distraction she needed.

“Yes, I would like that very much.” Mary said as she glanced at her brother, “Brother, King of England may I dance with the Duke of Suffolk?” Mary asked carefully, she already knew her brother’s response yet she knew he was a stickler for royal etiquette.

Henry smiled big, “Of course you may my dear sister.” Henry said with a smile and a nod.

Mary then carefully stood up from her seat, gave her brother a quick curtsey and gave her left hand for Charles to hold. “Lets dance then, Duke of Suffolk.” Mary said with a smile as she allowed him to walk her to the dance floor.

Holding her hand as he led Mary to the dance floor, Charles' heart raced. He was dancing with his friend's sister, the most beautiful woman in all of England. Her hand was warm and soft in his, and she smiled brightly at him as they started to dance. His hand firmly on her waist, the other clasping her hand, they started whirling around the room. Charles first concentrated on finding the rhythm and found it easy to adjust to Mary, and soon they moved as one.

At first he was at a loss for words, being so close to her. But after a little while he started talking about the journey. About her carriage, about the escort, about how many of her ladies in waiting she could bring and so forth. All the while he talked he searched her eyes for clues about her feelings for the impending marriage. In the end he asked her outright.

"Setting aside for a moment the fact that you are doing your duty and obeying your brother and king, what do you think of your marriage with the king of France?"

He looked at her, not realising his face was set in a concerned mask.

Mary smiled as she danced with Charles. She enjoyed herself as she danced with him. Despite her status as the King's sister and subsequently a princess, Charles was never uncomfortable with her to the point that things were awkward. It was common for men to be either overtly manly and assert their power or to be so submissive to the point that they ask for permission each time they touch her hand.

Charles was always just Charles to her. Her older brother's best friend and the best dancing partner she knew.

She gave him the appropriate answers regarding her carriage, her escort, the number of ladies in waiting that would be accompanying her and so on. She did let him know that she was weary about traveling by sea. She liked looking out in the ocean, the way the waves would crash into one another and how the water would almost wave as it flowed back and forth on land. But there was something eerie about the deep, vast unknown water that always made her worry.

"Setting aside for a moment the fact that you are doing your duty and obeying your brother and king, what do you think of your marriage with the king of France?"


Charles voice echoed in Mary's ears. She quickly glanced him and she saw his serious and concerned face. Mary quickly furrowed her brows, she wasn't sure if he was joking or if he was being genuine. Questions like this wasn't commonly asked by Charles.

Mary gave Charles a polite smile, "Well...what do you think of your impending marriage with the Viscountess Lisle?"

She didn't mean to be rude, but her eyes were sharp, almost hawklike as she pierced through Charles' brown eyes while she pursed her lips almost as if she was readying herself for a kiss she would have no pleasure in giving.

Her reply was quick and struck unerringly home: "Well...what do you think of your impending marriage with the Viscountess Lisle?"

Of course. There were similarities. "But there is a difference, my princess. Until she comes of age, the Viscountess Lisle is my ward. We will have time to get aquainted before our marriage. The marriage contract was suggested by your brother, but I was at a liberty to say no." He checked himself. How could he say no to his king, really? She was right.

A pained expression crossed his face as he muttered, only for her to hear: "You are right. I had no real choice in the matter. I said yes because I love your brother and because he is my king.." He paused. Did he dare?

"And someone else dear to me have been growing on my mind lately. But she is out of bounds for me. Much is the pity, for I think the world of her." His voice was grave. He looked quickly away lest his expression reveal more than he wanted to say.

“Time to get acquainted…”

That was a luxury Mary was not given with her impending marriage with the King of France. The only communication she had with the French King was between his ambassador and with letters. She wasn’t even sure if the letters she had received from him were from his own penmanship or even his own words. She barely knew the man she was to call, her husband. She knew what he looked like, but that was only from a portrait that was done many years ago. She had requested for a more recent portrait but that was never fulfilled despite the fact Mary sat for several portraits to fulfill his desires.

“And during your time to get acquainted you have the option of…getting acquainted with other women…” Mary muttered between her lips in a hushed tone so only he could hear. She never meant to criticize his womanizing ways, she knew that was the life at court.

Women in court, married or not would always open their legs for men in court, especially if they held power or any direct linkage to the King. Charles had both, he was best friends with the King and through that he was always on some kind of council and now he held two official titles. Mary was sure that with his new title as the Duke of Suffolk he would never spend a lonely night without sexual gratification while his future wife still held her virtue intact as they wouldn’t dare consummate their marriage till their wedding night.

The words that lingered in her mind the most were his next words.

“And someone else dear to me have been growing on my mind lately. But she is out of bounds for me. Much is the pity, for I think the world of her.”

Mary glanced at Charles, her eyebrows gently furrowed. The two kept on dancing, her hand clasped against his, his other hand held tightly against her waist while her other hand rested on his shoulder. She gently chewed on her lip as she thought of her words.

“Well, maybe its because you keep on bedding so many other women that you think she’s out of bounds for you.” Mary noted, trying to figure out who Charles could be inferring to. From what she knew about through castle gossip, there was no women who had ever denied Charles. He had even slept with women she called her relations whether that be long distant cousins or cousins she grew up playing with, he had even slept with some of her ladies in waiting, even foreign guests of court such as foreign ambassador’s wives or sisters.

“And anyway with your new title as the Duke of Suffolk, you practically can have any woman you want…well except for the fact that you are to be a married man, well wait.” Mary said sarcastically. “That doesn’t stop you, so as I said, with your new title no one is out of bond for you my Charles, so I don’t see what the problem is.” Mary added. She had no idea who Charles was referring to.

“And during your time to get acquainted you have the option of…getting acquainted with other women…”

Her words stung. But there was an uncomfortable truth in them. Both Charles and Henry had cut a swathe through the ladies of the court, leading to a few illegitimate children. The children and their mothers were well taken care of, of course. But that didn't alter the fact that Charles and Henry both had broken a few hearts.

“And anyway with your new title as the Duke of Suffolk, you practically can have any woman you want…well except for the fact that you are to be a married man, well wait. That doesn’t stop you, so as I said, with your new title no one is out of bond for you my Charles, so I don’t see what the problem is.”

Charles sighed. He'd been afraid of this. His philandering ways had made her cold to him. The fact of the matter was that he'd never experienced feelings for any woman that he'd experienced for Mary. With other women it was all too easy to sweet talk and bed them. A couple of times he'd convinced himself that it was love he felt as he lusted after a particular woman. But after he'd bedded her he lost interest. And most of the time there was no question of love, but of sex. Sex for the pleasure of it or sex given to him so the woman could gain favour with someone close to the king. And Mary was right of course. Now that he held two titles he was more attractive to the women of the court than ever before.

But with Mary it was different. He had known her since she was a little girl, and he felt an almost unreasonable anger at the thought of her being married off to a man who could easily have been her grandfather. No, not anger. Jealousy. She had been growing on his mind lately, he knew this. He often fantasised about Mary and him being together. What made these fantasies different from what he was used to was that they didn't involve sex as much as they involved tenderness and non-sexual situations. Just holding hands and talking, exchanging declarations of love. Building a home together. But it was not to be.

"You judge me harshly but fairly, my princess. I have indeed been guilty of bedding many women of the court. But for this woman I would not look at other women, for she is a pure woman whom I've loved for a long time. For this woman I would give up my titles and the power and influence that came with them. In short, I've fallen in love for the first time in my life. And it pains me more than words can say that she will never be mine. She is promised to someone else and I know she takes it seriously, even though she isn't fond of the idea of marrying this man."

He paused. Had he said too much?

Mary heard Charles’ heavy sigh and she carefully raised her eyebrow. Apparently her comments on his philandering ways had hit a nerve. She didn’t intend to hurt his feelings or his ego, just merely make an observation.

Mary had a soft, gentle face, which many often assumed translated to a meek personality but she always spoke what was on her mind. No matter how harsh her words may be, she always did it with poise and elegance. This characteristic tended to get her in hot waters with her brother, the King of England, as she was the only woman that would ever truly speak up against her brother’s actions or tell him he is in the wrong.

“A pure woman whom I've loved for a long time”…

“You actually in love with a woman?” Mary said with a genuinely shocked smile. She cocked her head to the side as she carefully studied Charles. With Charles’ history of womanizing she was almost sure that he didn’t believe in the notion of love.

“Who is she?” Mary said almost teasingly, as Charles spun her as they continued to dance in the Great Hall of the castle. She felt like a school girl trying to squeeze out the secret of a fellow classmate as she carefully studied Charles’ face. He looked solemn, which was unusual for him. It should have been a clue to who he was referring to but Mary was too consumed in trying to figure out who Charles could be in love with.

Mary would have never expected herself to be the one Charles was referring to as that seemed preposterous, even if she would have traded places with the Viscountess of Lisle in a heartbeat so that she could marry Charles and not the King of France. She always had a soft spot for Charles and if she dared to admit it, even something more than just a crush on the man.

Yet she was a smart, reasonable woman and knew there love would never develop into anything concrete. Unless her brother allowed her to marry for love at the death of her first husband. A request, her brother never officially granted.

“But you’ve been married twice my dear Charles.” Mary said carefully as she studied the dark brown eyes of her partner.

“Well let me correct myself, your first marriage was declared void but your second, well your next marriage with Anne Brown you did in secret…you must have loved her…right?” Mary said carefully as she raised her right brow. Charles had piqued her curiosity and she wanted to figure out Charles’ mystery lover.

“And you say, she will never be yours.” Mary said as she scoffed. “But knowing you, you’ve never backed down from a challenge.” Mary added, “And even if she takes the marriage seriously, if she isn’t fond of marrying this man then…well…” Mary said as she gently licked her painted lips as she tried to find her words, “Then…maybe she’s hoping for another offer…or I don’t know…” Mary said as she went along with the movements of the dance.

“But my darling Charles.” Mary said this with affection, unbeknownst to her that Charles was referring to her. She rarely added the word, ‘darling’ in front of anyones name, only when she wanted something from someone or when she had one too many goblets of wine and found herself inebriated.

“Wont you tell me who this person is, maybe I can put it a good word for you before I leave for France. I am just a princess here in England, but soon I will be Queen of France.” Mary said, almost mocking her future title, a title she had no desire in gaining.

“You actually in love with a woman? Who is she?”

He wanted to say I'm dancing with her this very moment, but he couldn't complicate things for himself or for her. Still, it was hard to resist her when she planted those grey eyes in his and gave him that teasing smile.

And then she started recounting his marriages, hitting a nerve when she mentioned Anne Brown. Talking about Anne was indeed painful. She'd died the year after giving birth to their second daughter, Mary. Their first daughter, Anne, was the reason they'd gotten married.

"Anne became pregnant after we, um, she became pregnant! She is probably the woman I've come closest to loving. But even though I was fond of her and even though we were well matched in many ways, I didn't stop chasing other women of the court. The thought of laying down with another woman if I'd married the woman I'm in love with now is blasphemous to me."

“And you say, she will never be yours. But knowing you, you’ve never backed down from a challenge. And even if she takes the marriage seriously, if she isn’t fond of marrying this man then…well… Then…maybe she’s hoping for another offer…or I don’t know… But my darling Charles, won't you tell me who this person is, maybe I can put in a good word for you before I leave for France. I am just a princess here in England, but soon I will be Queen of France.”

There was a hint of derision when she talked about her future title. She really wasn't looking forward to marriage with the king of France, that was plain to all that knew her. The king of France was sickly and wouldn't last too long. And the Viscountess Lisle? She was years away from being marrying age. And he was already Duke of Suffolk AND the king's confidante. All these thoughts raced through his brain as he feverishly weighed his options, almost telling her but stopping at the last moment. He must have looked like a fish out of water with his mouth opening and closing as it did.

He smiled at last, his good grace winning over his own desire: "I cannot in good conscience tell you, my princess. It would needlessly complicate things for u- for me! But your offer is kind and well received, my princess." He gave her a light brotherly peck on her cheek as they danced on. It was painful to be so close to her now, to feel her body against his and to smell her and feel her warmth. But he couldn't break free of the dance without it being remarked upon. Charles endured.

"I am fairly certain she doesn't want to marry the man she's betrothed to but knowing her as I do, she will be true to the marriage vows until she's freed from them." He didn't dare say more now. He'd almost slipped once, and he was dangerously close to revealing who the woman he loved was.

Mary hid her sly smile as she watched Charles stumble with his words. She knew he was uncomfortable when it came to his past wives. She never understood why Charles married, especially since he kept his philandering ways. Mary believed in the sanctity of marriage, but she knew that this was not shared by the men and at times the women in court. Mary paused for a second as she wondered what her marital relationship would be like with her new husband, King Louis VII.

For the first time in her life, she wished that her husband would have mistresses as she had no desire to bed a man, a man old enough to be her father. She shuddered as she thought of their wedding night together. She had kept her virtue and was still a virgin. She never thought her first time would be with a man she already detested, a man who only saw her as a political prize. She quickly glanced at her brother, and glared at him. If only her brother would intercede and cancel the wedding. Was it really necessary for her to marry the King of France to assure an alliance?

Mary glanced back at Charles as he continued speaking. Her ears carefully picked up his words, “The thought of laying down with another woman, if I’d married the woman I’m in love with now is blasphemous to me.”

“You truly mean that? You really think that if you marry this woman that you love, that you would never lay in bed with another woman?” Mary said as she gently furrowed her brows, carefully examining Charles’ body language, trying to decipher the truth in his words. "Knowing you and your appetite for beautiful women, I can't believe that." Mary said as she gently twirled around her dancing partner. "Either this woman is some kind of saint or she must be the most beautiful woman in all of Europe." Mary said carefully as she thought of all the women she knew in court that Charles could possibly be referring to.

She felt the touch of his lips place delicately on her cheek as he told her that he would not be able to disclose to her the identity of his secret love.

She gently sighed at his response as she disliked it when people kept secrets from her, even though this was a common occurrence. Her brother, the King of England knew everything, but her, the sister of the King, the princess was often kept away from the truth until the very last minute.

Mary kept moving her feet along with Charles, making sure they never missed a beat. She listened to his words carefully. “I feel sorry for this girl…” Mary said as she glanced at Charles. “She’s betrothed to a man she has no desire of being with…maybe if you told her that you loved her then, she could have an out from her arrangement. I mean I think about that…if I had someone else to marry I would marry them on the spot and not become the Queen of France.” Mary said half heartedly as she rolled her eyes.

“Although I guess that would make my brother very angry…” Mary said with a nervous chuckle as she realized that Charles could report her remarks to her brother

“And I would not want that…” Mary said as she glanced at her brother, and then back at Charles.

Her eyes, for the first time in years, reflected vulnerability and fear. She wasn’t a woman who exposed her vulnerability, she liked to be strong or at least play the part. Yet, she was fearful of her future. Vulnerable to the fact that she would never have control of her own future as she was, a woman and the King’s sister leaving her the perfect pawn for her brother, the King of England.

“You truly mean that? You really think that if you marry this woman that you love, that you would never lay in bed with another woman? Knowing you and your appetite for beautiful women, I can't believe that."

Charles retorted: "I don't think I'd abstain from lying down with other women if this woman I love would be mine. I KNOW so! And although I deserve nothing better, it pains me that you think I'm not able to change for love. Your opinion in this matter means more to me than you might imagine."

“I feel sorry for this girl… She’s betrothed to a man she has no desire of being with…maybe if you told her that you loved her then, she could have an out from her arrangement. I mean I think about that…if I had someone else to marry I would marry them on the spot and not become the Queen of France.”

Charles was about to answer when she added: “Although I guess that would make my brother very angry… And I would not want that…”

Charles sighed. She deserved better than the french king. She deserved better than him. And yet she dared to be vulnerable around him. He took that as a sign of trust between them. The look in her eyes broke his heart as she pondered her future.

"I heard what you asked of your brother. I think you deserve to marry out of love if you survive marriage with that old french king. You, the rose of England, should have suitors beating a path to your door, and you should be free to marry whomever you chose to." He paused. Did he dare? He leaned in and whispered in her ear, relishing her scent as he did so: "It might be folly, it might be hurtful, but if you truly wish to know with whom I'm in love, I can tell you this much: You won't have to look far, and it's someone I've known for most of my life."

That was as far as he dared push it. He felt that he might've said too much already.

Mary furrowed her brows and cocked her head gently to the side as Charles proclaimed that he would never lay with another women if he was to be with this mystery girl. Although her brother often spoke forcefully to her, Charles was always gentle and never raised his voice. So to hear him be so forceful, to be so heavy with emotion was new for Mary and she didn’t know how to react. She soon relaxed her brows, as she didn’t want anyone looking at her suspect anything was amiss between the two.

“Well, I didn’t mean to make you angry Charles.” Mary said with a giggle, which was only used to mask her nervousness. “I just…you just…” Mary stumbled with her words. “And anyway what does my opinion have to do with this?” Mary asked as she took another gentle step in their dance. “I’m just the King’s sister, no one that special and certainly not the person you’re in love with.” Mary said with a scoff, still trying to figure out how she should interact with Charles as they navigated through this topic.

But Mary’s eyes sparkled when Charles spoke next.

"...I think you deserve to marry out of love if you survive marriage with that old french king. You, the rose of England, should have suitors beating a path to your door, and you should be free to marry whomever you chose to..."

“I’m glad to hear that you think the same. But you should know that any suitor of mine only wants to be close to the King, nobody will ever love me…for me…” Mary said solemnly. Even though Mary spoke so strongly about marrying for love, she knew that was the price to pay as being the King’s sister. Any man wanting to marry her, even if they really did genuinely care for her, would at least in some respect only do so because of her title. But at least she would get to choose, that was her real desire.

"It might be folly, it might be hurtful, but if you truly wish to know with whom I'm in love, I can tell you this much: You won't have to look far, and it's someone I've known for most of my life."

She watched Charles continue to speak and she paused, she tried not to pause for too long as that would cause suspicion but just for a second she only stared deeply into Charles eyes as they were still embraced in their dance. She could still feel his warm breath on her skin as he spoke discreetly to her.

Mary searched in her head, trying to see if Charles would give any hint to the identity of the mystery girl.

Could it be her? Could it be Mary, Princess of England?

Mary quickly took that thought out of her mind, it couldn’t be her. Yes, they have known each other most of their lives. Yes, she always had a liking to Charles. Yes, she found him dashingly handsome. But…he was Charles, her brother’s best friend and she was Mary, Princess Mary of England…

Mary opened her lips as she searched for the right words. But nothing came out. She wetted her lips with her tongue and quickly closed them as the two had resumed their dancing.

“Oh…well…so she’s at court.” Mary mumbled.

“Thats nice…well before you head out to France with me, you should tell her." Mary found the strength in her voice again. "Tell her directly. Because if it was me…” Mary said her last words very carefully, making sure that it was only he that heard her words.

She knew it wasn’t her, it couldn’t be. But even putting out the possibility that it was her, made her voice shake a bit.

“Which of course it isn’t.” Mary said with a chuckle, obviously hiding her nervousness.

“I would want to know.” Mary then placed a gentle kiss on Charles cheek. “I’m really glad that you’ll be the one taking me to France and not my brother. I mean, yes having family would be nice at my wedding…but…to me you’re family and anyway I’m sure if it was my brother escorting me to France the whole trip would be of us bickering.” Mary said with a chuckle.

"Tell her directly. Because if it was me…”

Charles' heart gave a jolt at that. He desperately wanted to tell her right here and now. But he didn't know who might be listening or positioning themselves to listen in on their conversation. They'd already earned themselves a few curious glances, though not from Henry himself. He was busy drinking, boasting and flirting as he always did at parties where alcoholic drink was flowing.

“I would want to know.”

But how could he tell her? Then again, how could he NOT tell her. Something in the way she addressed him made him think she had a suspicion of who his feelings were for. The thought exhilirated and frightened him simultaneously. But he didn't want to tell her in passing as they danced. She deserved to respond without prying eyes watching their every move and gesture.

He could tell her as they journeyed, though. Or even better, he could... yes! Of course. He leaned in and whispered again: "If you really truly want to know, we can arrange that. I can dismiss the guard on the northern battlement and you can excuse yourself and meet me there. The party doesn't appear to be winding down anytime soon, and soon enough everyone will be too drunk to notice the two of us disappearing."

He surveyed the scene. Henry was flirting shamelessly with one of Mary's ladies in waiting. The viscountess Lisle was chatting away with a friend.

As the dance ended, Charles kissed Mary's hand and excused himself before discreetly leaving the room. He made his way to the northern battlement where a guardsman stood, looking bored and miserable. Charles told the soldier to fetch his commander and be quick about it. The commander returned and was told in no uncertain terms that Charles would meet a dignitary for some open and frank discussions, that they were not to be disturbed, and that they were not to be observed. They were not to post guards here again before he, Charles himself, ordered them to.

The guard commander saluted and brought the guardsman with him. Charles settled down to wait. He would wait all night if necessary, his stomach churning as he contemplated what to say to her and how to say it.

Mary kept close to Charles as he whispered in her ear, she felt his warm breath tickle her ear and she gently smiled to herself as she took comfort in their close embrace. Her heart was beating fast with anticipation as she listened to his low voice stream into her ear.

"If you really truly want to know, we can arrange that. I can dismiss the guard on the northern battlement and you can excuse yourself and meet me there. The party doesn't appear to be winding down anytime soon, and soon enough everyone will be too drunk to notice the two of us disappearing."

Mary smiled as her eyes met a guest who quickly looked away, their cheeks red with embarrassment in having eye contact with the princess. Mary wanted to know now, she wasn’t one to wait. But Charles requested privacy and their closeness was starting to make people stare at them.

Mary was sorry to hear the last note of the music their were dancing too as she knew that would be the end for her dancing with Charles for the night. She didn’t want it to end as Charles was her favorite dancing partner in the room. He was several inches taller than the tall princess and they knew each other’s motions well. Their steps and breaths were always in unison, if she could have it she would have stayed dancing with Charles but that would cause too many people to stare and talk.

She did enjoy dancing with her brother, but at the moment she saw him as the enforcer of her impending marriage to the King of France and ergo a foe. Being tall and being the King’s sister it was always difficult finding a suitable dancing partner that didn’t either step on her toes or make her feel as though she was being forced into a three minute speed dating session with her partner asking question after question trying to learn whatever he can about the Tudor bloodline.

But as the song ended and Charles left her side with a gentle kiss on her hand, Mary quickly went back to her seat at the table before any other gentleman could ask her hand for another dance. The pregnant Queen Catherine had already retired to her bedchamber and her brother was shamelessly flirting with one of her ladies in waiting. Mary took a sip of her wine. Even though Queen Catherine would be waiting patiently for her husband to come to their bed, her brother would end up in bed with one or two Mary’s lady in waiting.

Mary wondered if her married life would be loveless like as it is with her brother’s marriage. At first it seemed that Henry and Catherine were in love and would be a happily married royal couple. But then, neither married for love. Catherine only married Henry because their older brother, Arthur had died unexpectedly and the English crown didn’t want to return the dowry promised to them. Catherine did care her younger husband and she was fond of him, but as she had not yet given him a male heir it seemed that Henry’s interest in Catherine was slowly dwindling.

Mary surveyed the Great Hall, she wanted to make her way to where Charles was and find out the identity of his secret love. She nibbled on a sweet cake that was on a platter at the table. Just as she was about to stand up, Cardinal Thomas Wolsey approached the Princess.

“Your Royal Highness.” The man said with his sly smile.

Mary never liked Wolsey and only saw him as a power hungry man, using religion as a mask to gain his influence. Their was fault in her brother in allowing Wolsey’s prominence as King Henry was lax in his own personal governance.
Wolsey made small talk with Mary, asking how she felt about her impending marriage and offering her spiritual and religious advice at any time. With a constructed smile, Mary smiled kindly at the Cardinal and was more than happy to see Thomas More walk towards Princess Mary.

She liked More and was thankful that he was around her brother as his secretary and personal adviser. He was a very spiritual man, but never used his religion as a means for power. He used his intelligence, his education as a lawyer as a means to express his opinions and his ideas. She liked the fact that More educated all his children, not just the boys but the girls as well. She enjoyed More’s company as the two would frequently talk about philosophy and literature. She never felt that More would talk down to her or simply things for her because of her sex, unlike Cardinal Wolsey.

Wolsey wasn’t happy with the interruption of More, as he wanted as much time with the Princess before she left. Even though Wolsey knew Mary herself didn’t have much power, he knew that King Henry listened to the words of his sister despite her being just a woman. Wolsey tried to keep up with the conversation between Thomas and Mary but it was obvious he was not being wanted in the group. Cardinal Wolsey quickly dismissed himself allowing Mary to talk alone with just Thomas.

Mary was in good company with Thomas and was pleased to have him by her side. The two conversed together, going over past memories and she thanked him for the countless hours they spent together.

More smiled at the Princess, “I know this isn’t what you really want,” his voice was hushed.

Mary gave Thomas half a smile.

“Your brother, the King, knows that every well too. And he’s thankful…the Kingdom of England is very thankful for this alliance with France.” Thomas added.

Mary nodded her head.

“You must write and I will write as well.” Thomas added. “You are a very intelligent and highly capable woman, your majesty. You are going to make an amazing Queen of France. The people of France are lucky to have you as their Queen.” Thomas said as he gently placed a kiss on her hand. Mary smiled sweetly as she nodded her head.

“And to you, please do take care of my brother.” Mary said with a smile. “He’s not one to listen…but he listens to you and…” She quickly glanced at Cardinal Wolsey. More knew Mary’s hesitation with the man.

Thomas nodded his head, letting her know that words needn’t be said.

And the two said their goodbyes. Mary had become engulfed with her conversation with her dear friend, Thomas that she had forgotten that Charles was waiting for her in the northern battlement. Mary quickly left the Great Hall, hoping to still find Charles but as she did she heard heavy footsteps following her and she knew that tonight would not be the night to learn the identity of Charles’ secret lover.

Mary quickly turned her head to find one of her ladies in waiting, and two guards ready to escort the future Queen of France back to her bed chamber. So with a heavy heart Mary made her way back to her bedchamber with her mind on Charles, wondering what he could be thinking.

She didn’t mean to make him wait the whole night and never arrive at their secret location. She did want to know who he was referring to, the woman he loved to the point that he would never lay with another woman if he was to be with this woman.

Who was she?

As Mary went through her bedtime routine her mind was never far away from Charles. And for glimpses of moment she wondered if it could possibly be her…

But of course not…she always told herself.

She was the Princess of England and the future Queen of France.

Most importantly they had known each other their whole life and he most likely saw her as a younger sister. There could never be nothing more between them.

Even if her last thought was feeling his warm soft lips against hers, kissing her deeply and passionately wishing her goodnight as she fell asleep with his thoughts in her mind.

Charles waited. He assumed Mary had problems getting away from her own party. While he waited, he went over in his mind what to say to Mary, Princess of England, future Queen of France. Mary, I've always loved you- No, that wouldn't do. Not that it wasn't right, but with his philandering ways he'd be an easy prey to her sharp wit and tongue. You've been growing on my mind of late, my princess... Better. But he knew he wouldn't know what to say until he saw her.

He started pacing the battlement, his nervousness building an energy in him that denied him any peace of mind. What if she suspected? What if this was an elaborate cruel joke on her part to punish him for being such a womanizer? The thought was unbearable. But she wasn't cruel like that. He'd never known her to be, anyway. She could be merciless in her assessment of others, but never cruel. She usually softened her blows with a smile, an arched eyebrow or a witty turn of phrase.

Far off he could hear raucous laughter as revelers started to leave. He waited still. Maybe she knew and wanted to spare him the pain of rejection? She had a kind heart, after all. And she had seemed eager to know, eager to see him. Charles stopped and leaned on the battlement. Who did he think he was fooling? She was too dutiful to ever want to elope with him. His flights of fancy about her marrying him instead of the king of France were absurd.

With a heavy sigh, Charles stood up. He'd waited for close to three hours while his thoughts tortured him. He'd finally convinced himself she wouldn't show up. He went to the guardhouse and told the guard commander to post a sentry on the battlement again. Then he went home and to bed, utterly miserable.

He dreaded the trip to France now, having to be so close to the woman he loved without being allowed to touch her. And all he had to look forward to was marriage to the viscountess Lisle. And that wasn't due for many years yet. Grumbling, he tossed and turned until the early hours of the morning before he fell into a fitful sleep.

Mary woke up the next morning to the rustling sound of footsteps in her bed chamber. Mary grew up a heavy sleeper, but as time went on and as she realized how her life could be used against the Tudor name she grew to become vigil of her surroundings. Although with her impending marriage to the elderly French King she wouldn’t have minded an attempted kidnapping, she quickly woke up to the footsteps in her bedchamber.

It was one of her maids packing up her belongings, making the final preparations as she readied her departure for France.

“Your Majesty.” The servant quickly said with a deep curtsy as she saw that the Princess was awake.

Mary smiled with her sleepy eyes.

“I didn’t mean to wake you up, its just…” The maid said apologetically as she slowly lifted her head and went back to her task. Today would be the final day this servant would tend to the English princess, a task she took great pride in undertaking. The princess was a fair and respectful royal who treated her subjects well.

Mary smiled and shook her head. “No its fine, I understand.” She gently stretched in her bed, lingering as long she could in her soft cocoon, not wanting to face her last day at the Palace of Placentia.

But the wake of the Princess was known to the staff tending to Mary and her levee soon commenced. Mary was changed out of her night gown and into a forest green dress embroidered with beads and lace. Her red gold hair which as braided for sleep had been undone and was allowed to freely flow.

The royal English jewels were to stay in England, leaving Mary to only take jewels that were officially her own. Her ladies in waiting assured her that there would be many royal jewels in France that she would be able to wear as Queen of France. She never was one that cared too much for lavish jewels and fancy tiaras, but now as they were absent from her dresser she missed them.

Her jeweled headbands were already packed and stored for their long journey. The only thing that was not yet packed and waiting for Mary to put on was the same necklace she had worn last night. It would not have been her necklace of choice to travel in, but it would serve its purpose of showing her faith and most importantly her status.

A simple gold tiara, sans any jewels but intricately designed so as to give the illusion that it was jeweled, was left on the dresser. It was a gift from her brother when she turned 14. She didn’t care for it as it wasn’t jeweled but since it was a tiara, a symbol of royalty she was more than pleased to place it on top of her head.

An engagement ring from the King of France had arrived from the French ambassador months prior but Mary had no desire to wear it on her ring finger. It was an impressive large blue sapphire ring resting on a gold band. Her brother had insisted on her to wear it more often, yet she usually left it on her dresser as she despised what it symbolized.

If it was just any other day, she would have ignored it, but it wasn’t. Today was the last day she was spending in Palace of Placentia. The Palace her brother called his headquarters and the palace Mary had been occupying the past month. Mary would have liked for her final months in England to be in the countryside. She didn’t care too much for the hubbub of London, yet her brother insisted on the two siblings to spend time together before she left for France. She knew her departure to France would only be temporarily. The French King had already lived half a century, her tenure as Queen of France could be short or at least Mary wished it would be.

And for her second marriage, well for that Mary would wed out of love or at least to her choosing. Her brother never gave a formal response to her question last night, but he didn’t flat out disregard her which was some hope to the Princess.

Once dressed, Mary was summoned to have breakfast with her brother, the King of England. Mary wasn’t expecting to have breakfast with her brother, so it was a pleasant surprise. Even though she was still bitter that he was the one that arranged her the marriage to the King of France she was his sister and most importantly a loyal subject.

Mary quickly made her way to the king’s chambers. Once she arrived to the entrance of his private dining room, the guard announced her arrival and opened the door for her “The Princess of England, Mary Tudor.” Mary entered the room, her eyes already at the head of the table, ready to meet her brother’s eyes. She quickly curtsied, lowering her head. “My brother, King Henry the eighth.” Mary said carefully as she greeted her brother, her voice and English accent strong, echoing in the room. Her brother beamed with delight, he was happy to have his sister join him at breakfast. “My Mary, come here. Have some breakfast with me and Charles.” Henry said with a smirk as Mary slowly lifted herself up. Her eyes quickly glancing at Charles and then back at her brother.

Mary could feel her cheeks redden as she glanced at Charles. She had forgotten about their dance last night, about their conversation regarding his secret love and their promise to meet at their secret rendezvous location…until now. His eyes also seemed to be in shock to see the Princess and Mary quickly pressed her lips together as she walked over to the chair already pulled out for her sit, next to her brother.

Mary slowly walked to her chair, her eyes glancing at Charles and then back at her brother.

“Good morning, Charles. Or I mean your Grace, the Duke of Suffolk.” Mary said as she sat in her chair as she looked at Charles. She felt horrible in never arriving at their rendezvous location and never properly apologizing to him. She hoped he hadn’t had any spiteful feelings toward her as he was her escort to France and they would be spending much of their time together. She looked into his eyes trying to show him that she was sorry about last night, trying to gauge his thoughts, trying to see if she had caused any strain in their relationship which was the last thing she wanted with the man she went to sleep dreaming of kissing last night.

Charles was awakened far too early. A royal messenger summoned him to breakfast with his friend and king. While getting dressed, he cast his mind back to the night before. She'd seemed eager to know about his secret love, and he'd wanted to reveal his love for her on the battlement last night. He thought of what might have been, as...

...she came to him, a cloak to ward off the chill of the night and to hide her identity. How she might have listened to his confession of love for her and looked him straight in the eye as she usually did, but with an almost solemn look as she too confessed her love for him. Her hair catching the light of the lanterns and her eyes glinting, her bosom heaving as he leaned down and kissed her...

Charles shook his head. Fantasies like these could only serve to torture him. She hadn't shown up. She was either playing him for a fool or she'd been hindered in some way. Too many prying eyes, perhaps? He knew there were enough schemers and backstabbers at court that one had to watch one's steps. And if that was the case, there was nothing to forgive, he decided. If she suspected who his secret love was and therefore didn't dare meet him, fair enough.

Engaging in idle speculation was as sfruitless as drowning in torturing fantasies, though. He would find out soon enough what was what. He had work to do, overseeing the final preparations for the journey to France and the hated old man who would take his secret love away from him. His household was busy preparing for his departure. His daughters and the Viscountess Lisle, stood by to bid him farewell, as he wouldn't return home before the departure to France. He kissed them all goodbye and assured them he would return safe and unharmed, and that France and England weren't at war and that this trip would ensure peace between the two countries.

With a small escort from his household he arrived at the Palace of Placentia after a short ride through the busy and bustling streets of London. He was still unused to his soldiers barking "make way for the Duke of Suffolk" as they pressed through the throngs of people, and he almost jumped when the herold announced him as such to the king.

King Henry was in his usual boisterous mood, tinged only with a sadness as he was about to say farewell to his sister. As Charles sat down after embracing his friend and his king, Henry barked "leave us!" The servants and the herold quickly left the room as Henry slumped in his chair.

"Charles, dear friend, I resent having to send Mary away like this. It is her duty of course, as it is mine to marry her off to our oldest enemy to ensure peace." There was a rare display of grief then, as Henry's eyes reddened and his voice quavered slightly. "If things were different I would let her marry out of love, silly though it seems." Charles just nodded, too unsure of his own emotions to speak. "I love my sister, Charles. I want for her to be happy. But as royals, duty comes first. You know this as well as I do." Again, Charles could only nod.

There was an expectant pause. Charles replied: "I know, my king. And I too grieve for the loss of the rose of England. I will look after her and ensure nothing happens to her. I swear on my life and as your loyal subject, servant, and friend, my king." Henry nodded and stood up, embracing Charles again. They took a minute to compose themselves again before they summoned the servants back.

"And now let us eat," Henry bellowed, his trademark bonhomie back in full bloom. Only a few minutes after, the herold announced “The Princess of England, Mary Tudor.” Charles had a start at that, but he shouldn't have been surprised, really. It was the last day she was in the king's household and of course he'd wanted to break his fast with her one last time.

As Princess Mary entered and curtsied, Charles was again struck dumb by her beauty and her soft yet clear voice ringing out across the room. As she approached at her brother's bidding, Charles' eyes met her eyes. They cast a few glances at eavh other, Charles' eyes shying away as he was afraid to give himself away. Neither she nor he needed further complications in their lives.

“Good morning, Charles. Or I mean your Grace, the Duke of Suffolk.”

She'd just stumbled. Likely it was that his title was new, but there was a blush in her face and an uncertainty in her eyes that gave Charles pause. Was it the impending journey and marriage that occupied her mind? He was unsure, but she kept glancing at him, as if she was trying to convey some unspoken message to him. And she seemed almost sad.

Charles was jolted back to the here and now as Henry grasped his sister's hand and spoke to her. "Dear sister, Mary, princess of England, future Queen of France. It saddens me that you have to leave us, as it saddens me that I cannot accompany you and do my duty as brother and king as you marry the king of France. But dear Charles, the Viscount Lisle, the Duke of Suffolk will go in my stead. You will be safe with him, as he is almost like a brother to us and will not betray us." Charles bowed his head at this. "And Mary, I trust and hope that the King of France will treat you with the respect you deserve. You will be safe and provided for, and your marriage will seal the peace between our countries."

Henry stopped, at a loss for words. Charles sensed that his king and Mary wanted a few moments alone, so he quietly ordered the servants to leave and then excused himself.

Charles pushed all thoughts of Mary to the back of his mind as he went about discussing details of the journey with the contingent of troops he would lead. He kept himself busy with practical matters until the time of departure was nigh.

Mary listened to her brother’s words. She had just picked the glass of water in front of her, ready to wet her throat but had stopped when she heard her brother spoke. She glanced at him intently. His words seemed true and from his heart. Mary knew that her anger towards her brother regarding her impending marriage to the King of France was mistaken. It was not he who recommended that she marry the King of France, rather one of his advisors. Henry had always intended to use Mary’s marriage in a way that benefited he and the English Empire, but he disliked that she would be across an ocean, so far away from home and that she was marrying someone old enough to be their father. One of his hope was that Mary would quickly conceive an heir for the French monarch, giving her company in a nation so far away from home.

Mary glanced at Charles as he sent the staff away and excused himself from the room. She didn’t want to be alone with her brother and gently chewed on the inside of her mouth. She wondered if this was punishment for not meeting Charles at their secret rendezvous location last night. Mary was upset with herself for not meeting with Charles the night before and now the only thing occupying her mind was trying to figure out the identity of Charles’ secret love.

Maybe King Henry knew something was on his sister’s mind, but the rest of their breakfast was oddly quiet. Henry would make small talk with his sister every so often and Mary would either nod her head or reply with, “Yes my brother,” or to be more formal, “Yes your majesty.” Her mind was far away from their meal which her brother understood.

“My Mary…” Henry said as he watched his sister picking at her food. She had mastered the art of cutting up the food in small pieces at least giving illusion that she had ate some of the food in front of her, a trick her brother had noticed over the years.

Mary glanced up at her brother. “Yes your majesty?” Mary asked putting her fork down.

“Tell me, what is bothering you?” Henry asked carefully.

Mary gave her brother a gentle smile. She wanted to tell him the truth, that she had chatted with Charles last night and had confided in her that he was in love with someone very close to him, a woman that was betrothed to be married to another man, a woman that if had the chance to be with, he would never lay with another woman…ever. Maybe if Mary wasn’t leaving in the next day, she would have told her brother what was on her mind. But since they were to only spend another day together, Mary just shook her head.

“What if the people of France don’t like me?” Mary casually said as she gently sighed, trying to get Charles out of her mind.

Henry smiled, he realized that his sister wasn’t the sweet little girl that he used to chase him across the castle hallways anymore…that she had become an impressive, beautiful adult and was in a short time becoming the Queen of France.

“They will all love you.” Henry said assuringly as he looked lovingly at his sister.

“But what if they don’t? I’m English…you know the French and the English haven’t always been best friends…there is a reason why I’m going across the sea to marry their King.” Mary said, alluding that her marriage was only for an alliance between the two nations.

Henry raised his brows, carefully studying his younger sister. It was apparent she was still bitter about this whole process.

“Then I will force a war upon that old bastard and take you back.” Henry scoffed, knowing that Mary would never allow a war to be fought in her name.

Mary scoffed and rolled her eyes, disappointed that her brother didn’t take her question seriously.

“What?!” Henry said, frustrated that he wasn’t able to make his sister the happy bride that he wanted her to be. At the end, he was her brother, the only blood relative he only truly trusted in court. He only wanted happiness for her, but as the King’s sister, as a princess cursed for beauty that was well known across Europe…she was the perfect pawn for the power hungry King Henry VIII.

Mary glanced at her brother as she furrowed her brows, she knew she had upset her brother by rolling her eyes at him. “Please let me marry for love once the French King dies…” Mary said carefully, her voice was soft but it was unwavering.

Henry scoffed and furrowed his brows. He couldn’t give her a formal response as he didn’t want to disappoint his that he loved so much. Yet he never could allow his perfect pawn to ever marry for love…her marriages would always be the perfect way to create alliances and everyone in his council knew it as well as Mary herself.

“Please, brother, please…” Mary added, pleading with her brother one last time.

Henry stood up from his chair, motioning Mary that it was time for her leave the room.

“Is there someone you love?” Henry asked, as he walked to the window in the room.

Mary, still sitting at the table thought about her brother’s question. She went through the men she knew in her head. She obviously wasn’t in love with her husband to be and she was sure she would never be in love with a man that was only marrying for the good of her country as well as being more than twice her age. She had never been properly courted as by the age of ten she was already betrothed to Charles, who was the nephew of Queen Catherine and who later in history would become the Holy Roman Empire.

Men always seemed to be interested in the Princess but none ever truly fancied her or made the attempt to make her think that they truly did. She did have a soft spot for Charles. She did find him handsome, well mannered, and caring but did she love him? Honestly she didn’t know what love was…all she did know was for her second marriage she didn’t want to be forced into it. She wanted the freedom to decide and if that meant marrying someone not of royalty, than she would be happy. All she knew was, she wanted to marry someone who saw her as Mary…not as Princess Mary, brother of King Henry the 8th and Charles Brandon was one of the few people who saw her just as Mary…so maybe…just maybe…Charles…Charles Brandon could be her second husband…

But he was already betrothed and he was her brother’s best friend, such a thing would never happen.

“At the moment…no…” Mary replied. “If there was someone I loved…I wouldn’t marry King Louis XVII.” Mary told her brother. Her brother quickly glanced at her, and met her eyes, trying to gauge if her words were true.

“Very well then. I have business to attend to…Join me for dinner again, as it will be our last.” Henry added as he left the room.

Mary nodded her head, “If it pleases, my brother, the great King Henry the eighth then I would love to have dinner with you.” Mary said as she stood from her seat and curtsied, keeping her head down till her brother left the room.

Once Mary left her brother’s chambers, she headed to mass alongside Queen Catherine. She then spent the rest of the daylight hours outside. She knew she would be spending most of her upcoming days in carriages which would then be replaced by traveling on a ship. She enjoyed a nice picnic for lunch outside with her ladies in waiting and spent the hours after lunch reading a book under her favorite tree. The same tree, her brother spent his boyish years running around and chasing Charles Brandon.

When the sun was slowly making its way down the horizon, Mary and her ladies in waiting made their way inside back to the Palace. By the time she arrived back to her chambers, her rooms were mostly bare, just the furniture that would be left behind. Mary would have liked to change into a new dress for dinner, but as someone whose wardrobe was mostly packed, it was a request that wasn’t fulfilled.

Mary then walked along the halls of Placentia. Her brother was born here and had since favored it. She herself was born in Richmond Palace and spent most of her time there when she was in London. But since her brother was based in Placentia and thus the business of the kingdom, Placentia had been her home for the recent weeks. Her ladies in waiting were absent from her sides as she allowed them to attend to their own personal matters before they made their departure to France.

She heard the footsteps of her guards follow her through the empty halls, a sound she had gotten used to hearing by now. All throughout her life, she was never truly alone. Even when she was changing, bathing, sleeping, there was always a servant, a lady in waiting, a guard nearby her. She knew she lived a privileged life and she had no right to complain, yet at times she wondered what it would be like to have a much simpler life, at least a life where she wasn’t forced to marry a man more than twice her age.

Mary arrived back in King’s private dining room, dinner was already laid out on the table but her brother was still absent. Mary sat in the seat she had sat during breakfast. She wondered if Charles would be accompanying them as he had during breakfast. They hadn’t had a chance to speak since their dance last night and she still worried if he had any ill thoughts toward her after not meeting him late last night.

After Mary finished a goblet of her wine, her brother entered into the room. She quickly greeted him with a curtsy and the two started eating their meal. The two made small talk about their day. Mary asked about Queen Catherine which seemed to frustrate her brother as her pregnant status made her unable to pleasure the King in his bed. Because of her previous miscarriage, it was recommended by the royal doctors to abstain from any marital relations during the pregnancy, although this didn’t stop her brother from enjoying the company of other woman.

“Do you think I’ll be a good mother?” Mary asked her brother directly as she finished the beef stew served at dinner.

Henry relaxed his furrowed brows and nodded his head, their mother had died when Mary had not yet reached 7. She grew up with the care of governesses and her ladies in waiting. She had very little memory of their mother since even when she was alive, it was the help that took care of her, not her mother.

“Of course you will…you are a loving and caring Princess to the English people and more importantly a loving and caring sister to the King of England.” Henry said as he took a long sip of his wine. If he would admit his emotions, he would tell his sister that he wished that he could cancel her impending wedding, have her marry someone at court, someone close to him so that she would always be just a carriage ride away, someone they both trusted…someone like Charles Brandon. The King laughed to himself, he would never allow his sister to marry Charles even though he knew they would be a perfect match. He would never waste an opportunity for an alliance, a peace treaty, or land if they could be acquired through a marriage via Mary.

Mary smiled at her brothers response, the two kept on with their small talk, treasuring the little time they had left together before Mary departed for France.

“Write to me and I’ll ask for a portrait of you to be done as Queen of France…I’ve already instructed for Charles to stay as long as you ask him to. As you know your ladies in waiting will accompany you and stay with you. You will have new servants in France and…” Henry said as he gave a heavy sigh, wine lingering under his breath.

“Try not to cause too much trouble….if you do have any gripe and need someone to talk to…talk to Charles…he’ll listen to you.” Henry added, entrusting his friend.

Mary smiled, she knew Charles was a trusted and loyal subject to the Tudor family. He would do anything for her brother and even for herself.

“You know I would prefer it if you were the one walking me down the aisle…but since you are the King of England and have this mighty kingdom to rule if I can’t have you…then I guess…” Mary said with a playful and teasing smile, “I guess I’ll just be okay with taking Charles.” Mary said sarcastically, letting her brother know that she was playing with her words.

Her brother scoffed at his teasing sister, “You know it pains me that I can’t go along with you…” Henry said as he put down the goblet of wine he just finished. “But you are in good hands with Charles and…” Henry sighed, he wanted to tell his sister that he would allow her to marry for love once the aging French King died, even tell her that she could annul the wedding if she found the old man despicable. But…he couldn’t allow that. His councilmen, the English kingdom, he himself needed Mary to marry the French King to secure a peaceful alliance with the French country.

Mary waited for her brother to finish his sentence, she wanted him to say something regarding her plea to have a chance to marry for love for her second marriage. She was about to open her lips, when her brother found his words again.

“Take care of yourself, my dear sister.” Henry said as he carefully reached for his sister’s hand and placed a loving kiss on it.

“I have some business to attend to…I shall see you tomorrow morning before you leave.” Henry said, holding back his tears. He didn’t want his younger sister to see him being emotional. He thought it be best for Mary to leave before he said anything that would give her the impression that he wasn’t completely satisfied with her arrangement to marry the French King, despite it being true.

Mary nodded her head. “I’ll go see Queen Catherine, say my goodbyes to her and then head to bed.” She then carefully stood up from her seat and slowly and carefully curtsied to her older brother.

King Henry then quickly called for one of Mary’s lady in waiting, Eleanor Stafford, a woman he wouldn’t see once Mary departed for France as Eleanor was accompanying Mary. Despite being Mary’s lady in waiting, Eleanor couldn’t deny her King and quickly made her way to the King’s bedroom where she helped him numb the pain of disappointing his sister.

Meanwhile Mary joined Queen Catherine for her nightly prayers at the royal chapel and the two said their goodbyes. As Queen Catherine was over a decade older than Princess Mary and since Mary’s own mother died before she turned 7, Mary had a special bond with her elder brother’s wife. Mary welcomed Catherine into their family, despite the fact she was a foreigner. Mary was a friendly face to her sister in law and taught her the Tudor family ways. Catherine in return, advised her, guided her and the two were each other’s companion in a world where women were the neglected sex.

Mary then went back to her chambers, where her servants helped her with her night time routine for what could be the last time at the Palace of Placentia. A warm bath was drawn for her with lavender and rose essential oils. Once her body and long hair was washed and cleansed, she warmed up by the fire in her night dress as one of her servants carefully braided her golden strawberry hair making it manageable for her long journey.

Soon after her hair was braided, she made her way to her bed. The bed was nicely warmed up for her with the help of her bed warmer ,which should have lulled her to sleep yet sleep didn’t come easy to the future Queen of France. Instead she kept on tossing and turning in her bed, trying to find a comfortable position that might aid her in her quest to sleep. But it was useless. She wanted to stretch her legs around the castle she grew up as calling one of her homes one last time before morning when all she really would have the time to do was to change for her trip to France.

Mary found the maroon hued cape she would be wearing for her journey and placed it over her night dress. She knew a pair of guards would be by her door, with the duty to follow and protect her wherever she went. She had no desire to be followed by two armed men, so she used secret passageway door hidden in her room.

The secret passageway system was created long before Mary became a princess, her brother and Charles found it one day when they were playing around the castle as young lads. Mary came to knowledge of it soon afterwards. When they were children it was used as a means to play hide and seek but as they got older, Henry used it to smuggle women into his bedroom although now he had no shame about his desire to bed women other than his lawfully wedded wife. Mary liked to use the passageway as a means to roam around the castle without always having guards following her every move.

Mary carefully moved the tapestry covering the hidden door, while holding a candlestick that was fluttering by her bedside. With careful yet fast steps, she made her journey through the castle, hidden from any onlookers. Her destination was the library. If she had no fears or feeling of responsibility, she would have made an escape out of the castle and far away from her duty to marry the French king.

Yet she was too dutiful to do such an irresponsible act. Holding the candlelight close so she could make sure her steps were safe, she guided herself through the secret passageways. When she finally arrived to the door that would lead to the library, she carefully opened it, making sure the heavy door made little sound. Guards guarded all around the castle and the last thing Mary needed was guards to storm into the library, thinking that Mary was an intruder.

With soft footsteps Mary entered into the library. As an intelligent woman, Mary was a keen reader and found solace in books and poetry. She found the written words as her escape from the sheltered life as a guarded princess.

Her older brother was not one to read much, he didn’t have the patience to sit still and read and thus every so often would ask his sister to read for him and report back to him.

The room itself was barely lit with the candles lighting by the walls slowly pooling into wax. The candles would be replaced in the morning when Mary would already be saying her goodbyes. Mary glanced at the bookshelves, filled with books that she’s found herself lost as she’s grown up as the Tudor princess. Carefully placing her candle on the table she took her right hand and gently touched the spines of the books as she walked through the room, making sure she made no sound with her footsteps.

Mary breathed heavily, taking in this moment, realizing that this could really be her last night in England. She didn’t want to believe it, she didn’t think it would actually happen but there was a strong possibility that even after the current King of France’s death another marriage could be quickly rearranged on her behalf without her permission. Being a woman, no matter the title, was not easy in this world.

Mary glanced out at the window in the library and her footsteps led her outside to the balcony. Peering away the heavy tapestry she went outside and glanced at the bright moon and the brightly shining stars. She wondered if the sky was as this beautiful in France. Mary then looked across to the balcony next to her and was surprised to see a familiar face. Her eyes grew big, worried for a moment that she would be scolded for walking around the castle late at night, but when she recognized that it was Charles, she smiled big. She walked to the side of her balcony and with a hushed tone, loud enough for him to hear, she gently spoke “What are you doing at this odd time? Shouldn’t you be busy with one of my lady’s in waiting?” She said teasingly.

Charles threw himself into the organizing of the journey to France. The carriages for Mar- PRINCESS Mary and her ladies in waiting had to be cleaned and checked for any failures. The horses were checked, fed and aired, with Charles overseeing and sometimes participating, loving to get down and dirty with the large creatures. His commands could be heard all over the courtyard from late morning until late night.

He wanted to wear himself out, to work so hard that he could forget her. He spent the best part of the day overseeing and pitching in where possible, before discussing safety with the troop commander of the household cavalry. The bulk of the troops would stay with the carriages, of course. A team of horses would be an advance guard, while outriders would scout ahead and clear the way if necessary. Simple and effective. They would not need flank or rear guards, seeing as it was a diplomatic mission.

The men in the cavalry troop were all seasoned veterans. Charles had fought with them and trained with them, and they had an easy rapport, even though the men deferred to him and showed proper respect for his rank. There would be no serious problems concerning the cavalrymen, it seemed.

Charles returned to his home to spend a last supper with his daughters and his bride-to-be. Unfortunately, Charles' mood affected everyone at the table, and dinner was a subdued affair with little conversation and no merriment. Charles felt guilty towards the viscountess Lisle. He didn't love her, nor did he suspect he ever would love her. He felt bad about leaving his daughters again, even though they would be well cared for by their nannies and his household as a whole. And he was torn between love for Mary and resenting her for not showing up last night.

In the end, Charles excused himself and kissed his daughters and the viscountess Lisle goodbye. He had to stay at the Palace of Placentia to ensure an early start tomorrow morning. He arrived with an entourage that behooved a man of his stature, and he was soon installed in his bedroom. Charles went to bed early, having no desire to meet other people and using the impending journey as an excuse to withdraw to his quarters.

But he couldn't sleep. He tossed and turned and was plagued by visions of the princess Mary. More than that, he started fantasizing about her. And the worst part was that he didn't fantasize about bedding her as he usually did when he thought of women he desired. No, he dreamed of talking with her, sharing laughs with her, lying beside her and listening to her sleep, even arguing with her, God help him! It was torture the like of which he'd never endured before.

After two hours of lying awake and tossing, Charles got up and dressed. The room he was in wasn't connected to the secret passageways of the palace, so he had to walk out and be noticed by the guards. He politely declined offers of an escort, and he politley declined offers of food and drink. He wandered aimlessly about the palace, looking at portraits of kings past and drapes portraying battles and other historical events. Having partly grown up here, it was comforting to revisit old haunts even though they too reminded him of Mary.

He found himself in the study next to the library, and the moon caught his eye. It was fat and yellow, hanging low in the sky and shining brightly. Charles went out to the balcony and took in the sight of the bright heavenly body casting its light over the grounds. He stood there, oblivious to everything around him except the peaceful scenery before him. For the first time that day, Charles felt calm. A soft smile played on his lips when suddenly his peace was shattered by an all too famliar voice.

“What are you doing at this odd time? Shouldn’t you be busy with one of my ladies in waiting?”

It was Mary. And she was still judging him and mocking him, it seemed. And she most definitely had NOT apologized for abandoning him last night. He turned towards her and gave a curt bow in her direction. "My princess." And then he was stumped. Conflicting emotions raged through him like a shifting storm as he tried to at least engage in polite conversation. "I might ask the same of you." Ouch. There was bile in his voice. "But then, I trust you slept well enough last night to warrant a nightly excursion tonight?" He was being downright sarcastic now. But he was hurt, and he didn't manage to contain himself. "As for your ladies in waiting, what I do or don't do with them isn't any concern of yours, I'm sure! But I ensure you they're QUITE safe from me tonight!" His voice was rising now.

He checked himself. He had almost started yelling at her for standing him up. This would not do. Hating himself for doing so, he apologized. "Forgive my tone and raised voice, My princess. I've had a long day and not much sleep. And yet I can't get to sleep now either. I apologize."

Mary raised her eyebrow at Charles’ voice when he first spoke.

She was unable to pinpoint the emotions felt from Charles tone of voice. Was he actually…upset with her? Was he angry with her? Was he cross with her?

In all the time Mary had known Charles he had never raised his voice to her as her brother was the one to always show any signs of anger or bitterness towards his younger sister. It was Charles who always eased the tension in the room between the two siblings.

Mary had long forgotten about her absence at their secret rendezvous meeting point the other night and could not understand the bitterness in Charles’ voice. She had only wanted to strike a friendly conversation with the man in front of her and the anger in his tone had caught the usually put together princess off guard.

The rising of Charles’ voice worried Mary as the last thing she wanted was the guards to come and check the commotion. She gently chewed on the inside of her mouth, a nervous habit of hers as she watched Charles. The hood of to her cape was still resting on her head and she quietly waited for Charles to finish talking, her head forming sentences, thinking of the words to spin in hopes to calm Charles down.

Thankfully, by the time Charles had finish talking he seemed less upset with the Princess.

Mary carefully took her pristine hands and took her hood off the top of her face. Letting her golden strawberry locks shine in the bright moon light. Her gray eyes gently twinkled in the night light as she carefully licked her moist lips.

“You have nothing to apologize Charles.” Mary said carefully.

“I understand your uneasiness, you have a quite a journey, quite the task ahead of you.” Mary said assuming that Charles was nervous in taking on the title as the Duke of Suffolk and taking on the duty as marrying off the King’s sister.

“I assure you, I’ll be a good princess and not run off.” Mary said playfully as she leaned against the balcony looking out towards the wall of the Palace.

“I will admit that I did think about it…but…” Mary said gently sighing to herself, her eyes looking at the big heavy bolted gates, ensuring the safety of the occupants of the palace.

“But that is not want a responsible princess does…” Mary said as she glanced back at Charles as she gave him a heavy smile. A smile that showed him that perhaps there was more on the mind of the princess than just what her lips were saying.

He recognized her manner. She was quite the diplomat when she wished to be. How could one not live their whole life in court and learn how to soothe the bristling pride of a noble to seek advantage? That was the nature of their world, smile and with one hand embrace a friend while the other positioned itself neatly into the spine. He could not help but continue to feel her betrayal deeply. Love had a strange way of amplifying everything.

His eyes glittered and it had nothing to do with the moonlight. He drew in a deep breath and tried to focus on reigning in his emotions. It didn’t matter, the truth was she may have done him a favor by not meeting him. He could be in manacles rather than finery right now. That was a bitter thought. Pull yourself together Charles, you have a duty to perform. You can soothe your pride later.

He smiled, but it was forced. He wondered if she would recognize that simple fact. Something in her tone snapped him away from his thoughts, and he turned his focus to her. His features softened as she spoke about running away and then looked at the bolted gates. Was that longing? He felt a sharp pang of guilt for being so consumed with his own emotions that he completely ignored hers. There had always been a bond between them. Living in shadow of the king was like making your home at the base of a beautiful, yet terrible mountain. They weathered the storms in much the same way. In a moment of uncharacteristic thoughtlessness he reached out to put his hand on hers, staring into her eyes.

“Mary, I know what you must do may not be what lies in your heart. I cannot lesson your burden as much as it pains me. That does not mean I do not understand it. We live in a world where duty must come before everything else. Sometimes it is a bitter medicine. All I can offer you is the knowledge that you will not be alone. I will be at your side as long as you desire it. Perhaps we will even get another chance to dance the night away. This time I promise not to try to spirit you off afterward to burden you with something no one can change.”

It finally clicked what he had done. This was just a bit too familiar with the Princess of England, soon to be the Queen of France. His arm stiffened and his warmth faded just enough. He pulled his hand away and spoke softly, trying to pull the emotion out of his tone without success.

“Forgive me Princess. We have known each other so long sometimes I need to remind myself that you are Royalty. I hope I did not offend you.”

A quick look into her eyes, then he cast his gaze down to the hard stone floor. It was good that she could not read his mind right then, right there. Saying such things in front of the King’s sister is a certain way to find ones’ head separated neatly from his shoulders.

“It is late and I have much to do before the day comes. If it pleases you I will take my leave until tomorrow.”

He managed to keep the horror and discomfort out of his voice that time, but he dared not move a muscle until she gave him her permission to retreat. What a fool thing to do just before they had to take such a long trip together. Still, he could not find it in himself to regret it, no matter what would come.