A pair of dark and unassuming eyes darted to a plate of food that was laid on the small table. How appetizing. A cold slab of meat, an old piece of fruit, and is that mold I see on that small piece of bread? "Won't you eat something Lady Anne?" The maid slapped a hand over her mouth, realizing the error in what she had just said. Anne Boleyn walked over to the girl, who was petrified. "Why do you call me Lady, and not queen? I have a lot of influence with my husband you know, and he could have your head off with a snap of his fingers." And then she laughed, knowing full well she had lost all influence with the king the moment the warrant for her arrest arrived. The maid laughed timidly, thanking God for not having upset the Queen, who had a bit of a temper, or so she had heard. Anne patted her on the shoulder, and grabbed an apple slice tentatively. It wouldn't do her any good to faint during a trial, if she was to have one.
George Boleyn was restless. His cold prison cell did not help matters. Memories kept playing in his head, as if to torment him. Playing cards with Norris and Weston. Laughing at the King's gaudy jokes. Watching his sister being crowned queen. Where had it all gone wrong? What could he do to make it right? George wasn't a Boleyn for nothing, and he resolved to fight against the inevitable fate of the scaffold. Something had to be done. But what? The pitter-patter of a rat paws against the cold stone ground snapped him out of his reverie, and George turned his head to see the barred door opening to reveal…
Sir William Kingston, the Constable of the Tower. His appearance usually meant bad news for prisoners. " I have come to inform you that you are to be tried tomorrow, at three o clock. I would prepare ." George winced. Ones charged with incest did not have a high chance of being proclaimed innocent, especially if the charges were from the king himself. Kingston turned to leave, but George stopped him, studying the door frame closely as he did. "Am I allowed to have witnesses?" Kingston hesitated. "Not that I know of. I am sorry." George shrugged. There were other possibilites. He now found himself wishing that he had listened to Thomas More's talk of legal matters. Too bad his head was on a pike on London Bridge.
Kingston found himself telling the same news of a trial to the disgraced queen. He wondered if he should relay the fact that her brother's trial would occur soon after hers, but Anne interrupted his thinking. "Ah, Kingston, this is yet another bit of good cheer that you bring to me. Thank you so much. " Was she being serious? Or did Kingston detect a hint of mirth in Anne Boleyn's voice? She certainly looked cheerful, her dark eyes dancing with…guilt? Innocence? Kingston didn't know, but it made him feel quite uneasy.
The handsome boy played a fanciful jig, while the audience danced and laughed. Jane yearned to be a part of it, but couldn't join for some reason. Before she could try to get up and dance, the musician finished his song, and turned towards her, causing Jane's body to recoil in horror. Mark Smeaton's clothes were bloodstained, and his right eye was swollen over. His arms were covered with gashes, and Mark's normally curly black hair was matted and had lost its lusty sheen. "Won't you dance with me Jane?" With that Jane Seymour awoke with a start, her nightgown laced, or rather, drenched with sweat. She must have let out a cry of shock when she was sleeping, because two of her rather tired looking maids rushed in her chamber( they could hear it because their rooms were adjoined to hers.) "Are you alright Milady?" One of them, aptly named Anne, asked. Jane took a deep breath of air, which smelled rather musky. "I am sorry I woke you. It was merely a bad dream." She said, sighing , and wondering what time it was. Anne looked content, now that her mistress seemed okay, but Nataly, the rather new Spanish maid frowned, seemingly unconvinced. "If I may be bold milady..."-Jane nodded, hoping for comfort-"It seems that you have been rather plagued by bad dreams as of late. Is the imprisonment of Anne Boleyn troubling you?" Jane's mouth dropped in a most unladylike manner. Anne, one of the more senior of her maids, opened her mouth to reprimand Nataly, but Jane stopped her. "Yes. No matter how many times people tell me that taking the king away from Anne Boleyn was right, I keep…I keep.." She found her hands shaking like mad. Nataly's grey eyes flashed, as if she could see Jane's conflicting emotions. Meanwhile, Anne started massaging her mistress's shoulders. "It's alright. Just go to sleep. Your weariness is making you think of untrue things."
Anne sneezed. What time was it? What day was it? Did it even matter? Soon, very soon, she would be on the trial for her life, and Elizabeth's future. "I shan't be burned, or beheaded damn it!" She cried out loud. "Yell even louder milady, and you shan't be having my sympathy either!" Retorted Lady Kingston most unkindly, and it was then Anne realized that it was night and most of her ladies were sleeping. Ignoring the lady, Anne started pacing. Someone was planting Henry's mind with untrue things against her. Was it Cromwell? That pallid woman Jane? Maybe if she could somehow speak to Henry…To save George…and Mark…and the rest…A tear slid down Anne's cheek. The whole reality of her predicament hit her hard. But she wasn't going down without a fight. She had become queen of England. This should be easy compared to those trials and tribulations. So why was she crying still? And was that a letter from Henry she saw on the small table?