Winter 1522

I’ve begun a new phase of life. I believe that the natural obligation in this world we live in is to express power over one’s choices, maybe this is not altogether a concern about liberty, but to make it easier to exploit the appearance of those liberties. I do not want to be a member of Catherine’s court.

Everyone tells me this is the best I can hope for, and that I should be grateful I was given this opportunity. But, I know in my independent heart and mind that this is a lie. In another world I could run away and make a name for myself and be entirely self-reliant. I know this world exists even if it is outside my grasp.

The royal palace is as large and grand as I imagined, as it seems it should be to suit a king. I have never seen another place so impressed with it’s own importance. There are gardens that stretch as far as the eye can see, and more guest quarters than I can count with nobody ever to occupy them. Meals are served with five courses a piece, and yet, by the time our king has finished eating there is barely any food remaining to feed the sheep and pigs.

The decadence of the palace only seems more absurd to the proletariat, who will never be welcome inside but can barely afford a place to stay for themselves and their families. I am not formally among them but sometimes I feel like it when I see our young king, strident with vigor and power as he rides his stallion or escorts his wife to balls.

Our aforesaid queen is suspicious and unfriendly, she does not take kindly to any of the young ladies introduced to her. It is hard to discern if this is down to temperament or merely the symptom of an unhappy marriage. Everyone knows that the king has now long since disavowed himself of his marriage vows to her and seeks company elsewhere. I look at her and wonder if she carries this lack in herself around with her like a mark of shame, sometimes I wonder if he carries his disloyalty the same way. I do not seem to have made a good impression with her.

Summer 1522

My sister, Mary, has caught the eye of the king. It is expected, her beauty shines like a jewel which everyone who has met her has commented upon, and my family seems to view it as a great honour, all except me.

I don’t know why no one else can see what I recognised instantly, that she is merely a distraction that he will rid himself of as soon as she becomes an inconvenience. I am grateful that he hasn’t yet chosen to treat me so ignobly. I don’t believe I could stand the shame of being the cynosure of all eyes one minute to then having a reputation as his mistress the next. Her future hangs tenuously and it all falls on his whim.

Acolytes of Catherine have taken it upon themselves to punish her for their king’s actions, to her great misfortune. She is no longer welcome to sit by her queen’s side or even to meet her gaze. More to the point, she was recently humiliated when every member of court refused to play her in a game of chess.

Deep inside, I know she would admit to not wanting this. What can a happily married woman want of a lover? And how much can it unsettle and upset her husband. All she seems to have scraped from the advantageous connection is a few useless trinkets, which like her in his faithless eyes will rust and age and represent a similar age of impermanence.

I swear that if he should ever decide to take up a similar liking towards me I shall firmly declare my indifference to his advances.

Winter 1526

What I feared would happen has finally come to pass, the king has fallen in love with me. I did not ask for this, but now that I have it I don’t know what to do with it. It was one thing to watch him court other women and chide them for their stupidity, but now, with each passing day, he comes ever closer to owning my heart. And moreover, I believe I want to let him against all my better instincts.

He admires my ability to speak French, my interest in politics and the way I can challenge him. He initially took interest in me because of my ability to ride side-saddle which I learnt when I was abroad, one of the benefits of my education. He told me I could probably outpace a man if I sat astride, and I agreed. I then asked if he thought I could outpace him, and I don’t think I ever could have considered that he might say yes.

I wonder to myself if this is at all close to what Mary felt for him or any of the other women he spent time with, and really if it even matters. I love him, which is the only reason I feel comfortable breaking my promise to myself. That, and his promise to me.

I am not only to be his mistress, I am to be his queen. He vowed that he would change his denomination to be with me, and he would sever his alliance with Catherine for good. So, now I know that none of the other women he courted could’ve ever been loved by him half so well or as much as me.

He talks of the future children we will have together and the legacy they shall leave behind. How they will each have an intellect to rival mine, and how that will make him cherish them so much more. Especially, he tells me this often, the beautiful, brown-haired vital boy he dreams of and his future empire. I scarcely hope for it any less than him.

I am now openly the target of Catherine’s scorn and bitterness. I think it embarrassing to always display your feelings for the world to see, especially when the feelings she must be having are so humbling.

She doesn’t recognise in herself what I do, that her behaviour only paints a picture of a pitiful woman, whose husband no longer wants her, not the pillar of strength through adversity she seems to view herself as. But, in the end, it will all amount to nought when she is sent away. At least this is what I tell myself.

Spring 1536

My arrogance will be my downfall. The king, my husband, is having me tried for treason. He has grown weary of me, and is now looking to dispose of me in the easiest way he knows how. I find it hard to believe now that I ever thought it would never come to this, because he sacrificed so much for me previously. Then again, what man has ever loved a woman because she could be his superior.

I feel the lack of good will towards me rages deep amongst my courtiers. I am very cognisant that it was my union with the king that split our nation in two, but I didn’t anticipate that it would provoke such fury. I fear I can trust no-one, and no-one will comfort me. Not even my family, who solely view my situation with horror but never empathy. In the next life, I fear I will not find the grace of God either.

The memories of my treatment of Catherine torture me at night, not in the least because I am now the one forced to look sidelong as he declares himself to much younger and, to my chagrin, more docile women than me.

She is still revered by those who knew her, and her fortitude is praised, whereas Henry has painted a picture of me so abominable that nobody will further want to associate with me. That is the retribution for my betrayal.

I should’ve known this would happen when his one wish for a strong healthy boy only produced a sickly red-headed girl. I don’t think, given a thousand lifetimes, I could ever convince him it was not down to some fault with me.

Although, in spite of all his complaints, I love her dearly. She is the light of my life, the one light. And, I will never forgive him for depriving me the chance to nurse her myself. If I were allowed to speak to her now I know what I would say to her. I have only one piece of advice to offer so I will write it here in the hope that for posterity’s sake it will someday be found: Never trust any man and only trust in the guidance of your soul.

Disclaimer: I don’t know much about this period of history so if anything is inaccurate I’m sorry.