Chapter Text
Mary has seen many queens in her lifetime. Her mother, first, the greatest of them all - Catalina Trastamara. Katherine of Aragon, to the English. To the people, she was Queen Katherine. To her father, she was Kate: consort and advisor and lover, until he grew mad. To her, she was Mama, but she was a queen.
"You will be queen too, querida," she would tell her daughter, right from when Mary was a baby. She did not care for the child, as was custom, but she watched her feed as an infant, and would spend half an hour or so playing in her nursery as she grew up. And she would always be there to hear Mary say her prayers. Father came when he wasn’t busy. She grew used to his excuses, though it was a delight when he managed to come. She only needed her mother.
The second queen she knew was hardly a queen at all. She was a witch, a common maid. The daughter of a knight, no less. Airs and graces found only in the foreign courts turned Father’s head and pretended scholarly knowledge and seductive glances enticed him from her mother’s bed to the maid's.
Mary does not pretend that she ever liked Lady Anne, which seems reasonable to her, but she can't help but feel sorry for her. Katherine was not killed as she was, and at least her mother got to see her grow up. The red-headed scoundrel in the nursery is motherless; Mary is lucky.
"Will you be my mother, Mary?" She asked, when she was little.
"I’m your sister, sweeting," Mary told her, stroking her curls. It was hard to bear a grudge against such a sweet thing, and she could hardly be blamed for being born. “But I suppose I will try to care for you like a mother, if I can. It isn’t your fault you don’t have one.”
For a while she gained another mother, the next queen, Lady Jane Seymour. She was a kind woman, and though Mary was already grown when she met her, she still seemed to feel maternally towards her. Mary liked her far more than she had the Lady Anne, at least. Jane had known her mother, and cared for her when Father treated her so cruelly. It is funny, then, that he loved Jane so much.
She was sweet to Elizabeth, taking interest in her games and lessons, and sat and sewed with Mary, sharing memories of Mother. They grieved together when she lost her babies, and rejoiced when the news of Edward’s birth came. Mary was with Father at the time. She remembers telling him the next boy could be called Henry, and perhaps it was time for a change. She remembers seeing him cry, a rare occurrence, and call for horses.
Elizabeth was sitting in the corner playing and she remembers her little scream at Father’s roar of grief. Mary had to put her to bed that night, and when she was in her own bed she wept bitterly for her own mother, for now there were three motherless Tudors and she felt every bit as young as the new baby boy.
Mary could not know her grandmothers, who had both died before she was born, but her parents told her great stories of them. Mother delighted her with tales of battle, an armoured queen taking Alhambra and leading her troops to victory; Father soothed her by the fireside, talking of a quiet, gentle queen who loved her king and her people, who was calm and collected, who did her duty and gave England heirs, who was the daughter of the strong queen of York, Elizabeth Woodville.
Mary was proud to be descended from such Queens. She was excited to be queen herself.
Of course, she is wiser now. She will never be Queen of England, thanks to the boy in the nursery. Even if he dies - God forbid - Father will have another son. Or a nephew. Or a cousin. He won't need Mary or Lizzie.
She can be queen of a foreign country, if she marries a prince. She has courted and been betrothed to various men, though nothing has ever come of it. There has been talk of her marrying the son of the Duke of Cleves, but there has been nothing recently. His name is Wilhelm. He seems perfectly respectable, except he is a Protestant. She knows she would have to marry him, but she'd take a priest to Germany.
But of course, why should she marry Wilhelm, when her father is marrying his sister? Anna of Cleves - Lady Anna, she supposes, though that name makes her shiver - has been in England for a while now, but today she is meeting the King privately. Mary knows Father has a great surprise planned for her. He has her involved in the charade, although it makes her ache for Mama.
He plans to dress up and surprise her and give her a New Year’s gift ‘from the king’ and then cast off his disguise and kiss her as her new husband. It was the kind of game he always played with Queen Katherine in their early years, she always told Mary, and she was in a few herself when she was very young. She is to stand at the side with her maids, pretending it is just the courtiers.
At least, Mary thinks, Father isn’t forcing her to be Lady Anna's maid. As his bastard daughter he probably could, seeing as she has no titles, although everybody knows she is truly the Princess Mary, second in line to the throne of England. She knows her father hopes she will be pushed down further by sons from his new marriage. It would be painful to bend and scrape to another woman with less royal blood than her.
"Your Grace, it’s time to go." Susan Clarencius, one of Mary's most favoured ladies, touches her shoulder gently. She turns from the window, where she's been watching the snow fall over the luscious grounds of Rochester Abbey. "The King is arriving at quarter to, it is a quarter past now. We must be there soon."
"Of course." She closes the drapes over the window to keep the heat in. “Susan, fetch my gloves."
Her hair is long and loose down her back, the grey hairs recently plucked out. She only has a few. Lady Pole, her long-loved governess, said they were from stress, but she is in the Tower now, for the King is cruel and mad when it comes to treason.
But now is not the time to grieve. Mary takes a deep breath, pulls on her gloves, and paints a smile across her face. She can’t let Father down or make him angry. This meeting will swing the marriage and he needs more heirs. She knows that. Of course she does. She's his daughter.
Anne is staying on the floor below her. Mary makes her way down, followed by Susan, Mary Finch, and her cousins Eleanor, Lady Cumberland and Frances, Lady Grey. There are various other maids and ladies-in-waiting already in Anne’s room. The guard knocks on the door and the page standing by announces them:
"The Princess Mary, Marchioness Grey, and the Countess of Cumberland!" He bellows. Poor Susan and Mary don’t even get their names called.
"Your Grace." She curtsies deeply to Anna, who is standing by the window. The marriage treaty is already signed, so she deserves this reverence. "I trust you fare well this day?"
She glances anxiously at her translator, who repeats it in German. Mary knows a little of the language, but not enough to understand the rapid-fire sentences. The other woman turns back. She thinks her name might be Maud. She's not sure. She has multiple.
"Her Grace the Queen is well, thank you. And you?"
"I am well, your Grace, ja,” Mary replies. She can tell her word sounds odd, but the Queen's face brightens even so. “I’m afraid I don’t speak much.”
"I am still glad to hear it," Maud relays.
"I am glad." She curtsies once more and then move to stand by the fire, warming her hands. She thinks she rather likes Anna. Perhaps they can play cards later.
It isn’t long, or at least it doesn’t feel too long, before she hears footsteps down the corridor, and sit up a little straighter, nudging Lady Grey, who giggles and whispers something to Mary Finch. They’re all far more excited than Mary. She is used to these charades.
Wisely, the King has chosen some of his fittest and most handsome courtiers to come into the room first, to charm Lady Anna. There is Edward Seymour, Jane’s brother, kneeling to kiss her hand, and his roguish dark brother Thomas gallantly bowing for her. They remind Mary of George Boleyn in a way; she shudders and has to look away.
Father is easily recognisable albeit it all, the broadest man in the room, one leg padded to make it equal with the wad of bandages on his other, but somehow he still looks handsome, his eyes bright with glee, searching out his bride. He finds her by the window and goes straight up to her, embraces her and kisses her fully in front of everybody.
Mary is close enough to see her stiffen, and flinch, and place a hand on his chest, but luckily before she can push him away he steps away himself and pulls out a fine silver ring with a diamond chip.
"The King sends his New Year’s greetings, your Grace." He bows low and kisses her hand. She smiles faintly.
"Danke," she replies uncertainly. "Wo ist er?"
Father frowns, glancing at Maud, who gabbles out something in a timid tone. He laughs and throws off his disguise, revealing the rich purple robes underneath, studded with jewels and gems, rings on his fingers beneath his riding gloves, tousling his thinning hair and placing a scarlet cap over it, somehow procured from underneath Thomas Seymour’s jacket, chuckling and gesturing with delight.
"Mein Gott!" Anna cries out and curtsies low, her cheeks flushing, as the rest of the room does so. Dutifully, Mary rises and makes her curtsey. The poor girl. "Your Grace! I - I not -" the rest comes out in German.
"For God’s sake," Father mutters, and then turns to Maud. "Teach her some English, won’t you?"
"Y-yes, your Grace," she mumbles. "I’m doing my best. She’s learning fast, your Grace."
"Make her learn faster." He grunts and then turns to the men. "We shall attend the bull-baiting."
And he leaves, the courtiers trickling after him. Anna sinks back into her chair, trembling. Lady Grey and Mary exchange glances.
"Poor thing," Lady Grey whispers. "She won’t last."
"Hush, cousin. Mind yourself,” Mary chastises, and then relents. "Nobody’s prepared her for this life."
"Perhaps you could," Lady Cumberland suggests. She and Lady Grey are three years and a year younger than Mary respectively.
"She doesn’t speak English, Eleanor! You saw how angry it made Father when she couldn’t speak?"
"Well, teach her then! You’ve been on the receiving end of his anger more than enough times - your Grace."
"Watch yourself, sister," Lady Grey murmurs.
"That’s a cheek, considering your words only a moment ago," Mary snaps, and then catches her rising voice and huddles back in her seat. "Perhaps I shall help Maud."
"Her name is Jane."
"She has hundreds," Mary replies swiftly. “Shall we return?”
"Oh, but it is warm here," complains Mary Finch from behind her chair, closer to the fire. "And look, the girls are playing cards! Your Grace, may I join?"
"You may," she allows, moving so the girl can stand. "But don’t lose too much money, Mary."
"I am your accountant, your Grace," she says wryly. "You can trust me."
Mary smiles and looks over to the game. Anna’s maids have spilled across the various tables, pulling out packs of cards and buttons to use for betting, seeing as they have few valuables to trade. Her ladies-in-waiting remain at her side, though she is silent and quiet.
There is one girl being particularly loud, taking command of a game of primero. Mary almost recognises her. There’s something about her long dark hair and the slope of her nose, the sparkle of her eyes ... She looks much like Lady Anne. Mary supposes she is a Howard then, for Anne’s only sister is small and fair and blue-eyed, and married with children. This woman is young and tall. Her appearance sends a shock of spite through the princess.
"Here, Frances, do you know that girl? Leading the primero?" Mary speaks softly. Lady Grey peers over, frowning, and shrugs.
"I know of her, your Grace. That is Katherine Howard - niece of the Duke of Norfolk. Her father was Lord Edmund, the old Controller of Calais."
"Her mother?"
Lady Grey shrugs again. "Some poor woman. A Culpeper, I believe. She died over ten years ago. Why did you want to know? She's one of the Queen's maids."
Mary copies her dismissive tone. "I merely wondered, Frances, is all. She's being rather loud and vulgar. Now, I must go and speak to Maud about Queen Anna's English lessons, if I am to help."
"Jane," Lady Cumberland corrects with a little smirk. Mary elbows her and crosses the room.