The descent of Anne Boleyn
the ascent of Jane Seymour
We walk down the steps from the Queen's Apartments. Sir Kingston walks with me and the ladies walk behind us. The morning sun kisses my face. The daffodils are in bloom and the birds sing like any other radiant spring morning. Surely even Nature would know if the hour of death was approaching for an anointed Queen Regnant of England. It must be a sign of hope for me. I will be rescued at the last moment. This is all part of the public humiliation Henry wishes. He wants all to witness as I bow to his greatness, then he will pardon me for sins against the Crown and banish me to a nunnery, much as Cranmer promised.
If not, then I face the morning with courage. If I am to be punished, it is for my own sins. The last few years swiftly pass before my mind's eye. What had caused the change? Certainly the miscarriage of a son had been a part of Henry's outrage. But what made him turn against me in such haste? Again, the unseen troubadour's voice pleads for the love of his lady; his song is as sweet as the one sung by the birds around me, yet as mournful as the questioning of my own heart.
I see the crowd that awaits us as we move closer to the edge of the White Tower. One way or another, either death or escape await me. I am ready to face whatever God wishes for me. All I pray for is an answer that will serve the greater good of the King, and an end to my pain.
The maid woke me as she walked across the room to light the candle opposite my bed. Hearing me move underneath the cover, I see her silhouette curtsy in the outline against the backdrop of daylight peeking through the window.
"So sorry for waking you, my great and beautiful lady," she whispers. I hear the trembling of fear in her voice.
"Oh, there is no need to worry yourself, my dear girl. This is the best of days to wake early. Thank you for waking me. I couldn't be more delighted. Today is the day for which we have longed! You do me a very great favour. I am to be fitted for my wedding dress on this very morning."
"Thank you, Lady Jane. May I bring you anything from the kitchens?" she asks.
The tapping on the door let me know my ladies had arrived to ready me for the fitting of the dress the King had ordered. My time has come. All I pray for is the ability that will serve the greater good of the King, and an end to his pain.
Available globally on Amazon via Kindle and in paperback, May 19, 2015
Deb Hunter writes fiction as Hunter Jones or Hunter S. Jones. Her best-selling poetic romance novel, September Ends, won awards for Best Independently Published Novel and Best Romance, based on its unique blending of poetry and prose. The Fortune Series received best-selling status on Amazon in the Cultural Heritage and Historical Fiction categories. She has been published by H3O Eco mag, LuxeCrush, Chattanooga Times-Free Press, and is now a freelance contributor for the Atlanta Journal Constitution. She has recently been accepted into the prestigious Rivendell Writers Colony. Her arts, music and culture blogs on ExpatsPost.com are filled with eclectic stories regarding music, writing, the arts and climate awareness. She lives in Atlanta, Georgia with her Scottish born husband. She graduated without honors from a university in Nashville, Tennessee but with a degree in History.
Follow her at: