Chapter Text
You think you know a story, but you only know how it ends. To get to the heart of the story, you have to go back to the beginning.
To get to the heart of this story you have to learn a few things. In 1492 on the 2nd July, Queen Elizabeth of York gives Henry VII a baby girl. The child is christened Elizabeth, a Princess of York and Lancaster but privately the child’s mother thinks she’s more York than Lancaster. In September 1495 she falls ill with one of the more dramatic childhood illness that take children from the arms of their loving mother and takes them into the waiting arms of a loving God. However despite the belief that this golden haired child with the bright blue eyes and the calm disposition will be taken into the arms of the Almighty the child lives and Elizabeth Tudor—the first Elizabeth Tudor survives.
Of course that is not the whole story. For Elizabeth Tudor is a York Princess through and through, a famously beautiful woman of a famously beautiful woman and on and on throughout the pages of history. Strong willed with powerful characters it is clear to her mother that she is the daughter of Melusina the water goddess who sings for her daughters whenever one of their loved ones is dying.
This has been the legend passed down through Jacquetta Duchess of Bedford, to her daughter Queen Elizabeth Woodville, the woman known as the White Queen, to her daughter Elizabeth of York known as the White Princess and then to her daughter the Princess Elizabeth. A generation of woman with power that mortal men cannot understand, who walk the hard path between kitchen and bedchamber and husband and children and who yet can aspire to something else.
And in that sense history is rewritten and our story starts.
The year is 1518 and the Ambassador to Urbino has been assassinated by the French. In the doing so King Henry VIII of England’s sister the young and beautiful twenty three year old Princess Elizabeth is awoken to find her husband the Duke of Urbino dead on the floor. King Henry sends for his sister immediately and the young princess is forced to flee.
Elizabeth woke up with a start. She was jolted out of consciousness by the litter rocking backwards and forth but also by the silent acknowledgement that she was safe. Her journey from Italy to England had been fraught with peril from the French who she knew would only be too delighted to hold her ransom. And yet somehow she had made it this morning back onto English soil.
It had been five years since she had last been here. Her marriage to the Duke had been strategic but in reality they had not been together as husband and wife. He had spent most of his time trying to control the rise of heretics in his province and the reality was he had preferred to be with his mistress in his own established kingdom rather than his wife. He had not been cruel in fact he had been generous allowing Elizabeth a significant amount of freedom but she found that when she prayed at night she was unable to mourn the passing of a husband who little more than a stranger.
What that meant she took to her God in private and not to her confessor. She might be twenty three but she was old enough to know that there were people watching all over and Henry had many enemies.
It was perhaps the desire to see her brother that was above all the pressing concern for Elizabeth. It had been five years after all and when she had left for Italy he had been a young man in love with his wife and quietly confident that a clutch of sons would follow. Since then there had been one daughter and according to the gossip that followed there was little chance for the son that would secure her father’s throne for the Tudors.
They were a small family. In quick succession there was the death of her baby brother Edmund, her older brother Arthur, the death of her mother and then her father and then finally her grandmother and the scores of babies lost to Henry and Catherine. Then there was Margaret. In truth the only person she was looking forwards to seeing was Henry. Catherine and Margaret were much older than she had been and both had been in each other’s pockets for most of their adulthood.
She thought of this as the rocking of the litter made her sleepy again. She’d taken to sleeping in the comfort and privacy of the litter drawing curtains around to protect herself from the stares of the common people. It was public knowledge that the Princess Elizabeth threatened by the French out of her home and her country by marriage was coming home to her brother’s court and all along she was a subject of fascination that quite frankly she could not stand for much longer. She was tired, she was desperately homesick and more to the point she was desperately afraid that Henry would marry her off and once again she would taken from her home and parcelled of to another man.
“Your Highness?” came a voice and she turned her attention from the blue silk that lined the litter to see her Lady in Waiting, Mistress Jane Seymour sitting up with a smile. The young girl was still a long way of an age for marriage but had been in Calais to wait on Elizabeth for the journey. Once settled at Hampton Court Palace the girl would be going back home to her country manner. She was gentle and peaceful and was content to read to Elizabeth but Elizabeth who had grown up the famously beautiful daughter of one woman after another had little patience for dithering Lady in Waiting’s.
“Yes Mistress Seymour?”
The girl blushed. “I was wondering if there was something that I could assist you with once we arrived? I am at court for the night and therefore at your disposal”
Elizabeth smiled. “No thank you Mistress Seymour. Your company on this trip has much needed comfort. I will write to your mother and let her know that you have been much needed support. I am sure the King is grateful too. When we arrive I would just like my blue gown laid out and the sapphires. I expect Their Majesties to put on a celebration tonight.”
And she did. Henry loved the glamour that came with being King. From what Elizabeth could remember their father’s court especially after they had lost their mother had been a byword for stingy and tight on cost. Their grandmother had despised any form of attention claiming it was vanity and she had not been one to allow her granddaughters to shine when she had been the first woman in the Kingdom. Now there was a Queen and a King and a Princess and Elizabeth hoped with all her heart that soon despite all odds there would be another Prince and that this one would live.
Their arrival at Hampton Court Palace was met with the usual splendour and she was shown into rooms that were the second best in the palace after the Queen’s. Margaret who had chambers here to (though never seemed to use them) was not there to greet her but as Elizabeth was supervising the unpacking of her meagre possessions a page came to the door and told her that at her earliest convince the King would like to call upon her.
Elizabeth resisted the urge to snort with great difficulty. Henry did not ask permission anymore. He had stopped that when the mantle of King had fallen upon his shoulders and in truth he had never been an obedient child.
She instructed Jane to change her gown from the green she had arrived in to the light blue with her sapphire pendant and she let her golden hair fall down though she put on a worn blue hood that was still much the fashion. As the finishing touches to her appearance were being completed she looked at herself in the mirror that must have cost Henry a fortune to give her.
She had the blonde hair that came from her mother’s side of the family. It was curly and fell to the small of her back and her eyes were blue as cornflowers. She had delicate bone structure and she thought that looking at her, so thin and delicate it did not strike her as odd for people to wonder how she and Henry and Margaret (both the image of their father) were siblings.
But that was not the only way that she was different from her siblings.
Growing up after her Lady Grandmother had died several stories started to be told about her mother’s side of the family. Most specifically Elizabeth’s other Lady Grandmother, Queen Elizabeth Woodville—the White Queen—as she was known. They had said that she could hear the voices of her water goddess ancestor around the house when someone was dying and that there was a charm bracelet, books that contained knowledge beyond the mortal sphere and a girl who would take possession of these gifts.
Elizabeth who had been eight at the time had been half hidden from sight and the story was so wildly embroidered (time had not been kind to the reputation of Elizabeth Woodville after all nor her mother before her) that when the possessions of the Queen were finally passed down to her daughters nobody thought anything of Elizabeth taking books and a charm bracelet. Margaret had only eyes for garnets and pearls and Henry had never been one for reading when there was sport to be played.
It was through this story of the half woman-half fish that Elizabeth had felt close to her mother and her grandmother. She looked so alike to them that it was easy to be more York than Tudor. She had always believed such things to be harmless and more myth than anything to take to the confessor until two weeks ago when she had been woken from slumber to hear the sound of singing around her small castle and the secure knowledge that her husband was dead.
She did not know what it meant, but she knew that she was a woman on the brink of something.
That was what frightened her the most sometimes.
Henry and Catherine were seated together upon their thrones when she entered the room. She took note of the herald bellowing her entrance and though Catherine would no doubt say it was sinful she could not help herself from smiling when everyone made way for her. Such things she had become accustomed to since birth and yet they delighted her in every way.
Henry was still the young man she had known and loved since childhood but even without any self-given gifts Elizabeth would have said there was something dangerous about him. He had grown in the past five years from her lovable and indulgent big brother into someone who finally recognised the absolute power that he held.
Catherine next to him was still ornately dressed as every in the gown that reflected the famous Spanish blackwork embroidery. Elizabeth took in her sister in law and saw that she looked tired. She still had the quiet dignity she had from being the Princess of Spain, she had the composure she had, had when being brought down during that period of waiting between her marriage to Arthur and her marriage to Henry but there was a sadness to her that Elizabeth thought had more to do with the pretty blonde at Henry’s side than anything else.
“Your Majesty” she said dropping into a curtsey.
“Dear sister Elizabeth” Henry said formally stepping off his throne and kissing her on the cheek. Despite all the pomp and ceremony Elizabeth found that she was all but desperate for the embrace. She had missed him…desperately. Despite it all her brother had been the source of entertainment in her childhood and when her own father so deep in his melancholy had retreated to his rooms refusing to deal with his young children it had been Henry that had become the father and the brother all mixed into one.
“How lovely you look after your travail. We were deeply distressed to hear that you had fled from your country after your husband’s murder and we can only hope that you will find peace here in our fair kingdom”
Elizabeth had to choke down her laughter because really this was too much.
“I am indeed indebted to your brother Henry” she said, if Henry was going to be formal then she could be as well.
“And I thank your Majesty for your support and comfort. It has been my dearest wish that I should return home to the loving arms of my family and I intend that my return will be a happy one”
Henry beamed and gestured without looking behind him and then Elizabeth saw him.
Without warning she had to bite down to hide her hiss. Cardinal Wolsey. He was still dressed in cherry red and there was something about him that made her want to step back away from him. She thought as illogically as it was that perhaps she could see that he was going downwards. The step that he was taking was going to plummet him downwards in a shameful death.
But as soon as she saw him step forward she smiled. She was a Princess. Her mother had said that when they had lost Arthur.
“A Princess does not show her emotions in public or let the people see that anything is wrong” Elizabeth of York had told her crying daughter her face dry though it was clear her heart was breaking. “She has to great the rich and the poor with equal love and respect for you never know when you will need both of them. The country you marry needs to love you”
And with that lesson in mind she held her hand out for the Cardinal to kiss noting with silent disapproval that Henry chose to promote and let his advisors greet his sister, rather than his wife and Queen.
“Princess Elizabeth” he said in that smooth voice of his. “You are most welcome back to court after your ordeal”
“I am most grateful to be here Cardinal. And I must thank you the swiftness and comfort that you provided along the way”
The Cardinal smiled that same almost oozing kind of smile and Elizabeth thought that this man was looking at her and thinking how he could play her to his own advantage.
Well. He was going to be sorely disappointed if that was the case.
“Your Majesty” she said curtsying to her sister in law. They had never really been close, the age gap between them was too significant much like the one between herself and her sister Margaret but she was surprised by the warmth in Catherine’s face and the closeness of her hug. Elizabeth despite the lack of communication between the two of them hugged her back and thought that perhaps now was the time to build a better bridge between them.
“You are most welcome back to court my sister” she said in that accent of hers that was still strong despite half of her life being in England.
“You must meet your niece” Catherine said patting her on the hand and Elizabeth nodded and allowed herself to be pulled aside. As she turned she saw that Henry’s eyes were back on the blonde haired girl.
Catherine had introduced her to Mary a rather sweet girl with all her mother’s Spanish looks and spirt. It was easy to see why Catherine and Henry adored this little girl so and Elizabeth felt the pang of an empty womb all over again. It had been five years of marriage and she was still as much as a maid as she had been on her wedding day and the truth of that stung so much she did not dare tell anyone even Catherine.
“Is Margaret here?” she asked as Catherine linked their arms together as Mary went to play near the Lily-pond.
“She is”
There was something in Catherine’s tone that spoke volumes. Catherine had never really been a woman to hide her opinion even to Henry. She did not have to say the words but when something bothered her everyone in the court could feel it. Elizabeth supposed that nothing there had changed.
“Go on Cat” she said quietly using the childhood nickname she’d given Catherine when she had been unable to full pronounce the name.
“Say it you look ready to choke on it?”
Catherine made a grimace.
“It’s the Cardinal” she said in a hushed whisper. “It did not do good to speak of it in front of His Majesty who is of course deeply committed to his friends but he is growing very large at court. He is promoting the marriage of Margaret to the King of Portugal and my daughter to the heir to the throne of France.”
Elizabeth might be at sea with the drift of politics but even she knew that was bad. And she was smart enough to understand Catherine’s warning.
“Understood” she whispered back. “I had a sense about him…he’s…well…I know enough to be cautious”
Catherine nodded.
“And?” Elizabeth prompted.
“Your brother has fallen out with the Duke of Buckingham—”
Elizabeth groaned unable to stop herself.
“That man was always impossible” she said tartly. “He’s never liked us Cat you know that. One relation to a king of England so far back none of us can remember his name and he thinks he’s owned the world. Henry can stamp him out pay it no mind”
Catherine looked as if she wished to press the point but at that moment there was a shout that she knew only too well was her brother.
“Catherine! Sister! Mary!”
They turned and both curtsied Mary coming to do a little bob by her mother’s side. It was Henry flocked by his merry men of gentleman some she knew and others were unfamiliar.
And again there was that blonde girl. She raised an eyebrow at Catherine who had decided she was not going to notice the presence of the woman hanging of the King’s arm. Elizabeth caught the Lady in Waiting’s eye and she leaned forward whispering once.
“Bessie Blount. Maid to the Queen. She does not like it discussed but we all know”
Elizabeth nodded. She did not say anything. Indeed there was no need to say anything for she thought she understood. Catherine who must have heard this conversation gave no indication that Bessie Blount was more than a leaf on her husband’s doublet.
“Elizabeth I want you meet some of my friends. You remember Thomas More”
“I do indeed. It’s good to see you Thomas” Elizabeth said grinning with glee and holding out a hand for the man to kiss. Thomas More had been a dear friend to her brother at a time when he had sorely needed one and his devotion to the King was only seconded by his devotion to his God and his church.
“Princess Elizabeth. How you have grown.”
“It’s been five years Thomas” came a voice and Elizabeth knew who it was before he came into view.
“Charles Brandon”
“Hello Princess Lizzie”
Elizabeth laughed. Charles Brandon was nothing short of a rogue and an immature flirt but he was loyal heart and soul to Henry who loved him like a brother (and perhaps more than his own brother if Elizabeth was to be unkind to dear Arthur’s memory) and Elizabeth had grown up with him in the Royal Nursery. He was older now with the hardness and arrogance of youth and even if her husband had been the handsomest man in Christendom (he had not been) she would have found her heart beating a little fast.
Next to him were two men she did not recognise one a blonde with the most gaudy clothes she had ever seen and another dark haired one who seemed to be almost hiding.
“Ah” Henry said seeing her staring. “Let me introduce my friends. This is Sir William Compton” Sir William took her hand with a kiss and a look that said he was trying to flirt with her (to no avail Elizabeth knew a man who could ruin a reputation with her when she saw one).
“And Anthony Knivert. Gentlemen my sister Princess Elizabeth Tudor, Dowager Duchess of Urbino”
Both men bowed and Antony Knivert came into full profile to kiss her hand.
And that was when she felt it.
His lips brushed her bare fingers and she could feel the warmth of his breath against her skin, she could feel the prickling of his stubble brush against her hand and she looked down to see warm brown eyes and curly dark hair staring at her.
And Elizabeth did not know what else to think in that moment.
All she knew that was that he was stunningly handsome and she standing there felt like she was being sunk into some unnamed emotion. Everything seemed to stop almost as Anthony Knivert looked at her with those eyes and the slanted cheekbones and jawline she wanted to run her hands over came into full focus.
“It is a great honour to meet you Princess” the man mumbled and though she would have been content to let her hand rest in his for eternity—a truly foolish notion that had cropped up from God knows where (and she said that reverently)—it brought her back to her senses and she snapped her hand back managing what she hoped was a cool smile that had did not show that her blood was raging and her heart was beating in a way that might be a cause for concern.
“I’ve decided” Henry said effectively cutting off anything she might want to say or do. “To give you chambers here for your immediate comfort but to transfer Middleham Castle and it’s ownership into your hands. I will grant you my dear Cardinal says significant work must be done but I think it will be good to have a Tudor in those halls do you not agree?”
It was not a question and Elizabeth could see why. The castle had been owned by Richard III the man who had been deposed by their father. To have her in residence of that castle was to finally stamp out the three years of his reign and add to the view that he was a villain who had murdered his nephews in cold blood.
“I am also going to give you Barnard Castle should you wish to stay in London—we so dearly with you would spend time with us so we may comfort you in your time of need”
Elizabeth curtsied her thanks. It was truly magnificent this thing that Henry was doing she had to admit that. She was now in complete control of her own land and her own tenants. She would have an income which were things that her husband had certainly never given her and she could see the restoration of two Plantagenet relics into the Tudor style and the way of life.
“And when this business with the French is settled we can see about finding you a husband” Catherine said serenely. Elizabeth felt a flash of irritation at her sister-in-law. She had been the one who had pushed for the Italian marriage in the first place and Elizabeth certainly did not intend to go to another country without a fight. Certainly not to a country promoted by the Cardinal.
“Perhaps you can go with Mary to Spain”
Elizabeth smiled but she was suddenly aware of the awkwardness that had seeped into the conversation. Henry looked mutinous. Charles Brandon was looking around as if desperate for some entertainment to distract his friend and only little Mary seemed unperturbed. Elizabeth understood that to mean even in her limited political capacity (that she would have to rectify as soon as possible) that there was not a great desire for Spanish colaborati0n.
“I have decided to appoint” Henry said somehow moving on but not before he shot his wife (her eyes were on her daughter) a rather nasty look.
“A steward. Anthony over here will be your steward when it comes to your estates. He will help manage everything. I know I can trust no man to better look after my little sister.”
Anthony Knivert bowed again. Elizabeth saw him smile at her when he came up from the bow and she felt a pulse of some indescribable emotion that she could not and did not want to explain.
“I am grateful Henry” she said and was rewarded with that indulgent smile. She would let Henry have this victory but if truth be told she was not sure if she would remain grateful for long.
Anthony Knivert smiled again at her and Elizabeth gave him a flash of a smile completely unprepared.
She was not sure what was going to await her at the court of Henry VIII’s but so far it was beyond anything she had imagined.