“Joan is a fine woman. I’m glad I was able to inspire her.”
“And another lady-in-waiting, Lady Wessex, says that thanks to your dedication to the church, she now attends mass four times a day. She even briefly considered entering a nunnery so that she could serve the Lord as faithfully as you do.”
I bite the inside of my cheek. “I’ve prayed long and hard for Lady Wessex. I’m honored that I could lead her back into the light.”
The duke continues to watch me, but I only grow more confident under his stare. “A number of inquisitors have been at work within the palace, but no matter who we ask—servants, cooks, musicians, scullery maids—they all speak of the love and admiration they bear to you. One redheaded flutist went so far as to refer you as the most noble and loyal queen to have ever lived.”
Oh, William. It’s always the quiet ones who make the most convincing liars.
“If I’ve pleased the people, it is only because I’ve followed the example of the king, who they love above all others.”
My uncle doesn’t try to hide his smile now. “You’re very good,” he says quietly. “You’re a Howard through and through, aren’t you?”
He bops me on the nose with his index finger, and I’m very tempted to bite it off.
“All right then, my interrogation is complete. I’m sure Lady Rochford is parroting the same pretty words in the next room. You ladies have done a good job for yourselves.”
He gets up from his chair and heads to the door. And I jump up before I know what I’m doing.
“Wait,” I call after him. “Where are you going?”
“I’m off to relay the details of our conversation to the privy council. You wouldn’t believe the amount of paperwork that goes into deposing a queen.”
Shocking. I never knew that state-sanctioned murder was such a tedious task.
“Where does that leave me?” I ask. And I hate that fact that this horrendous man knows my fate and I don’t.
“That’s up to the king,” he says after a pause. “If you have any witchcraft left in you, you best prepare to summon it.”
He moves closer to the door, and I step after him. “Why would you even suggest that?”
His eyes are coy as he turns to face me. “Because the king wishes to see you. You can expect him within the hour.”
I go immobile at his words, knowing that this isn’t part of Henry’s typical game. He cut all contact with Catherine of Aragon once he wanted her gone, and he never spoke to Anne Boleyn again after her imprisonment.
I want to ask the duke more questions, but he’s gone before I can utter another word.
He closes the door behind him, and I listen as the guard locks it from the outside. I need to think. I need to get ready. If Henry is coming to see me, then our plan must be working. He’s going off script, and it’s a welcomed change. The most important thing is that I play this right. And I need to play Henry if I’m going to survive.
Two hours later, the door opens again. Henry walks inside, with his classic puffy sleeves and his too-tight hose. Then I hear the key being turned in the lock, and it’s just the two of us now.The room feels smaller with him in here with me. Not just because of his stature, but because he seems to drink up all the energy and air wherever he goes, leaving nothing for anyone else. I stand from my chair, clasping my hands together over my skirt.
“Hello, Henry.”
His eyes flash with rage. “You dare speak my name after what you have done to me?” He steps farther into the room, his limp more noticeable than ever.
Gone are his love-bombing, mirroring ways from the beginning of our relationship. We’ve now advanced to the blaming stage. The part where he devalues and discards and seeks revenge. He’s angry and assessing, and I’m not at all surprised by his shift.
Henry is a shining example of narcissistic personality disorder. All the traits are there: the unquenchable thirst for admiration, the constant feelings of self-importance, and the almost complete lack of empathy for others.
Without a detailed social history, I can’t give a definite assessment, but I’m sure both medical and environmental factors are at play. Henry and the rest of the world see him as handpicked by God to rule England and now the church—and anyone who wouldn’t display at least some degree of narcissism in his position would be a rare find. I’m also pretty sure his traumatic injury in the joust must have affected him. From what I gathered, his mental health went into decline almost immediately after, and I’d be shocked if the two weren’t connected.
But Henry takes his narcissism to a different level—a decidedly murderous one. This is especially true in the arena of love, or what he perceives to be love. He puts women on a pedestal only to shoot them down. Affection is performance based. If I’m not giving him the self-affirming fuel that he needs, then I’m a mistake that needs to be punished.
“I’m so pleased to see you,” I tell him.
He shakes his head and turns away, walking past me to stand nearer to the hearth. “Every word from your mouth is steeped with lies. You have made a fool of me!”
I stay calm. I need to be calm if I’m going to do what I need to do. “No one could ever make a fool of you.”
