“It’s not her fault. No one can help their love for you. I couldn’t, even when I knew you should marry someone far above me.”
Flattery. Validation. Remorse. Acquiescence.
Henry places his hand on mine as it grips the armrest. “Are you afraid?” he asks carefully. He really is enjoying this.
“Yes,” I answer.
“Do you wish for me to show you mercy?”
It’s now or never. I need to make him want to rescue me at this crucial moment, even though he’s the one who put me here. It really is do-or-die.
“I wish for your mercy, but I seek your forgiveness above all other things. The world knows that you’re a just and honorable king, with unparalleled strength and wisdom. I pray that you can show compassion to a scared young girl who loves you, so that all can see you as the righteous, merciful ruler that you are. Only you can save me.”
Try as I might to be mentally strong, I’m only human, and I’m not immune to the potential horrors of my situation. I don’t want to be imprisoned here forever. I don’t want to be executed. I don’t want them to touch Simon. I let my genuine fear of death flood my senses, squeezing me tight and bearing down on me. My breath turns heavy as tears flurry in my eyes.
“The world could have been yours,” Henry says, pushing himself up to stand. “You could have had all of it. Now, you shall have none.”
He turns and makes his way to the door, and I jolt upright, pushing past the emotion in my throat to speak once more.
“Your Majesty,” I say softly to his withdrawing form. He stops walking and turns back. “I hope that you find happiness someday. And the love that you seek.”
He stares at me for several seconds before he leaves, the door slamming shut behind him. I don’t know what he’s thinking, and it’s terrifying to know that he holds my fate in his hands. I’ve played the game the best I could, and now I have to wait to see the outcome.
I also wait for Lady Rochford to return, but she never does.
I’m alone again.
In time. In this room. And the truth of it is, I might not ever get out.
Chapter Twenty-Four
It’s a strange sensation when you realize that you might die. Standing at the window, watching guards amass in the courtyard, I wonder if they’re gearing up to take me to the Tower. At any moment, they could enter my room and carry me off. My uncle could walk in to laugh in my face and say goodbye. Henry gets to decide if my life is finished or not, and I go back and forth between feeling intense hurricanes of emotions to feeling nothing at all.
I’ve been kept in total isolation for the past fifteen days without Lady Rochford. A guard comes in and brings me food, but that’s the extent of my human interaction. He refuses to speak to me, no matter what I try. Maybe my impending execution is the reason for the silence. Why should I be allowed visitors or conversation when soon enough I won’t be allowed to live?
I’ve read Catherine’s story more times than I can count, even though I can only decipher every other word. The paper is worn and crinkled, the ink is smudged, and her handwriting is very elaborate. Every letter curls. But what I can read of the story is good. She could have had a future. I had one of those once, too. I’m holding the story even now since I don’t have anything else to do with myself.
I had a laughing fit last night. I’m sure that will be a fun tale for the guards to pass down to their kids someday. The hysterical queen giggling in her apartments as she was under investigation. For a few brief minutes, I couldn’t help but find the humor in my situation. Before Zoe and I decided on visiting England, I pitched the idea of Cabo. If we went with my suggestion, we could have been drinking mojitos on a sandy beach. Instead, I’m back hundreds of years in time and I’m probably about to be beheaded in a public square.
This would only ever happen to me.
I’m convinced our plan didn’t work. We tried our best. The plan was good. But it was also a long shot. There’s nothing else I can do. Nothing I can say. My life isn’t mine anymore, and soon it will cease to exist all together. I might throw up. My heart is hammering, my palms are sweaty, and when the door to my room opens, I consider fighting whoever walks in. Why shouldn’t I? I fold up the story and shove it back into my sleeve. I’m preparing to ruthlessly pounce on my jailer, but when Lady Rochford is the one who enters, I freeze in place instead.
“Lady Rochford?” I ask, wondering if I’m having a stress-induced hallucination.
A little smile appears on her face. Bessie comes running in next, flinging herself directly into my arms and almost knocking me over.
“Catherine! Catherine, are you all right? Are you well?”
I’m so entirely stunned that I wonder if I can even speak. “I’m fine,” I somehow mumble out. “What are you doing here? What’s going on?”
Bessie leans back, almost breathless, with her hands still locked on my shoulders. “The king has annulled your marriage. He stated that a doctor examined you and found you to be infertile, so the church issued your marriage null and void.”
It worked. Holy fuck, our plan actually worked.
“Are you sure?” I ask Lady Rochford.
“I’m sure,” she answers. “I doubt that I would be alive to tell you otherwise.”
