The Pearl Of Great Price

Chapter 2: The Duke

Westhrope Hall

The day of his second wedding dawned. Charles awoke and greeted the day like any other. A lie in bed, a break of the fast, and a ride on his favorite horse. That is the best part. While the Duke rode, he thought. It is a peculiar thing to him, marriage. Marriage, in general, is strange. Committing oneself to be faithful and true to one woman for the rest of your life is a huge responsibility. Honestly, he is not the most loyal of men nor the most responsible. His fair share of lovers has come and gone over the years, even while being married to his first wife, Margaret. It is his treasured vice, his fatal flaw.

Charles vowed to be faithful when he married Margaret, the King's beloved sister. However, that vow turned sour after the constant strain of fighting and arguments the union entailed. It always felt like walking on eggshells around the woman. Some things are better left unsaid than spoken out loud.

Now, the unshaven man doesn't know if he should laugh or not. This will be the second marriage to a royal princess in so many years. How did he, Charles Brandon, get into this position? With his first princess, he knows how he found himself with her. The only thing about Margaret that was easy was how he married her. On impulse. A reckless decision. And here's the thing, a person should never make any life-changing decisions while drunk on wine and sex.

But this time, the decision was not entirely of his own doing. Although he does bear some responsibility and burden. It was during a card game with His Majesty, the King. Charles remembers it well, almost two weeks ago. Getting down from the horse, he stood tall and inspected the land from his perch on top of the hill. His musings led him back to that fateful night.

On the verge of winning the card game, Henry told him, "Charles, if you win, you get a royal prize. If you lose, then it will be your duty to help me in a matter. Win or lose, you still help me."

At the word prize, the Duke's stomach twisted. Sometimes a prize to Henry is not exactly an actual prize but a false one with a price. Either way, the King said he would be duty-bound to help him. Plus, one can only assume the matter he speaks of involves the separation from The Queen and his charlatan mistress Anne Boleyn.

Giving nothing away, His Grace's blue eyes flicked to his cards. The King fixed his own eyes on the cards he held and placed down a full house. "Beat that, Charles."

The King smirked. With an air of mischief, the Duke raised a shapely brow. Then he laid his cards on the table. A royal flush. Henry's mouth gaped. "I win, Majesty."

His own smirk flashed on his handsome face. Times like this remind Charles of the fun he has with his oldest friend. The carefree spirit instead of the careworn mess of the court at present.

Shaking his head, Henry stated, "Indeed, you have bested me. And by doing so, you have won the prize."

The man's eyes twinkled as he grasped his gilded goblet with jewels around the outer rim. Knowing the King as he does, nothing good will come from that air of mischief. Leaning back in the chair, Charles eyed his friend. It sounds like he is speaking as the King, not as Henry, the man. The Duke must tread carefully. "What prize would it be, Your Majesty?"

King Henry stood up and went to a small side table situated by his bed. The leather of his boots sounded as he walked to retrieve a piece of paper. Sitting back down, the man placed the parchment on the table and tapped it twice with his slender finger. "That is a papal dispensation." A perplexed expression befell Charles's face as the King drummed the paper again. Not knowing to whom the dispensation was for or to what purpose, he sat wondering. Unless "You received a dispensation for your marriage to The Queen?"