The Other Henry VIII

What I Fear Most

6 October 1523
There was something about Leia's touch that made his blood dance with fire. They reclined in the King's four-poster-bed, bodies entwined together like ribbons in a knot. The bedsheets lay on the floor where they had fallen; tossed away, discarded. Her slender legs were pressed against his, ankles interlocked. She was enveloped in his arms, her hair spilling forwards onto his broad chest, the golden-blonde contrasting starkly against the dark hairs that littered his torso. The feeling of her body against his was something that the King of England had never felt before. All he could do was pull her closer, their breathless panting still filling the humid air.

Leia, meanwhile, stared unblinkingly at the mahogany armchair in the corner. Part of her wanted to stay here forever, protected and adored by the most powerful man in the country. On the other hand, another part wanted to recoil from his touch and flee the chamber as quickly as possible. Deciding that the second option would be ridiculous, she allowed him to trace her neck with kisses and did not move nor speak. His breath was hot against her skin. This was certainly better than her previous marriage, regardless.
"When do you think you will be with
child, my love?" he asked casually, as if he was trying not to sound as invested as he truly was. Leia sighed.
"I honestly don't know. It takes time. Please try to be patient." Nobody could tell by her blunt words that she was racked with dread and worry, least of all her slightly-less-than-observant husband.

Henry rolled away, rubbing the sweat away from his forehead. He could only just see the silhouette of her form against the fading candlelight but she faced away from him. "Yes, I know. I do know that. Argh! Of course I know that!" He punched the air in frustration, which only earned a puzzled backwards glanced. "I'm sorry. You understand, don't you?"
She nodded. "Yes, I do. I am trying my best, if that makes you feel better, Henry," she remarked. His warm arms snaked around her as he settled down again, slightly more content.
"Yes, my love. I think I shall crown you soon. How should you like that? Crowned Queen of England."
Leia arched an eyebrow, though her husband could not see it. "Before or after I give you a son?" she challenged softly. The King sighed, and she felt he breath tip-toe over her shoulder.
"Before, of course. You know I love you enough. Our marriage is not purely for issue. Surely you know that by now?" There was something unnerving in his tone of voice that set Leia on edge but should could not quite pinpoint it. "Sweetheart, I will be patient, I promise you. I know that you'll be with child soon. Don't you trust me?" he asked pressingly. She resisted the urge to squirm under the pressure; she had always known that the King of England concealed his manipulative side but she had never experienced it like this. It was almost as if he wanted her to slip and deny his honeyed words.

"I'm considering signing a peace treaty with Charles," he pondered under his breath. "I don't like what Francis is planning at the moment. It all seems like he's trying to undermine me and our alliance. Every time I hear word of his merciless behaviour, I regret our relations more and more. Now Charles and I... there's an alliance worth forging. We both just want to sew up that French pig's mouth. What do you think?"
Frowning, Leia shifted her body so that she was face to face with her husband. It was just the sort of foolish musings that she had always expected him to spout, teeming with broken promises and empty threats of 'revenge'. These men and their politics, she thought sourly. "Well, you've been allies with Francis for years. He's become used to relying on you and that is why he is taking you for granted. If you must have these... dealings with Charles, be discreet. Do not outright declare war until you know England and Spain can afford it; after all, what if Charles' army runs and we are left in Francis' control? I suppose you're also lusting after the crown of France?" Henry nodded resiliently and his wife hastily cleared her throat. She did not want to sound too involved in his business, or people would start to whisper that the King was a puppet and she held the strings. "Nevertheless, it doesn't matter. After all, I'm nothing more than a woman. What would I know about the politics of men?" He was not sharp enough to hear the irony.