Philippa Gregory - The Constant Princess

“My mother is occupying the queen’s rooms,” he said. “She moved in after the death of the late queen, God bless her. And you will join her there. She thinks that you are too young as yet to have your own rooms and a separate court. You can live in my mother’s rooms with her ladies, and she can teach you how things are done.”

He could see that she was troubled, but trying hard not to show it.

“I should think I know how things are done in a royal palace,” Catalina said, trying to smile.

“An English palace,” he said firmly. “Fortunately, my mother has run all my palaces and castles and managed my fortune since I came to the throne. She shall teach you how it is done.”

Catalina closed her lips on her disagreement. “When do you think we will hear from the Pope?” she asked.

“I have sent an emissary to Rome to inquire,” Henry said. “We shall have to apply jointly, your parents and myself. But it should be resolved very quickly. If we are all agreed, there can be no real objection.”

“Yes,” she said.

“And we are completely agreed on marriage?” he confirmed.

“Yes,” she said again.

He took her hand and tucked it into his arm. Catalina walked a little closer and let her head brush against his shoulder. She was not wearing a headdress, only the hood of her cape covered her hair, and the movement pushed it back. He could smell the essence of roses on her hair, he could feel the warmth of her head against his shoulder. He had to stop himself from taking her in his arms. He paused and she stood close to him; he could feel the warmth of her, down the whole length of his body.

“Catalina,” he said, his voice very low and thick.

She stole a glance and saw desire in his face, and she did not step away. If anything, she came a little closer. “Yes, Your Grace?” she whispered.

Her eyes were downcast, but slowly, in the silence, she looked up at him. When her face was upturned to his, he could not resist the unstated invitation. He bent and kissed her on the lips.

There was no shrinking, she took his kiss, her mouth yielded under his, he could taste her. His arms came around her, he pressed her towards him, he could feel his desire for her rising in him so strongly that he had to let her go, that minute, or disgrace himself.

He released her and stood shaking with desire so strong that he could not believe its power as it washed through him. Catalina pulled her hood forwards as if she would be veiled from him, as if she were a girl from a harem with a veil hiding her mouth, only dark, promising eyes showing above the mask. That gesture, so foreign, so secretive, made him long to push back her hood and kiss her again. He reached for her.

“We might be seen,” she said coolly, and stepped back from him. “We can be seen from the house, and anyone can go by on the river.”

Henry let her go. He could say nothing, for he knew his voice would tremble. Silently, he offered her his arm once more, and silently she took it. They fell into pace with each other, he tempering his longer stride to her steps. They walked in silence for a few moments.

“Our children will be your heirs?” she confirmed, her voice cool and steady, following a train of thought very far from his own whirl of sensations.

He cleared his throat. “Yes, yes, of course.”

“That is the English tradition?”

“Yes.”

“They will come before your other children?”

“Our son will inherit before the Princesses Margaret and Mary,” he said. “But our daughters would come after them.”

She frowned a little. “How so? Why would they not come before?”

“It is first on sex and then on age,” he said. “The firstborn boy inherits, then other boys, then girls according to age. Please God there is always a prince to inherit. England has no tradition of ruling queens.”

“A ruling queen can command as well as a king,” said the daughter of Isabella of Castile.

“Not in England,” said Henry Tudor.

She left it at that. “But our oldest son would be king when you died,” she pursued.

“Please God I have some years left,” he said wryly.

She was seventeen, she had no sensitivity about age. “Of course. But when you die, if we had a son, he would inherit?”

“No. The king after me will be Prince Harry, the Prince of Wales.”

She frowned. “I thought you could nominate an heir? Can you not make it our son?”

He shook his head. “Harry is Prince of Wales. He will be king after me.”

“I thought he was to go into the church?”

“Not now.”

“But if we have a son? Can you not make Harry king of your French dominions, or Ireland, and make our son King of England?”

Henry laughed shortly. “No. For that would be to destroy my kingdom, which I have had some trouble to win and to keep together. Harry will have it all by right.” He saw she was disturbed. “Catalina, you will be Queen of England, one of the finest kingdoms of Europe, the place your mother and father chose for you. Your sons and daughters will be princes and princesses of England. What more could you want?”

“I want my son to be king,” she answered him frankly.

He shrugged. “It cannot be.”

She turned away slightly, only his grip on her hand kept her close.

He tried to laugh it off. “Catalina, we are not even married yet. You might not even have a son. We need not spoil our betrothal for a child not yet conceived.”

“Then what would be the point of marriage?” she asked, direct in her self-absorption.

He could have said “desire.” “Destiny, so that you shall be queen.”

She would not let it go. “I had thought to be Queen of England and see my son on the throne,” she repeated. “I had thought to be a power in the court, like your mother is. I had thought that there are castles to build and a navy to plan and schools and colleges to found. I want to defend against the Scots on our northern borders and against the Moors on our coasts. I want to be a ruling queen in England, these are things I have planned and hoped for. I was named as the next Queen of England almost in my cradle, I have thought about the kingdom I would reign, I have made plans. There are many things that I want to do.”

He could not help himself—he laughed aloud at the thought of this girl, this child, presuming to make plans for the ruling of his kingdom. “You will find that I am before you,” he said bluntly. “This kingdom shall be run as the king commands. This kingdom is run as I command. I did not fight my way to the crown to hand it over to a girl young enough to be my daughter. Your task will be to fill the royal nurseries and your world will start and stop there.”

“But your mother…”

“You will find my mother guards her domains as I guard mine,” he said, still chuckling at the thought of this child planning her future at his court. “She will command you as a daughter and you will obey. Make no mistake about it, Catalina. You will come into my court and obey me, you will live in my mother’s rooms and obey her. You will be Queen of England and have the crown on your head. But you will be my wife, and I will have an obedient wife, as I have always done.”

He stopped—he did not want to frighten her—but his desire for her was not greater than his determination to hold this kingdom that he had fought so hard to win. “I am not a child like Arthur,” he said to her quietly, thinking that his son, a gentle boy, might have made all sorts of soft promises to a determined young wife. “You will not rule beside me. You will be a child bride to me. I shall love you and make you happy. I swear you will be glad that you married me. I shall be kind to you. I shall be generous to you. I shall give you anything you want. But I shall not make you a ruler. Even at my death you will not rule my country.”