The King's Rose Read Online Free PDF Page A

or practicing the lute or new dances. It was an ordinary life for a girl of my birth, but very different from the propriety I had to learn at court, and even more so the life ahead of me as queen. But I can’t imagine being queen is as mundane as the duchess would make it out to be.
    I open the door to the duchess’s chamber and I’m taken aback by the bright smile she flashes at me upon my arrival. She has features not accustomed to such smiling; it seems to break her face in two.
    “Good morning, Catherine,” she exclaims, and moves forward, enfolding me in a stiff embrace. I look up to see the Duke of Norfolk standing before the sunlit window, a black obelisk against a screen of gold. I bow solemnly before both of them. It is so unlike me, but I can feel that I am being carefully inspected. Their eyes feel heavy upon me.
    “Am I to see the king today?” I ask.
    “You will see him tomorrow, for today the divorce is complete.” The duchess’s voice is low, tremulous. “The queen has been offered the title of the king’s beloved sister—a title which she accepts gladly, with all of the benefits it entails.”
    “And she will stay here, in England?” I inquire with pretend composure.
    “She’s been given a number of her own residences, and is now a woman of means in this country. I doubt that she will even consider returning home.” The duke steps forward, studying me with his stern gaze. A tall man with thin lips and a hooked nose, he has gained the favorable post of lord treasurer at court. He’s also fought for the king, bringing down an uprising of rebels in the northern region, on the king’s command. In this he was, from what I have heard, merciless. A man to be feared by his enemies.
    “There is more, Catherine, and I’ve come here to tell you.”
    The duchess takes my hands in hers. Her hands are cold and shaking slightly.
    “Your betrothal is ready to be made official,” she tells me.
    I can only blink in response.
    “You will be betrothed to the King of England, Catherine,” the duke pronounces. “No other betrothal is valid, or was ever valid. Indeed, no other betrothal even existed.”
    I catch a sharp look in the duke’s eye, and quickly look away.
    “It is important that you know what is expected of you, as queen,” Norfolk continues, “and as his wife—for that is your job, first and foremost.”
    “Indeed. His wife,” I echo, to let them know I understand. I am fifteen years old, and the king nearly fifty. But this is not out of the ordinary—a girl of fifteen is ripe for a husband, and older men of means often take young brides. This is one reason I was sent to court, to parade myself before the eligible bachelors and attain a profitable betrothal.
    And I have. I will be Queen of England.
    “It need not be difficult for you,” the duke states, stepping closer. “Simply do and say little. Be cheerful; do not vex him with requests or complaints—aside from those we require from you. Your only job is to make the king happy and to become pregnant as soon as possible. You will be the perfect serene, docile maiden.”
    I notice a certain emphasis on the word maiden, but perhaps it is my imagination. Reflected in the glassy shine of my uncle’s eyes, an image of Queen Jane: the most triumphant of all of Henry’s queens, before her untimely death.
    “You will also listen to us,” Norfolk intones, “and do as you are bidden.”
    “Have I not done everything you’ve said, so far?” I’ve heard this warning many times before. I learned from the duchess that Norfolk did not like Anne Boleyn for her head-strong ways. But I will be better than Anne, he will see. They will all see.
    “You have done well. He wanted you from the moment he saw you,” the duke tells me. How much more has the duke been told? I think back to that day: I dance before the king, my silk gown swirling around me in a blue cloud. I watch it pass before me like a strange play, a tableau of the king falling