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"Anna Regina" by decandler29

Anne Boleyn, second wife of Henry VIII, and mother of Elizabeth I, tells her story in a letter for her daughter.

Category: Book: 1st Chapter

Tags: Historical Fiction, Romance, Drama

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May 19, 1536

Today they tell me, I will die. Though I knew it was inevitable, it is hard to believe my beloved Henry’s passion for me has turned into such hatred. As I write these words, my scaffold is being constructed on the Tower Green, and I can plainly hear the sound of the carpenters. I am certain there will be a great crowd come to see me off, not out of love, but instead for their joy that “The Great *****” shall be rightfully disposed of. Like my beloved husband, I wonder at the hate of my people; I do not understand their feelings, and I worry what they will say of me to my precious daughter Elizabeth. So I shall write my own story, the real, true story, for my Elizabeth, that she may know the truth about her mother, Anne Boleyn, wife of King Henry VIII, and the Queen of England…



1521


The wind lashed at my hair, and the salt water stung my eyes- but I did not care. There was a savage beauty to this storm and on this crossing from Calais, a storm fit my mood perfectly. I loved everything about the French court, and I was loathe to leave it. In r I was the favorite of Princess Renee, and was beginning to become a woman in my own right. But my father had decided it was time for me to marry, which would not be so terrible if it were to a courtier in service to the King- but he was shipping me off to be the bride of a wild Irish Earl! And to make things even worse, I had been informed that my older, more beautiful sister Mary, was the King’s newest mistress. It was unbearable! Of the two of us, I was clearly the smarter, more elegant and more fashionable- yet it was I that would live amongst the savage Irish, while my insipid sister would occupy the bed of the most powerful man in all of Christendom.

As I sat there mulling over my future, the storm broke, and far over the horizon I spotted land…England. I shivered, not from cold, though I was soaked to the bone; but from the sudden premonition that I had reached the precipice of a great and wondrous adventure.


My father, Thomas Boleyn, met me at the shore, along with my brother George.

“The marriage with Ormonde has fallen through, you are to go to court and attend Queen Katharine until we can find a suitable husband for you,” he said as soon as I approached, “the Queen is expecting you within a few days. We will stay the night here and be on our way in the morning.” With that, he swept away from me, even though it had been nearly seven years since he had seen me. I glanced shyly at George, whom I had barely known when I left for France all those years before. He was a well favored young man, tall, with dark wavy hair and a

mischievous smile. Somehow I knew right away that I had found a kindred spirit in the stranger of a brother. He took my arm and escorted me to our litter, which would take us to the manor at which we would be spending the night. As I stared out the window at the stark English landscape, I realized that at least for a moment, I was free. I was not promised in marriage and could attempt to make my own way in the world. The shiver I had felt on the boat came back- adventure was coming, and I would be the decider of my own fate.


We arrived at court two days later, and I was suitably impressed by the grandeur around me. The English court at Hampton was smaller than Versailles, but in far better repair, and infinitely richer. Sumptuous tapestries hung in every room, including the one I was to share with my sister. They had been lavishly decorated for her, on orders of the King, and for once I could not complain that she got everything. I would live in these rooms too, sleep on the same downy bed, under the same luxurious velvet tester. I would sit at the charming little writing desk, and peer out the window next to the bed. I was content, for now, to enjoy the fruits of my sister’s… labor.

I was introduced that same day to Queen Katharine, and I could tell by the sour look on her face that she did not care for me at all.

“Mistress Boleyn,” she crowed at me in her ridiculous Spanish accent, “you are welcome here at court.”

I curtsied as custom required, but I could see why the King had been lured into my sister’s supple arms. The Queen had been a beauty once, but it was long faded now. Her short frame had been made stout by many pregnancies, though it was well known that only one, a girl, had survived. Her gabled hood resembled a house, only small enough for use by a bird, and I had to

check myself to keep a laugh from erupting at the thought of a bird popping in and out of this stern Queen’s headdress. Many of the Queen’s ladies also wore this unfashionable headwear, but I silently vowed I would never relinquish my much sleeker French hood, which I wore far back on my head.

I could see Queen Katharine looking disapprovingly at my unbound hair, and I noticed that even the maids had their hair pulled back into nets or covered by veils. I was horrified at the thought of trapping my hair, it was ,in my opinion, my best feature. Long, dark, shiny and wavy, the men at the French court had heaped compliments upon my “goddess hair.” I was interrupted by the doors opening at the far end of the Queen’s apartments, revealing my laughing sister- her blond curly hair bouncing unrestrained beneath her French hood- and King Henry. This was the first time I had seen the King since I was a little girl, and I was suddenly overwhelmed. He was tall, much taller than the French King, Francis, and positively towered over all the ladies in the Queen’s rooms. He was laughing along with my sister, and I was struck by the way he smiled- it was like an arrow directed at only me, even though I was sure he did not know I existed… yet.

As the King made his way into the room, we all sank down to the floor in deep curtsies. The Queen rose to greet her husband, and I felt sorry for her, to see her aging face next to the radiant youth in my sister’s. The King kissed her, but even I, as a newcomer to court, could tell it was a respectful kiss, like one would give a mother and not a kiss of passion. Passion was saved for my sister, and it was clear that the King was enamored with her. I felt my old jealously flare up as I watched him stare at her as the Queen prattled about the Princess Mary. Seeing that her husband was absorbed with another woman, the Queen glanced about for something to distract him with. Her eyes landed on me.


“Lady Carey,” she addressed my sister by her married name, “your sister has arrived, would you not like to spend some time with her in the garden? You must miss her greatly.”

Mary finally noticed me then, and ran to throw her arms around me. My jealousy disappeared as a embraced her firmly, I had missed her. She pulled back and looked at me, “Anne, you have gotten so sophisticated! You look like a Frenchwoman born and bred.”

“Bien sur, I am quite French, my sister! They are indeed, the most sophisticated, and the most fashionable!”

We both laughed, and then my sister turned to the King.

“Your Majesty, “she said it like a caress, not a title, ”this is my sister Anne, who I told you about.”

She had mentioned me to the King? It was probably some horrendously unflattering story from our childhood, and I began to flush at the thought of such a King knowing my childhood misdeeds. But he did not look like a man thinking of children’s tales, he looked like a… a man. I was taken aback by the sudden, innate maleness of the King. He was truly the most magnificent man I had ever seen. Tall and lean, you could tell even through his richly embroidered doublet and hose that he was a man built for sport, and hewn by activity. His copper hair gleamed like a halo in the summer sun streaming in through the window behind him, and his eyes were merry. My breath caught in my throat as I made my obeisance once more.

“Your Majesty,” I murmured, barely able to speak at all.

“Mistress Boleyn, you are much welcome at court,” he replied, taking my hand and kissing it softly.


They were the same words that his staid wife had said, but he said them so differently, as if he actually meant them. I found myself staring into his eyes, hoping for more words with him, but my sister giggled and the moment was lost.

I backed away, quite lost in my own head. My was heart racing, my cheeks were flushed, and my legs were trembling. How had a single man managed to have this effect on me? But then again, Henry was not just a man, he was the King.




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Category Name: My Thoughts

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Category Name: Character Development

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Category Name: The Beginning

The chapter did not introduce a problem. I really don’t want to read the next chapter. The chapter introduces a problem for the protagonist, but I don’t know why it’s important and/or it does not feel like an immediate resolution is needed. I might read the next chapter. The chapter introduced an immediate and important problem for the protagonist. I really want to know what happens in the next chapter.

The first chapter, especially the first sentence, needs to pull a reader into the story and make them crave more.

Category Name: Setting

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Category Name: Mechanics

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Category Name: Dialog

The dialog caused more confusion than clarification about the characters. It was almost impossible to follow. Some of the dialog helped me learn about the characters and revealed new facets of their personalities. I could follow the dialog when paying close attention. The dialog helped me learn about the characters and revealed new facets of their personalities. The dialog flowed well and was easy to follow.

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1. May 19, 1536

2. Today they tell me, I will die. Though I knew it was inevitable, it is hard to believe my beloved Henry’s passion for me has turned into such hatred. As I write these words, my scaffold is being constructed on the Tower Green, and I can plainly hear the sound of the carpenters. I am certain there will be a great crowd come to see me off, not out of love, but instead for their joy that “The Great *****” shall be rightfully disposed of. Like my beloved husband, I wonder at the hate of my people; I do not understand their feelings, and I worry what they will say of me to my precious daughter Elizabeth. So I shall write my own story, the real, true story, for my Elizabeth, that she may know the truth about her mother, Anne Boleyn, wife of King Henry VIII, and the Queen of England…

3.

4.

5. 1521

6.

7. The wind lashed at my hair, and the salt water stung my eyes- but I did not care. There was a savage beauty to this storm and on this crossing from Calais, a storm fit my mood perfectly. I loved everything about the French court, and I was loathe to leave it. In r I was the favorite of Princess Renee, and was beginning to become a woman in my own right. But my father had decided it was time for me to marry, which would not be so terrible if it were to a courtier in service to the King- but he was shipping me off to be the bride of a wild Irish Earl! And to make things even worse, I had been informed that my older, more beautiful sister Mary, was the King’s newest mistress. It was unbearable! Of the two of us, I was clearly the smarter, more elegant and more fashionable- yet it was I that would live amongst the savage Irish, while my insipid sister would occupy the bed of the most powerful man in all of Christendom.

8. As I sat there mulling over my future, the storm broke, and far over the horizon I spotted land…England. I shivered, not from cold, though I was soaked to the bone; but from the sudden premonition that I had reached the precipice of a great and wondrous adventure.

9.

10. My father, Thomas Boleyn, met me at the shore, along with my brother George.

11. “The marriage with Ormonde has fallen through, you are to go to court and attend Queen Katharine until we can find a suitable husband for you,” he said as soon as I approached, “the Queen is expecting you within a few days. We will stay the night here and be on our way in the morning.” With that, he swept away from me, even though it had been nearly seven years since he had seen me. I glanced shyly at George, whom I had barely known when I left for France all those years before. He was a well favored young man, tall, with dark wavy hair and a

12. mischievous smile. Somehow I knew right away that I had found a kindred spirit in the stranger of a brother. He took my arm and escorted me to our litter, which would take us to the manor at which we would be spending the night. As I stared out the window at the stark English landscape, I realized that at least for a moment, I was free. I was not promised in marriage and could attempt to make my own way in the world. The shiver I had felt on the boat came back- adventure was coming, and I would be the decider of my own fate.

13.

14. We arrived at court two days later, and I was suitably impressed by the grandeur around me. The English court at Hampton was smaller than Versailles, but in far better repair, and infinitely richer. Sumptuous tapestries hung in every room, including the one I was to share with my sister. They had been lavishly decorated for her, on orders of the King, and for once I could not complain that she got everything. I would live in these rooms too, sleep on the same downy bed, under the same luxurious velvet tester. I would sit at the charming little writing desk, and peer out the window next to the bed. I was content, for now, to enjoy the fruits of my sister’s… labor.

15. I was introduced that same day to Queen Katharine, and I could tell by the sour look on her face that she did not care for me at all.

16. “Mistress Boleyn,” she crowed at me in her ridiculous Spanish accent, “you are welcome here at court.”

17. I curtsied as custom required, but I could see why the King had been lured into my sister’s supple arms. The Queen had been a beauty once, but it was long faded now. Her short frame had been made stout by many pregnancies, though it was well known that only one, a girl, had survived. Her gabled hood resembled a house, only small enough for use by a bird, and I had to

18. check myself to keep a laugh from erupting at the thought of a bird popping in and out of this stern Queen’s headdress. Many of the Queen’s ladies also wore this unfashionable headwear, but I silently vowed I would never relinquish my much sleeker French hood, which I wore far back on my head.

19. I could see Queen Katharine looking disapprovingly at my unbound hair, and I noticed that even the maids had their hair pulled back into nets or covered by veils. I was horrified at the thought of trapping my hair, it was ,in my opinion, my best feature. Long, dark, shiny and wavy, the men at the French court had heaped compliments upon my “goddess hair.” I was interrupted by the doors opening at the far end of the Queen’s apartments, revealing my laughing sister- her blond curly hair bouncing unrestrained beneath her French hood- and King Henry. This was the first time I had seen the King since I was a little girl, and I was suddenly overwhelmed. He was tall, much taller than the French King, Francis, and positively towered over all the ladies in the Queen’s rooms. He was laughing along with my sister, and I was struck by the way he smiled- it was like an arrow directed at only me, even though I was sure he did not know I existed… yet.

20. As the King made his way into the room, we all sank down to the floor in deep curtsies. The Queen rose to greet her husband, and I felt sorry for her, to see her aging face next to the radiant youth in my sister’s. The King kissed her, but even I, as a newcomer to court, could tell it was a respectful kiss, like one would give a mother and not a kiss of passion. Passion was saved for my sister, and it was clear that the King was enamored with her. I felt my old jealously flare up as I watched him stare at her as the Queen prattled about the Princess Mary. Seeing that her husband was absorbed with another woman, the Queen glanced about for something to distract him with. Her eyes landed on me.

21.

22. “Lady Carey,” she addressed my sister by her married name, “your sister has arrived, would you not like to spend some time with her in the garden? You must miss her greatly.”

23. Mary finally noticed me then, and ran to throw her arms around me. My jealousy disappeared as a embraced her firmly, I had missed her. She pulled back and looked at me, “Anne, you have gotten so sophisticated! You look like a Frenchwoman born and bred.”

24. “Bien sur, I am quite French, my sister! They are indeed, the most sophisticated, and the most fashionable!”

25. We both laughed, and then my sister turned to the King.

26. “Your Majesty, “she said it like a caress, not a title, ”this is my sister Anne, who I told you about.”

27. She had mentioned me to the King? It was probably some horrendously unflattering story from our childhood, and I began to flush at the thought of such a King knowing my childhood misdeeds. But he did not look like a man thinking of children’s tales, he looked like a… a man. I was taken aback by the sudden, innate maleness of the King. He was truly the most magnificent man I had ever seen. Tall and lean, you could tell even through his richly embroidered doublet and hose that he was a man built for sport, and hewn by activity. His copper hair gleamed like a halo in the summer sun streaming in through the window behind him, and his eyes were merry. My breath caught in my throat as I made my obeisance once more.

28. “Your Majesty,” I murmured, barely able to speak at all.

29. “Mistress Boleyn, you are much welcome at court,” he replied, taking my hand and kissing it softly.

30.

31. They were the same words that his staid wife had said, but he said them so differently, as if he actually meant them. I found myself staring into his eyes, hoping for more words with him, but my sister giggled and the moment was lost.

32. I backed away, quite lost in my own head. My was heart racing, my cheeks were flushed, and my legs were trembling. How had a single man managed to have this effect on me? But then again, Henry was not just a man, he was the King.

33.

34.

35.

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