Page 108 of Six Wild Crowns

And Boleyn tells her the truth when she says, “Yes.”

She would still have married Henry, because she loved him todistraction. There wasn’t a moment that Boleyn didn’t want to spend in his presence, trying to elicit the smile he reserved for her alone. There wasn’t a thing he could have asked of her that she wouldn’t have given, and, when they were first married, there wasn’t a thing he did ask of her that she didn’t do, and enjoy. She would have gifted him her life willingly. She would have colluded in the lies of Cernunnos because he asked her to, and she trusted him, and his honesty would have justified that trust.

But he took from her without asking, just as he took from Seymour, and so many others. That’s what she cannot overcome.

Boleyn catches Mary’s hand. “I’ll tell Wyatt, I promise,” she says.

As the day of the ball draws nearer, the guests travel to Brynd. Henry will arrive last, but his confidantes and advisors are some of the first. Wolsey and Cromwell are among the first to descend, and while their words are honeyed, their eyes are shrewd.

Parr is the first of the queens. She is taller than Boleyn expected, with brown skin a little darker than Seymour’s and long coils of silvered hair. She keeps to her rooms and talks very little, no doubt awaiting instructions from Queen Aragon.

Next comes Howard, skipping from her carriage. When she sees Boleyn, she stops, biting her lip.

“Welcome to Brynd, little bird,” Boleyn says.

Howard kisses Boleyn on both cheeks. “I will sing for you, if you like, sister.”

“I would rather see you soar.”

After Howard, comes Seymour.

“My dear queen,” Boleyn says, taking her hands.

She holds herself differently – she has always been quiet, but this is a different sort of quietness, as though she has seen the future and already said her farewells.

“Is anything the matter?” Boleyn whispers.

“No,” she says, her eyes too bright. “Nothing’s the matter.”

They pull apart, maintaining the pretence of enmity in front ofso many people. It will never do for Wolsey or Cromwell to see their friendship before they are ready. Maybe that’s why Seymour is being so cautious. Too many eyes. Too many ears.

“Has Queen Cleves arrived yet?” she asks, looking round the receiving chamber.

Boleyn tips her head, smiling, “I didn’t realise you were eager to see her again.”

“I’m not. She’s insufferable. In fact, I want to make sure I see as little of her as possible.”

Boleyn arches an eyebrow.

At that very moment, the herald announces Cleves. What follows is the most unusual procession Brynd has ever seen. A variety of animals – dogs, lap dragons, ferrets and pigs, each one wearing cotton coats bearing Cleves’s arms – enters in two lines, scattering the more squeamish nobility and servants as they take their places in the centre of the chamber. Then the woman herself – her red hair offsetting her green dress. Mary would consider the garment plain, but Boleyn can see that it’s cut to fit her figure perfectly.

“Well, sister,” she says, taking Boleyn’s hand. “I did warn you about the animals.”

“You did,” Boleyn replies. “Although I wasn’t expecting quite so many of them. Or for them to invade the castle.”

“Is it a problem?” she asks. Her smile is beatific, but the message is clear: if you want my help, you had better put up with my ways.

“Not at all. They’ll be better behaved than many of my own household.”

Cleves moves on. Boleyn watches Seymour’s eyes fixed on her as she leaves.Well, Boleyn thinks,she has a weakness for headstrong women, that’s for certain.

Princess Tudor arrives on the eve of the ball. Boleyn tries to engage her in friendly conversation, but she has been schooled in her behaviour and withstands all Boleyn’s attempts with icy cordiality. Like Queen Parr, she keeps to her rooms and offers only the briefest of greetings. Boleyn wants to push the matter, but there is so much to do. She must make sure all the flowers are fresh, ensure the fireworks are set just so. Wyatt remains beside her through it all, although they barely speak toeach other. She still hasn’t told him her true aims, and she feels Mary’s judgement like a weight whenever they are together.

Before Boleyn can draw breath, it is the night of the Moon Ball. More guests flood in from Pilvreen and Garclyffe. Every room from Brynd to the Holtwode has been let to visitors come to enjoy the entertainment or ply their wares. Yet Henry still tarries at High Hall. Boleyn does not know whether to be grateful for the reprieve or concerned about what his absence might mean.

“You cannot think on it now,” Seymour says when she voices her concerns. “You must go and host.”

The night begins in the banqueting hall, where six tables are piled high with food brought from across Boleyn’s territory. At each table, a queen or princess holds court. It was Mary’s idea – a way for Boleyn to see which queens are most popular before they each retire to change into their finest gowns and the entertainment begins in earnest. Princess Tudor and Queen Parr are besieged. Boleyn spears a capon and bites into it, watching the princess deftly converse with both Wolsey and More while still making the lesser nobility at her table feel included.

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