Page 49 of Six Wild Crowns

Syndony rises abruptly to stoke the fire.

“What do you know of the other queens?” she asks, her attention on the charcoal.

Boleyn answers immediately. “Aragon is proud. Cleves is ugly and strange. Howard is beautiful but stupid. Parr is gentle and good at healing.”

“No,” Syndony says, “That’s what you’ve beentold. Everything you know about them is because of rumour.”

Boleyn’s thoughts flick to Seymour, the woman everyone thinks is a mouse. The woman she thought was a mouse until recently. If Seymour becomes Queen of Hyde, will that be her legacy?

“It’s all a game,” Syndony says. “Who wins depends on whose rumour is the strongest.”

“So I need to wrest control back from whoever is spreading these rumours,” Boleyn says, standing now too. This is the lightest she’s felt in days. “If I can find people who are trusted in the towns and villages, then they can start to spread a counter-rumour…”

She turns to Syndony. “You know such people, don’t you?”

Syndony stands, satisfied that the fire is strong enough once more. “I have a large family. Children and grandchildren, all over your territory, and some beyond. All can be used for your purpose. For a price.”

Boleyn smiles. Oh, this woman is clever. She has led Boleyn to a contract like a child tricked into taking its medicine. She offers her hand, and Syndony takes it.

“Well, Syndony, it seems you have a new job. My stewardess and now my spymistress.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

Seymour

If Seymour was in any doubt as to the king’s intentions when he left to wage war on Alpich and Thawodest, she is left in no doubt by the time she returns from the font. Their courtship is quick, carried out mostly by letter. She’s glad of it. Her appearance is hardly likely to sway him to want her, and it gives her more time to craft her replies.

I can be my true self with you, he writes often. She wonders how often he writes the same to Boleyn and his other queens.

The more you write to me, the more grateful I am for your love, she writes to him.You know that I am a poor, broken soul, and your radiance mends me.

But he is the broken one. Boleyn, with all of her vigour, her family a fortress against the world, shone on him. Now, Seymour thinks, he wants to be the one to shine.

The proposal comes a full three hours after she receives Edward’s triumphant letter, barely legible, informing her that the king had asked their father’s permission for her hand. She is sitting beside Boleyn in her antechamber when the messenger bursts in and hands it to her. She turns it over, realising too late that Boleyn will recognise Henry’s handwriting.

“Would you care to go for a walk, Lady Seymour?” Boleyn says,her face unreadable. Only the slightest waver in her voice betrays her feelings.

Seymour flees. She cannot bear to witness her queen’s pain. Even though she has Boleyn’s blessing, in so far as she is willing to give it, she knows that welcoming the king’s courtship is a betrayal of one of the few relationships she holds dear.

My dearest Lady Seymour,

I write to you from the cliffs of Mathmas. My days are spent at the port, readying our warships for the long voyage to Alpich. My nights belong to thoughts of you alone. You can be in no doubt of my regard for you. Your gentleness and empathy have won my heart, in a way I did not think possible after the loss of my beloved Queen Blount. There is nothing that I cannot tell you, nothing you will judge me for.

You know, from our letters, from our conversations, from your own diligent service to two of my wives, that being a queen is no easy task. It can be painful and tiring. It will drain you. But there is great joy to be found in a life of service to Elben, if you are willing.

You say you are broken. Permit me to make it my life’s work to mend you. Become my Queen of Hyde, as soon as the war allows me to return to High Hall? I know my courtship has been hasty – if we had all the time in the world I would woo you as you deserve to be wooed. But the bordweal weakens with every day that Hyde sits empty. I must marry soon to keep our kingdom safe, and there is no woman I wish to marry but you, my beloved.

Send your reply by this messenger.

Henry

With the letter is a gift – half a golden medallion. It’s a thoughtful betrothal present, for it is a nod to a tradition of Plythe, the territory where Seymour grew up. If he is following the usual custom, he will keep the other half of the medallion.

She sends her reply immediately, then retires to her room forthe rest of the day, unable to face Boleyn and her family. There is no celebration for this victory.

Edward crows over his success as she dresses in her new royal chambers at High Hall. She’s chosen yellow for her wedding gown. Not quite gold, which would be too gaudy, but something jolly and inoffensive. A small train, and slashed sleeves. The cut of the bodice is in the old, boxy style, beloved of Elbenese mothers. Edward had sniffed at the choice, but Seymour stood firm.

When she had finally told Boleyn, the morning after the letter, she had simply nodded and said, “Distinguish yourself from the other queens, Seymour. Carve your own public image.”

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