Page 81 of Six Wild Crowns

Seymour presses a hand to her chest, shocked. That’s the first time she’s ever thought that. Her life. Important. Even if only to her and no one else.

She takes a fingerful of the paste from the trinket box and rubs it across her stomach. The rash rises almost immediately, a messypatch of hives developing long before she has finished covering the area over her womb. Disposing of the remaining paste is harder. She tears one of her stockings, stuffing the foot with the trinket box to try to mask the smell, winding the fabric around and around until it’s a ball. By the time she has hidden the ball in one of her trunks, the hives are almost as painful as the Queen’s Kiss had been when it flayed her hands. She paces the room, holding the fabric of her shift away from her stomach so as not to irritate the area further. She tries to busy her hands with a book, with needlework, but nothing can take her mind off the fire working its way into her stomach. Eventually, she curls up on her bed and pushes her hands deep beneath her pillows to stop herself from rubbing the hives raw.

In the oblivion that follows, she fixes her eyes on the view outside her window. Glittering fish flit past in shoals. She has eaten such fish – small and unremarkable on the plate. But in their natural habitat, and in such great numbers, they are mesmerising. The shoals give way to small sharks, and then seals that move far more gracefully through the water than they do on the coastal rocks above.

She’s woken from her daze by a knock on the door.

“Your Majesty?” Clarice says. “The king is here.”

Seymour sits up, her hands flying to her face, her wild hair.

“The king?” she says. She must have misheard them.

“Yes, my lady. He wants to see you.”

Clarice tries to open the door, but the dresser is blocking it.

“Wait,” Seymour calls. “Wait one moment.”

She runs aimlessly around her chamber, unsure what to do. She isn’t yet ready for the performance she must give.

“Is something wrong?” Clarice says, more quietly. “Can I help?”

“No, no.” Seymour stops and presses her hands against the dome of glass. One breath. Two.Think, stupid girl. Think.

She goes to the trunk where she has hidden the leaves and finds a lock to secure it shut. Then she gathers her gown and pulls it roughly around herself, grimacing as it presses against her stomach. At last, she pulls the dresser away from the door and admits Clarice.

“Finish dressing me,” she says. Clarice eyes the moved furniture but does as they’re told.

“Leave the gown a little looser,” she says, and Clarice silently obeys. Seymour closes her eyes, steeling herself for what comes next.

Are you prepared?Boleyn had asked her.He must believe you want this baby so much. When you lose it, he must believe you’re devastated. It’s treason, what you’re going to do, sister.

Seymour knows the blueprints of the Tower at High Hall by heart. She knows exactly what horrors her ancestor designed there. If she has any power in this world, she will never set foot in that cursed place, not for anything, or anyone.

Seymour leaves her room dressed in a demure, simple gown of deepest blue, her square hood pushed forward in the Quistoan style, so that only a hint of her hair is visible. She holds her hands clenched over her stomach.

The king is waiting just along the gallery, in Seymour’s privy chamber. His hair is mussed and his skin pink from the long, fast horse ride. He’s been served refreshments, but they remain untouched, and he remains standing. Seymour girds herself, pastes on a smile even as her nails long to scratch and scratch at her stomach.

“My love! I did not think to have the pleasure of your company so soon,” she says.

He strides over to her, dismissing Clarice and the other servants with a look.

“How are you? Are you well?”

“I am very well,” she says, hoping to convey quiet satisfaction.

He licks his lips, his eyes darting to her stomach.

“I thought you might have come to High Hall on your way back to Hyde,” he says.

“I did not wish to interrupt the blessing. You must be so proud, Henry.”

He flicks his wrist at her and strides to the other side of the room, looking out of one of the windows to the sea beyond. Seymour forces herself to follow him.

“Have I said something to anger you, my lord?”

He looks at her, the light through the water playing over his face, mixing strangely with the divine magic.Herdivine magic.

---