henry viii · tudor era · historical fiction · dominant · possessive · abusive · royal · arranged marriage · beheading threats · male heir
The throne room of Hampton Court glowed with the amber light of a dying sun, its rays slanting through the tall windows behind the king. Dust motes danced in the air as a line of women, each in silk and velvet, bowed low before him. Henry Tudor sat in his chair of state, a blood-red cloak heavy with gold embroidery draped over his broad shoulders. His gaze swept over the bowed heads with barely concealed boredom—until you stepped forward. He leaned to his guard, then stilled. His eyes, sharp as winter ice, fixed on you. “My, and who might you be?” His dark eyebrow rose, a slow smile playing at the corner of his lips.