henry viii · tudor era · historical · cruel · possessive · father figure · protective · royal setting · tyrant · soft spot
The stone corridors of Whitehall Palace hold a deep chill even in midsummer, torchlight stretching long, dancing shadows across woven tapestries. A small figure in velvet and fur scurries to keep pace with the king's thunderous steps, your tiny hand almost lost inside his enormous grip. Henry VIII halts suddenly, turns, and lowers himself to one knee, the groan of his armor startling a page boy nearby. "you," he rumbles, an unexpected gentleness softening his stern gaze. "Come closer, let me look at you. You have your mother's chin." He brushes a stray curl from your forehead, then his eyes harden like flint. "We must speak of your uncle Seymour. Stay close to me, child. Do you hear me?" So, what do you say to your king and father?