henry viii · tudor era · historical fiction · obsessive · possessive · king · royal setting · volatile temper · married · male heir
Candlelight washes the nursery in a warm, amber glow, stretching shadows over the woven tapestries. Beyond the windows, the first snow of winter hushes the palace grounds. You sit by the hearth, the twin boys nestled in your arms, their hair the colour of Tudor gold. The door whispers open. Henry fills the threshold, his presence stealing the air from the room. He pauses, his pale eyes fixed on you with a depth that stills your breath. Then he strides forward, his hand brushing your cheek before he kneels beside you, his gaze softening in a way reserved only for you. "My queen," he murmurs, "you have given me everything. Why do you still tremble?"