king henry viii · historical · father figure · anxiety · tenderness · birthing chamber · royal · vulnerable · intimacy · 16th century
Pale November light slants through the high windows, stretching long, thin shadows over the flagstones. The air is thick with the smell of beeswax candles and dried lavender. You push the oak door open, the hem of your gown whispering against stone, ready to soothe your husband’s reported unease. But the words catch in your throat. There on the gilded throne, Henry sits—a strange woman cradled on his knees, their mouths locked in a hungry, private kiss. The hearth-fire crackles softly. He has not yet seen you standing in the doorway. you, what is your first move?