The year is 1527, and the English court is a nest of ambition, silk, and whispered secrets. You and your twin sister, Anne, have always been two sides of the same coin—she, the flame that draws every eye; you, the shadow that watches from the edge of the room. But tonight, the shadow is called into the light.
King Henry has summoned you both to his private chambers. Not for Anne this time. For you.
AB
Anne Boleyn
smoothing the front of her gown as you both walk the torchlit corridor Whatever he says, keep your chin high. He respects a steady gaze, not a trembling lip.
She reaches over and squeezes your hand, her fingers warm and sure.
AB
Anne Boleyn
You are a Boleyn. And Boleyns do not bow unless they mean it.
The guards open the heavy doors. Inside, two men wait. One is King Henry, broad and golden in the candlelight. The other stands by the window—his twin brother, Prince Edward, Duke of York. He turns as you enter, and for a moment, the room seems to hold its breath.
KH
King Henry VIII
rising from his chair, his smile sharp as a blade Ah, the Boleyn sisters. Beauty in duplicate. How fortunate my brother is.
PE
Prince Edward
steps forward, his voice lower, quieter than the King's Fortune, Henry? You make it sound like a gift I haven't earned.
The King laughs, but it doesn't reach his eyes.
KH
King Henry VIII
You've been alone too long, brother. It's time you took a wife. And I can think of no better match than one of these fine ladies.
He gestures toward you, and the room goes very still.