Chapter Twenty-Four
It’s a strange sensation when you realize that you might die.
Standing at the window, watching guards amass in the courtyard, I wonder if they’re gearing up to take me to the Tower.
At any moment, they could enter my room and carry me off.
My uncle could walk in to laugh in my face and say goodbye.
Henry gets to decide if my life is finished or not, and I go back and forth between feeling intense hurricanes of emotions to feeling nothing at all.
I’ve been kept in total isolation for the past fifteen days without Lady Rochford.
A guard comes in and brings me food, but that’s the extent of my human interaction.
He refuses to speak to me, no matter what I try.
Maybe my impending execution is the reason for the silence.
Why should I be allowed visitors or conversation when soon enough I won’t be allowed to live?
I’ve read Catherine’s story more times than I can count, even though I can only decipher every other word.
The paper is worn and crinkled, the ink is smudged, and her handwriting is very elaborate.
Every letter curls. But what I can read of the story is good.
She could have had a future. I had one of those once, too.
I’m holding the story even now since I don’t have anything else to do with myself.
I had a laughing fit last night. I’m sure that will be a fun tale for the guards to pass down to their kids someday.
The hysterical queen giggling in her apartments as she was under investigation.
For a few brief minutes, I couldn’t help but find the humor in my situation.
Before Zoe and I decided on visiting England, I pitched the idea of Cabo.
If we went with my suggestion, we could have been drinking mojitos on a sandy beach.
Instead, I’m back hundreds of years in time and I’m probably about to be beheaded in a public square.
This would only ever happen to me.
I’m convinced our plan didn’t work. We tried our best. The plan was good.
But it was also a long shot. There’s nothing else I can do.
Nothing I can say. My life isn’t mine anymore, and soon it will cease to exist all together.
I might throw up. My heart is hammering, my palms are sweaty, and when the door to my room opens, I consider fighting whoever walks in.
Why shouldn’t I? I fold up the story and shove it back into my sleeve.
I’m preparing to ruthlessly pounce on my jailer, but when Lady Rochford is the one who enters, I freeze in place instead.
“Lady Rochford?” I ask, wondering if I’m having a stress-induced hallucination.
A little smile appears on her face. Bessie comes running in next, flinging herself directly into my arms and almost knocking me over.
“Catherine! Catherine, are you all right? Are you well?”
I’m so entirely stunned that I wonder if I can even speak. “I’m fine,” I somehow mumble out. “What are you doing here? What’s going on?”
Bessie leans back, almost breathless, with her hands still locked on my shoulders. “The king has annulled your marriage. He stated that a doctor examined you and found you to be infertile, so the church issued your marriage null and void.”
It worked. Holy fuck, our plan actually worked.
“Are you sure?” I ask Lady Rochford.
“I’m sure,” she answers. “I doubt that I would be alive to tell you otherwise.”
I hold my breath as I wait for someone to say something else, but both women are waiting on me. “Now what?” is all I can think to ask, my voice and body shaking. Lady Rochford moves closer.
“You will be stripped of your title as queen. If you agree to only ever speak highly of the king and say nothing of your marriage, you will be granted a hunting lodge in Lincolnshire where you may reside with a threadbare allowance. You will retain no household staff, apart from whoever wishes to go with you freely. In short, you will live, but you will live your life away from court and in disgrace.”
“In disgrace?” I whisper.
“In disgrace,” Lady Rochester echoes.
We say nothing else, until she and Bessie and I scream and hug in utter joy.
“I’m going to live in disgrace!” Happy tears stream down my cheeks, and I feel like I’m in a hopeful state of denial. How can this be true?
“There is something else,” Lady Rochford says. “You are not permitted to remarry. Ever. Should you attempt to do so, you will be forcibly sent to a nunnery.”
There you are, Henry. I love how he just had to sprinkle his assholish tendencies into my sentence, just in the off chance I forgot. He craves control, and he found a way to keep it, even while letting me live.
“That’s okay,” I reply, still in disbelief. “Marriage is the last thing on my mind right now.”
Bessie hugs me again and I squeeze her tight with all the relief pulsating through me. When we step back, tears are in her eyes.
“I honestly thought it was over for me,” I say. “I can’t believe we all made it out of this alive. Did they station all those guards out in the courtyard to scare me?”
I look between them as neither Bessie nor Lady Rochford answers. Instead, they go quiet and catch each other’s gaze.
“What is it?” I ask.
They remain silent, and the longer they do, the more afraid I become. A million different scenarios pass through my mind until one word—a name—sounds out like a siren.
“Where is Simon?” I ask.
Bessie wipes at a tear falling from the corner of her eye as Lady Rochford takes a fortifying breath and speaks.
“Simon confessed that he tried to seduce you on multiple occasions. He swore that you continually refused him each time, always professing your love and loyalty to the king.”
No. No. No. No. No. No. No.
“It is treason to admit to lewd thoughts about the queen,” Lady Rochford continues, “let alone to admit that you actively tried to seduce her.”
I step backward and shake my head. Everything is spinning. There has to be a way out of this.
“Where is he? What can we do?” It feels like my heart is twisting in a sick, snapping motion. My airways are closing. This can’t be real, and I need to find him.
Lady Rochford moves closer to me, trying to calm a spooked horse. “Simon knew that the king needed to have someone’s blood. He didn’t want it to be yours.”
I hear drums in the distance, or maybe it’s just the sound of pounding in my head. “Where is he?” I demand again. “Tell me where he is!”
Lady Rochford stays quiet, and I turn to Bessie. Her face is tense and indecisive. I stand in front of her and take her hands in a desperate grip. “Bessie, please. What if it was Richard?”
Her gaze falters. She doesn’t look at Lady Rochford. She keeps looking at me, and I tug her hands forward, trying to pull the answer out of her.
“He was placed under arrest and is being taken to the Tower. The king is at chapel, and they’ll journey past him as they take Simon out.”
Chapel. Simon is near the chapel.
I take off in a run before either of them can stop me.
“Catherine, don’t!” Lady Rochford’s voice tries to reach me, but I’m already gone. Flying past the startled guards at my door and down the sparsely populated corridor.
I can figure this out. I can stop them. I just need to run faster. I need to get to the chapel. Simon’s life depends on it.
Onlookers move to the side as I storm past, watching me with curious, wide eyes. No one bows or curtsies anymore. Just sympathetic frowns and bewildered stares.
When I get to the gallery outside the chapel, I stop in my tracks. Sweat is dripping down my neck. My insides are burning. Looking at the surrounding crowd, it reminds me of a small-scale spectacle. The walls are lined with noblemen and ladies, looking forward with jeering gazes.
I stare down the center of the gallery to where the guards are a few yards in front of me.
I can distinguish Simon’s silhouette mixed in beside the silver armor.
He’s barely on his feet, being dragged by the guards holding him under his arms. He’s in a white shirt that’s stained with old and new blood.
God knows what he’s endured already. Bile swirls in my throat, and it feels like the floor is opening underneath me.
“Simon!” His name rips out from my throat, and everyone turns to look at me.
The guards turn, too. And I’m able to see Simon’s face.
Our eyes lock, and time stands still. I’m terrified but elated to see him, and he grants me the smallest smile.
It’s soft and outlined with relief. He almost seems happy.
I smile back, even as tears stream down my face. I wonder if they’ll ever stop falling.
I feel arms and hands latching onto me then, around my shoulders and my midsection. Guards are trying to restrain me, but Lady Rochford and Bessie push them off. The guards holding Simon start walking again, continuing to pull him down the gallery and away from me.
“Don’t!” I scream at the top of my voice. “Let him go!”
“You cannot yell, Catherine! You mustn’t draw attention to yourself.” It’s Bessie’s voice in my ear, but I don’t listen. I keep clawing the hands off me. Somehow managing to break free, I start sprinting down the gallery again. I have to get to Simon.
My feet are pounding against the floor. The guards aren’t too far off—they’re just about to pass the chapel doors.
I’ve almost closed the distance between us when Catherine’s letter starts burning against my wrist inside my sleeve.
It feels like my arm is being split open, my skin being charred off layer by layer.
But I can’t stop. I keep reaching for Simon.
My chest constricts as music begins to play in my ears. “Pastime with Good Company.”
I hate that fucking song.