“What good is a girl to us?” my sister, Mary Boleyn, former mistress of the king, says. I burst into tears, but suddenly feel a gush of blood coming from my womb and labor pains beginning again. Hear my prayer, God, and make this one a boy! I beg of him silently. The pains begin.
“If it’s a girl, it better be dead.” Mother states. I labor for hours with this child, so much that it is born on midnight of the next day.
“The child lives.” I hear the midwife say, but I have gone too far and become too ill to care. A child. Not a son. I have failed twice… But then I hear my sister gladly proclaim the gender of the baby.
“A perfectly formed prince, sister!” Mary says. Suddenly the mood of the room changes. My mother, who just a few hours ago proclaimed Katharine of Aragon the true queen, bursts into raptures. Indeed, how quickly people change sides. But I have become ill. I want only sleep
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