‘I see the little prince recognizes my presence already,’ Henry replied with a tender grin, a white-pink hand gently resting on Catherine’s swelling side. His eyes glimmered with anticipation, the ambitions of the Tudor dynasty resting on his broad shoulders, quickening within the Queen’s slight frame. ‘A strong and healthy heir he shall be, destined to carry forth our name as boldly as his father before him. And yet I fear I must disturb your joy, dear Catherine, with reports from the council. Wolsey informs us that there is plague in London, and would have us ride for Greenwich on the morrow. I trust that you will feel well enough to travel?’ His hand shifted from her growing waistline to her collar, tangled within the amber strands of hair that had managed to escape from her headdress. ‘There is nothing that would trouble me more than your unhappiness.’

“i did warn you - men are  p i g s  . and every woman is a  T R O U G H  .”  @catalinathequeen​

she but drops a deep curtsy under the accurate accusation. all assumption cast asunder. the end of old queens, accepted - with boldly bowed and unabashed black head.

"it is not done with thought or intent of m a l i c e , your majesty. i n d e e d , you are not thought of at A L L ."