11
"Be reasonable, my son," Katherine of Aragon implored, her voice a mixture of desperation and authority as she gazed at her firstborn. Prince Henry Edward Tudor stood resolutely before her, shaking his head defiantly, his piercing gaze fixed on the enchanting figure of Mary Margaret Boleyn. The very thought of his mother arranging a marriage for him was enough to set his heart racing—his fear of losing Mary consumed him. Katherine's heart sank; her son had made it abundantly clear that he rejected every suitable and royal bride she had presented. She knew all too well that her husband, King Henry VII, had a volatile temper and was all too eager to indulge their son in this reckless pursuit of love.
Closing her eyes tightly against the swell of frustration and concern, Katherine took a steadying breath. "No, mother," Henry declared, his voice unwavering. "I will not take a bride unless it is my lady love. I would willingly forfeit my crown and my position as heir to my father before I marry anyone but her." His eyes sparkled with fierce devotion as they lingered on his golden-haired English Rose, Mary.
Katherine felt a wave of faintness wash over her, a mix of shock and dread threatening to overwhelm her. Just as she prepared to unleash her anger, the door swung open, and in walked King Henry VII, their formidable monarch, cradling his youngest daughter, Princess Mary Isabel Tudor, in his arms. He was known affectionately as Hal, a distinction that would soon give way to the legacy he would inherit.
The king placed his daughter gently on the floor, his brow furrowing as he took in the tense scene before him. "My son, what madness is this?" he exclaimed, his eyes widened at the sight of his heir, resolutely threatening to renounce his royal birthright for the sake of a woman.
"Whoever this lady is, she must possess noble qualities—fertile stock, good breeding—what is her name?" The king’s demand was filled with both curiosity and authority as he turned to Henry, who was brimming with a youthful passion that both enchanted and alarmed his parents.
"She is none other than a Howard on her mother's side!" shouted Henry with enthusiasm, completely caught up in the allure of his beloved Mary Margaret Boleyn, while Katherine pressed her lips together in a thin line, torn between the excitement of her son's boldness and the fear of the political consequences that such a union could invite. It was a precarious balance of love and duty that now hung in the air, thick with the weight of royal expectation.