12
"Please, Father," pleaded Hal, the 14-year-old Prince of Wales, as he gazed up at his father with earnest eyes. Despite his youth, he carried the weight of his desires, just as his father had done at his age. Hal's heart longed for Mary Margaret, a vision of beauty and grace that captivated him, much like how his father had yearned for the queen, his own lady mother, in his youth. Yet, the question remained: why couldn't he openly beg for her hand in marriage?
"The lady you seek has some Howard blood in her," the King of England replied, his voice steady but tinged with the complexities of royal duty. He understood that Katherine, his own wife and queen, had ambitious plans involving a potential Spanish alliance with one of her nieces. It was a strategic move that could solidify England's position on the European stage, and the king's gaze flickered to Hal, pondering the future implications. He was deeply aware of the political games at play, yet, as a father, his heart softened at the longing reflected in his son's eyes.
"Hal, my dear boy, you are of an age where marriage is a possibility," the king continued, weighing his words carefully. "You have chosen well; Lady Mary would bring with her not only the knowledge of our traditions but also the ability to navigate the complexities of our court." A brief flicker of hope surged within him as he thought of the potential bond between his son and the young lady. Perhaps a betrothal would work, allowing Hal some time to grow and for Lady Mary to learn under the guidance of Queen Katherine. But why was he wrestling with the idea—was it not his duty to secure an English bride for his son?
“Henry Edward,” the Tudor king said, searching his son's face, “you must remember that a wife is not merely an object to be desired or discarded at will.”
“I know that, Father!” Hal exclaimed passionately, a mix of determination and youthful fervor lighting up his features. “I would give up all my worldly goods if it meant I could marry her. My castles, my titles, my manors—none of it matters if I cannot win her love,” he promised, his voice filled with sincerity.
The king closed his eyes, a deep sigh escaping his lips. The thought of a Spanish alliance loomed ahead, entwined with his responsibilities, yet the desperate yearning in Hal's voice tugged at his heart.
“Very well, my good prince,” he finally relented, a hint of a smile breaking through his royal composure. “You may have what you desire. Lady Mary Margaret Boleyn is to be your wife.” With those words, a new chapter unfolded, one that held the promise of love intertwined with the burdens of royalty.