BOLEYN--Tudor Vampire (2 CHAPTER PREVIEW)
©2010 by Cinsearae S.
Cover Design by C.R. Santiago
All rights reserved.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, dialogue and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
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ISBN: 1451559496
EAN-13: 9781451559491
1st printing
Printed in the United States of America
BOLEYN
Tudor Vampire
Cinsearae S.
Chapter One
I lived in a time when wars were commonplace. Wars often born out of religious revolts, a lust for power over others, or, my personal favorite: fear. Fear of losing that power -- that control one had over his people and the lands he ruled over.
Much blood was spilt in my day, the grounds soaked with that of the innocent -- women, children, the elderly -- none were safe from the tyranny of a mad, corrupted king who demanded his people recognize him as the one true sovereign… just as high as God himself. Those who recognized none other but Our Almighty as their savior were put to death.
A man that has been given too much power surely loses his mind, indeed. Perhaps it is partially my fault, as I helped him to discover such hidden powers that eventually made him untouchable in the eyes of parliament, and The Pope himself.
I mingled with deceivers, as I was a deceiver myself. I knew my deception would come back to haunt me, and I knew there was no escaping it. The lies, the treachery, even adultery was oh, so trite and routine. Promises meant nothing. They were but mere empty words. And the promises of a king just as fallible and worthless.
He was remembered not only for his ‘greatness’, but for his insanity as well. I too, fell prey to his bouts of madness. In love one moment, out of love the next. No one was safe from his wanderlust. Any woman who valued and cherished their chastity was wise to stay away from court, else they would fall prey to his wiles.
I was no match for my own wild and jealous heart. Any woman whom I found wenching with the king or merely saw favor in his eyes, I had either removed from court, or beheaded. It was hard keeping the more bloodthirsty actions from my husband. He greatly disapproved of me getting too close to his private affairs, and over time, I fell more and more out of favor with the king.
And although I too, was drunk on power and prestige, I was always filled with a cold dread, some strange knowledge that weighed heavily on my soul. I was like a bird in a gilded cage, my wings clipped for added measure. The king wanted a male heir to the throne. He already had two daughters -- one from his former queen, Katharine, and myself -- but I had yet to produce a son. For all that I knew what would happen to me later, I would have gladly taken a beheading over a hanging, due to my insufficiency.
Royalty and decadence be damned, for all the good it did me in the end. Deemed a witch and a whore by Charles Brandon, the Duke of Suffolk -- and the king’s best friend, nonetheless -- as well as the king’s chancellor, he declared our marriage null and void, and sentenced me to live out my last days in the Tower, until he found a fit enough judgment to pass on me.
A whore and a witch! I could not decide which was worse. I knew the Duke and his chancellor hated me the day the king laid eyes on me, and then had a mind to make me his wife -- but such accusations were abominable, while their own abhorring, libertine indulgences went unheeded.
These were still dark, dark, ages we lived in. I had hoped humankind had gotten past the silly notions of sorcery and superstition, but I realized such things would never be wiped from the minds of uneducated, simpleminded people.
The king was a fool, and my tongue was all too quick to tell him so, sealing my doom even more. If I was to die, then I would speak freely and openly -- the time for courtesies was over.
I would have hoped my own father, who was bestowed titles and ample power himself, would have come to my aid. Unfortunately, he too, was blinded by his selfishness. Although jailed by association, he was released, but stripped of everything he was given. He cared not what happened to me; he only wished to save his own skin, also falsely accusing me of adultery, witchcraft and treason.
I wanted to believe he would be a good father, a loving father, but no, I was just an expendable pawn of his and my uncle’s failed game to rise to power. I mattered not. My death mattered not. He may have walked free, but he was dead in my eyes.
Between the days of my imprisonment and execution, I gave my supplications to God, and begged for forgiveness for my sins and trespasses… and in my vexations, begged for vengeance for the betrayal of my love and devotion to the king. For it was he who turned a blind eye and a deaf ear to my defense. I loved him so, but it was all too obvious that love was not enough to save me from the hangman’s noose. I also begged for vengeance for my father’s betrayal of my love and trust in him. I was so pained with my own despair and sadness; I could not tell which betrayal was the most detestable.
I watched my brother’s beheading from the Tower in which we were imprisoned, and grieved greatly for his loss. My heart felt like it was ripped from my chest. My own beloved brother, wrongfully accused, tried and sentenced. It only made me hate this unjust punishment more. And then, Mark Smeaton! For the love of God, I could not understand why he would be tried and beheaded. Such wonderful musical talents he had, and now they would be lost to the world forever.
I thought of my daughter, my little Elizabeth. What cruelties would Fate bestow on her? Who would take care of her? A cold lump formed in the pit of my stomach that made me want to vomit. The Boleyn reign was crushed.
My ladies-in-waiting did their best to soothe my broken spirit, but my resolve was slowly weakening. I heard that my execution changed from burning to beheading. Beheading would be quick, so long as the executioner was strong and steady, and hopefully I would feel no pain. But then hours later, it was decided that the king changed my beheading to hanging! It was as if the king could not make up his mind what to do. Did he delight in tormenting me in my last hours? Or did he want to think of the best way to make me suffer? Hanging did not offer any sense of dignity, and would be slower if my neck did not snap immediately! Yes, a beheading would have been much better. But perhaps, with me having a little neck, the noose would still do its job well.
***
As the hour of my death approached, my thinking became less sensible and more erratic. Several times, I asked God why He would allow such a punishment to befall me. Surely, there were people who led more treacherous lives than I, and still walked the earth. And here I was, judged for crimes I did not commit, and was sentenced to death. I did my best not to question my faith; perhaps something would happen that would stave off my execution, or prevent it entirely.
Such a thing never came to pass.
The time arrived, and I was led from my chambers and greeted by a cloudy May sky and a crowd of commoners bestowing their love and devotions to me for the final time. Their faces were a blur. My heart was pounding so quickly in my chest, I was sure I would faint. A mixture of a sudden heat and coldness coursed through my veins, my stomach a lump of ice. My brain was drowned in the myriad of voices coming from the people, preventing any train of thought on my end. I stared past the ocean of bodies I walked through, to the noose looming ahead, simply waiting for me.
I glanced at the Tower, once the place where I waited before my coronation, now the place that beheld my death. A face lingered in a window, watching the events, and I half-wondered if it had been Sir Thomas Wyatt. Poor, poor Thomas. Another wrongful death that would soon follow mine. I wanted to run, but retain my dignity. Even so, the guards would have caught me all too quickly. My strength availed me not during this wretched hour.
I walked up the filthy, wooden, creaking steps. Maybe I should have taken my own life. I would have spared myself the public humiliation. Besides, it looked as though God did not care either way, as He never answered my prayers.
Everyone had abandoned me. I was completely and utterly alone in this.
I paused on the last step to my pending death. The noose looked so thick, I feared my neck would slip out of it and my death would be botched. The executioner paused, as if not wanting to put it around my neck.
“Forgive me for what I must do, Your Majesty,” he said to me. I merely smiled, and spoke not one word.
I looked down at the scaffolding under my feet, composed myself, and gave my final words to the crowd. The Duke was amongst them, and I seethed with hatred for him.
I could hear my heartbeat pounding in my head. All my senses were heightened -- was this what it was like before one died? The intensity of one’s pending doom a stepping-stone to a higher awareness?
The hangman put the noose around my neck. The rope was dirty and harsh against my skin, making me itch. When he tightened it, I could barely swallow. The voices were suddenly unclear, their faces mish-mashed in a sea of drab colors. Once I stepped onto the square hatch within the scaffold, the hatch would be dropped, and then I would swing, suspended in midair until dead.
The hangman allowed me a moment to gather the last threads of my resolve before I stepped onto the platform. If I could come back from the grave, I would give all my betrayers cause to run, as I would never give them a moment’s rest. Never!
I fixed my eyes on the solid, white nothingness of the sky and cursed God for forsaking me.
The hatch was released.
I felt an intense crushing heat against my throat and the crack and snap of bone before all went black.
***
I do not know how much time had passed before I suddenly became conscious. I could breathe, and yet, I felt like I was suffocating. My movement was restricted, and I felt so very, very cold. What was this madness? Wasn’t I dead? Perhaps they thought me dead, and buried me alive!
I felt my surroundings -- wooden, cold and damp. I was in a coffin! I needed to get out, and quickly.
I hit the wood with my fists until it broke. Cold soil and worms poured in on my face. I coughed and panicked, punching and kicking in sheer terror until shards of wood tore at my dress and scratched my skin, making me bleed.
The dirt felt so heavy around me, but it was not long before I was able to reach the surface. My head was above ground in moments, and I clawed my way through the grass and loam.
A huge, round moon hovered over me as I observed my surroundings. I had been buried on the grounds of the Chapel of St Peter ad Vincula, merely a stone’s throw from the Tower, where my brother and I were executed. And then it struck me -- I had no grave marker.
How could they do this to me? First wrongfully tried and executed, and now this! Buried in an unmarked grave, my body tossed into a shallow ditch as if I belonged in a potter’s field! I was the Queen of England! I deserved far better! Was my brother treated in the same horrid and disrespectful fashion?
I spotted a small, silver urn at the head of my grave, tarnished by the elements. Several dead flowers hung over it. I picked up the urn and wiped away the dirt. A small piece of paper had been tucked away inside. I turned it upside down, emptying its contents, tossing aside the dead insects that fell into my palm.
On the paper was a poem:
Never there was a woman,
So fierce and yet so soft
With an unquenchable fire for life
And passions insatiable
My beloved, sweet Anne,
You are gone from this earth
And yet, I wish it were not so
I smiled. My dear, sweet Thomas. This meant he was spared his life! He was alive and well, and suddenly, I had an urge to see him. I had a feeling I would know where to find him, and made my way to Allington Castle, Thomas’ home.
The night was a strange comfort to me. The more I thought about Allington, the faster it seemed I arrived there, which, I knew was humanly impossible, especially on foot, but I did not ponder over it for the time being. Too many thoughts were in my head. The hills were wide and vast, cast in a silvery-blue glow under the moon.
When I came upon Allington, I found the tree under which Thomas and I would keep each other company while he read me his poetry. Even though I was still quite a distance away, I found it strange that I could hear him as clearly as if he were standing right next to me. He was reciting one of my favorite poems of his. Such a sentimental, loving soul he was. It was a shame our predicaments prevented further courting.
I stood beside the tree. He was sitting on a branch, still talking as if I was right there listening to him, as if he was locked in the past, like things had never changed. I half-wondered if he had gone mildly insane.
I cleared my throat and read aloud the poem he left at my grave. He yelped, falling out of the tree with a heavy thud.
“Oh, Thomas!” I ran to him and tried helping him up. “I’m so sorry to have frightened you!”
“Anne… it can’t be you! I saw you hanged! I saw them bury you!” He allowed me to help him to his feet, but when he gazed upon my face, he screamed, backing away like a madman.
“Away with you! You are a ghost! A witch!” His curly, brown locks in disarray, he clutched at his shirt, wide-eyed in shock.
I shook my head. “Thomas, I am no ghost, nor am I a witch. Don’t be silly.”
Thomas stood silent, unmoving, staring very hard at me. I spoke again.
“I was buried alive! It is not so uncommon, you know. I just never thought that it would happen to me.” I sniffed, looking down. “I expected to be dead and gone from this world.”
“But Anne… you are dead. Or… something…” I had never seen Thomas so fearful of anything before.
I laughed at him. “I helped you up, did I not? I am speaking to you now, am I not? Ghosts cannot do such things.”
The tone of my chiding voice must have helped Thomas finally regain his courage, and he took a cautious step towards me. He touched my cheek, cringed, and then took a step back again. “But, Anne… y-your face…”
“What about my face?” I demanded, as my hands flew to my cheeks, feeling for any deformities.
He took me by the hand and led me to the moat surrounding his home, and pointed to it.
“Look.”
I glanced at him and smirked before I fell to my knees, bent over, and peered at my reflection.
My skin was as pale as the moon. My dark hair had long streaks of white as bright as my skin. However, the most horrifying thing was my eyes. They were the color of blood.
It took all the strength in me not to scream as I touched my lips and around my throat. I could still see the rope burns on my neck.
“Dear God in heaven, what has happened to me?”
Thomas simply shook his head. “If you weren’t a witch when I knew you, then you are definitely one now.”
“I’ve made no pact with any devil or demon! How has this happened?”
The moment I said it, I knew. The realization struck me like an arrow to the heart.
It happened the very instant I denounced God -- right before my death.
Smite me for such foolishness!
This was my curse, my punishment directly from our Lord Almighty! I was dead! A demoness of the night. My soul was damned for eternity!
But then, I thought it over. If I were cursed, then I would take full advantage of it!
Without a word, I raced away from him and down the road, my new objective now getting to my own home, Hever Castle. Hever was well a ways from Allington, but my current mind frame knew of no long distance between the two castles.
“Anne? Anne!” Thomas called after me. “Where are you going? Wait for me!”
“I’m going home, Thomas,” I replied, not bothering to look back at him.
I had spanned the lands with such ease in my new form -- what would have taken a few hours by carriage, I managed to do in mere minutes. I crossed the bridge that hovered over the moat, but was stopped by the heavy iron portcullis. Any servants would be asleep, and if they saw me, they too, would be too terrified to let me in.
If I could somehow raise the portcullis! The lever was well out of my reach, behind the gate, and I cursed it. I wanted to get to my father with such ferocity; I began to hear the clanking of chains. Confused, I saw the gate slowly rising. The lever was moving of its own accord. Was I the cause of that? My very thoughts put into action by an unseen force?
It did not rise completely, just enough for me to stoop under the bars. Fine with me.
I searched the castle from top to bottom. No one was around. The house was as dark and empty as my soul. I lit a candle, went to my chambers, and sat on my bed, pondering what to do next.
On my bed stand, I found my prayer book, and picked it up. It was old and worn, the cover frayed with use. I flipped to the back of the book, noticing a few words I had scrawled across the blank pages:
The time will come.
I must have had a very morbid sense of humor at the time, as I also had sketched corpses climbing out of their graves, and titled the drawing, “The Resurrection of the Dead”. My eyes rested on the drawing for a moment, my mind spinning again with devious and abominable thoughts. I must have stayed that way for quite a while, for, before I knew it, I heard horse’s hooves approaching the castle. I continued to listen as Thomas’ heavy footsteps eventually ascended the stairs and reached my bedchamber.
He was sweating, the candlelight making his chest glisten. Standing in the doorstop, he stared at me, panting, still unnerved.
I retained my composure, not wanting to frighten him any further. I was surprised he had followed me; perhaps it was the sheer fascination of seeing me alive, and in the state I was in, which overtook his rationality.
“Do you know where my brother is buried?” I asked him gently.
Thomas seemed reluctant to answer, so I asked him again as I got up, approaching him almost seductively.
“Oh Thomas, don’t be afraid of me. After all we’ve shared, and all we’ve done… especially in this room...” I gave him a smile, reached out, and touched his face. He swooned, entranced by my voice. “Tell me where he is.”
Thomas wrapped his arms around my waist, his warmth feeling so good against my cold body. He leaned into me, and I rubbed my face against his neck.
A strange, primitive urge overcame me. I inhaled the musky scent of his skin, and ran my fingers through his soft hair. I trailed my tongue over his neck before I bit down deeply. Thomas shuddered and cried out as his blood flowed into my mouth. I do not know what came over me, what possessed me to do such a thing, but when I tasted his essence; I knew it would be vital to my new existence. It felt instinctual, as if I had known how to do this all along.
I let Thomas go, and he stumbled before dropping to the floor. He was in a daze when he glanced up at me, with several bloodstains on his collar, but nonetheless, no longer frightened.
“I’ll show you where he is, my dear, sweet Anne,” he replied, getting up and making his way downstairs and to his horse, which was tied to the bridge.
As I approached the animal, it began to snort and whinny. Being whatever it was I had become, the beast had no desire to be near something so unnatural.
I stared the creature in its eyes and commanded it to calm down. Once I had it under control, Thomas helped me onto his horse, and we made our way back to where my brother was buried. Knowing that I held a strange, supernatural power, I hoped that what I had in mind to do to my brother would come to fruition.
***
We arrived right back at the chapel, and I laughed. I didn’t think they’d put him in the same resting place as I.
Thomas gave me a funny look “What is so amusing?”
I shook my head as an answer as he helped me down off his horse. I wandered the misty grounds, wondering if George would have an unmarked grave as well. I stared at the many markers -- simple wooden crosses with one’s name etched into them.
“George, where are you?” I whispered into the wind. “Let me find you… please, let me find you…”
Thomas watched me carefully as I continued to wander the grounds. I stopped when I found George’s marker, and fell to my knees once more. George had been so close to my own grave, and I didn’t even realize it.
I lay on the ground beside him, and wept as I ran my hands through the soil he now lay under. I heard Thomas come up from behind me.
“My dear, beloved George,” I whispered. “Rise with me. Rise with me and help me to avenge our deaths! Help me with this task, dear brother, so we can find some peace at last.”
The ground under me began to rumble, and I sat up. Not sure if I was hearing things or not, I put my ear to the ground.
Thumping. Dear God in heaven, he was trying to rise!
My strange, unearthly plea was working! Such a joy it was to find I could speak such things into existence!
But then, I cringed in terror. George had been beheaded.
I stood up, not knowing what to expect, and turned to Thomas. He lost all color in his face, and began backing away.
“What devilry is this, Anne? What are you doing to your brother?”
I could not answer, because I did not know what to say. I had a power beyond that of a king or queen, and I laughed again in dark triumph.
“Come dear brother, come! Walk with me once again!” I raised my arms to the indigo sky, willing him to rise with all my might.
The ground began to move and pulse, and a withered, deathly white hand protruded from the soil. Thomas became weak at the knees and fell to the ground.
I took a step back, my heart feeling cold with dread. “How long has it been, Thomas?”
His voice was shaking. “W-what?”
“How long, Thomas? How long has it been since our deaths?”
“Days,” he answered. “I’ve lost count of them in my grief.”
I had no idea what George would look like, and I was not sure if he was suffering the same evil fate as I. As I watched his body slowly rise, I nearly fainted.
There would be no way he could walk with me… without his head.
I swallowed. His body sitting erect in the dirt, it waited for my next command.
“Thomas…” I started. “Fetch his head.”
He gave me an incredulous look. “F-fetch his what?”
“Fetch… his… head,” I repeated, punctuating each word. “Surely they buried his body together with his head.”
“Perhaps,” he answered, sweating in nervousness. “I do not know for sure.”
“Well? Go ahead, then! I need you to look.”
He grimaced before walking over to George’s grave, and knelt down. Not surprisingly, George’s body was still wearing the same torn and bloody shirt he had worn at his execution.
“This goes against all that is Godly, Anne. This is the work of darker forces!”
“I am that darker force,” I answered, then looked down. “And I’ve brought it upon myself.”
Thomas dug through the loosened dirt and drew back as if something had stung him.
“I felt it,” he told me. “But -- I cannot bear to pick it up!”
“Ponce,” I mumbled under my breath, and waved him away. I thrust my hands into the soil, feeling small, squirming worms tickling my skin. I touched hair next, and pulled George’s head up from his grave.
His skin was an ashen gray, waxy looking and worm-eaten. His eye sockets pooled with maggots that spilled onto my stained, torn dress. I could feel his hair begin to tear away from his scalp, so I quickly placed his head upon his neck, holding it there, as I willed his head and body to be whole again. After a minute of focus, I took my hands away. The only thing that remained was the mark from the executioner’s axe.
It was then that Thomas groaned and fainted.
I gripped George’s shoulders. “George… George, my dear brother… it’s Anne!”
Soil and insects cascaded from his mouth as a voice that was gravelly and unlike his own escaped his decaying lips.
“Aaannnne….”
I laughed again and embraced the foul corpse of my dead brother. I was already beyond sanity and sensibility, and I had not a care in the world. I wanted my revenge, and, damn it all to hell, I would have it!
I thought back to the words written in my prayer book.
The time will come, indeed.
Chapter Two
Searching for Smeaton was not as easy. Thomas had no clue as to where he was buried, and my guess was that he would have been buried among commoners. Commoner’s graves were aplenty, scattered all over the fields of England.
Well, I was the queen, albeit a supernatural one, and it looked as though I could do whatever I wanted.
I felt uncomfortable with George lumbering about us. He was not at all limber. To my dismay, I also discovered I could not reverse the process of his decomposition, which seemed a bit of a paradox, considering I was somehow able to weld his head to his neck. But for now, I would take what I could get.
Thomas and I helped George onto the horse, and Thomas led the creature as he and I walked. My mind was still spinning, trying to think of where they could have possibly buried Smeaton.
“Why do you need him?” Thomas asked me. Since he was now going to be my footman, there was no harm in talking to him. Besides, with our amorous past, that made it all the more easier for him to assist me.
“He was wronged just as much as my brother,” I answered, as we passed a field of wildflowers. “And he was a very dear friend to me.”
“Many men were your friends.” He gave a smirk.
“But none were as dear to my heart as my brother, you, and Smeaton.”
“I’m glad to know I was not forgotten about entirely while you were queen.”
I turned and faced him. “I could never forget about you, Thomas.”
We walked a while before he spoke again.
“You know, whatever the outcome of all of this is, no matter how tragic… if I should die before it’s all over, please don’t do that to me.” He gestured to George, who was still sitting silently upon his horse. Something was leaking from his body, a greenish black fluid of some sort. Neither one of us mentioned the unpleasant odors emanating from him; that was to be expected from a corpse now walking above ground.
I sniffed as a reply, since I was at a loss for words.
We did not travel far before I instinctively stopped and stared at what appeared to be a crowded little cemetery in the middle of nowhere. The air was damp, and a light fog had settled over the lands. A few huge oaks loomed over the stones, but the rest of the land was vacant. I walked towards the graves, Thomas and George trailing behind me.
“Smeaton… Smeaton….” I chanted as I approached the markers. “Come out, come out, and show yourself. Come forward and share in my revenge…”
By the time I reached the cemetery, I spotted Smeaton’s headless body sitting up in his shallow grave. I smiled.
“There,” I pointed to a row in the back. “There lies Smeaton.”
“Sitting up sounds more like it,” Thomas mumbled, and I frowned at his poor joke.
“Well, find his head! I’ll have to do for him what I did for George.”
Thomas made a noise of disgust and plodded onward.
I liked the glow that the moon cast on all the little white crosses in the field. It gave a haunting yet serene quality to the scenery. All these souls laid to rest in such a quiet little spot, away from the dank slums of London, away from the unquiet busyness of the world. Forever asleep, forever at peace…
And I unintentionally forbade myself such an option. This thought nagged at me, but I continued to ignore it.
Thomas found Smeaton’s head, and in a much worse state than George’s. It appeared as if he had undergone some torture, as what was left of the skin on his forehead showed signs of being burned.
The maggots and insects were still plentiful as I placed Smeaton’s head upon his neck and willed his body to become whole. Like George, only the mark of the axe remained on his neck after I was done.
“If I were to write about any of this, I would be deemed a madman until I died,” Thomas said to himself.
“Things like this need not be written about,” I replied, helping Smeaton out of his grave. He clothing was just as soiled as George’s was, if not in more disrepair. His shirt was torn in several areas -- possibly the result of whip marks -- while exposing his decaying back and chest. Several worms continued spilling out from between his ribs and rotted insides, and his mobility was just as hindered as my brother’s.
“Smeaton?” I asked. “Can you speak?”
Although eyeless, he focused his dirt-filled sockets on me.
“Anne…” His voice was also not his own; it was whispery and raspy, snatched away by the claws of death -- or the axe simply left his throat in as much a ragged condition as George’s. “What… have… you… done?”
Seeing black soil and insects spill from a dead man’s mouth twice in one night was too much, even for me.
I blinked. “Smeaton, what do you mean? I have awakened you from a premature slumber! You, my brother and I shall have our revenge on those who have treated us unfairly.”
“I know… I was wronged… but I committed… myself to death. I do not wish… to walk the earth anymore… Not like this… Put me back, Anne… Return me… to the ground!”
I was taken aback at his statement. “Smeaton, my friend! Surely you can’t mean that!”
“Put me back!” He took a step forward as if to frighten me, and I fumed.
“How dare you! I have gone out of my way to bring you to life… and you want to be put back?” I took a step back from him. “Fine! Then GO!”
I waved him off, an invisible force throwing him backwards, making him land in his shallow grave with a heavy thump. His head dislocated from his body on impact, rolling a few feet away from him. I heard Thomas gasp, but he said not a word.
I turned, walking back to him and George.
“You -- you’re just going to leave him there?” he asked. “Won’t someone see his open grave as sacrilege?”
“No one cares about commoners’ graves,” I spat. “If anything, they’ll believe that he was dug up by wild animals to be eaten.”
Thomas’s expression was pained, but he remained silent.
***
I do not know how long we walked, but a faint light began to show in the horizon. Dawn was approaching.
“We’ll need a place to hide,” I told Thomas. “No one can know about me or my brother’s existence. And I need time to gather my senses.”
“You can hide at my castle. It would not make sense for you to go to Hever. Not now, anyways.”
“Oh, I do intend on going there, Thomas. I need pay my father a visit.” I gave him a cruel grin.
“Your father?! But why--?”
I put a cold finger to his lips, and his eyes widened in surprise.
“Ask no questions, Thomas. All will be answered soon.”
A streak of sunlight appeared over the hilltops, and I closed my eyes, welcoming its warmth.
Then I became too hot. I felt like I was scorching. Suddenly, my hand caught on fire from out of nowhere. I screamed, draping my tattered cape over it.
The heat was so intense! It felt like I would explode!
“Thomas!” I shrieked, and he covered me with his coat, rushing me under a tree.
“What is wrong with me?” I asked, flipping off the coat when I was in the shade. Wisps of smoke escaped from my clothing, vanishing into the air. “The sun feels like fire against my skin, and burns me like parchment to a flame!”
“See? It is further proof that you have become a creature of darkness! No heavenly thing would be bothered by the light of day. You must cower from the sun in the coldness of the night!”
“A Boleyn does not cower,” I sneered, tossing his coat at him in anger. “Now what will I do?”
He draped his coat back over me. “We must hurry. Allington is not that far now. Just over that glen.” He pointed in the distance.
“I’ll meet you there,” I said, and took off. It was so much easier traveling alone.
I stayed under our favorite tree in the shade until he showed up with my brother. I was glad to see the sun did not affect George, but his condition still had not improved. Now, seeing him in the light, he looked more grotesque than I had ever imagined. Abomination, ha! That word was such an understatement.
Thomas led us to a vacant servant’s quarters where we stayed well hidden until nightfall. It gave me plenty of time to reorganize my thoughts and figure out my next move.
I lie on a bed in the tiny room, while George sat in a chair, stiff and quiet, his putrid limbs lying perfectly on their armrests. Occasionally, larvae would fall from his body and plop to the floor in little, wet splats. This thing was not like him at all, and immediately I was so sorry for what I did to him. My brother was lively, talkative and handsome! Everything that this dead body was the opposite of.
Because that was all he was. A dead body, brought to life by me. Me, a queen turned martyr, turned demon-of-the-night.
But what a un-life George now had. He possessed no real spirit or soul. George may have been conscious, but he could not think for himself, only what I commanded of him.
I could not let George remain like this. Just one more day, and then, I had to put him back to rest.
I looked at my burned hand. It looked so skeletal -- charred, blackened flesh stuck to red chunks of muscle and bone -- so I willed it to heal. It took a while, but by the time I had fully rested, my hand was completely rejuvenated.
Upon my awakening, I was startled to see Smeaton standing at the foot of my bed.
He bowed at me and gave a charming smile. “Your Majesty.”
It took a moment for me to figure out what was going on. Being able to look right through him, it was all too easy to deduct I was seeing his ghost.
I gave him a smirk. “What made you change your mind?” I asked as I sat up.
He pointed at poor George, who had not budged since he sat down. “Did you really think I’d want to roam the earth looking like that? How would you expect me to charm the ladies without my dashing smile and captivating wit? At least my handsome looks prevail in this form. Dead flesh has too many disadvantages!”
Even so, I could still see the faint image of the axe’s mark on his phantom neck.
“You still won’t be able to charm any lady, once they see you walk through walls.”
“Or see through you, period,” Thomas added. We turned, noticing him standing in the doorway, looking at us. “Come to join the hellish party, Smeaton?”
“I can never pass up a good party.” He smiled, threw back his black hair, and tucked a violin under his chin. He played a few quick, cheerful notes, and when he was done, I clapped for him.
“Beautiful as always,” I commented, and he bowed before me. “It’s good to hear your music once again.”
Thomas noticed my hand. “You’re all healed, I see.”
“It seems a good rest will do that.” I rubbed it and wiggled my fingers.
George gave a deep, guttural cough, and a few maggots projected from his mouth. Smeaton flinched.
“Not attractive… and I rest my case!”
“You still didn’t answer my question,” I said, folding my arms. “What made you change your mind? Back at your grave, I considered you out of my little game.”
“Dear Anne, you gave me quite a bit to reconsider,” he replied. “And I enjoy your games, no matter how morbid. Besides, once it’s over, I’ll be able to rest permanently!” He glanced at me and cleared his throat. “That is, if you’ll permit me.”
I gave him a big smile. “Thank you Smeaton. If you were solid, I’d embrace you.”
Thomas snorted and chuckled to himself, so I shot him a look. He gave a mock cough and looked away.
“Well, Your Majesty, what’s on the agenda for tonight?”
“Actually… Her Majesty she is no longer,” Thomas mumbled.
I whipped around. “What?”
“Well, aside from your marriage being made null and void right before your execution, once you were dead, His Highness married Jane Seymour.”
I screamed in a rage, and all three men jumped.
“Licentious bastard!” I hissed. “I’m not even dead a whole week and he marries the next wench in line! I knew my father’s plans to rise the Boleyns to power would be detrimental to us!” I put a hand to my forehead in disgust, and tried calming my nerves before I spoke again.
“I’m going to Hever, Thomas. Now. And Smeaton, I have a fun task for you to do.”
“Anything, Lady Anne. Say the word.”
I stepped up to him and gave a sultry smile. “Play your violin,” I said. “Play it loud and play it long. Let your melodies echo throughout the corridors of Whitehall Palace until the early dawn.”
Smeaton looked unsure. “Hmmm. I’ve never tried playing that long before.”
I put my hands on my hips. “You’re a ghost now, Smeaton. You could go on for all eternity if you so desired.”
He laughed. “As you wish, my Lady,” he replied, dissipating right before our eyes.
I helped George to his feet. “Come, dear brother. It’s time to see our father, now.” I turned to Thomas and grinned. “And we’re going to need your horse again.”
BOLEYN--Tudor Vampire
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