The King's Rose by Alisa M. Libby Read Free Book Online Page A

lines of text, my eyes begin to blur.
    My dearest Catherine, how I so long to hold you close to my heart and call you my only love . . .
    My life will be more than I ever could have imagined—but perhaps it will also be a little bit less. All of this must be put aside now, the words and dreams that led to his perfect kiss, near midnight in the dark garden at Westminster, and all the happiness that kiss seemed sure to promise. This was a different Catherine who received these letters, who responded to that kiss—since then I have been transformed by the king’s eyes, by the royal jewels around my neck and a cloth-of-gold gown . . . but who is the real Catherine: the shadow or the light? The smoke or the flame?
    I thrust a letter into the flames before I can think twice about it. For a moment the words flash before my eyes, his dark, slanted script burning in the air with ink of fire. I have the urge to pull it free from the flames—but I can’t, it’s too late, it’s done. It’s over. But there is more to it than this—I cannot burn the memory of his kiss from my lips, I cannot burn my love for him from my heart, my passion for him from my flesh . . . or can I? Must I, regardless? I have no choice, now. I was only a girl, then. Now I will be queen.
    When I shut my eyes, the image only burns brighter. I push the rest of the letters into the fire, then pull a poker from beside the hearth and press them, crackling, into the flames. My eyes sting with heat, my vision blurred in gold and black. I watch until all of the letters are consumed.
    The fire’s feast is done. I turn and crawl back into bed and close my eyes, trying to think back to my reflection in the mirror, the gold bridal gown. In my mind, the gold cloth is replaced by the flames of the fire, curling the edges of the letters black.
    I am different, transformed. The girl I was before is gone; I watched her burn in a flash of flame.

VIII
    As I’m dressed, sunshine streams in the window of the chamber, and the gold gown glistens as if I’m being robed in sunlight itself. I imagine how the king, how all of court, will react when they see me, gowned like a royal bride. The thought burns like a small flame of triumph. I stoke this flame, hoping it may be enough to warm me.
    “You are a fairy queen,” Jane pronounces, “the little girl who catches the eye of the king and becomes his bride. Can you imagine?”
    The duchess has been quiet but she cannot hide her smile, no matter how hard she tries. “Of course I can imagine it. I’ve been imagining this day since first he laid eyes upon my little Catherine.”
    My little Catherine —then she is proud of me! Perhaps she is even more proud of me than she was of my cousin Anne. She moves closer and arranges my hair, just as I imagine a mother might help her daughter on her wedding day.
    “Or perhaps even before the king saw her,” she murmurs. She stands back to appraise me, clasping her hands beneath her chin. When Jane finishes smoothing out the folds from my train, she stands beside the duchess to inspect me.
    They had been planning this for me, all along. It makes me feel a bit sorry for the king, his emotions constantly manipulated by his most ambitious courtiers. But the king loves me— doesn’t he?
    A knock upon the door signals that the hall is prepared for the small ceremony. It will be a beautiful, intimate ceremony, nothing like the ostentatious display of riches for his brief marriage to Anne of Cleves. The duchess takes my hand in hers and moves toward the door, but I stop.
    “Can I have just a moment?” I ask. The two women blink at me. “Alone?”
    “Only a moment,” the duchess informs me. “We’ll be right outside the door.” They leave the chamber reluctantly.
    I stand before the mirror looking at a young woman in a beautiful gown. On her head is a glittering gold coronet studded with sapphires and diamonds, and her hair flows in lustrous coppery waves over her shoulders. I barely