La Plus Heureuse

Anne smiled contentedly to herself, and leaned against the cool, plastered-covered wall. She put her hand to the spot where Henry had kissed her so gently. She could still feel her skin tingling where the course, curling hairs of his beard had scratched against it. She did not feel happy, not in the ways she once had, but she could not deny the elation the sense of power was bringing to her. It was not love or happiness, no, but it was some kind of strange surge of life she had not felt in many years. She giggled into the darkness.

A sudden footstep in the dark startled her, and Anne turned around sharply, expecting to find her self eye to eye with her brother George or some other drunk and stumbling courtier. Anne’s shoulders slumped gently in relief when she saw the shape of Wyatt walking slowly towards her.

“Oh, Wyatt,” she said relievedly, “you startled me.” She closed her eyes and shook her head amusedly. “I’m glad that it is only you.

He stared at her oddly, but didn’t speak, stopping only a few steps away from her. She pulled herself up and made her face more stern. “What are you doing here?”

“I could ask you the same thing, Lady Anne.” He said it playfully, but his voice was cold, emotionless. Anne looked at him quizzically. He was drunk, she realised, smelling the sharp scents of wine and ale rolling off his disheveled doublet. He had just left the banquet, no doubt, after a long night of drinking and gambling away his little fortune. She frowned at him, but did not move. His face was strange.

“I see you are drunk, Mr. Wyatt,” she said sourly. “Have you just left the hall at long last?”

He shook his head slowly, but continued to look at her in a strange way. A feeling of unease washed over Anne. Her heart began to race suddenly, and her ears and eyes craned for a sign of anyone else in the corridor. Henry’s footsteps were long gone, and the corridor was empty now save for the two of them. Anne took a step backwards, away from the drunken courtier.

“I’m going to retire for the evening,” she said suddenly, her voice wavering beneath the anxiety she suddenly felt. “Good night, Mr. Wyatt.”

“Tom,” he croaked suddenly as she turned to walk away. His voice startled her, and she stopped, turning to face him. “You used to call me Tom,” he said slowly, taking a step forward towards her. Anne’s heart was beating louder now, but her eyes were stuck upon him. Inside, something screamed at her to flee, but it was as if she was suddenly frozen to the floor by some cold, paralyzing fear. Wyatt took another step towards her, a dark shadow falling over his face.

“You used to call me Tom,” he said again. Something in his voice caught her off guard, and she was snapped from her reverie, she turned and made to run from him, but he lunged quickly grabbed her roughly by the wrist. Anne screamed out in pain and shock, but her voice echoed hollowly down the empty corridor. Wyatt spun her around to face him and pulled her tightly into him, pressing her body flush against his own.

“You used to call me Tom.” He said again, this time with rage. She could smell the cloud of wine rolling off of his breath, sticky and wet. She felt his lips upon her neck suddenly, sucking and licking her skin.

"NO," Anne screamed, "Tom, NO!"

He remembered himself suddenly, and shoved her violently in to the wall, knocking the air out of her. She could feel the tiny bones of her back digging into the hard, cold plaster. A large hand came up and covered her mouth, while the other went around her throat, holding her to the wall.

"Shh," he whispered to her. His eyes were wild with desire. Anne began to cry against the soft skin of his palm. She screamed again, but it come out muffled, quiet. She flailed against him, but as she struggled, his hand tightetend at her throat. Blackness began to fill her vision on all sides.

"I did everything for you," he whispered drunkenly into her ear. "I loved you, and sent you little gifts. Wrote you little poems. Yet you could never give yourself to me. Not to me. But him? Because he is the king? Because he is rich? I am not king, but I am rich too. I come from a family better than yours! I am handsome. I am young. But it is not me. It is him -- it is always him. You do not love, him. That is plain for anyone to see. But you do not love me either. And for what reason? I have given you no reason to be so mean with me. And he has given you every single one!”

Tears were coming to his eyes now, and she heard his voice breaking beneath his emotion. She could feel the pressure growing in her head, her blood roaring and her heart pounding in her ears. Anne could feel her eyes go large and round, pleading with him to let her go, to let her catch her breath. Wyatt stared at her now, his big brown eyes brimming with frenzied drunken tears. Anne knew she would lose consciousness soon if he did not free her. She tried desperately to look wildly from side to side, to find someone, anyone, but he held her fast.

“You are not better than the rest of them,” Wyatt spat at her his voice becoming venomous. “You are just as reaching, as grabbing, as wicked as the rest. You spend your days groveling on your knees and your nights groveling on your back. Just like your sister did. Just like you all do!”

He released her throat then, but held her fast by the mouth, muffling her screams. His hand began to wonder down her body as he spoke, his eyes never leaving her face. Anne felt him lift the heavy hem of her gown and dig beneath it wildly. His tears were gone now, burned away by the mounting desire in him. He pressed himself against her as his free hand wondered to the tops of her thighs. Anne choked out a scream as his fingers entered her, but his hand covered her mouth still. She began to sob hysterically, her tears pouring over his hand.

“Is this what you let him do to you?” Wyatt whispered into her ear. “Is this what all the fuss is about?” His hand left her secret place, and she heard him fumble drunkenly for the laces of his breeches. His gaze left her for only a moment as he looked away for the laces and Anne took the opportunity.

In a sudden blinding surge of desperation and strength she shoved Wyatt away from her as hard as she could. The wine heavy upon him, he stumbled drunkenly away from her and began to fall backwards, pulling her down on top of him. Free from his muffling hand now, Anne began to scream wildly, determined to bring running any servant, courtier or guard who might be still awake nearby. Wyatt struggled frantically to silence her but Anne was wild with a sudden ferocious rage.

Wyatt rolled over the top of her and pinned her to the floor, his hands wrapping around her throat. Anne could feel him squeezing the life out of her. Her hands flew to his face and she sunk her nails into the soft flesh of his face. He screamed in pain as long lines of oozing red blood began to drip down his face. Anne thought he would release her then, but his face flew down at her own instead, and he forced his mouth over the top of her own. His tongue forced its way through her screaming lips. Without hesitation Anne bit down as hard as she could upon his lip. She tasted the hot coppery surge as the blood from his lip filled her mouth. Finally, he released her, and pulled himself violently away from her, pressing himself against the wall. He swayed gently and stared at her with a hatred she had never seen before.

"I know what you're doing," he screamed at her, his hand covering the place on his face where she had clawed him viciously. “I know what game you play, Anne.” He spat suddenly on the floor and she saw the red streak blood come away from where she had bitten him. “You Boleyn whores are all alike.”

A fury roared suddenly inside of Anne and replaced the panicked fear she had felt only moments ago. She rose slowly, trembling all over. Her breath was coming in short, ragged gasps, but she was filled with a sudden monstrous energy. She wanted to rush at him, strike him down, kill him. Silence still surrounded them all around.

“You will watch your tongue,” she snarled at him, much more bravely than she felt. “I will have you killed for this!” Her voice was a shrill scream now, her fists clenched tightly into balls. She could feel the cool air glance her shoulder where he had ripped her gown away. They stared at each other in silence, before he turned and retreated slowly into the darkness. Anne stood staring at the spot he left behind, her shoulders heaving and her breath coming ragged and fast. She heard the loud footsteps of an approaching guard behind her.

Too little, too late, she thought sadly. The damage has been done.

As Wyatt melted away into the darkness, Anne sank to ground and covered her face, dissolving into tears. She was unable to comprehend what had just transpired. 

When the guards found her finally, they lifted her tiny, sobbing figure gently and carried her to the king.