A Royal Outcast: The Black Tudor Rose - Chapter 1: Henry’s Cursed Child

I know, I know, I have way too many fics already😳. But in my defense, I had created this story on Wattpad over a year ago, but never posted a chapter, so if I anything, I'm just making it up to my Wattpad readers for taking so long.

This fic will be free to reader like a few of my other stories.

16th of April 1526, Greenwich, England 

The worst storm in decades had been battering the continent since the early hours of the morrow.  

Inside the palace of Placentia, the occupants inside bore their breath as they waited for the Queen to deliver the child she had been laboring to birth since the storm first grew stronger. 

Princess Mary, aged ten, sat in her bedchambers, awaiting the tidings of her mother's labor. The young princess worried as she knew that her mother had struggled in the birthing bed previously. She had returned from her court in Ludlow Castle as her mother had entered the late stages of her pregnancy, wanting to be there for the birth. 

She had known of the other children before her, including her older brother, Henry, Duke of Cornwall. The child whom before Mary, had lived the longest of all Henry and Catherine’s children.  

Mary had known whispers from servants and nobles like that the baby in her mother's womb would not live just like the others, especially as it had been about eight years since Catherine’s last pregnancy. Yet most had hoped that finally that Catherine would give birth to her husband's long-awaited heir, the next king of England. 

Mary did not how she felt about her soon-to-be-born sibling, for all her life, Mary had been the center of her father's orb, his pearl. If Catherine were to give birth to a son, then Henry would turn all his attention to that son, then she would fall into the shadows, forgotten by all. 

People may have called her the Princess of Wales, but it was not a title that was ever invested upon her due to Henry’s fervent desire for a male heir. 

Soon, the young Mary found herself kneeling at the foot of her bed, praying for her mother’s safety. 

Oh, Lord, our father. Your humble servant beseeches you this day; take my mother into your heart, I beg for clemency on her behalf. Keep her with me by any means, any price, I shall pay it earnestly.

~X~

Henry Tudor, for all his boastings, for all that he may deny and claim otherwise, knew that he was not born to be King. 

He was a second son, one with an older brother who was both loved and revered by all who came across him. Arthur was the perfect heir, the great hope for the newly established Tudor dynasty, a strong and able boy who was seen as the living embodiment of not only the Houses of Lancaster and York, but the end of the War of the Roses. 

Henry loved his brother, he truly did, but he could not deny the jealousy he felt towards him at times when they were growing up. Arthur was the one destined to become a great and wise King, while Henry was destined for the life of a priest, he, the second son, must be a churchman by word of their father, spreading the word of God, not usurping his brother's position. 

And even when Arthur died at the age of fifteen, and Henry was made the new Duke of Cornwall and the new Prince of Wales, Henry VII gave his remaining son few, if any responsibilities and duties. 

The King making no effort to hide his longing for his late son, made no effort to hide how reluctant he was to call his namesake his new heir, and the young prince could feel his father’s apathy.  

Henry believed that his father cared for him, but he knew that love was not as great as the love the late King had for his eldest son. 

Henry could not stop the memory that came to the forefront of his mind, when he was three and his father made him the Duke of York in a ceremony at Westminster. 

What Henry did not know at the time was that the title ‘Duke of York’ was a favorite of pretenders, a title that many used when claiming to be the younger brother of his mother, Elizabeth of York, the missing and presumed dead, Richard of York. 

For there could not be two Dukes of York, this was his father’s ingenious way of putting to rest the claims of these pretenders. To show the public of his worry for his dear wife’s condition with all the men claiming to be her brother, and for him to retain personal control of lucrative positions through the land and title his gave his younger son, instead of sharing them with established rival families. 

And Henry could remember the words his father had said to one of his Privy councilors, Archbishop John Morton, both men unaware of the young boy hiding nearby, listening to their hushed conversation from behind a large curtain. 

“But she must bury this sorrow.” Morton said, “Yet each pretender opens the wound anew-” 

“That is why today is necessary; to put a stop to all these false Dukes of York. If they could see how, it hurts Her Grace. Each one, she knows they are liars, pretenders, yet I fancied she looked overlong at Lambert Simnel’s face. She wishes it, you see; she wishes Richard her brother to be alive” Henry said, his voice low and unhappy. “That is why she could not come to see Henry be invested with his title, she could not bear it, she loved her brother.” 

“Yet she loves her son as well.” Morton declared; his question disguised as a statement. 

The King shrugged, “As a mother is bound to love her son.” 

Morton became eager, “No more than that?” 

“If she loves him, it is for what he recalls to her; her father, Edward. Henry resembles him, surely you have seen that.” Henry took a sip of wine from his goblet, his expression hidden from view. 

“He’s a right noble-looking prince.” Morton nodded; his head dipping so low that it touched the fur of his lined collar. 

“I give you his looks, Edward had looks as well. Do you remember that woman who cried out in the marketplace: ‘By my troth, for thy lovely countenance thou shalt have even twenty pounds?’ Pretty Edward; ‘The Sun in Splendor’ he called himself.” 

Morton cackled, “Whereas we all know it should have been ‘The King in Mistress Shore’s bed,’ or was it Eleanor Butler’s?” 

Henry scoffed, “What does it matter? He was always in someone’s bed. Remember that derisive ballad about ‘lolling in a lewd love-bed'? Elizabeth Woodville was clever to exploit his lust. I do not wish to belittle the Queen’s mother, but she was a tiresome old bitch. I feared she would never die, yet we have been free of her for two years now. Praised be God!” 

“Yet, Prince Henry, is he not...” 

The King then looked about him, making sure no one was listening. “Only a second son, and I pray to God he will never be needed. Should he ever become King...” He then paused, lowering his voice further, “The House of Tudor would not endure, just as the House of York did not survive Edward. He was handsome and a good soldier, I will grant him that, but a bottom stupid and insensitive, and Henry is the same. England could survive one Edward, but never two.” 

“It will never come to that.” Morton said smoothly, “We have Arthur, who will be a great King. The marks of greatness are already upon him; so, learned, so wise, far beyond his eight years.” 

“Arthur the Second.” Henry murmured, his eyes becoming dreamy, “Aye, it will be a momentous day. And Henry, perhaps, will be Archbishop of Canterbury someday. Yes, the Church will be a good place for him, although, he may find the vows of celibacy a bit chafing.” 

Henry took another swallow of his chalice, holding the now empty cup out to his cupbearer, wordlessly commanding the young boy to fill it. 

Was father, right? Will I be the end of House Tudor? Arthur would have had a living son; he would have had more than just a daughter and now a monstrosity. 

Catharine had finished her labors, the room filled with joy when the midwives and physicians first looked upon the child’s extremities and nether regions, thinking that the Queen had finally birthed another living son, only for that joy to die, the room filling with dread as further examination was given to the newborn. 

“Your Highness, they are a babe of two genitals, unknown of which sex, male or female it will take.” 

“Can’t you sew the bottom hole closed? Then it will heal, and the child will be a son, and this nonsense will be finished!” 

The physician bowed their head, “Should they live, breasts may sprout from their bosom and the procedure would be for naught.” 

“Then cut those off!” Henry yelled. 

Another physician moved to speak, “Your Highness, perhaps it would be best to simply wait. The Lord Father would surely not allow such a child to live long; it would be cruel for the child and those who look upon them. If not, then the child could be taken to a nearby forest, let nature decide things from there.” 

“No.” The people in the room all turned to the Queen. 

Catherine of Aragon, sat abed, her body weakened from the arduous labor, her body, past its prime childbearing years, struggling more than ever before to deal with the unrepentant pains.  

It was not the first time Henry had seen his wife in such a position, but now, she was showing a different side of herself. 

“Leave us.” Henry commanded the midwives, physicians, and ladies in waiting to leave the bedchamber, and leaving the sleeping newborn in the arms of its mother. 

Henry walked to the bed, “Catherine-" 

“You cannot kill our child, husband.” Catherine said strongly, “To even consider infanticide; tis a sin in of itself.” 

“Is it not a right thought to have? The child you birthed is an affront to nature, what life would they be able to have? Word is surly spreading through the castle, and soon the world about the deformity that somehow came from my loins!” 

Catherine shook her head, “They are still our child, your blood. Look at them, look and tell me you can smother them without remorse.” 

Reluctantly, Henry looked away from his wife’s face and down at the newborn in her arms. They had long since stopped crying and were now peacefully sleeping in Catherine’s arms. 

They were smaller, smaller than Henry remembered Mary being when she was born, and their skin was flushed and pink. The hair on their head was sparse, but he could see the reddish color the strands held. 

Henry looked away from the child, “What are we to do with them, them?” 

“Raise them, they are ours.” 

Henry nodded his head, quickly leaving the chamber, not looking back at his wife or newborn child. 

“You don't look like a man who should be happy over the birth of another child.” Henry turned his head and saw his oldest friend and brother-in-law, Charles Brandon, standing behind him. 

The other man was broad shouldered and thick of body, he was a bit shorter than Henry and not as well built, but with a long face and a full head of dark brown hair that matched his beard. 

Henry turned away, “Why should I be happy that my wife has borne me such a shame? I wanted a son, and I got… that.” 

Charles walked to and sat down in the chair adjacent to the King. “Is the child male or female? The physicians were not clear not that when asked.” 

“Some unholy combination of the two.” Henry groaned, “They think they will grow breasts as the age.” 

“So, what will you do about the child?” Charles asked. 

Henry sighed, despite what he had told Catherine, even he did not have it within himself to murder a newborn, especially not his own, but his frustration remained. 

This child was supposed to be his long-awaited heir, the son that would have hopefully survived infancy and grown to one day be a great King. But now he was left with a child that he had no idea what to do with or how to feel about. 

“Well, I know Mary and the children are waiting to meet the new... prince or princess. If they have your leave of course.” Charles voiced when his friend did not answer his question. 

“I don’t see the storm ending anytime soon for my sister to make the trip.” Henry said softly as he turned to glance out the window, watching the rain battered against the glass. 

“But she will make it gladly, I know it.” 

After a few moments, Henry spoke again, “Catherine is never going to give me a living son.” 

Charles pursed his lips, “I thought that this child may possibly-” 

Henry laughed derisively, “They will not, I and everyone else are only fooling ourselves. The physician even said they would one day grow breasts. Breasts! It is a daughter Catherine has borne, an ugly one, but a still a daughter. And even if they were not, how can such a thing ascend it throne without backlash from every person in Europe?” 

Henry leaned his arm on the arm of his chair, holding his head in one hand and drinking again from his cup in the other. When he first learned of Catherine’s pregnancy, he refused to genuinely believe, his heart had been hardened by the miscarriages and deaths to be vulnerable again. 

But as the months passed by and Catherine and their unborn child remained healthy, he foolishly allowed himself to feel joy again, to get his hopes and expectations up again with the thought of another son, one that would live far longer than his brothers. 

But now I have been forsaken once more. Why, why has such a folly befallen me? What sin have I committed to be cursed in such a manner? 

“My throne now hangs in the balance, old friend. Only destruction and death are left waiting for this pathetic dynasty.” 

Charles sighed as he sat forward, “That is not true, Henry. You may not have a son by Catherine, but there a still plenty of options left for you; your dynasty is not dead, as you speak.” 

Henry scoffed, “And what options are they?” 

“You have a living son, one that you adore. Why not bring young Henry Fitzroy into the succession officially? Why acknowledge the boy as your son and make him Duke of Richmond and Somerset, if not for this exact purpose?” 

“I did that because Henry is my son, and I refused to hide that.” The King stated, “I care for him, and you are right; I did consider making Henry my heir but making him legitimate will bring too many problems in the future and require too much involvement.” 

There are no laws that would allow for the legitimization of a child born out of wedlock. Henry would need the Pope, Clement VII, to give papal dispensation, and even then, doing so would significantly complicate the succession to the English throne. 

Regardless of if the young Duke of Richmond were legitimized, the stain of bastardy would forever follow him, and that was something that the relatively new Tudor line could not stand to face. 

Despite his own and his father’s efforts, there were still those in England who did not believe that their family should be ruling over the country, and there were still plenty of nobles that carried claims to the throne, a few better than their own. 

Elevating Fitzroy to a position of potential heir could also anger the nobility and other powerful figures who would simply refuse to accept an illegitimate child as King. 

“And what of your daughter? She will be of marriageable age soon enough, wed her and she may well bring you a heap of grandsons.” Charles voiced. 

Again, Henry scoffed, “Those grandsons would not be Tudors, they would belong to the family of whatever man Mary marries. The Tudor line would be as good as dead if that were to happen. No, I need a son from my body to succeed me.” 

“But your wife will not be able to give you that son. Her womb now too old and strained to carry another pregnancy, that, I am sure.” 

“I will not be getting a son from Catherine.” Henry whispered, his thoughts now shifting to a certain woman who had stolen his attention during the last year. 

He had been ignoring her since the waning months of Catherine’s pregnancy, but now, she raced to the forefront of his mind as his desire and desperation for a son raged. 

~X~

One Week Later 

Mary stood nervously as she looked at her bedbound mother, watching as a wet nurse fed a small bundle in their arms. 

“Come, meet your new sister, Mary.” Catherine told her daughter once her newborn was returned to her. 

Mary quickly walked to the bed, leaning over to look down at the infant, “A sister...” 

“Yes, a sister.” 

Mary glanced at Catherine, “Has she been named?” 

Catherine looked at her youngest daughter softly, “Her name is Christian. Princess Christian Tudor.” 

Mary’s nose scrunched, “Christian? After Christendom? And the Danish Kings?” 

Catherine laughed, “That was not my intention with the last one, but you are not wrong. I wished to show that your sister will be as you and I; a woman who devotedly follows the teachings of God.” 

“But why not Christiana? It is more feminine.” 

Catherine thought about Mary’s question for a moment, “Christian is feminine too, and it just seemed right.” 

It had taken her some time to land on a name for her newborn daughter. As Mary had suggested, she had tried making Christian’s name different, by adding and removing letters. 

And Catherine had considered the Spanish version of the name, but the English version felt the best compared to the other options. 

She is God's child, made by him, for he makes no mistakes in this life. Catherine thought. 

Christian moved around in her mother’s arms, forceful removing her arms from the tight confines of her blanket. Mary smiled as she reached over and held her sister’s smaller hand within her own, her smile growing as Christian yawned. 

Catherine stared at her daughters, her expression becoming somber. “Mary, you are an older sister now. And that means certain things are going to change.” 

Mary wanted to say that she had already been an older sister before Christian was born, of the stillborn sister Catherine had given birth to when Mary was almost two years old and of Henry Fitzroy, her younger paternal half-brother. 

But she did not want to upset her mother, knowing the woman sadness she felt about her deceased children, and the distaste she held for her husband’s illegitimate son. 

“You have a responsibility now, my dear. Your sister will need you, more than anyone else, to protect and care for her. She is different than other babes.” 

“She does not look different.” Mary voiced, viewing Christian as appearing the same as any other infant she has seen. 

“At the moment no, she does not. Catherine said, “But she is, and word will spread of your sister's differences from others. She will need you when others seek to shame and ostracize her, for family is supposed to protect and care for their own. Do you understand, Mary?” 

Mary nodded her head, “Yes, mother. I’ll be the perfect older sister.” 

I take care of Christian for the rest of my life. Mary thought, continuing to play with the newborn. 

Minutes passed in relative silence in the chamber, only the sounds of Christian and the servants moving around could be heard. But this was broken when the doors swung open, and the King’s presence was announced. 

Henry ignored his wife’s servants bowing to him as he entered the room, “Leave us.” 

His gaze remained on his wife and daughter as his order was carried out, the silence briefly returning to the chamber once the doors shut. 

“How is my sweet pearl this day?” Henry asked, smiling at Mary. 

“I am fine, father.” Mary replied, hugging her father in greeting. 

Henry placed a hand on Mary's shoulder as he looked at his wife over Mary’s head. “Good morrow, Catherine.” 

“Good morrow, Henry.” Catherine said back, looking at her husband emotionlessly. 

Henry glanced at Mary before releasing his hold on her. “Will I be introduced to our newest daughter?” 

Catherine stared at him for a few moments, allowing Henry to see the momentary surprise in her blue eyes before she just as quickly hid her feelings again. 

He was not offended by her reaction. It had been over a week since Christian was born, and the only time he had since the newborn was briefly after her birth, when her affliction was made known to him. 

Catherine said nothing as she lifted her daughter away from her chest, holding the newborn towards her husband. 

Henry gently took Christian into his arms, staring at his youngest child. 

Only a week old, and she’s beginning to show who she favors. Henry thought as he looked at the infant's features. 

It may have seemed arrogant to think regarding a child that had just been born, but the King sees the similarities between them; the same bright and fair complexion, bright coppery gold hair, and round face. 

But as Christian turned her head to look away from Mary and to him, smiling at the new person in front of her, Henry child admit that she had Catherine’s smile and large wide eyes. And he was sure that Christian’s eyes would be the same dark blue color as Catherine’s once the murkiness of her pupils disappeared. 

“Christian is the name you have chosen.” Henry stated, having already heard the news days ago. 

“It is.” Catherine said, “I thought she would need the strength of such a name, for what is to come.” 

Henry noticed the undertone in his wife’s statement, “That is a good idea. Word of our daughter's birth has spread, along with her healthy condition. We have received plenty of written congratulations.” 

Catherine looked down at Christian for a moment, “It is to be expected, nothing stays secret from the court for long.” 

“No, it does not.” Henry agreed. 

While he had heard nothing to support it, Henry was sure that his family, specifically Christian were now the mockery of the continent. 

He could feel it in the way his courtiers, nobles, and servants looked at him since Christian’s birth. 

Their eyes pricked his skin, and their whispers bolstered his anger. But Henry was a King first and a man second, he would not react in a way that only bring more rumors upon himself and his family. 

Christian would be seen by others as her parents' shame, an abomination who was only saved by direct scorn and vitriol due to her royal status. 

Perhaps it was for this reason that Henry had finally come to meet his child? For any insult and glare that would be thrown at Christian would be a direct reflection upon Henry. 

She was his blood after all, his seed, just as Mary and Henry Fitzroy were, and Henry knew that he would tolerate no such treatment towards his older children. 

Henry moved one of his hands, dragging a finger against Christian’s cheek. 

Christian turned her head, taking her father’s finger and trapping it within her smooth gums, smiling around the appendage. 

Henry huffed, a small smile appearing on his lips. The King was so focused on his newborn, that he did not see his wife visibly relax as she watched him.