12.A.15 - "The Pride of the peacock is the glory of God. The lust of the goat is the bounty of God. The wrath of the lion is the wisdom of God. The nakedness of woman is the work of God." - William Blake
Divine right. A monarch, I have always been taught, ruled a land by the grace and favour of God almighty. Even though my father Henry VII had ascended to the throne of England by overthrowing Richard III, I was told that the supplanting had only been made possible because it was my father who had been meant to rule as King.
God had made me into the man I am. God made me a King-- King Henry VIII of England, Lord of Ireland and ruler of the entire British Isles. And any man who might have the opportunity to follow me throughout my day would no doubt understand how I could not be anything but.
As befitting a monarch, I am constantly commissioning the finest, most splendid garments that the royal tailors can craft. I am presented with materials, such as silks and brocades and leathers and furs and cloths of gold and silver, all the richest examples of the fabrics as can be found. I am specific and demanding when it comes to my clothing, and all else in my life.
Later, the doublets and surcoats and such will be fitted to me and then finally presented to me for approval. Often, I will stand for long minutes before his looking-glass, the royal tailor waiting nervously, examining every minute detail. There is no room for error, and every bit of the garment needs to meet my expectations.
This temperament carries over into my dealings as political leader, as well. For a true King, there is no slight too insignificant to be addressed, no perceived insult that can be allowed to go unanswered. When other Princes of other realms earn my ire, they will inevitably earn the anger of England herself, and I have never been afraid to let my advisors and Parliament know of my fury.
Sometimes, it will take the form of rage, expressed in a voice that thunders in the throne room and echoes throughout the House of Lords. I will tear into other men and their offenses against King and Crown without mercy.
Other times, it will be the cold and bitter kind of temper. When the King plots, it is with ruthless determination. I will seek to exact the most thorough and painful vengeance from those who have defied me.
In my private chambers, I am no different.
Kings keep mistresses, of that there is no particular secret amongst the Courts of Europe. With most royal marriages being accords reached for purposes of political and financial alliance, rarely do regents have great male affection for their wives. Henry VIII is a King of great passions, so it is natural that these passions affect every part of my life.
They are plentiful. They are willing. They are beautiful. And not only do they satisfy a man's lust, they calm the great fires that make me the powerful ruler he I am. Woman after woman I might take to my bed, or wherever I deign to have them. It is nearly a rule amongst my Court that if a comely woman joins the Queen's Ladies in Waiting, then they will quickly gain the King's attention, and it will not be long before I add them to the lists.
When my beloved Anne Boleyn came into my life, she understood these things about her King. She knows how I hunger, and how the Lion of England can not be satisfied with the things that satisfy lesser men. She gives me obedience, she surrenders all to me, letting me rule her body and soul.
She loves him and knows me better than any other person in the land, and that is why I have made her Queen. And that ascension, I believe, is just as much her divine right as his was.
Divine right. A monarch, I have always been taught, ruled a land by the grace and favour of God almighty. Even though my father Henry VII had ascended to the throne of England by overthrowing Richard III, I was told that the supplanting had only been made possible because it was my father who had been meant to rule as King.
God had made me into the man I am. God made me a King-- King Henry VIII of England, Lord of Ireland and ruler of the entire British Isles. And any man who might have the opportunity to follow me throughout my day would no doubt understand how I could not be anything but.
As befitting a monarch, I am constantly commissioning the finest, most splendid garments that the royal tailors can craft. I am presented with materials, such as silks and brocades and leathers and furs and cloths of gold and silver, all the richest examples of the fabrics as can be found. I am specific and demanding when it comes to my clothing, and all else in my life.
Later, the doublets and surcoats and such will be fitted to me and then finally presented to me for approval. Often, I will stand for long minutes before his looking-glass, the royal tailor waiting nervously, examining every minute detail. There is no room for error, and every bit of the garment needs to meet my expectations.
This temperament carries over into my dealings as political leader, as well. For a true King, there is no slight too insignificant to be addressed, no perceived insult that can be allowed to go unanswered. When other Princes of other realms earn my ire, they will inevitably earn the anger of England herself, and I have never been afraid to let my advisors and Parliament know of my fury.
Sometimes, it will take the form of rage, expressed in a voice that thunders in the throne room and echoes throughout the House of Lords. I will tear into other men and their offenses against King and Crown without mercy.
Other times, it will be the cold and bitter kind of temper. When the King plots, it is with ruthless determination. I will seek to exact the most thorough and painful vengeance from those who have defied me.
In my private chambers, I am no different.
Kings keep mistresses, of that there is no particular secret amongst the Courts of Europe. With most royal marriages being accords reached for purposes of political and financial alliance, rarely do regents have great male affection for their wives. Henry VIII is a King of great passions, so it is natural that these passions affect every part of my life.
They are plentiful. They are willing. They are beautiful. And not only do they satisfy a man's lust, they calm the great fires that make me the powerful ruler he I am. Woman after woman I might take to my bed, or wherever I deign to have them. It is nearly a rule amongst my Court that if a comely woman joins the Queen's Ladies in Waiting, then they will quickly gain the King's attention, and it will not be long before I add them to the lists.
When my beloved Anne Boleyn came into my life, she understood these things about her King. She knows how I hunger, and how the Lion of England can not be satisfied with the things that satisfy lesser men. She gives me obedience, she surrenders all to me, letting me rule her body and soul.
She loves him and knows me better than any other person in the land, and that is why I have made her Queen. And that ascension, I believe, is just as much her divine right as his was.