Free Pray for Reign (an Anne Boleyn novel) by Thea Atkinson

through the
common room to the door. The hallway was cool, even for March. The tapestries
waltzed shyly with the drafts that embraced them. Instead of rushes, the soiled
and bespattered floor was covered with an intricately woven, yet filthy carpet.
And while the sleeping quarters were mercifully devoid of illumination, here
the walls supported a few torches. Tendrils of black smoke meandered their way
from tip to ceiling. Anne couldn’t help noticing how sooty were the stones of
the wall as she found her way down the hallway.
    She wondered for a brief moment whether it would be prudent
to wander through someone else's home. But her better judgment lost to her need
to escape from the cloistering atmosphere of the area where she was supposed to
sleep. As she wandered through the halls of the Cardinal's small castle, she
thought of his apprentice—Lord Percy, was it—and how she had immediately taken
to him.
    "Ach, stop it, Anne. No sense pining for a man you can
never have," she whispered aloud, hoping the sound of the words would give
her the conviction to forget Harry Percy.
    "Eh?" The masculine expletive sounded quite
unpleasantly surprised. Squinting, she tried to peer down the dark hallway.
She’d already turned a number of corners and, absorbed in her thoughts, hadn't
realized she was in a completely different area of the castle. This hallway was
still fairly well lit, but the elegant tapestries here seemed to absorb all the
light, leaving the air slightly less illuminated than the other hallways. This
passage looked richer, more elegant, more occupied. She saw that she’d trapped
someone.
    Or rather, someone felt trapped. He stood frozen to his
spot, hair mussed and on end. A most undesirable state in which to be seen for
sure. She should turn around and give him the dignity of retreating to his
bedchamber. But then, wouldn’t it be grand to see a nobleman flee hastily to
his refuge, nightshirt flying and white legs capering spindly to his haven.
    "Good evening," she began, taking a tentative
step. She stopped abruptly when he backed away for every inch she advanced.
    "I hadn't thought anyone would be about." It
seemed as good an excuse for roving as she could think of—and an even better
one for holding him there, like a rabbit in a snare.
    "Er... Good evening," he returned.
    She realized, not too pleasantly, that she was in just as
embarrassing a state of undress as he. She shrank inside her flimsy cloak and
shift. It seemed that as he saw her lose confidence, he advanced a bit,
tentatively at first, then with growing curiosity. What was she doing here anyway,
in the better quarters?
    "I—" she began, suddenly at a loss for anything to
say, "couldn't sleep." Well, it was true, was it not? So what if she
shouldn't really be roaming. As he drew closer, Anne could detect the faint
aroma of ambergris and musk.
    "Nor I." The tones of a vaguely familiar voice
filled the darkness.
    The room lost its chill with the admission. There’d been
something more in the statement, hadn't there? Not just a confession of
restlessness, but also an admission. Like he’d been caught playing with a toy
that didn't belong to him.
    She studied him closer. Then she realized who stood before
her—and the realization mortified her. Oh, no, not the King. Please, sweet
Jesu, let it be someone other than the King. What was he doing here anyway, roaming
about this late at night? But the silent question led her to a conclusion. He
probably wasn't out for a leisurely stroll. She decided to act as if she hadn't
recognized him.
    "I think I might return to my quarters, perhaps sleep
will come now after my stroll."
    "Yes," he answered, a faint note of command in his
voice.
    "Perhaps I'll see you in the morning—when we can be
properly introduced." She didn't need an introduction. In fact, she had
already been introduced the summer before. But he would never remember that.
And she certainly didn't feel it prudent to remind him. She turned