Prologue

1522

England

"Y ou want me to…let me be clear I understand correctly… you want me to become betrothed to Mary? To wed her?" Charles stared at Henry, King of England, and had to stop his mouth from dropping open at the absurd suggestion. "Your…Your daughter, Mary?"

"Emperor, I am sure your young ears work perfectly well." Henry crossed his arms, bunching his ermine-lined royal robe of crimson and gold, and sat back on his large, golden chair. "My wife and I believe it is the perfect solution. An auspicious melding of our families and nations and a way to ensure future negotiations are peaceful. Your parents visited here, you know, after they were…shipwrecked, for want of a better word. Stayed quite a while with my father, charmed he was by them both."

"Mmm, yes, I have heard the story." Charles resisted a deep frown and looked at his aunt for assistance.

Catherine, Queen of England, merely took a sip of wine then raised her right eyebrow at him in a way that reminded him of his mother when she'd been expecting better of him as a young boy.

He took a deep breath and set his hands on the table, fingers spread wide. Sunlight from the warm, June day sliced through the high window to reflect off his heavy signet ring. "But she, Mary, your daughter, is but four years old."

"That is correct," Henry said with a sharp nod.

"I will wait half my life before I am married."

"Nonsense." Henry chuckled and fiddled with his necklace. The diamond suspended from it was the size of a walnut. "Ten years is all and then you shall wed. I am sure God has given you patience in your royal blood."

Charles felt his jaw tense. If anyone other than Henry had spoken to him this way, he'd slam his fist onto the table and order them gone from the room. But right now, he was in Henry's Windsor Castle and being Holy Roman Emperor would only go so far in getting him out of there alive should he anger the king. Congenial he might have been on the surface, but there was an undercurrent of menace.

"I agree," Charles said, trying to sound diplomatic, "the marriage would strengthen our countries' bonds, but right now, France is our problem, not whom I marry. You have just declared war upon King Francis, remember."

Henry held up one hand, a mass of bejeweled rings, and waved dismissively. "Of course I remember, and Francis will learn a hard lesson, one that ensures he pays me my dues and then regrets his latest invasions." He leaned forward suddenly, urgently, and clasped his hand over Charles's. "Do you forget so quickly the Henry Grace à Dieu , the greatest warship the world has ever seen and that is now on your side, Emperor? At your disposal…should I wish it to be."

"I remember. It is a very fine vessel." He'd been impressed by the warship. The shining hull was colossal. The masts towered into the sky and the rows of cannons staring from their holes were particularly menacing. And it was just the first in Henry's imposing armada.

"And," Henry went on, "do you forget how we marched as one, as brothers in arms, into London just last week to a lavish festival of music, banquets and jousting? The streets were lined with triumphant arches, tapestries, and pageants. The English people adore you, Charles."

Charles tilted his chin, then rubbed the small, vertical dent at its center. He was freshly shaven and his skin satisfyingly smooth. "You do know that when I was a child, my father negotiated my marriage to King Louis of France's daughter?"

"Yes, I am aware, and I believe Isabella of Portugal is the latest to have been mentioned." Henry studied him, his small, intelligent eyes searching. "She would make a rich wife for you. An empress of fine, pious standing."

"Yes." Charles nodded slowly, determined not to be cowed by Henry's intense scrutiny or manipulated by him even one tiny bit. "That is a truth."

"But don't you see?" Catherine said in a slow and steady voice. "With such uncertainty in the empire, you need this alliance with England. You may be my nephew, and very dear to me, but I will not be able to protect you and your lands without this promise of marriage to Mary. To our Mary."

"Who will be the most suitable empress of them all and be eternally by your side." Henry nodded slowly. "She is your destiny."

Charles bristled but again tried not to show it. He was a powerful man, with great lineage and a sharp insight into politics. But he was also wise enough to know he could not control everything all of the time. To think otherwise would be dangerous. For now at least, he'd have to agree to this suggestion of marriage.

"I understand," he said, holding in a sigh as he thought of the letter he'd have to write to Isabella of Portugal. A woman he'd never met but one he had promised to marry soon after his ascension to the Spanish thrones of Castile and Aragon. "And right now," Charles went on, "France is a bigger threat than the Ottomans, so yes, I will agree to marry Mary in due course in order to bind our countries together."

"Very good." Henry sat back and clapped. "We will drink to celebrate."

"On one condition…" Charles held up his hand and narrowed his eyes.

"Go on?" Henry appeared surprised there would be a condition. How very vain he was.

"She must be at least eighteen."

Henry's lips pursed.

"I will not wed a child," Charles said.

Henry sighed, then he nodded. "I can agree to that."

"And in the meantime, do not expect me to be a man without lovers and, perhaps, children." Charles raised his eyebrows. "I am not a monk and do not wish to live as one."

"They will be nothing. They will be illegitimate children," Catherine said firmly. "Born out of wedlock and with no claims to any titles or lands. They will mean nothing."

Charles was thoughtful. If he had illegitimate children in his future, which was a distinct possibility with fourteen years to wait until marriage, he would ensure he had their loyalty and respect and that they knew exactly who their father was. Delegation was going to be key going forward with imperial business and whose better loyalty than family's? "These children, dear Aunt, at present are a hypothetical problem," he said with a dismissive shrug. "So let us have that drink and toast to a Habsburg and Tudor union."

"To our union." Henry reached for his wine, picking it up swiftly and causing it to slosh a drip of deep claret onto his hand. "And defeating France. Let us also toast to the downfall of Francis, the conniving snake that he is."

*

Isabella stared out of the window at the trees swaying in the brisk, Atlantic breeze. Autumn was on the way and the first leaves were skittering through the air. Still, it never got too cold in Lisbon, nothing a good fire and a warm cloak couldn't cure. She'd heard the winters were harsh in the Low Countries, where her betrothed, the Habsburg Archduke Charles, had spent his childhood. Perhaps when they were wed, she'd travel there with him, in which case she'd needed warmer gowns, fur capes, and velvet headwear.

The sharp click of footsteps on the hard floor made her turn.

"John," she said when she saw her brother's tall, lean frame striding toward her.

His boots were polished, his tunic emblazoned with the red and gold shield of the family crest, and his black beret sat at a slight angle. He wore a silken, scarlet cape.

"I thought you had gone hunting for the day," she said.

"I was just about to." He held up a scroll. "But this arrived by envoy."

She raised her eyebrows. It was unusual for the King of Portugal to tell her about an envoy delivery. He had so many, his interests spreading far and wide across the globe. "May I ask whom it is from?"

He didn't even glance at the seal; it was clear he already knew. "The Holy Roman Emperor."

"Charles." She instinctively reached for the cross her mother had left her that now sat around her neck. "It has been some time since we heard from him. Perhaps he is keen for us to set a date for our wedding ceremony. I would be most glad if he is."

"It is true, you are of age now." The king nodded seriously then walked to a heavy, wooden table before an unlit fire and broke the seal on the scroll. "My only fear is the dowry I offered is not enough, and that he requests too high a price."

She gathered the hem of her blue, silk gown and rushed to him. "Whatever the price, we must pay it, brother." She rested her hand on his arm. "I implore you."

He studied her. "And if it is a sum we do not have?"

"We will raise it. It is my destiny to marry the emperor. It is what mother decreed in her will."

His heavy eyebrows pulled together. "It was her wish that you marry a king or become a nun , if I remember correctly."

"I wish neither to marry a king nor to be a nun." A rush of determination flooded her and she tilted her chin. "I wish to marry an emperor." She raised her eyes heavenward. "That would please our mother even more, God bless her soul."

"It is true, it would please her. Charles is the greatest king of Christian Europe we have ever known."

"And together, we could continue our grandparents' ambition to unite all the good and pious Christian countries." Isabella was warming to her subject. "The fight against the Ottomans is real. Why they dare to advance on our doorstep and—"

"You do not need to tell me of the dangers Sultan Suleiman poses. His capture of Belgrade is proof enough." John's cheeks flushed, as though angered just at the memory.

"Brother. Dearest brother. You must promise me before this scroll is read that you will do everything in your power to make me empress."

He sighed, then leaned forward and kissed her brow. "Your happiness is of great import to me. I wish you to know love as I have."

Her heart squeezed. "I know how you wished to marry Eleanor. I am so sorry."

"That is in the past." A flash of sadness crossed his eyes. "Let us not talk of lost love."

With a flourish, he unfurled the scroll.

The emperor's crest shone from the top of the letter then beneath it black ink flowed in neat loops and lines across the page.

King John, dearest cousin and most illustrious monarch of Portugal,

I, Charles, Holy Roman Emperor, King of Spain, Archduke of Austria, and Lord of the Netherlands write to you this day on matters of much import for both of our empires.

It is my wish that you marry at the earliest date my youngest sister, Catherine. This union of the pious Iberian states of Spain and Portugal would please me very much and I am confident in your positive response.

And with this union comes a change in my plans with your sister Isabella.

I am now betrothed to Mary Tudor, daughter of Henry VIII King of England and his queen, Catherine of Aragon. This marriage will, I am sure you will agree, secure the Iberian Peninsula's future good relations with England during this fractious time with France and the threat of the infidels from the East.

Charles V

"Oh, dear Lord, have mercy on me." Isabella's eyes filled with sharp tears. "He is to wed Mary of England…but…oh…John." She shook her head, hardly able to believe what was happening. "She is but an infant princess. How could he? I…I don't understand."

John snatched up the scroll and screwed it into a tight ball with both hands. He then threw it at the unlit fire, where it bounced and rolled onto the hearthrug. "Of all the…"

"Oh…" Isabella felt quite faint, disappointment a brittle band around her chest. "This is so upsetting." She staggered to a chair and sat, found a kerchief, and dabbed at her cheeks.

"Of all the scheming, lying, manipulative…" John stomped to the window and stared out with his hands on his hips, his cape flowing over his angled elbows. "He still dares to think he can order me whom I can and cannot marry."

"And breaks an engagement with me," Isabella said as her dreams fluttered away like moths after a lantern extinguished. "After all of these years of waiting, I get not even a letter to me personally or…" She held in a sob. "An apology."

"Charles is too big for the boots he wears," John said sharply. "His self-import has no bounds or decency."

She studied his broad shoulders. "What will you do?"

"He knew full well it was his elder sister, Eleanor, I wished to marry." He turned and pressed his hand to his chest, over his heart. "Yet he refused that request and now offers Catherine, a woman of whom I know nothing and who is much younger than Eleanor."

Isabella kissed her cross again and sent a silent prayer to God, asking him for strength. "I am sure Catherine will make a good wife."

"That is not the point." John threw up his hands. "He denies my heart and snubs you. I should break all relations with Spain. In fact, the devil in me wishes to side with Francis and take out my frustration with an army. That would teach the emperor a lesson he wouldn't forget."

"That may be so." Isabella tucked away her kerchief and reached for a goblet of wine. "But my namesake would turn in her grave if we were to do such a thing. She hated France."

John sighed. "I know you are right. The Queen of Castile would want this union. She always supported Spanish and Portuguese marriages."

"Our grandmother was a prudent woman." In that moment, Isabella had a sudden swell of determination. It was as if all the tales her mother, Maria, had told of her grandmother blustered into her memory at once. Queen Isabella of Castile had been a strong, intelligent, and patient woman. Her faith had been unwavering and her standards exceptionally high.

And that very same blood ran in Isabella's veins on this day. She, too, would be strong and patient. She, too, would have faith and not let go of her dreams. "I will marry him," she said, standing and enjoying the rush of energy that came to her limbs. "Perhaps not this week or this year, but the emperor will see that being betrothed to an infant is not the course his life should take. He needs a woman who is educated and multi-lingual, one who has a keen mind for politics."

John studied her. "I fear Charles will not deny the King of England now this pact has been made."

"He will." Isabella took a sip of wine. "For what hot-blooded man with ambitions beyond our imaginings will wait many years to sire heirs?"

John was quiet for a moment, then, "It is true. He must be impatient to secure his successor."

"And continue the Habsburg bloodline. What better way to do that than with me? I will give him sons of pure blood. It is I"—she tapped her chest—"who will fulfill his destiny and dreams."

John walked up to her and gently touched her cheek. "I see our mother in you when you speak this way."

"It is true she was indomitable, but know this: I am determined in this outcome and also wise. I know I must be patient, as an emperor cannot be told what to do. He will come to me when his own mind reaches the conclusion that it is I, Princess Isabella of Portugal, who should be the empress on the throne at his side."

"And if you don't become his wife? If he never reaches this conclusion? You will become a nun?"

"Yes. I will wait until my childbearing years are over, and at that point, I will devote myself to the Holy Father. But know this, dear brother, before you have thoughts of marrying me off for political gain: Charles is the only man with whom I will stand at the altar, the only husband to whom I will declare my faithful obedience before God. Any other, and I will drink poison the night before my wedding."