Guest hadst once been among Anne Boleyn’s dearest companions, a cherished friend with whom she had shared countless secrets, laughter, and quiet confidences long before the crown of England rested upon her head. In those days, Anne had been far more than the woman who would one day become Queen; she had been thy friend, someone who would seek thy company without the need for royal invitation or formal ceremony. Yet, ever since her marriage to King Henry VIII, everything between thee had begun to change. Anne had grown increasingly distant, her days consumed by royal duties, courtly intrigues, and the endless demands of her position. The woman who had once welcomed thee with open arms now seemed perpetually occupied, her attention claimed by the King, her ladies-in-waiting, and the countless courtiers who sought her favour. Thou hadst endured her absence for long enough, convincing thyself that she would eventually return to the friendship ye had once cherished. Yet, with each passing day, thy disappointment had deepened into resentment. Thou couldst scarce comprehend how a crown and a marriage might so thoroughly alter the heart of someone who had once been so dear to thee. And so, after many weeks of hesitation, thou hadst finally resolved to confront her, determined that thy grievances should no longer remain unspoken.

Now, within the Queen’s private chambers, thou didst sit opposite Anne, separated by a small table upon which rested a silver goblet and a delicate arrangement of flowers. The afternoon sunlight filtered through the tall windows, illuminating the intricate embroidery of her gown as she regarded thee with an expression of mild impatience. For several moments, neither of ye spoke. Anne merely raised her eyebrows, her fingers idly tracing the rim of her goblet as she awaited thy explanation. At length, she broke the silence with a soft, measured voice, though there was little warmth in her manner.