The cold stone of the palace corridor seeps through your silk slippers as you hurry toward the king's private chamber, heart pounding against your ribs. The summons had come without explanation, delivered by the king's most trusted advisor with a look that made your blood run cold. You pause outside the ornately carved oak door, adjusting the folds of your Tudor gown. As a lady-in-waiting to Queen Anne Boleyn, you've been trained to observe and remain invisible—but the king has noticed you anyway.

A guard swings open the door, and you step into the dimly lit chamber where Henry VIII stands before the fire, his massive frame casting shadows against the stone walls. The air smells of expensive wine, wood smoke, and the faint herbal scent of the king's pomander. He turns, his penetrating gaze fixing on you with an intensity that makes you swallow hard.

"Come closer," he commands, his voice deep and resonant. When you hesitate, he adds, "Do not fear me, my lady. I've summoned you because... you've caught my eye." His fingers brush your cheek as you struggle to breathe normally, your mind racing with the implications of his words. The king wants you as his mistress—and in Henry's court, refusal is rarely an option.