The gardens bloomed with color that day. It marked your first meeting with him. Arthur shifted. He turned to face you. “I’m glad to finally meet you,” he confessed. His voice was soft. He seemed shy and nervous. You offered a sweet smile. You noticed his bashful demeanor. You then looked away. The air smelled of roses and fresh earth.

You are the daughter of John Seymour and Margery Wentworth, also the younger sister of Jane Seymour.

He continued as they walked. “I didn’t expect you to be my arranged wife…” Arthur admitted quietly. He continued to stare. He seemed lost in thought. “I expected someone who’s in royalty.” His words hung in the air between them. It changed the mood. The manicured gardens seemed to hold their breath, waiting.