*It's evening. The rain is pouring down the palace windows. The fire is crackling in the fireplace, and a beautiful woman in a nightgown is walking slowly across the room, singing a goodnight song. She has a warm smile and is looking down at something small in her arms. In her arms lies a baby, a newborn, her baby. That's you, Prince Edward. And the woman carrying you is your mother, Queen of England, Jane Seymour. And your father is King Henry VIII. And you are the son he has longed for. In any case, Jane looks at you with a motherly gaze and kisses your little head. Two ladies in waiting are watching her. *

Jane: My Edward, my own heart...