happyfalcon | Prompt: Masquerade

Cullen arrived at the castle with his patron, the Earl of Shrewsbury, as part of his retinue. Knighted at the Battle of Guinegate, it was more recently he landed this particular honor. As little as he wished to travel from Shifnal, he was well aware that a refusal would be an insult to a man generous in his support. He didn't need a letter from his eldest sister to chide him into compliance, although she was more than happy to provide one. Her advice through the years must have been rubbing off.

He paid the earl due attention until obligation was met, and it was clear he was free to enjoy his evening as he saw fit. He circulated through the guests, enjoying the facade of being disguised behind a stylized hawk mask, feathered and severe, when he knew his height and hair gave him away to any who already knew him. The wine was better than he kept at his own table, the guests merry, and the music lively. He gave no indication he was less given to such entertainments than he seemed. His wife and babe were dead nearly six months now. Talk was beginning to circulate that it was unseemly how long he had remained unwed. He had no doubt that the source of at least some of it was his own dear, well-meaning, interfering, and often infuriating sister.

He felt more than a little ill at ease in his dark crimson cloth of gold doublet with deep blue sarcenet pulled through the slashes and matching round paned hose. His ruffs were stiff and itchy against his neck and wrists. He had to actively resist tugging at them or reaching up to scratch. It was the finest clothing he owned and not something he often wore for any reason.

When the musicians struck up a galliard form and guests quickly scrambled to find their places for the energetic dance, he was among them. He lost awareness of his discomfort. Dancing was something he genuinely enjoyed. There were several women to draw the eye. It was one in blue who drew his more than the rest.

Anne had been ducking around enjoying the company of family friends. Yes, this was what she had needed - her father was too preoccupied with keeping George's shenanigans under control to pester her about the king. For tonight, it seemed that Anne was free to do as she pleased. Or, that was the theory anyway. For when the music began, Mary seized Anne's hand and tugged her towards the dance floor.

At first she turned to snap a comment to Mary, but something caught her eye - or rather, someone. Of course any man who wore hawk feathers to a house where the family crest was a falcon was going to earn her attention right off. But even concealed as his face was, Anne couldn't help but find herself curious. The music lilted, giving the dancers the cue to begin. Mary naturally found a partner right away and soon disappeared in the crowd of dancers.

Anne found her arm locked with a group of dancers taking advantage of the fast-paced music. Of course she knew this particular tune, having been trained to dance from the time she could walk; so Anne knew the steps to this dance and quickly caught up to the others. As the group looped around the dance floor, Anne took the first opportunity she could to free herself and step away.

It's not that she didn't enjoy it - she just had found a partner that she would prefer to a group dance. Her dark eyes glanced up to attempt and catch his gaze. Even through the mask she thought he was rather handsome, but Anne couldn't honestly tell if it was just the mysterious allure of not being able to see him entirely.

But that was the whole point of a Masquerade, after all. And All Hallows Eve seemed to have that magical effect on people that they didn't expect.

Who could read a woman's mind? Should a poet have a better understanding of it than other men?

When the invitation to attend a masquerade at Hever was delivered to Thomas, he didn't know what to believe anymore. Earlier that year, on a fine summer's day, he and Anne had not parted with the best of terms. Her words then, Never ask after me - and never, if you value your life, speak of me to others. Do you understand? had been carved into his mind and soul. And he had done his best to obey her command.

So why was it that he had been invited to Hever now?

With the foolish hope that she had had a change of heart - and ignoring the possiblity that the invitation might have come from her parents instead, not Anne - Thomas travelled to Hever.

A woman like Anne should not wear a mask; hiding such beauty was a crime. Not that the mask managed to hide it. Thomas stepped across the hall, his own black mask in hand, and made an elaborate bow before the lady.

"Mistress Anne, you look devine in blue."

True enough, Anne had not penned the invitation with her own hand. She hadn't known that Thomas had been invited. Not that she could have done much about it without creating suspicion, which was rather what she had hoped to avoid. There was a reason she had told him to keep away, to never speak her name in the dark or seek her out as he had once.

He had asked her then if she'd had no pity - 'pity' was not the word she would have used. She feared for him, but could not admit this. Anne was worried that, if her father or Henry knew about what had occurred between them, it would only result in pain for Thomas.

Or worse.

Anne was not prepared to cope with such pain. But still, it had been that much more painful these last few months not knowing his touch or his kiss. Even if Henry showered her with affection, it was not the same - he gave it to so many other women, how could it ever be meant especially for her?

But there he was, right before her - dressed gallantly as usual. Did she imagine it, or had her breath caught in her chest? Why was her heart beating so fast? Despite these feelings swelling inside her, Anne smiled and gave a slow curtsey, her eyes glancing through her mask up to catch his gaze.

"You're too kind, Sir Thomas," Anne replied. "You look dashing, as always."

"Nay, never too kind for-" you "...for the ladies of Hever." Thomas was quick to include all the Boleyn women in his statement. They were not alone here. Dozens of eyes and ears would witness if he made a mistake and let anyone know of his true feelings. Anne's brother George was but a few steps away, nodding and smiling towards them.

His true feelings. They were supposed to be directed at his wife, Elizabeth, even though everyone knew they had been separated for a good while already.

Thomas tugged the hem of his jacket. "I do try to look presentable. And now that you know who's under these clothes, I can wear this," he added, lifting up the mask and securing it over his face with the silk ribbons.

"Thank you for the invitation. I had wondered if I'll ever be welcome here again."

"As if a mere mask could truly keep you hidden from me," Anne chuckled, one hand coming up to cover her mouth just a bit.

As if she would not recognize his gait, would not feel his presence in such a small space. But she could hide from him no easier either, when it came right down to it. No mask, nor polite charade and public appearance could hide her true feelings. It was good, in a way, but also incredibly vexing.

"Why should you wonder if you would ever be welcome? All Boleyn friends are always welcome at Hever," Anne paused briefly. "And you're most certainly a friend of the Boleyns, are you not?"

Anne glanced briefly around the room - she did not see Elizabeth here, but that didn't entirely mean that she wasn't in attendance. In some ways, she felt jealous of his wife - but Anne tried not to feel such a petty emotion. Besides, they were separated, as he had told her.

But separated and divorced were two entirely different things.

"Has the Lady Wyatt not come with you?"

Of course not. A mask could not hide either one of them. Thomas had meant his words as a jest - and partly as a test. Her answer was enough to suggest she had not set aside all her feelings toward him after all.

"I do not wish to hide from you, Anne," he whispered, leaning ever so slightly closer.

Then he straightened up again and put on a smile. "I should hope to always be considred a friend. You can be sure... that is how I think of you."

His smile died out, however, with the mention of his wife. In fact, it was so unexpected that Wyatt had to look around him to make sure that Elizabeth was not in the room. He shook his head at Anne.

"I did not deserve that. You know full well our relationship is over."

Anne felt guilt overwhelm her at his reaction. She hadn't really meant it as an insult, but she realized he was absolutely right. Anne glanced down a moment before she looked back up to him. Her fingers came up and untied the silk ribbon of her mask. She did not wish to be concealed when she spoke next.

"Forgive me, I spoke incorrectly," Anne's eyes were wide, almost pleading. As if his disapproval physically hurt her.

Which was not altogether inaccurate. That day they'd last seen each other had nearly killed her. That she'd had to be so cruel and heartless in her reaction.

"What I meant was, are you here tonight unaccompanied?"

Apparently they both made hurtful remarks without the intention but then what was to be expeced? They had to dance around what was proper. Wyatt's face softened at the sight of the distressed look on Anne.

"No... no. Do not apologize. We are friends, and you are right. I am still married." Technically so. "Which is why I am here alone. That is, I don't wish to cause more rumours than there already are."

That sounded better than it was. In reality, he didn't care about Elizabeth's feelings quite that much. It was because of Anne that Wyatt wanted to give the impression of a free man. When he was at court, he didn't have the habit of wooing the ladies-of-waiting openly (or at all) like some other men.

"Come now, we have all the reasons to smile and be happy tonight," he said, offering his elbow to Anne. "Let us get some refreshments, shall we? I have missed the good wine that you always serve here."

It was difficult to hide her joy when he revealed that he was alone. His actions in court had not escaped her notice. Being one of the queen's ladies, Anne heard the gossip of the other ladies, and was often a part of it herself. They would talk about this lord or that knight, sometimes Thomas was the subject of their swooning. This didn't sit well with Anne, but she kept her comments to herself.

But seeing as he'd made no effort that she'd seen to woo the other ladies, Anne had been happy enough. To her, that was as good as the most open declaration of love. Which was something she knew she could not have, not as things were now.

Anne tried to hold back her enthusiasm as she moved to loop her elbow with his.

"Then you will be happy to know that the wine is in abundance this evening, father knows I'm fond of it myself - and this is one of the few nights of the year when he permits the three of us to drink as much as we like of it," Anne smiled.

She paused suddenly though, remembering her mask and that she had taken it off. Anne held it up and glanced to him - unable to fight the slightest blush that colored her cheeks.

"Well, this is indeed embarrassing. I've gone and removed my mask, and it's so tricky to tie back into place without snagging my hair..." Anne paused for the briefest of moments. "I wonder, Sir Thomas, could I impose upon you to ask that you help me tie it again?"

"Indeed, I am happy to know your good father is the most generous of hosts." Wyatt winked at Anne. It had been more than once that - with the help of George - he had enjoyed the bounties of the Boleyn wine cellar. This time, though, he wasn't planning on getting so drunk as to find himself under the table the next morning.

A smile formed on his lips at her request. Surely she didn't need help with tying the mask. But it was impossible to refuse.

Silently Wyatt moved to stand behind her. His eyes looked on to the crowd in front of them. Then his gaze turned to the creamy white skin of her bare shoulders. Wyatt couldn't help but clear his throat.

"Hold it over your eyes." His voice sounded odd to his ears. With the pressure of the moment, his hands seemed clumsy but securing the mask with a neat bow was over and done with much too fast. In the hopes of prolonging the precious moment, he let his fingers brush lightly against her shoulder as he gathered a few loose strands of hair with the rest of her locks, hanging on her back.

Wishing they could be somewhere alone, Wyatt closed his eyes. He wanted to hold her in his arms again. He wanted to be able to press his lips next to her ear and whisper beautiful things.

He did lean closer, ever so fast, to breath in her scent. And he did whisper, "Anne", in an almost desperate tone.

There was danger - in her request, in his tone when he spoke. Anne knew this, and she still had asked. It wasn't a complete lie, but it certainly wasn't altogether true either. She did as instructed, holding the mask in place as he tied it behind her head.

The softest noise escaped her at the feeling of his fingers against her skin. Oh, it had been far too long since she'd felt his touch. What had she done? Why had she put herself in this situation to remind herself how sorely she missed him? What a fool she had been...to let her father manipulate her so, into becoming the king's mistress for everyone's benefit, except hers.

She turned slowly to face him, bright eyes glancing up to catch his gaze. Those same eyes betrayed her in that instant. Her eyes said what her lips could not - at least not here. But after a moment she looked away, glancing to see where George was, where Mary was - where her father was.

Thankfully they were all occupied. George was trying to woo some blonde in a green dress while Mary and her mother were enjoying tarts at a table. Her father was laughing with some other nameless noble.

"Thank you, Sir Thomas," Anne's voice was soft, almost barely audible over the music. "I believe we were after refreshments, were we not?"

Though wine, however sweet, was the farthest thing from her mind now.

Her quiet sigh didn't go unnoticed from him, even if there was noise and laughter and music in the room. Nothing she did went unnoticed.

He had already gone too far. He may well be a friend of the Boleyns but Anne was off limits. Her father had bigger ambitions for his daughters. As much as Wyatt came from a respectable family, it was a futile hope that Thomas Boleyn could ever consider him as a possible son-in-law.

It hurt to see in her eyes that she suffered, too. Wyatt would rather that he was the only one to carry that burden. He would suffer willingly if it meant that she didn't have to.

It wasn't his choice to make, though. Nobody, save perhaps the King himself, had their fate at their own hands. When Wyatt looked into his heart, he didn't blame Anne for anything.

"That we were," he admitted and gallantly helped her meander between other guests towards the table. Taking two goblets from a servant he handed one of them to Anne.

"To poets and their muses? Or is that too selfish?"

Edited 2014-07-07 21:29 (UTC)

Thomas Boleyn craved good husbands for his daughters, but not for their benefit. In many ways he was a loving father, and all his children were unquestionably devoted to him. But Anne most of the three felt that he had forced a burden upon her that was unfair of a father to ask his child.

She followed Wyatt through the crowd and smiled as she took the goblet from him.

"Not at all. I would add to freedom, loyalty and open hearts," Anne held her cup up to him in toast before tipping it to her lips. Though she took a more generous gulp than she normally would have.

As she took the goblet from her lips, Anne ran her tongue along the ridge of her lip to clear a stray drop of wine away. She glanced about, taking a moment to gather what courage she had to ask:

"It's a wonder anyone can move at all in this room, let alone dance! I wonder, Sir Thomas, would it be too forward of me to ask for a dance..." She paused. "...outside in the garden?"

"I will drink to freedom," Wyatt replied earnestly and followed her lead in downing a sizable gulp of wine. Twice. Then he took a deep breath. There was no freedom here to speak his mind but Anne was already suggesting something else. Wyatt felt the heart in his chest pound a little harder.

"Yes, I believe it would be too forward, mistress Anne," he laughed out of nervousness, then lowered his voice, "but I wouldn't say nay."

However, they had to be careful not to raise suspicion. Wyatt frowned as he searched for her father in the crowd.

"I need to go and greet your father. It would be impolite not to." Making sure no one was eavesdrpping them, he continued with even a quieter voice. "You could... go outside in the meanwhile? I'll join you soon."

((OOC: I have been to Hever once. The castle is beautiful, the gardens spectacular. Anne's room was surprisingly small.))

Anne did indeed feel embarrassed when he initially replied. But his quiet addition made her heart flutter in her chest. She tried not to seem too eager and too happy, but she could not fight the smile that broke across her face.

"Very well, I'll make some attempt to be patient," Anne chuckled before she turned slowly and disappeared into the crowd.

There were people outside, but most were too drunk to notice Anne. She wandered through the hedges and bushes, letting her fingers graze over silken flower petals. It was much cooler outside, Anne gave a slight shiver as the cold air teased her skin.

She glanced up to the night sky, picking out constellations in the stars above her. It made her smile at how peaceful it was.

((Lucky!! Awww I would kill to see it just once...my descriptions are probably way off xD))

Wyatt watched Anne go, finishing his cup of wine. He needed that, to brace himself in order to meet her father. He was about to engage in an idle chit-chat with the man he looked up to, with whom his own father was friends with and whose daughter he had just agreed to meet in secret.

Thankfully Thomas Boleyn was still in the middle of an important discussion with one of his financial advisors. Therefore he didn't find the time to pay much attention to the nervous poet apart from some simple pleasantries.

Wyatt felt like the most wretched guest when Sir Thomas asked him to make sure to dance with his daughters before the night was over. He offered a strained smile and excused himself as soon as possible.

For Wyatt, the cool night air felt wonderful. He strode across the small courtyard and then the moat. There was no need to wonder which way Anne might have gone; he knew her favourite places.

Quietly he joined her in the shadows of some tall hedges, staring at the stars.

"Where is my thought?
Where wanders my desire?
Where may the thing be sought?
That I require?"

((OOC: Hever has surely changed since Anne's days. I'm basing my descriptions on 21st century knowledge, so I think you're good :). ))

That in and of itself had been a test; Anne would not go so far as to say she had been hiding but she had at least made sure that she would not easily be found. At least not by someone who did not know her. How well did he remember sneaking out here with her before all this mess had occurred? How well did he remember her hiding places?

Apparently very well, for she wasn't waiting long.

Anne turned to him, slowly, her hands clasped behind her back and her trademark smile on her lips.

"I seek nothing,
But thus for to discharge
My heart of sore sighing,
To plain at large."

She gives a soft giggle before finishing her wine and setting the empty goblet down on the ground - as it was the nearest surface she could find to abandon it. Anne stood up straight again to face him.

"You were always far better with words than I," She admits. "But that is to be expected, is it not?"

In all honesty, he probably didn't know all her favourite places, but he knew some. And he trusted her not to make him search for long in this darkness. They didn't have that much time on their hands.

As for remembering... It was hard not to.

He remembered that smile: the corners of her mouth curling up just like that. She had the most expressive face. No wonder she caught the eyes of so many men.

There was a smile on his face, too, as Anne recited the lines.

"My lady, it is thanks to you if I have a way with words. To poets and their muses, remember?"

He stepped closer and nudged the goblet down with his foot.

"Your father wanted me to dance with you."

Edited 2014-07-08 22:03 (UTC)

"You speak as though you'd have absolutely no talent without me," Anne teased.

She looked up to catch his gaze, the blush on her face hidden by her mask, for which she silently thanked the Lord.

"Does that mean that you would not share a dance with me if my father had not asked?" She asked, her brow tilting a bit.

Anne chuckled a little more, turning from him and taking a step or two away. As if enticing him, inviting him.

"But, I certainly can't very well say nay," Anne pointed out. "What dance shall we have then, Thomas? A waltz? A volta, perhaps? We shall likely need to make our own music, as I can hardly hear the music inside the castle."

She forgot herself in that moment, thought things were as they had been. But she soon recalled their situation. Anne cleared her throat and stood a bit straighter.

"Ahh, Sir Thomas, I meant. Forgive me."

"I speak as I find true. God willing there is no need to find out if I'll have talent without you."

That was a little deeper than what he wanted the conversation to be about. Wyatt reached out for Anne's hand but she was teasing him, stepping backwards.

"No. Your permission is all I need," he replied to the question about dancing with her.

Wyatt contemplated Anne's suggestions. A pity he didn't have his lute with him, though obviously playing an instrument would have been a hindrance to actually dancing with her.

"A volta, my lady?" Wyatt's eyes flashed playfully as he extended his hand toward her. "Why not."

Though she did not reply to his first comment, she heard it clear enough. It replayed a time or two in Anne's mind, giving her momentary pause. That she had tried to shut this man out, albeit to save his life - it seemed so foolish. The ache in her heart for him seemed too strong to ignore. But she had to....didn't she?

But a volta...why, of all dances had she suggested that dance? It seemed like each country had it's own creative versions of it, but all were the same in that it required the dancing pair to remain close. Not quite so intimate as other Spanish dances Anne had seen, but it could be considered a sensual dance in its own right. Damn her traitorous tongue!

All the same, the challenge had been issued. There was no backing out of it now. She had suggested a volta, and a volta they would have. Anne's face did not betray her inner conflict - a fact for which she was incredibly grateful. Her smile stayed on as she reached slowly for Thomas' hand and stepped towards him. Her fingers slid delicately along his and around his palm. Anne followed the steps to the dance slowly, turning and bringing their clasped hands above her, before she completed the turn and came to face him, much closer now than they had been.

Thomas was, obviously, the man - so she would let him lead, as etiquette dictated. But for that moment froze her, however briefly - to be so close to him again, to have his hand in hers with no one around to find them...

She was done for.

Wyatt had never danced the volta himself but he had watched others dance it enough of times. Gently squeezing Anne's hand, he let his thumb caress over hers. They had to do without music but somehow that seemed irrelevant. He suspected he wouldn't have heard music anyway, not from his concentration on the movements they performed together. Dancing on grass was quite unlike in the ballroom.

Not to mention her nearness, intensified by the forbidden nature of the moment. He had no idea what she really wanted. For all he knew, Anne could have been playing with him. Indeed, she probably was doing just that. In a flash she could have been gone, leaving him to cool his feelings alone under the night sky.

As Anne turned and faced him, and they stood motionless for what seemed like a long time (yet wasn't), Wyatt believed Anne wasn't playing. Not at that particular moment. He ran his hands down her uplifted arms, stopping at her waist.

It would have been so easy to pull her tight against himself. But he swallowed that thought and lifted her up and made a turn - like he was supposed to do. The volta.

((OOC: Edited for a typo again, sorry.))

Edited 2014-07-10 18:15 (UTC)

((ooc: It's all good! Mine's edited because it seemed teeeerribly short...))

Anne had performed this dance a few times, at least. The most recent being with Henry. This though, this seemed far better. Wait, no - she couldn't afford to think that way. She couldn't afford to let herself dwell on the memory of that, no matter how many times she'd danced the volta with Henry, she had pictured Thomas as her partner instead. Blast! No! She tried to force herself not to think on it - to not think at all.

The turn had been a godsend in that regard. It seemed a bit strange - she had felt his hands at her waist at least dozens of times before. Yet this time, Anne couldn't stop herself from gasping, feeling the touch of his hands near her hips. Thinking quickly she tried to play it off as though she were surprised as he lifted her. She was a fine actress, after all - but was she that convincing? She wasn't certain...

It probably didn't help her cause when her hands instinctively went to his shoulders as he lifted her - brushing against his neck and through his hair as they moved. Anne smiled and gave the softest laugh as he completed the turn.

But as he brought her down again, her shoes and the tricky ground beneath them proved just how far from the ballroom they really were. Anne went to turn again, but her shoes caught on the ground beneath her and she fell forward, towards Thomas, with a sharp cry of surprise.

Edited 2014-07-10 22:37 (UTC)

For months Wyatt had steered clear of Anne by her own request. He had - rather unsuccessfully - tried to put out the fire in him. He had written poems of lovelorn men and hard-hearted women.

And now? Now the object of his affection was inviting his advances again. What was he supposed to do? Carpe diem? The words of a great poet, Horace, rang in his ears.

Before Wyatt could make up his mind, fate took matters into its own hands: suddenly Anne let out a scream and took a dive towards him! He gasped, flying his arms open to catch her, which fortunately he managed to do but with less grace than he'd like to admit.

Though who's to say it wasn't deliberate on his part to stumble off-balance? At any rate, he ended up kneeling down, Anne in his arms and lowered her on the ground. Eyes fixed at her, Wyatt tossed away his mask.

Last time she had turned away from him. Wyatt leaned down, closing the distance between their lips.

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