How dare she. That, that whore.
I look down at the letter in my hand, the letter which informs me that I have been requested to be a godparent to the King's child with his harlot. Royally requested, with the Royal seal, which is impossible to refuse, of course. I know that slut is behind it, which is the worst part. She knows my allegiance still lies with Her Majesty (the true Queen), and I refuse to appease a silly girl, a twenty-five year old brat, by trying to gain her favor. I will not bend my knee or call her by a title she cannot claim, as its true owner is very much alive and all but shut away, banished from her true place, because of this stupid girl's insolence.
Of course, that's why she's making me a godparent - to tie me to her bastard, make me try to give up my loyalty to the Queen. And, failing that, she will have something to laugh at, knowing I feel as I do and yet must swear to mentor her child, to protect her... She will be pleased, indeed.
That little chit doesn't know who she's crossing. That little witch! At least the child is a girl. Now The Concubine must feel the same fear that my beloved Mistress felt all those times before.
Please, oh Lord, in your infinite wisdom, do not let that daughter of the Devil to put her tainted blood on the throne of England. I will do my part as needed for this little faux-princess, but do not give her a brother of the same flesh. Do not give Anne Boleyn a son.