‘Swive my furrow like there’s no tomorrow!’ I beg Thomas. ‘For after I am wed to the King, we shall swive no more’
He stands before me as broad as an oak, a foul stench rising from his weeping sores. “Your luck is in, Kateryn,” he says to me in an uncharacteristically modern voice.
“Indeed it is, Your Majesty,” I reply breathily, though in my heart I do not feel such joy, for I am an uncommonly modern woman and I can’t help feeling that becoming Henry’s sixth wife will be something of a mixed blessing.
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