Princess Ann pouted around the castle as she learned the news. Impossible. Simply impossible. It might be the biggest catastrophe in the kingdom, but for her it was more personal. Yes, King Andrew was not able to sire a child. That meant that the throne would belong to another after his death. Her future child could never rise to be king, because what it really meant was that she could never have a child. That was the real catastrophe.
“We will still have a happy life,” the king said to her later that night.
She took the bed with him each night, breaking the tradition of previous royal spouses who held their own rooms why the king did as he pleased with whomever he pleased. King Andrew truly loved Ann, despite his power and stance in the kingdom. When he vowed his love to her, he meant it.
“I know my dear,” Ann said to the king. “I am disappointed, but I live to serve you.”
“Nonsense,” he said, “inside this room, we are equals as I have always said. We serve each other. I never want you to think otherwise.” He pulled her into his strong arms, holding her tight. “Do you understand me?” She nodded. “Good,” he said, kissing her deeply.