The Boleyn King (Boleyn Trilogy Series #1)

The Boleyn King (Boleyn Trilogy Series #1)

by Laura Andersen


View All Available Formats & Editions
Members save with free shipping everyday! 
See details



Perfect for fans of Philippa Gregory, Alison Weir, and Showtime’s The Tudors, The Boleyn King is the first book in an enthralling trilogy that dares to imagine: What if Anne Boleyn had actually given Henry VIII a son who grew up to be king?

Just seventeen years old, Henry IX, known as William, is a king bound by the restraints of the regency yet anxious to prove himself. With the French threatening battle and the Catholics sowing the seeds of rebellion at home, William trusts only three people: his older sister Elizabeth; his best friend and loyal counselor, Dominic; and Minuette, a young orphan raised as a royal ward by William’s mother, Anne Boleyn.
Against a tide of secrets, betrayal, and murder, William finds himself fighting for the very soul of his kingdom. Then, when he and Dominic both fall in love with Minuette, romantic obsession looms over a new generation of Tudors. One among them will pay the price for a king’s desire, as a shocking twist of fate changes England’s fortunes forever.
Includes a preview of Laura Andersen’s The Boleyn Deceit

Praise for The Boleyn King
“Imaginative . . . Andersen focuses on creating an exciting, action-driven plot containing strong doses of both intrigue and romance. Tudor-era historical fiction fans who are willing to accept the unusual premise will be rewarded with an original and entertaining read that’s reminiscent of the best of Philippa Gregory.”Library Journal (starred review)
“Gripping . . . Andersen delves into an alternative Tudor England geared to rivet period fans and newcomers alike. . . . Perfect for Philippa Gregory fans.”Booklist (starred review)
“A surprising gem and a thoroughly enjoyable read.”Historical Novels Review
“Andersen’s novel, alive with historical flair and drama, satisfies both curious and imaginative Tudor aficionados. . . . Her multidimensional characters are so real that readers will wish it was history and eagerly await the next in the trilogy.”RT Book Reviews (Top Pick)
“A wonderfully imaginative and well-written tale of intrigue, high court politics and desperate love.”Deseret News
‘What if . . .’ With these tantalizing words, Laura Andersen creates a fresh and vividly realized alternative world where Anne Boleyn not only lives, but also gives birth to a healthy son who will become King. With the introduction of Minuette, Princess Elizabeth’s lady-in-waiting, we meet an extraordinary young woman who embodies love and loyalty, and who fights to find the humanity at the heart of the most glamorous—and dangerous—court in Europe.”—Susan Elia MacNeal, author of Mr. Churchill’s Secretary
“Full of intrigue, conspiracies, and the accurate details so essential to good historical fiction . . . Anyone who has even the slightest fascination with the Tudors will want to devour this delectable novel in a single sitting.”—Tasha Alexander, New York Times bestselling author of Death in the Floating City

Look for special features inside. Join the Random House Reader’s Circle for author chats and more.

Product Details

ISBN-13: 9780345534095
Publisher: Random House Publishing Group
Publication date: 05/14/2013
Series: Boleyn Trilogy Series , #1
Pages: 368
Sales rank: 380,468
Product dimensions: 5.10(w) x 7.90(h) x 0.90(d)

About the Author

Laura Andersen is married with four children, and possesses a constant sense of having forgotten something important. She has a BA in English (with an emphasis in British history), which she puts to use by reading everything she can lay her hands on.

Read an Excerpt


28 June 1553

Hampton Court

I am seventeen today and have decided that, although I shall never be a scholar like Elizabeth, I can at least keep a diary. My history is quickly told—daughter of a French mother and an English gentleman, no siblings, and no parents since I was eight. My full name is Genevieve Antoinette Wyatt. It was Elizabeth who first called me Minuette. I was born more than a month before I was expected, and the first time she saw me, Elizabeth thought me too little for the name my French mother had given me. She attempted to call me Mignonette—meaning dainty and darling—but her three-year-old tongue did not pronounce it properly. I have been Minuette to my friends ever since.

The importance of this day goes beyond just my seventeenth birthday—today I return to Elizabeth’s household after an absence of two years. Queen Anne has been my guardian since my mother’s death nearly nine years ago, and I spent my childhood with Elizabeth. But when I turned fifteen, the queen took me into her own household in order to train me properly for Elizabeth’s service. I have learnt to stand quietly when necessary, so that I am almost forgotten. I have learnt to remember names and faces, to know the habits of noblemen and the idiosyncrasies of ambassadors. And I have learnt to lock away secrets, for a lady of the privy chamber must be able to keep her own counsel.

Elizabeth has come to Hampton Court not only to reclaim me but also to join in the weeklong celebrations for William’s birthday. There will be feasting and dancing tonight, and I will pretend, as I always have, that the celebrations are half for me. But today the only celebration I truly care about is seeing my friends. Although Queen Anne spends much of her time with her children, I have not seen either of them for a year. Last summer the queen decided I was too dependent on others, and so I was left behind every time she joined the court at Whitehall or Greenwich or Richmond. I spent six months at Hever and six months at Blickling Hall as her resident lady. A great privilege, to be sure—but I would have given up any privilege to see my friends!

Dominic has come as well. A waiting woman told me that Master Courtenay rode in after dark last night and is even now with the king. I have not seen him for a full sixteen months, not since he was named Lieutenant of the March along the Welsh border. I am sure he could have managed to visit at least once in all that time, but his letters always pleaded duty, a virtue to which he is too much wed. I wonder what he has brought me for my birthday. I hope it is fabric—velvet or satin or shot silk. But it is probably only a book. Dominic has always thought it his calling to teach me to be wise.

Minuette closed the diary, pristine vellum pages bound by soft calfskin, and marked her place with a bit of burgundy velvet ribbon.

The sharp, familiar voice of Alyce de Clare came from the open doorway behind her. “Are you still here? I was looking forward to having the chamber to myself for once.”

Minuette swiveled on her stool and smiled. “You know you will miss me as much as I’m going to miss you.”

Alyce was nearly three years older, and she, like Minuette, came from a relatively unimportant family. Alyce had come to Queen Anne because her father had been a secretary in Lord Rochford’s household. The queen’s brother could be as difficult to please as Anne herself, but both of them were quick to reward loyalty. Alyce’s father had served Rochford long and well (and discreetly), and his daughter had been rewarded with a place at court where she might be expected to make a good marriage. She and Minuette had been steady chambermates for the last two years.

Alyce attempted a smile, but it didn’t touch more than the corners of her mouth. “You will be too busy being important in Princess Elizabeth’s household to remember to miss me.”

“Of course I’ll remember.” Minuette stood, which meant the shorter Alyce had to look up a little. “I just wish . . .”

“Wish what?”

Minuette hesitated, but she knew that this might be her last chance to speak her worries. “Alyce, I’m worried about you. I think . . . I think you are in trouble. I would help you if I could.”

Alyce’s brown eyes blanked—a skill most women picked up rapidly in the queen’s household. On Alyce, it had the effect of sharpening her generous mouth and rounded cheeks, so she looked more like a statue of a woman rather than her usual vivacious, warm self. With distant courtesy, she said, “I can’t imagine what you mean.”

“You should speak to the queen,” Minuette said firmly, letting her eyes linger on Alyce’s waist. Though still tightly cinched beneath a yellow-and-black-patterned stomacher, it had been growing thicker over the last eight weeks. “Someone will tell her soon enough, and you know how she hates gossip.”

For a heartbeat Alyce seemed to teeter on complete denial, then with a rush of emotion she said, “And you know very well that the queen will be angry no matter who tells her.”

Minuette did know. But she put a hand on the stiffly embroidered sleeve of Alyce’s yellow dress and said gently, “You will have to act very soon. If I can help in any way—perhaps I could speak to Elizabeth—”

“No!” Alyce jerked away, her waist-length brown hair swirling. “Don’t tell anyone. Certainly not the princess. She is the very last person who would help me.”

“Elizabeth is my dearest friend, she would—”

“Princess Elizabeth is her mother’s daughter.” Alyce smiled fully this time, a bitter and twisted smile that broke Minuette’s heart. “The rising star and the setting sun . . . but both of them can burn.”

“Who is the father?” Minuette asked quietly. It was a question she had pondered often the last few weeks. One would think that, in the close quarters of the court, she would know whom Alyce had been dallying with. But her friend also knew how to keep secrets.

Alyce shook her head. “You are not meant for these sorts of games, Minuette. You are too trusting and too generous. Those qualities will hurt you one day—but not through any action of mine. Forget what you have guessed. I can take care of myself.”

She turned away with the grace of a sylph and vanished as suddenly as she’d come. Minuette sighed, knowing she would hold her tongue, as Alyce had asked. For now.

Dominic Courtenay fingered the necklace he had bought at the abbey fair in Shrewsbury: cabochon-cut sapphires and pearls to circle the neck, with a filigree star pendant. Neither exotic nor terribly expensive, but Minuette had little jewelry of her own and she delighted in impractical gifts.

He had just finished tying up the pendant in a square of fabric when William opened the door without knocking and shut it in the faces of those who followed him everywhere. He was dressed for sport, in a linen shirt and leather jerkin.

“Why is it,” William said accusingly, “that you are the only man in England who keeps me waiting?”

Dominic gave him a wry smile. “Because I’m the only man in England who still thinks of you as Will rather than as the king.”

William snorted and crossed the room. Picking up a sheet of heavy paper from the desk, he read a few words aloud. “ ‘Once there were four stars’ . . . you wrote down the star story for Minuette?”

Dominic pulled the letter away and said, “It’s not easy to share your birthday with a king, especially not one whose birth was attended by such signs as stars falling from the sky.”

“It’s a fair enough gift.”

“What did you get her?” Even as he asked, he wondered why it sounded like a challenge.

“It’s a surprise. And speaking of gifts . . .” William’s voice trailed off meaningfully.

Dominic shook his head. “I thought you were anxious for sparring practice.”

“Only to prove that my reach is longer than it was when you left—you might find it harder to disarm me.”

Dominic cast a measuring eye over the boy he had known since birth. It was true that he had gone some way to matching his father’s height. Still, Dominic was five years older and a natural swordsman. He didn’t think William was his equal yet; they would find out soon enough in a fair sparring bout.

Only once had Dominic made the mistake of going easy. When William was ten and had been king just six months, he and Dominic had spent the morning fighting with wooden practice swords. But William grew impatient with the clumsy replicas and demanded real swords. The swordmaster hesitated, but a nod from Lord Rochford, who was watching their practice, sent him scurrying off.

William caught the implied permission from the Lord Protector. He said nothing, but Dominic saw the set of his still-childish jaw as they were laced into the bulky, padded jerkins that would be some measure of protection against blunted steel.

For the first time ever, Dominic allowed himself to make mistakes as they sparred—nothing obvious, or so he thought. Just a misstep here and a delayed feint there, enough to give the younger boy the edge.

But he had miscalculated. Without warning, William threw his sword straight at Dominic’s head. Only a quick duck saved him from being hit squarely by the hilt. Too surprised to move further, Dominic stood silent as William marched up to him, the command in his voice making up for the fact that he was six inches shorter. “Don’t you ever do that again.”

“Do what?” Dominic asked.

William struck him once, hard on the cheek. “Don’t ever lower your guard. I will be the best because I’ve earned it. I don’t need you to hand me my victories.”

He turned and walked out of the practice arena. He had not raised his voice or lost control of his colour, but Dominic had felt the force of his anger whipping through the air.

If William’s skill had increased as much as his height, he might earn a victory today, and Dominic had just the weapon for him to use. He opened his trunk and removed a layer of neatly folded clothing—plain tunics and jerkins, as befitted a soldier in the field—to uncover the gift that lay beneath.

There was really no way to make a sword unrecognizable. With a grin of delight, William pulled it free from its scabbard and took a few enthusiastic swings before holding it horizontally in one hand to test the balance.

Dominic turned the sword so that William could see clearly the four star-shaped gems laid in the gold hilt. “Now there’s one place where the four of us are always together.”

William laughed. “You sound as though you’re dying. Or perhaps you’ve met an accommodating Welsh miss and wish to change allegiance?”

With a grin, Dominic shrugged off his sentimentality. “You’ll be the first to know.”

As she entered her mother’s outer chamber, Elizabeth straightened her shoulders, ensuring that the green and gold brocade of her dress did not ripple across the stomacher but flared perfectly from tiny waist to wide skirts. Elizabeth had heard her mother cut a lady to shreds with her tongue for an uneven hem or a slight stain, and she did not doubt that Anne would subject her own daughter to the same.

A dozen of her mother’s ladies were grouped in threes and fours around the ornate presence chamber. Several were working on a tapestry while others wrote letters or talked quietly amongst themselves. One lady, with a straight fall of rich brown hair, played lightly on a lute. As Elizabeth passed her, the young woman looked up and her fingers missed a chord.

She returned to playing almost at once, but not before giving Elizabeth a hostile glance. What was her name? One of the de Clares, she thought, but not from an important branch or Elizabeth would know her better. Almost she stopped to speak to the woman, but her mother was waiting.

Queen Anne sat in a gilded wooden chair placed next to a tall window, a Tyndale Bible open on her lap. As Elizabeth curtsied, she wondered how much longer her mother would be able to see the fine print of the books she loved so well. These days she could read only in brightest sunlight.

Rising with a seductive grace that was still the envy of every woman in England, her mother said, “Will you join me within, Elizabeth?” Despite the intonation, it was not a question.

She followed her mother to the door in the north wall that led to the intimate but no less elegant privy chamber. Only one lady of the privy chamber was inside—one who flung herself at Elizabeth in a most inelegant manner.


Minuette hugged Elizabeth with unrestrained delight while the queen, who would have frozen any other woman with a stare of ice for such behaviour, smiled upon the pair. Beneath her own delight, Elizabeth felt a brief spasm of pain. Minuette had always had charm—not the studied, showy type, but natural as breath and as much a part of her as her honey-coloured hair. Elizabeth could clearly remember her father visiting the schoolroom in the year before his death. She had spent an hour translating Latin and Greek for him, doing mathematics, and discussing theology. Though he’d complimented Elizabeth’s mind, it was nine-year-old Minuette who had disarmed him. When the formidable, enormous King Henry had left, it had been Minuette whom he’d hugged goodbye.

Elizabeth might have hated her for that charm, if Minuette weren’t so utterly without guile.

Queen Anne’s beautiful voice broke into Elizabeth’s memory. “I take it that you are both pleased.”

Beneath the words lay a hint of perplexity, as though she could not imagine why. Truthfully, Elizabeth would have been hard-pressed to name a single woman whom her mother considered a friend. She had always preferred men.

Feeling almost sorry for her mother, Elizabeth said, “I could not be more pleased. It is generous of you to allow her to return to my household.”

Her mother might like flattery, but she was never stupid. “Considering that you have been pressing the king for months, you cannot be surprised. She is a trifle young still—as are you, Elizabeth.”

“I will be twenty in September,” Elizabeth said mildly.

As if she hadn’t heard, her mother went on, “But your brother is determined to allow you an unusual measure of independence.”

It was Minuette, naturally, who had something complimentary to say. “And how could he do otherwise, with the example of his great father before him? Did not King Henry give you the right of femme sole over the objections of his council?”

Reading Group Guide

An Interview Between Anne and Minuette
30 April 1554 Hever Castle

We are here with Queen Anne in a brief pause before this summer’s festivities. Even briefer than I expected it to be, since William has decided to send me to Mary’s household. The queen, in a burst of sentimentality I would never have predicted, has asked me to sit with her this afternoon and speak of the past. I think she sometimes wishes to mistake me for my mother—at least, I have the sense that she has not had a friend to confide in for many years. And I am curious enough to take advantage of my likeness to my mother.

ANNE: Well, Genevieve, what shall we speak of? My opinion of the English wool trade, perhaps? The fallacies in Bishop Bonner’s arguments against Protestant reforms? Last year’s failure by the French to invade Tuscany?

MINUETTE: You are teasing me, Your Majesty.

A: Don’t let my children know. They would not respect me so well if they thought I could tease. Very well, it is the personal you are interested in. As is every seventeen-year-old girl.

M: What personal things interested you at seventeen?

At seventeen I had already been years at European courts, in the Netherlands and France. You and I are not entirely dissimilar, for the companion of my girlhood was Princess Claude, later Queen of France. But my world was somewhat more expansive than yours. You’ve never left England, the farthest you’ve ever gone is . . . York?

M: As you know very well. Did you miss your family all those childhood years away?

A: Well, I was often with my sister, Mary. Also, during those years on the continent, my father was a frequent visitor on royal business. I sup- pose it was my mother I knew the least in those years.

M: And now? There’s only—

A: Only George left. But honestly, we two were always the ones who understood each other. He is the only one who never saw me as a means to an end. For George, I have been an end in myself. That is as family should be and so rarely is. It is a pity you have no siblings.

M: It is difficult to miss what one has never had. I have my friends, and I cannot see how even siblings would be dearer to me.

A: Perhaps you are the fortunate one in that. You can choose your loyalties and not have any thrust upon you by blood. So tell me, Genevieve, what loyalties will you choose beyond your friendships with my children and Dominic Courtenay? I am given to understand that there is a young man who grows daily more enamoured. But that is only to be expected; you are a young woman poised to break men’s hearts. The question is, are you as taken with him?

M: I hardly know, Your Majesty. It is . . . How does one fall in love? In an instant, or through time and experience?

A: You are young, aren’t you? To fall in love is simple. To hold that love . . . Well, that’s the trick. Men fall in love in a rush of desire. Women are more practical. We have to be, since we are so often at the mercy of men’s desires.

M: Are you saying you’ve never been in love?

A: I’m saying that’s a question you know better than to ask. Did I not teach you discretion?

M: You also taught me boldness. There are still stories of how your father and Wolsey forced you and Henry Percy to separate against your wishes.

A: Youth is made for hopeless romance.

M: So you’re saying it was a romance.

A: I’m saying it was hopeless. It is an important distinction for a woman of the court to make. Do not trust men with your heart—or anything else.

M: How does one know whom to trust?

A: Have you learned nothing in your years at court? Trust is for saints and madmen; all else must look to themselves. A lesson I would have you learn from me, and not through hard experience.

M: Why is it that everyone thinks I am so likely to be taken advantage of? Just because I am not Elizabeth does not mean I am stupid.

A: Not stupid, no. But you have a quality very like your mother: the disposition to see the good in everyone.

M: Is that what you liked about her? I assume you liked something about my mother, since you appear to have had so few women friends in your life.

A: Friendship is a luxury for a carefree life, the kind I only had in my youth. Once caught in the snares of royal politics, I needed friends who were useful and women’s usefulness will always be limited. And you needn’t pity me for that. Tell me, Genevieve, excepting Elizabeth, do you have any women friends?

I thought I did. . . . Perhaps you are right. Do you think—if you had known the cost of what was to come—you would have made the same choices when the king fell in love with you?

That is presupposing I had a choice.

M: One always has a choice.

A: Ah, the righteousness of the young and untouched. You’re right, I could have chosen my sister’s path: king’s mistress for a time, to be dis- carded when no longer wanted and married off to a man who would always know he was taking the king’s leavings. That was not a choice I could live with.

M: So you have no regrets? You would not change anything if you could?

A: I won, didn’t I? No one thought I would. Men lined up to watch me fall: Wolsey, Cromwell, my uncle Norfolk, the entire hierarchy of the Roman church. But here I am—the widow of one king and mother of another king. The English Church is firmly planted, no more to be uprooted by Popish interference. And for all her righteousness and piety, it is not Catherine’s blood but mine that will run through the English throne for generations to come.

M: Catherine is gone, but Mary survives and many call her Henry’s only true heir. If it were in your power, what would you do with Mary?

A: It is in my power, and to be ignored is a far more powerful state- ment than even to be punished. Mary will fade away in obscurity until history has quite forgotten her.

M: Politics, princes, popes . . . you are right, Your Majesty, I am less interested in those things than in the personal. In all that surrounded your marriage, I am mostly interested in just one thing: Did you love him?

A: What makes you think I will answer that? M: Because no one ever asks you, and I think you like the personal, as well.

A: I loved the man who called me darling, who wrote out the great fervour of his passion, who defied his councilors to have me, who dared to claim our love as the only requisite for a proper marriage. . . . That man I have always loved. As your mother knew very well, for she asked me the same question more than once during the years Henry and I waited.

M: So I get my impertinence from my mother?

It is not impertinence when the motive is genuine concern. Like your mother, your heart is in everything you do. Perhaps you will be the happier for it—or perhaps it will leave you desolate.

M: Perhaps both, in which case I think I would count the happiness worth the desolation. As, I suspect, you have done.

A: And with that, I believe we are finished. Thank you for the talk, Genevieve. It has been most . . . invigorating.

1. If “History is written by the victors,” what do you think is the biggest impact of changing a story?

2. William says, “I will be the best because I’ve earned it. I don’t need you to hand me my victories.” (page 12 ) Do you think this is true? Is William a self-made man? Does your opinion change of him by the end of the book?

3. Why do you think their reputation within the court is so important to people like William and Elizabeth? Why are even conjecture and rumor dangerous? Do you think Min u tte and Dominic feel the same way?

4. William and Elizabeth are of royal parentage. Dominic is the son of a supposed traitor. Minuette is the daughter of a trusted servant and confi dante. How much do you think parentage matters to these characters? Where does it affect them most in life? How have they each overcome the generation before them?

5. The rift between Protestants and Catholics is a huge divide in The Boleyn King . Compare and contrast it to today’s societal divisions in America, such as Republicans and Democrats, or even between the suburbs and the city.

6. In tweaking history for this story, the author opens up a world of possibilities. What historical event do you think would have the greatest impact if changed? What would that impact be?

7. In the context of this story, what qualities do you think make for an ideal servant? An ideal ruler?

8. In an age where social standing is of the utmost importance, what do you think is the most important reason for a person to be married? Why? Does your opinion change for royalty versus commoners?

9. Do you think members of royalty can have friends? What about someone like a present-day world leader? Could you be friends with your boss, or your employees, the way William and Dominic are friends?

10. Compare and contrast how each of the four main characters deal with the ideal of castle intrigue.

11. What would be the most unnerving secret message that you could receive? In what manner?

12. Compare and contrast what is deemed public in this novel versus what is deemed private. How does that compare to today’s Internet culture?

13. What is said in letters in this novel versus what is said out loud? Which do you think has more impact? Which method of communication is more important to you?

Customer Reviews