The afternoon in the gardens did them both good. They were still far from friends, but they were at least no longer complete strangers to one another, which made their hand-fasting in the Chapel Royal less painful than it might otherwise have been.
Anne, resplendent in deep royal purple trimmed with ermine, tossed her head back slightly and echoed the words the man in front of her was reciting in a strong, clear voice, “I, Anne, by the Grace of God Princess of Wales, take thee, John, by the Grace of God Prince of Castile to be my lawful husband, to honour and cherish, for better or for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, from this day forward for all of my days until death do us part. Hereunto do I plight my troth, before all these witnesses.”
As she finished, John
