Summary: "Divorced, Beheaded, Died, Divorced, Beheaded, Murdered, Survived" - What if Edward had married the Infanta Isabel of Austria (OC) at age 13? What if he had the same desire for a son that his father had? And what if he was just as lust driven? This story explains the tale of the Seven Wives of Edward VI.

Each wife will have a few chapters dedicated to them. Though for some of the wives their downfall and the meeting of the next wife will be explained in the current wife's chapters, make sense? They will be titled Part ? - {the name of the Chapter} in the Chapter Filterer. The wives will be quite similar to Henry VIII's wives. And the rhyme will be - "Divorced, Beheaded, Died, Divorced, Beheaded, Murdered, Survived."

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Part One - The Spanish Queen

Chapter One

The Infanta

Infanta Isabel de Espana was a privileged girl. Well, of course she was, she was a Princess of Spain and Archduchess of Austria. Her father was the most powerful man in Europe, and possibly the world! She grew up mostly between Toledo and Valladolid with her other siblings. They built a strong family bond despite their father's regular absences.

Isabel had two sisters, Maria and Juana, and one brother, Felipe.

Isabel was to marry the King of England, Edward. He was her age, though she was two months older. She had reached womanhood, as she had bled a year before. Her father took this as a sign that she was ready for marriage. Her second eldest sister, Juana, hadn't even been married yet, though she was betrothed to the Crown Prince of Portugal

Isabel had been betrothed to King Edward since she was eight months old, though the betrothal had been broken when she was six, it had been resumed two months before Edward's tyrannical father's, King Henry's, death. The man had executed two of his wives for adultery and castes two aside because they either didn't give him a son or wasn't good-looking, which was hypocritical from what her duenna, Señora Rodríguez, had said of the English tyrant. Señora Rodríguez relied mostly on gossip though.

She was to sail for England in a week. With her she would bring Señora Rodríguez and Margarita Jiménez and Teresa Sánchez, her childhood companions, and Catalina Pérez, Ana Hernández, Luisa de Aguilar, Teresa Caballero, Maria de Léon and Catalina and Elvira de Espinosa, were her ladies-in-waiting chosen by her father. Señor Francisco Gómez was to give her away. He was her father's friend, not too good at politics though, but he was his childhood friend, and the only man he could trust with his youngest daughter.

She didn't want to go to England, according to both Juana and Señora Rodríguez it was a heretical county, governed by Anglicans, Protestant and those who keep their belief in the true faith hidden. Her husband would be a heretic, and she would have to pretend to be one, or risk having a fate similar to the previous king's second and fifth wives.

Her father had assured her that if the dead tyrant's son tried to hurt her, he would go to England with a fleet of ships and kill every last Englishman until he reached the young king, then he decapitate him.

The week went by quickly, and soon enough it was time to leave.

"Your highness," said Ana Hernandez, "The ship is ready to go."

Isabel nodded, looking out the window, seeing the country she'd grew up in. Wondering whether or not she'll ever see it again. "Thank you, Señora Hernandez."

Two months later

"Your highness, the French Hood is very in fashion here in England. It might do you well if you were to wear it," Señora Rodriguez told a frantic Isabel.

They had arrived in England the night before. The king had asked for a public audience to celebrate the future queen's arrival.

Isabel wanted to look her very best for her husband-to-be. She was sure Señora Rodriguez was getting annoyed by her, but she wasn't too bothered by it. Her duenna must've understood the worry she felt! She was frantic!

"But, Señora, I am Castilian, am I not? Is my father not the King of Castile of Aragon and the Holy Roman Emperor?" Isabel insisted. She was a proud Spaniard, and she wouldn't be persuaded to dress in a way that was not in style in Castile, Aragon or the Holy Roman Empire. "I could wear a Gable Hood, or my snood..."

"Your highness, the Lady -"

"- Princess," Isabel interrupted.

"- Princess - Mary is a proud Spaniard like her mother and she still wears the French Hood," Señora Rodriguez replied as she brushed the young Infanta's head of brown curls.

"She is more English than Spanish, Señora. She was raised in England, though her mother had considerable influence in her upbringing," Isabel said, staring at her dressing table's mirror. "She's as Catholic as any Spaniard, but she is not a full Spaniard."

The Señora sighed. "My lady, the Gable Hood may indicate you have lost your maidenhood."

"So would the French Hood," Isabel pointed out.

"I suppose," the duenna said thoughtfully. "The snood is not as in fashion as it use to be."

Isabel put her hand up in the air, indicating for the duenna to stop brushing her hair. "I shall wear it bare then."

"It is rarely done, your highness," she said.

"Then I should be the first," Isabel retorted defiantly.

Señora Rodriguez shook her head in disapproval. "You could wear your cloak, your Spanish one."

"I have many Spanish cloaks."

"The flowery one, your highness. It has a hood," she explained.

"Yes," Isabel agreed. "That should do."


"Isabel, Archduchess of Austria, Infanta of Castile and Aragon, Princess of Flanders and Burgundy."

Edward, King of England watched as his young bride entered the main hall. Her dress was purple, the colour of royalty, and was rimmed with pearls on each sleeve, the bottom, and the square-shaped neckline.

Her rose coloured farthingale showed from under her gown. Her hair was covered by a stiff, floral patterned cloak, obviously from Spain. The cloak left the front of the Infanta's hair brown hair seen. The cloak was also her train.

She walked with modesty and integrity, Edward noted. She looked forward, practically ignoring the whispers of his fellow courtiers. Her hands were clasped and were rested on her stomach.

As she reached his throne, he stood up. She was about the same height as him, though a bit smaller.

"Your majesty," she greeted as she curtsied to him, her eyes firmly on the ground.

Edward lifted her up gently by her shoulders. He stared at her and she stared at him. He found himself lost in her hazel eyes. He saw his reflection in them.

"Princess Isabel," he said, "welcome to my court."