I was born in 1485 in Spain to Queen Isabella and King Ferdinand. I was close to my mother, who educated me herself. In addition to my normal studies, one thing she taught me was that I wasn't meant for life as a nun... I was born royal for a reason. This was very important later in my life.
When I was about 16, I sailed in rough storms to marry Arthur, Prince of Wales, and to one day become Queen of England. I was received well at the wedding; when Arthur and I turned and waved at the crowd, they all cheered!
Alas, my good times were not meant to last long, at least not yet. Arthur and I returned to the Welsh marches, but within six months and before the marriage was even consummated, he died of consumption, God rest his soul. My father and King Henry VII spent the next several years arguing over what to do with me, mainly because of my dowry; meanwhile, I was neglected. In addition to this neglect, I couldn't yet speak English very well and for awhile only knew the Spanish style of dancing, both of which earned me more than a little ridicule.
I was finally betrothed to the king's son, Henry, and though he was once secretly forced to repudiate it, the first thing he did after his father's death was marry me! We were even crowned together! We were very happily married for many years and our daughter Mary was "the pearl of his world."
Of course, all of that changed when the Great Whore came along, but why dwell on the unhappy times?
