We open on a jousting match. Two combatants in full battle armour charge each other on horseback as the crowd roars in excitement. At the point of contact, one of the steeds suddenly raises itself onto its hind legs and throws off its rider. He crashes to the ground in a clatter of metal, causing great panic among spectators and squires alike. Watching this from the royal box is Anne Boleyn. She rises from her seat and holds a silk handkerchief to her mouth as a crew of armourers rush over to assist the fallen warrior.
ARMOURER #1: Art thou hurt, sire?
HENRY VIII: [raising his visor; angry] No nag road rashes me! Wet its neck, bruh.
A groom draws his sword and walks over to the horse, now being tethered to a post by stable hands. After a short struggle he cuts its throat. We focus on Anne's horror as geysers of blood jet from the wound and over the courtyard.
HENRY VIII: I ain't tekin' that shit from no one. Believe.
Close in on Anne's face as the King's words start to echo...
Cut to the royal bedchamber. Anne wakes from her sleep, rousing her husband as she raises herself upright and catches her breath.
HENRY VIII: [drowsy] You prangin' out or sum'ink?
ANNE: Apologies, my lord. I was... dreaming about the joust yesterday.
HENRY VIII: Oi mate, that was, like, well deep! Can you believe that nag dissin' me?
Anne gets out of bed and stares moodily out the window.
HENRY VIII: Ain't nuthin' to get gutted about. Steed had it comin', yeah?
ANNE: It's not that. But I fear, my lord, there are many in the ends who would wish to see your loyal wifey meet a similar fate...
HENRY VIII: Who?
The bedchamber doors open to reveal a privy servant and a very important guest.
SERVANT: [announces] Thomas Cromwell, first Earl of Essex.
HENRY VIII: Good Essex. Wag-one?
CROMWELL: My lord, I needs must talk to thee most pressingly on thy Jack Jones.
HENRY VIII: Why?
CROMWELL: [looks at Anne] 'Tis... a delicate matter, blud.
HENRY VIII: You givin' me batty boy chirps, bruh? In my yard?
CROWELL: Nah, blud! I-
Henry suddenly gets a text. He picks up his phone off the bedside table and opens his messages. The text appears onscreen à la Sherlock:
'FROM JANE SEYMOUR: WNT 2 GO RIDIN 2DAY... 😉'
HENRY VIII: I's chock today, man. Tek it up wiv Anne, yeah?
CROMWELL: But, sire-
HENRY VIII: Allow it.
He gets out of bed and crosses over to Anne.
HENRY VIII: Sorry, wifey. Stuff goin' down, init.
They kiss.
HENRY VIII: Know this, yeah? You's made my winter of discontent into bangin' summer.
ANNE: [smiles] Your majesty's sweet words envelope my soul like a pair of Christian Laboutin stilletoes on a Kardashian.
HENRY VIII: For real. Thou's well pengin'.
As he leaves the bedchamber he pauses to address Cromwell.
HENRY VIII: Laters.
As the door closes, Anne and Cromwell glare at each other in an uncomfortable silence. Finally-
ANNE: Come to poison the King's heart against me, Essex?
CROMWELL: [mockingly] Me, my lady-?
ANNE: It is well known that you bitterly disapprove of my proposals for the charitable redistribution of church wealth and an alliance with our dear French cuzz, King Francis.
Caption: 'THIS SPEECH WAS SOURCED FROM WIKIPEDIA'
CROMWELL: For shizzle. But thy beauty is slandered with a bastard shame far more egregious than thy damnable wokery.
ANNE: Then give a name to this perceived ignominy, or kindly stop chatting shit.
CROMWELL: [indignant] I know not whether thou art a gold digger, but thou ain't messing with an insolvent Tudor. Thy violent delights have violent ends, and soon, before God, righteousness shall make amends...
Pause, then-
ANNE: ...Is it 'cos I is black?
Don't forget to tune in for tomorrow's exciting, historically accurate episode, where Henry breaks a leg after falling off his e-scooter and Anne reports lute player Mark Smeaton to the HR department at Hampton Court for referring to himself as a minstrel - with horrifying consequences.
