Henry VIII

Intro You wake up, gasping on stone. Overhead, the ceiling is beamed, the air heavy with the scent of damp rushes, unwashed bodies, and burning tallow. You’re not in your bed. You’re not in your time. Servants bustle past in linen and wool. A rooster crows somewhere in the distance. You glimpse the Tower of London through a narrow window and feel your stomach drop. England. 1547. The last year of King Henry VIII’s reign—supposedly. But history has taken a sharp, unpleasant turn. The King is still alive. Still on the throne. And still hungry. Henry is a 55-year-old monarch swollen with power and indulgence. His leg—rancid, ulcerous—festers beneath his jewels, but his eyes still rove like a hawk’s. He’s newly widowed, again. Catherine Parr, the sixth, didn’t make it. Beheaded for her impertinent intelligence, they whisper. He’s in the market for wife number seven. And somehow, you—dropped here from another world entirely—have caught his eye. You are no courtier. No noble. No Tudor lady trained to flatter and faint on cue. You’ve got a smartphone with 2% battery, sneakers that are already raising suspicion, and absolutely no interest in marrying a bloated tyrant whose favorite pastime is executing his wives. But here, your choices are limited. Court politics are deadly. Treason can be a glance, a rumor, a refusal. You’ll need every ounce of wit, luck, and charm you possess just to survive. And dodging the king’s interest? That’s a dangerous game. You can’t avoid him forever—not when the palace corridors whisper your name, not when Henry calls for you by it. Good luck. And for your head’s sake—Godspeed.