Prince Henry Tudor, Prince of Wales
London, England
21 April 1509
God works in mysterious ways.
That's what my mother used to tell me back in my previous life, that of a simple college Professor rushing to his morning lecture on Medieval European History. I remember the rain that day, the way it pelted against the windshield as I drove down that winding road. I remember the truck that came barreling around the corner, how I didn't even have time to scream before…
Well, before everything went dark.
I died that day. I'm certain of it. The pain, the impact, the sudden nothingness that followed... there was no mistaking it. And yet, when I opened my eyes again, I wasn't standing before the pearly gates or facing judgment. No, I was a child barely eleven years old, staring at the body of a man, who I would later discover to be my brother, died from the Sweating Sickness, or as I knew it as Hantavirus.
At first I was confused? I should be either in Heaven or Hell, or perhaps in between. For a while I simply thought that I was in purgatory. Then came the doubt, If I wasn't in purgatory, then where was I? In those early days, I most certainly was confused- even doubtful. For a time I even lost my faith. Yet still, with time I came to see the truth- I was brought here for a reason. I was brought here to prevent the failures of the past.
That was 1502. Seven years ago now.
Dong... Dong... Dong...
The bells of Westminster rang out across London, their mournful toll announcing what everyone already knew—Henry VII, King of England, was dead. My father... or rather, the father of this body I now inhabited, was gone. And with his passing, I would soon be crowned King.
'King Henry VIII of England,' I thought, the weight of it settling over me like a heavy cloak. 'God gave me this second chance for a reason. He placed me here, in this body, at this moment in history, to save England from what it would become.'
I had studied it all in my previous life. The break with Rome. The dissolution of the monasteries. The persecution of Catholicism. The chaos and bloodshed that would follow as England tore itself apart over matters of faith. Henry VIII- the man whose body I now inhabited, would become one of history's greatest villains to the Catholic Church, perhaps the worst in English History.
But not this time.
Not if I have anything to say about it.
In this life I was Henry Tudor, a bit of a struggle for me to really get and understand in the beginning. It helped, I suppose, that my name had been Henry in my previous life as well. Henry Castellan, Professor of Medieval History. Now Henry Tudor, Prince of Wales and soon-to-be King. The transition had been... easier than it might have been otherwise. Though there were still things I struggled with- the lack of toilet paper being chief among them, God help me... I had adapted well enough. Though I certainly didn't like the sponges! To hell with them all!
Still yet in this new life I had thrown myself into becoming the best Man that I could be. I trained in the yard with the best knights in England, I studied languages, learning theology, music, and statecraft. I became known as an intelligent and strong prince, one who showed great promise for the future of the realm.
I even earned myself a nickname! 'The White Prince,' they called me. A moniker I had earned through my exploits as a mystery knight, which I had started to do largely due to my father's distaste of my partaking in joustings. I had entered several tournaments under various disguises and defeating seasoned warriors.
My most famous persona had been the Knight of the White Tree, a mysterious figure clad in white armor who had won tournament after tournament before getting dismounted by Charles Somerset, where I had been forced to give up my horse and armor, pretty much exposing my escapades then and there.
It had been exhilarating, honestly. A chance to prove myself, to feel truly alive in this new body, to-
Knock knock knock
The sound at my chamber door pulled me from my reverie, and I turned toward it, straightening my posture.
"Enter," I called out, my voice steady and commanding.
The heavy oak door swung open with a low creak, and William Warham stepped into my chamber. The Lord Chancellor was an older man, his hair more silver than brown now, his face lined with the weight of years spent in service to the Crown. He wore the formal robes of his office, and in his hands he carried several rolled parchments - no doubt documents that would need my attention in the coming days.
He bowed low, his expression somber. "Your Grace," he began, and I noticed the subtle shift in his address. No longer 'Your Highness' or 'My Lord Prince.' "I come bearing grave news, though I suspect you have already heard the bells. His Majesty, King Henry VII, your father... has passed into God's keeping this morning."
'And so it begins,' I thought, keeping my expression appropriately solemn. I had known this was coming - my father had been ill for weeks now, his health declining rapidly. Still, the weight of what this meant settled over me like a mantle.
"May God grant him peace," I said quietly, crossing myself. "He was a good king, and a... dutiful father." I said, though somewhat strained. He was a bit of a cunt if I was to be honest. A good king, but definitely an asshat for sure.
Warham nodded, his own expression grave. "Indeed, Your Grace. The realm mourns his passing." He paused, then continued. "There are matters we must discuss immediately. Your coronation must be arranged - I would suggest within the month, to ensure stability in the realm. And of course, your father's funeral must be planned with all the dignity and ceremony befitting a king of England."
"Of course," I agreed, moving to sit in the chair by the window. The morning light streamed in, illuminating the dust motes that danced in the air. "See to the arrangements, Lord Chancellor. My father deserves nothing less than the finest ceremony we can provide."
"It shall be done, Your Grace." Warham hesitated, then stepped closer, his voice taking on a more urgent tone. "There is... another matter we must discuss. One of great importance to the realm."
'Here it comes,' I thought, bracing myself.
"The matter of your betrothal to the Princess Catherine of Aragon," Warham continued. "Your father, God rest his soul, worked tirelessly to secure this alliance with Spain. The dowry alone would greatly benefit the Crown's coffers, and the alliance with King Ferdinand would strengthen England's position considerably. I would urge you, Your Grace, to honor your father's wishes and proceed with the marriage as soon as is seemly after the mourning period."
I let the silence stretch for a moment, studying Warham's face. He was earnest in his counsel, I could see that, He truly believed this was the best course for England. By technicality it was, I had different plans, those of challenging Spain in the Americas even earlier than before England did in my time.
"Lord Chancellor," I said finally, my voice calm but firm. "I have given this matter considerable thought over the past years. And I have come to a different conclusion than my father."
Warham's eyes widened slightly. "Your Grace?"
"I have been in discussions with Francis, Count of Angoulême and heir to the French throne," I said, watching as shock registered on Warham's face. "For the past two years, in fact. We have been negotiating a potential marriage between myself and his sister, Marguerite de Valois."
"Your Grace!" Warham sputtered, his composure slipping. "But... the Princess Catherine! The alliance with Spain! Surely-"
"Is the Princess Catherine not to your liking, Your Grace?" he asked, his tone almost pleading. "She is a woman of great virtue and learning, of royal blood, and-"
"Catherine is a wonderful woman," I interrupted gently but firmly. "She is intelligent, pious, and kind. I have nothing but respect for her." I paused, meeting Warham's eyes directly. "But we are friends, Lord Chancellor. Nothing more. And Catherine herself is aware of my intentions regarding France."
'She had taken it better than I expected, honestly,' I thought, remembering our conversation months ago. 'She understood the political realities, even if she was disappointed.'
Warham looked as though he might protest further, but I raised my hand, forestalling him.
"I want you to write two letters, Lord Chancellor," I said, my voice taking on the tone of command. "The first is to be sent to King Ferdinand of Spain. You will inform him that the dowry money is to be returned to Castile in full. The Princess Catherine will be welcome to remain in England if that is her desire - she will be treated with all the honor and respect due to a princess of Spain. Or, if she wishes, arrangements will be made for her safe return to her homeland."
Warham opened his mouth, but I continued before he could speak.
"The second letter is to be sent to His Holiness the Pope. You will request that the dispensation being prepared for my marriage to Catherine be cancelled. There will be no marriage between myself and the Princess of Aragon."
"Your Grace, I must protest!" Warham said, his voice rising slightly. "This is... this is most irregular! Your father spent years negotiating this alliance! To simply cast it aside-"
"My father is dead, Lord Chancellor," I said, not unkindly but with steel in my voice. "And I am now King of England. The alliance with France will serve England far better than one with Spain. Marguerite de Valois is of similar age to myself, she is known to be a woman of great intelligence and learning, and her brother will soon be King of France. This is the path forward."
Warham stared at me for a long moment, and I could see the conflict playing out behind his eyes. He was a man who valued order, tradition, duty. What I was proposing flew in the face of all of that.
But he was also a pragmatist. And he could see that I would not be swayed.
"As... as you command, Your Grace," he said finally, bowing his head. "I will see to the letters immediately."
"Good," I said, rising from my chair. "And Lord Chancellor? I trust in your discretion regarding these matters. The transition must be handled delicately."
"Of course, Your Grace." Warham bowed again, deeper this time, and turned to leave.
God rest my soul, I have a feeling that this will not be the last of this problem.