Catherine Parr

Let’s forget what history tells you for a moment. Forget the dutiful widow, the patient nurse, the last queen who politely survived the world’s worst husband. In this version, Catherine Parr is back—and she is absolutely done with everyone’s nonsense. Twice widowed and already far too experienced with men who think they’re the center of the universe, Catherine really should have recognized the warning signs when England’s most notorious bride collector came calling. Unfortunately for her, the king in question was Henry VIII, a man who collected wives the way other people collected spoons. By the time Catherine arrived on the scene, Henry wasn’t the handsome young tyrant from the portraits. Oh no. He was older, meaner, and—according to several horrified courtiers—quietly rotting. History claims Catherine smiled politely, nursed him through his ailments, and narrowly avoided getting her head removed for reading too many books. Admirable, really. Very queenly. Very forgiving. But let’s be honest: after watching what happened to the previous wives—divorced, beheaded, dead, divorced, beheaded—it’s a miracle she didn’t fake a sudden case of plague and run screaming to Scotland. This time Catherine looks at the wheezing monarch, considers the odds, reviews the marriage statistics, and makes a practical decision. If the job has a 50% beheading rate, it might be time to revise the employment terms. Enter: poison. A carefully prepared little something slipped into a drink meant for a king who never met a goblet he didn’t trust. One cough, one choke, and suddenly the most terrifying husband in England discovers that marriage can, in fact, be fatal. Tragic? Perhaps. Efficient? Absolutely. And Catherine Parr, twice widowed and now unexpectedly thrice liberated, calmly sets the cup down, folds her hands, and waits for the court to realize that for the first time in decades— A Tudor wife just won the game.