A fifteen year old boy died at Greenwich on the sixth of July 1553. His death put three women on a collision course none of them had chosen. Two would soon become queens. The third would watch and wait.
His father had declared his sisters illegitimate. His father's will had restored them. As he lay dying he removed them again. A hundred men signed the document.
Two illegitimate daughters and an ex-wife arrived at the abbey to do something that had never been done before: crown a woman who would rule in her own right.
She sent Anne Boleyn a monkey. She sent Jane Seymour quails. She housed Anne of Cleves for a fortnight. She put her own daughter in the path of the king. None of it was kindness. All of it was survival. For seven years it worked. Then it didn't.
She refused to leave. So he had her dragged out by the arms. She spent a decade writing letters that nobody acted on. Then the moment came, and she told them everything.
The last thing Joan Waste did before the fire was let go of her brother's hand. Roger had walked with her from the town to Windmill Pit on Burton Road. They had been born together, blind and sighted, in the same moment in 1534. He had been beside her for all twenty-two years of her life. At the edge of the pit she held his hand for a time, and then she released it, and they tied her above the fire.
Lettice Knollys, the eldest daughter of Francis Knollys and Catherine Carey, was born on the 8th of November 1543 at Rotherfield Greys in Oxfordshire, and she inherited from her mother's side of the family two things that would define the entire shape of her life. Tudor red hair, and a connection to the English crown that everyone could see and nobody was permitted to discuss.
Catherine Carey was born in early 1524 at the precise midpoint of her mother Mary Boleyn's affair with Henry VIII, which is either a coincidence or the most consequential piece of timing in her entire life, depending on which historians you read and how carefully you look at her portraits.
Bessie Blount gave Henry VIII a son. He gave the boy a dukedom and a name that meant son of the king. A year later she may have given him a daughter. He gave her nothing.
Katherine Grey was twenty years old, eight months pregnant, and standing outside Robert Dudley's bedroom in the middle of the night asking him to help her. She had a secret husband, a missing marriage certificate, and a cousin on the throne who would never forgive her for any of it. She had done nothing except fall in love at the wrong time and with the wrong man. She was trapped in the wrong body. It was a body that carried royal blood she had never asked for and could not give back.