His Secret Slave to Scandalous Queen

Henry had had enough with the excuses. He wanted Stephen back. His replacement was capable, efficient, quiet, too quiet. The man moved like a shadow, and looked at Henry as if the king were a sacred object he feared touching incorrectly. He hated it. He did not want someone new. He wanted Stephen.

Stephen, who understood him. Henry did not want rigid service. So he stormed down the hall to Stephen’s room.

Stephen was folded on the bed beneath a blanket. Henry stopped in the doorway.

"Okay, enough!" he boomed and marched inside. "How long does it take to be sick? I know you are not still sick! Enough. I need you."

"Your Highness." Stephen got to his feet.

Henry stepped farther into the room. A cup of untouched broth sat near the bed. The physician’s little bottles cluttered the table. "What is going on with you?"

Stephen lowered his eyes. "I am ashamed, Your Highness. I couldn’t bring myself to face you. You trusted me," Stephen continued, voice tight, "and I broke your trust."

Henry sighed heavily. "Stephen, I understand it was not your fault. It is mine. I was the one who mentioned her in the first place."

Stephen shook his head. "It does not matter, my lord. This clearly shows that I am not fit to have your life in my hands. Yesterday, it was information. Tomorrow, it might be to poison you."

Henry moved closer, lowering his voice. "Stephen, I know you enough to know that if you were to pull a knife on me in my sleep, it is not your doing."

Stephen looked stricken. "My lord..."

"Enough." Henry lifted a hand. "Enough, alright?"

Stephen fell silent.

"Please," Henry said. "I really do need you. Take away the crown," Henry continued, "and you, Master Stephen, are my friend. A friend who has seen me at my worst and chose to remain by my side. I am lucky to have you," Henry said quietly. "I may threaten your head more times than I can count," Henry continued, "and God knows you make it very easy sometimes, but you are still my friend."

Stephen’s face shifted. Men like Stephen were expected to serve, obey, vanish into corners, and somehow know everything without ever being acknowledged for knowing anything.

But Henry saw him.

"Do not leave me lonely, Stephen," Henry said.

Stephen’s throat closed. "I knew you love me."

Henry closed his eyes. "Will you quit saying that and get back to work?"

"Of course, Your Highness." Stephen bowed his head, but the small smile remained.

Henry gave him one last smile and headed out before the man could make things even weirder. Still, as he walked down the corridor, something in him felt lighter.

One piece of his world had returned to its proper place.

*****

Richard had the sheepishest smile on his face as he watched Livia’s entire expression change at the sight of the books he had placed on her dresser.

Her eyes moved over the stack slowly. One by one, she touched them. Poetry. A collection of Italian sonnets. A French romance. A volume of histories. A small, beautifully bound copy of Petrarch.

Richard watched her fingers pause on that one.

"Your Grace..." she whispered, lifting one from the pile.

The awe in her voice nearly ruined him.

She browsed through each title, her eyes bright, her mouth soft with disbelief. "Your Grace, this is too much."

"A little birdie told me these were the ones you liked," he said. "He was afraid you were going to permanently move into his bookshop, so he sent them over here."

"Oh, Your Grace..." she sighed again and threw her arms around him.

Richard relaxed into the embrace, one arm coming around her waist, the other hand resting carefully at her back.

"You do not have to give all the credit to someone else," Livia murmured against his chest. "These must have cost you a fortune."

Richard shrugged. She looked at the stack again. He had seen women admire jewels with less wonder.

Livia was dangerous because she made him want to be better without ever asking it of him. "I have awesome news," Livia began suddenly.

Richard straightened at once. "Please, do tell."

Her eyes lit up. "I got another job offer."

A smile spread across his face. "I knew you were going to make waves. Which family?"

"The royal family!" she said excitedly.

Richard’s smile died. "Excuse me?!"

"Yes!"

For a moment, he simply stared at her.

No.

No, no, no.

The world truly had no mercy. It was not content with putting Livia in Kingsmere, under his roof, in his arms, in his bed, in his heart. No, now it wanted to deliver her straight into Whitehall. Straight into Henry’s palace. Straight into the mouth of the lie Richard had not yet found the courage to confess.

"The royal family as in... the people living in Whitehall?"

"Of course, Your Grace. How many royal families do you know?"

"Wow..." Richard said. He cleared his throat and tried again. "That’s... that’s great news. Who needs tutoring?"

"Lady Bella."

"Oh." He forced his brows upward. "That’s nice."

Nice.

God save him from the uselessness of that word. God had apparently looked at the current mess and decided it lacked proper seasoning.

He needed a drink or maybe he just needed to ride straight into the sea. "She is staying at the Cresswells permanently?" he asked, trying to sound casual.

"No." Livia shook her head, still glowing with excitement. "She’s headed back to the royal palace in a few days."

There it was. Richard’s stomach tightened.

"I’m..." He stopped before his voice betrayed him. "I’m happy for you, Diana, but it’s a three-hour trip. Six, back and forth, with good weather."

"Yes, she planned everything out." Livia smiled, completely unaware that every word was another nail in Richard’s sanity. "I will have to spend a night in Whitehall."

Oh, fuck me.

Richard groaned internally. She would be sleeping inside Henry’s palace. God had to be laughing. "You are excited about this."

"Yes." Her smile softened slightly. "I thought you would be too." She was right. He should have been excited. This was exactly what she wanted. Work. Wages. Respectability. A life she could build without leaning on him. He should be happy she was taking hold of herself.

Yet, he was standing there thinking only of losing her. Selfish bastard.

"Of course, I am," Richard said quickly. "I am." He forced a smile.

A terrible one.

"I just worry it might be too much strain on you," he said. "The travel..." Richard looked at the books on her dresser, then back at her bright, hopeful face. "But I am glad you are doing so well. Really. I’m proud of you."

"It’s all thanks to you," Livia said.

"You do not have to give all the credit to someone else," he said, borrowing her own words. "Unless," he continued, "we are talking credit that has to do with you, me, naked on that bed."

Her smile softened and turned serious. Richard saw it coming before she spoke, and his stomach tightened.

"So," she began carefully, "about last night and what you asked me."

"No. Don’t give me an answer just yet." He stepped closer. "Give it time. Think about it."

What he did not say was that he was afraid. Afraid she would say no and the little fantasy he had built in one reckless night would crumble at his feet.

Afraid she would say yes, and then one day walk into Whitehall, turn a corner, see Henry, and realise she had promised herself to the wrong man.

That fear sat cold inside him. It seemed God himself was intentionally placing her in Henry’s path no matter what Richard did. He had hidden her in Kingsmere; Henry came to Kingsmere. He had given her work with the Cresswells; Bella invited her to Whitehall.

It was time for him to come clean. To tell the truth. But first, to the king. That would be quite the conversation.

Hey, Your Highness, your best friend is a fucking asshole.

Yup, that should work.

"You don’t even know what my answer is going to be," Livia said.

"Give it time, cherub."

Her brows rose at once. "Cherub? Where do you come up with these names?"

"It’s a gift."

She laughed softly. Richard lifted his hand and placed two fingers beneath her chin, tilting her face up to his. Her eyes searched his. She knew something was wrong.

"I love you," he said quietly. "Remember that." Richard leaned down and kissed her gently on the lips.

When he pulled away, his thumb brushed once along her jaw before he forced himself to let go.

"I’ll see you at dinner." He turned toward the door.

"Your Grace?" Livia called.

He stopped with his hand near the frame. "Hmmm?"

"Are you alright?"

"Yes," he said.

Livia did not look convinced. Richard widened his smile just enough. Before she could ask again, before her eyes could pull the truth from him, Richard walked out.