His Secret Slave to Scandalous Queen

Lionel laughed under his breath. "Since when did you stop talking about your conquests?"

"Since now," Richard shot back.

"Fuck. You’re done for."

Richard looked away. "I know."

Lionel’s amusement faded. "If you are really going to go through with this..." His voice turned grave. "Do not bring her around the king. I mean it," Lionel continued. "She can be nowhere near the king."

"The king already said he would kill me if he sees my face again," Richard said.

Lionel gave him a flat look. "You deserve worse."

"I know." Richard rubbed a hand over his face and winced when his fingers brushed the swelling near his cheekbone. "Can we move on and tell me something I don’t know? I did not come here to be flogged with the same accusation all night."

Lionel sighed. This whole thing was a disaster beyond ordinary repair. The king was broken. Richard was half-mad. The woman at the centre of it all was probably unaware that men were ruining themselves in different corners of London over her name. "Did she tell you what happened at Beaumont’s?" Lionel asked.

"No," he said. "Not fully. I think she doesn’t want to talk about it. And I don’t push her." Richard exhaled. "I would rather she forgets completely that part of her life existed."

Lionel’s mouth tightened. "She will not."

"I know that."

"Do you?"

Richard’s eyes cut to him. "Yes. I know. I am not so stupid as to think a new name can erase years of hell. But I can at least make sure no one drags her back there by the throat every time they speak her name."

"What is she doing in Whitehall anyway?" Lionel asked.

Richard gave a bitter laugh. "That...is where I think the devil is mocking me personally."

Lionel raised a brow.

Richard lifted one hand, counting off each finger. "I give her a new identity. I make her Diana Bellamy. I get her a position at the Cresswells as a French tutor. Harmless, I thought." Richard looked at him. "And guess who she ends up being friends with?"

Lionel breathed it out. "Lady Bella..."

Richard smiled without humour. "Exactly."

Lionel opened his eyes. "Bella brought her to Whitehall?"

"Yes. She wants French lessons."

"This is worse than I thought."

Richard gave a small, miserable shrug. "I told you. The devil is laughing. We have no control over life...None whatsoever. We only do our best to slow it down before it runs straight through us. What will be will be," Richard added.

Lionel exhaled.

"If you can, tell the king I am sorry. He will not want to hear it from me," Richard said. "Not yet."

Both men sighed.

*******

Princess Madeleine finished dressing that morning with as much care as usual. A princess did not appear before a king looking anything less than perfect. Especially not after being dismissed the night before like a troublesome servant who had wandered into the wrong chamber. She still felt righteously slighted about it.

Get out.

The words had followed her into sleep and greeted her again upon waking. Henry had looked at her as if she were an obstruction in his path.

Something must have angered him. Something serious. Something connected to Lady Bella. She checked herself in the mirror.

Perfect.

Her gown was pale blue silk today, elegant but not soft. Pearls at her throat. Hair pinned neatly. Élodie stood behind her, head bowed.

"Come," Madeleine said.

They left her apartments and headed toward the king’s wing. Once she arrived, the guards straightened.

"I wish to see His Majesty."

The first guard bowed. "His Majesty is not in his room, my lady."

She turned and headed to the throne room. The same answer met her there.

"The king is not here, my lady."

Madeleine inhaled slowly through her nose. A king could not vanish inside his own palace. She sighed once more, irritation prickling beneath her composure. "Where could he be?" She began to walk back to her own wing when she caught his silhouette at a window. Madeleine stopped.

Henry stood at the end of the gallery, half-hidden by the morning light pouring through the tall glass panes. He was still. One hand rested against the window frame, his shoulders drawn tight beneath his coat as he gazed down into the back courtyard overlooking the gardens.

The gardens where they usually had their daily walks. Madeleine’s irritation softened at once.

Ah.

A smile touched her lips. So that was where he had disappeared to. He had come to watch the garden, perhaps waiting for her, perhaps thinking of the walks they had taken there.

The thought pleased her. It pleased her more than it should have. She moved quietly toward him, careful not to let her skirts whisper too loudly across the floor. Élodie remained behind, wise enough not to intrude.

When she was standing behind him, she dipped her head.

"Your Highness. Good morning."

Henry did not move. Madeleine’s smile faltered. He hadn’t heard her.

"Your Highness?" she tried again.

Still nothing. His voice, his thoughts, his whole being seemed locked somewhere far beyond the gallery. He had shut out every sound, every noise around him, as though the palace had ceased to exist. As though England could collapse behind him and he would not turn unless whatever held his attention moved first.

Madeleine stepped closer. Slowly, she followed his line of sight. Below, in the gardens, Lady Bella sat beneath a small canopy with another noble lady. A little table had been arranged between them with papers, an inkpot, tea, and a plate of cakes. Bella was laughing. One hand held the parchment steady while the other scribbled something down.

Madeleine did not know the woman. She could only see the curve of her profile from that distance, the modest gown, the dark veil pinned neatly. Her eyes narrowed.

Lady Bella laughed again below, tilting her head toward the woman beside her. Henry’s hand tightened on the window frame.