His Secret Slave to Scandalous Queen

Richard kissed her forehead then finally left the room, still wearing that ridiculous satisfied look. Livia’s smile remained for a moment.

Slowly, it faded. Her eyes carried a bit of sadness as the quiet settled around her. Richard was always very vocal about how he felt. He told her endlessly how much he loved her. His actions said the same.

She had not yet been able to say it back. Why? Why was it so hard to say? She did love him, didn’t she?

He was a good man. A fine man. A duke. A man who could give her a name, a home, a future, and protection from every shadow Beaumont had left clinging to her skin. Surely, a woman like her could not do any better.

Why could the words not simply form? Why did they rise in her throat and stop there, as if some unseen hand held them back?

"I love you too," she whispered aloud.

The room accepted it. The walls heard it. Richard did not. Livia closed her eyes briefly, hating the sting behind them. Perhaps it would come. Perhaps love was not always a lightning strike. Perhaps sometimes it was a seed that needed patience, water, faith. Richard loved like fire. Maybe she loved slower.

She sighed and walked to the bell pull beside the bed to summon her maid. Well, it was time to take the next step into becoming duchess.

*****

Élodie gently nodded after the princess carefully gave her instructions. The princess was done pretending that patience would win her a crown.

"Do you understand me?" Madeleine asked.

"Yes, Your Highness."

Madeleine’s eyes narrowed. "I hope you do not suddenly grow a conscience like Sophie."

Élodie smiled. "The King of France sent me for a reason, Your Highness."

Good.

That was what Madeleine needed to hear. Sophie had been too English by the end, infected with softness. Élodie was different. Élodie remembered who had placed her here.

Madeleine stepped closer, lowering her voice. "Pick the perfect time. Be careful. I do not want to clean up your mess."

"Yes, Your Highness."

Madeleine held her gaze for another moment, making certain the warning settled properly. Then she waved her away.

Élodie curtsied and left. Madeleine turned and walked to her vanity. Her reflection stared back at her: beautiful, composed, royal, and very tired of being made cruel. Henry had made this necessary. His wandering attention.

How many more sins would the king make her commit? How many more obstacles would she have to remove?

How much more? She sat slowly, lifting a hand to smooth one perfect curl back into place.

*****

Livia and Richard sat in the carriage, his hand resting on her thigh. Outside, the wheels rolled steadily over the road. Livia had tried to sit calmly at first. Truly, she had. She had folded her hands, arranged her skirts, lifted her chin, and reminded herself that Diana Bellamy was supposed to be a lady now.

A lady.

A future duchess.

God help her.

Richard could feel the tension rippling through her body, the way her fingers kept tightening in the fabric of her gown, the way her breath came too shallowly, the way her gaze kept shifting toward the carriage window without seeing anything outside. His thumb moved slowly over her thigh, a steady, soothing motion through the layers of her dress.

"You are thinking too loudly," he said.

Livia glanced at him. "I did not know thinking had volume."

Richard’s hand moved gently up and down her thigh, keeping her with him. Reminding her she was not alone in this carriage, in this life, in this strange new road she had agreed to walk. He leaned in and pressed a kiss to her temple. "Are you alright?"

"Honestly?" Livia said.

Richard looked down at her.

"No." She drew in a shaky breath. "I... Richard, your father is the Lord Chancellor of England. I cannot..." Her words tangled and died in her throat.

The carriage rolled on, wheels grinding over the road, the countryside blurred past in soft greens and browns, but Livia saw none of it. All she could see was the invisible noose of her past tightening around her throat.

Lord Chancellor.

Not merely Richard’s father. The Lord Chancellor of England. If anyone could pull a thread and unravel Diana Bellamy until Livia from Beaumont’s stood exposed beneath, it was him.

Richard’s hand stilled on her thigh. "You are worried he will find out about your actual identity."

"Yes!" Livia exclaimed, turning fully toward him. "How can you say that so calmly?"

"He would find out if he cared to look hard enough."

"Oh God..."

"But he would first need to find the time between Parliament, treaties, petitions and whatever fresh misery England has coughed up this week." He sighed. "His assistant helped me create your new identity."

For a moment, her face emptied then horror flooded it.

"Oh God..."

"Yes, you said that already."

"Oh God," she said again, louder this time. "And you are only telling me this now?"

"In my defence, I got distracted for several weeks." He ran his fingers down her neck into her chest.

Livia looked ready to hit him. Richard caught both her hands before she could decide whether to use them then he sighed.

"We will have to tell him the truth."

"That is even worse."

Richard leaned closer, still holding her hands. "I trust my father, Diana."

She looked down.

"He will not care if you are Livia or Diana. You work. You conduct yourself with dignity. My father will see that." He squeezed her hands. "He is not a fool. He is a father who has been trying to marry me off for years before I finally die in some scandal. At this point, he would marry me off to a beggar on the street."

Livia laughed.

Richard smiled, relieved. "I have done quite well for myself with you. You are beautiful, clever, stubborn, multilingual, and somehow willing to tolerate me. I am certain he will be proud."

(Brought to you by Mar King 1/4)

****Ladies and Gentlemen, we got our first magic castle.