His Secret Slave to Scandalous Queen

"My lord," Geoffrey said slowly, "such matters require preparation. We first have to call back the current ambassador..."

"Too long," Henry said.

Geoffrey paused. "My lord?"

"How many weeks from France to England?" Henry asked. "No. That will take too long."

Geoffrey’s eyes narrowed slightly. "Your Majesty, the present ambassador must be formally recalled. His papers must be reviewed. The French court must be informed. Richard would need instructions, credentials, staff, correspondence—"

"Swear Richard in."

Geoffrey stopped.

Henry’s gaze did not waver. "And let him leave before the royal wedding."

"You do not want him to be at your wedding?" Geoffrey asked.

Henry smiled. "Why wouldn’t I? He is my best friend," Henry continued, and the words carried enough poison to curdle wine. "I would be honoured by his presence. But England comes first, Lord Chancellor. Before anything else." Henry’s smile sharpened. "You taught me that."

Geoffrey inclined his head slowly. "Yes, Your Majesty. Would you please stay for dinner?" He asked after a moment. "I cannot let you leave without entertaining you, my lord."

"Of course," Henry said.

Geoffrey bowed. "I will have it arranged."

Henry nodded. As far as Richard would be gone before the royal wedding, he’d have a damned party with the man if need be.

*******

Bella stood on the balcony of Whitehall, looking out at the stars with a small smile on her face. The night air was cool against her skin. Below, the palace had begun to settle into its evening rhythm.

Bella wrapped her shawl tighter around her shoulders and looked up. The stars were scattered across the dark. She imagined Thomas was one of them.

One of those small bright lights looking down at her from heaven, smiling at her.

"My little love," she whispered. She felt at peace. She did this most nights.

Especially when Whitehall had grown quiet. There was a particular hour when the noise softened, when even the court seemed to exhale before sleep.

Bella liked that hour. She placed her palms on the stone banister and closed her eyes, breathing in the cold night air. It touched her face, slid beneath the edge of her shawl, raised tiny shivers along her arms.

Thomas was up there. One of those tiny lights belonged to her son. She found the brightest one, as she always did, and smiled faintly.

"Good night, my darling," she whispered.

The peace lasted one breath longer then pain tore through her from behind. It stole the air from her lungs before she could scream. Her eyes flew open, wide with shock, her fingers clamping hard around the banister as her body tried to understand what her mind had not yet named.

She spun around on instinct, clumsy and wild, just as the figure moved again. Something flashed in the dark.

Bella’s arm came up before she could think. Her forearm struck the attacker’s wrist, hard enough to knock the blade away. It skittered across the balcony stones with a thin, ugly sound.

The movement sent fresh agony through her. She gasped and dropped to her knees. She stared at the shadow before her, trying to make sense of it. A person in a cloak.

Someone had come to kill her. After everything? After Thomas? Now Whitehall had finally decided to finish the work properly?

She gathered every scrap of strength left in her body. "Guards!"

The scream ripped out of her. It echoed across the balcony, through the open doors, into the corridor beyond.

The figure recoiled. For a moment, Bella thought they might come at her again. But then she heard footsteps rushing away. Slippers striking stone and then fading into the dark throat of the palace.

Bella tried to focus, tried to hold on to some detail. A shape. A colour. A hand. Anything. Pain blurred the edges of the world.

All she saw were the person’s slippers. Then even that vanished. Bella’s strength left her. She dropped onto her back, blood pooling around her, the cold stone catching her hard. Her breath came shallowly now, each one a battle she was not sure she could keep fighting.

Bella’s eyes found the stars. Her star. Thomas. She fixed on it with everything she had left. "Stay," she whispered.

The night swam above her. The cold crept in and as her breath started to leave her, Bella kept her eyes on her darling boy in the sky.

*****

Stephen rushed into the dining hall of the Langford home. Henry sat at the head of the table. Geoffrey was speaking about France, Henry pretended to follow while his mind remained elsewhere.

His valet bent and whispered into the king’s ear. Henry’s fingers stilled around his knife. He then summoned a practised smile and turned to Lord Langford. "I have to take my leave now, Geoffrey," he said, setting his napkin aside. "The palace constantly needs my attention now that the Queen Mother is not there."

"Of course, Your Majesty." He inclined his head. "Thank you for this honour."

"The meal was delicious."

"I will give your regards to the cook." Geoffrey made to rise as Henry got to his feet.

"No... please." Henry lifted a hand. "Do not let me interrupt your meal. I will find my way. Thank you for having me."

Geoffrey sat back down, though his eyes followed the king. Henry walked out of the dining room with Stephen at his heels.

Meanwhile, in the drawing room, Richard and Livia stood waiting for their presence to be announced to his father.

Richard made sure to keep her back to the door. The moment they had arrived, he had seen the royal entourage outside. His stomach had dropped before any servant confirmed what he already knew.

The king was inside. Richard chose another part of the house. A safer part. He had not been able to calm Livia’s nerves once she learned the king was also present.

"The king?" she had whispered, eyes wide.

"Yes."

"Here?" She was not ready to meet two important men in one night. First the Lord Chancellor, his father. And now the king of England in the same house.

(Brought to you by Mar King)