His Secret Slave to Scandalous Queen

"Elodie," she said, "do you remember when my last courses were?"

"I believe..." Elodie thought quickly. "About three weeks ago, Your Highness."

Madeleine’s lips curved. "Perfect. There could be the possibility of a child."

"My lady..." Elodie began carefully.

Madeleine’s eyes slid to her.

"It takes more than wishful thinking," Elodie said. "Sometimes it takes... a few tries."

"Then let us have a few tries."

Elodie closed her eyes for a brief moment.

Sweet Mother of God.

"My lady," she said, opening them again, "you are injured. And making a move on the king now could raise suspicions. The king is already restless," Elodie pressed. "If you reach too quickly, he may wonder why."

Madeleine’s eyes flashed. "If you had not failed in what I tasked you with, we would not be here now, would we?" She sat forward despite the pain, her voice lowering viciously. "At least Sophie excelled. She simply lacked the stomach to live with what excellence required."

There was always something lacking in ordinary people. Madeleine had no patience for it.

"He loved one child once," Madeleine said. "Let us see what he does when he is offered another."

A knock came at the door then. Elodie hurried to the door, opening it only a careful inch. She spoke in low tones to whoever stood outside, then shut it and turned back to Madeleine.

"Your Highness," she said, voice tight, "Lord Ashcroft and the captain of the guard would like to see you in the main drawing room."

Madeleine looked at herself in the mirror. Then, very deliberately, she pressed a finger against her wound through the bandage hard enough for tears to sting her eyes once more.

Elodie gasped. "Your Highness, what are you doing?"

Madeleine inhaled through her teeth, letting the pain bloom. "The king’s guard is a brilliant man," she said, voice strained. "I have to be in genuine discomfort so he does not sense I am lying."

Elodie pressed her lips together. Even when the princess was terrifying, she had a point. Madeleine released her arm and took a slow breath, watching her reflection carefully. The wince had to be natural.

A wounded princess, frightened but dignified. A harmless little lamb.

"Speaking of him..." Madeleine turned from the mirror. "I need you to seduce him."

Elodie blinked.

Madeleine’s mouth curved. "Do not look so scandalised. You are French. Seduction is practically expected of you."

"My lady—"

"You will find out all you can about what he and the king know."

Elodie swallowed. "He may not be easily led."

"Then be less obvious."

"Yes, my lady."

Madeleine turned back to the mirror. She fixed her hair first, pinning loose strands into place. Then she adjusted her gown, arranging the sleeve.

By the time she was finished, she looked exactly as she needed to look. Fragile and alive only by God’s mercy.

She headed out with Elodie just behind her. As expected, Lionel and the captain of the guard were waiting.

*****

Richard put on a charming smile. It felt like a mask made of glass. Livia was coming toward him. She looked tired.

Her face was pale beneath the careful arrangement of her hair and veil, her eyes shadowed, her mouth pressed into a line.

He wondered what she would say first. Would she tell him at once that she had seen Henry? Would his name fall from her lips with urgency, with softness, with the eagerness Richard had been quietly dreading since the moment he heard she had finally seen the king?

Please, do not be eager.

The prayer came shamefully. Duke of Kingsmere, decorated fool and jealous bastard that he was, was begging God that a woman would not look pleased after seeing another man.

Eagerness would mean Henry still mattered. Eagerness would mean Henry had not exaggerated when he claimed some part of her still belonged to him.

If Henry was right, then Richard had no claim at all.

By the time she reached him, Richard had mastered his face. Livia dipped into a curtsey.

"Your Grace..."

"My lady..." he replied, inclining his head. His gaze flicked around the courtyard. Too many eyes. "How do you fare?"

Her lips parted, and for a moment he expected Henry’s name. Instead, pain crossed her face.

"It is awful, Your Grace. I do not understand why people take pleasure in hurting others. There was so much blood, Your Grace."

Whatever jealousy had been clawing at him evaporated.

"I am sorry you had to see that."

"Besides," Livia said, lowering her voice, "did you have to tell everyone I was going to be your wife? I could practically hear the maids whispering from the corridor."

Richard glanced down at her, one brow lifting with dangerous innocence. "How dreadful."

She shot him a look.

"It was the only way you would have the authority to enter Whitehall at such a time. But it is good to know Whitehall has not changed," Richard added. "The Crown may tremble but the maids will always gossip." He offered his hand, and she placed hers in his. He closed his hand around them.

A footman opened the carriage door. Richard helped her up, careful with her skirts.

"You ride in the carriage," he said. "I will take my horse."

"Oh..." Livia paused on the step and turned back to him. "I met His Highness today."

Richard stilled. There it was. The name she had not spoken. The blade he had been waiting for.

"Yes," he said. "I know." He expected more.

A trembling confession. A rush of words. But nothing came. The silence stretched between them, filled with horses shifting, wheels creaking, guards muttering, and Richard’s own traitorous heart making a damned fool of itself.

"Your Grace?"

"Hmmmm..." Richard hummed.

Livia narrowed her eyes at him from the carriage step. "You are staring."

He blinked. The accusation had dragged him back from some far-off battlefield inside his own skull. "Right," he said, clearing his throat. "My apologies. I shall ride behind you," he added.