His Secret Slave to Scandalous Queen

Richard gave a low, disbelieving laugh.

"Flirt with other women, you know." she added.

"That is never going to be me, love," he said. "Never. I do not want freedom from you. I want you in every room I enter. I want to wake and find you beside me." His thumb brushed lightly along her cheek. "I want to know you are safe. I want to be the man you look for without thinking. I want to always see you light up whenever I am around."

Livia’s smile trembled. Richard leaned in then. Then his mouth met hers in a hopeful kiss. She kissed him back with equal passion, and Richard nearly broke apart from the relief of it.

God.

She kissed him like she had missed breathing and found it in him. Richard’s hands tightened carefully at her waist.

When she leaned into him, when her fingers brushed his coat and her mouth softened beneath his, hope rose in him like a fool.

He sighed against her lips. He felt relief, need. "I love you..." he whispered. He loved her. Loved Diana Bellamy, loved Livia Valenti.

She smiled up at him. Richard held his breath. For the tiniest, most foolish second, he hoped she would say it back.

Just once.

Even as a lie she was trying to make true. He would have taken it. God forgive him, he would have taken scraps.

It had never bothered him before. Or perhaps he had only told himself that. Now, after Henry, it began to nudge at him.

If she did not love him, it meant she loved another, did it not? And there was only one other man in England currently losing his damned mind over her.

"I better go," Richard said, forcing lightness into his voice and failing. "Before my father gets back and finds me here, in your room."

It was absolute horseshit. His father had caught him with more women than he could count.

Livia could feel that was not the reason he was running away. His eyes had changed. They were looking anywhere now but at her.

He stepped back. Her heart tightened.

"Richard..." she whispered as he got to his feet.

He turned back with that careless smile he was known for. "I could sneak in here when the house is asleep," he said quickly, making light of the situation. "If you would like some cuddle time."

A small, soft laugh slipped out of her. She shook her head, but her smile lingered. "Cuddle time?"

"Yes." He straightened, encouraged. "A very honourable, deeply respectable, entirely innocent activity."

Her smile grew. "I would like you to sneak in here."

"Then I shall."

"You sound very pleased with sneaking around in your father’s house."

"I have just received an invitation from the woman I intend to marry. A man is allowed some joy before his execution...My father will absolutely kill me if he finds out. You would have to be really quiet though," Richard said, stepping back toward her just a little. "The guards make rounds through the house every couple minutes."

Livia tilted her head. "You mean you would have to be quiet."

Richard paused. His brow rose. "Are you daring me, Duchess?"

Her cheeks coloured faintly. "Yes...Yes, I am, Your Grace."

Richard was caught between laughter and the sudden ache of wanting to stay. "You’ll pay for that." He leaned in and brushed a quick kiss against her lips.

Then he stepped away. Richard gave her one last smile and walked out of the room.

It was only after Richard left that the guilt of the day finally hit her like a hand across the face. She pressed her fingers to her lips.

Why had she not told him? Why did she not tell Richard about Henry? What exactly was her excuse?

Richard deserved the truth. Did he not? But what would happen when she gave it to him? Would they look at each other differently? Would the softness in his eyes change? Would he see her and remember Henry? Would he wonder, every time she went quiet, whether her thoughts had wandered back to the man who had found her first?

Would he still want to marry her?

Livia dropped back onto the mattress with a tired little groan and stared up at the canopy above her.

This was a mess, a disaster even. And what the hell did Henry think he was doing sending Richard off to France?

Everyone she had recently met claimed the king was kind. The sort of man England ought to thank God for. So far, from what she had seen, King Henry was nothing like Henry the merchant.

Henry the merchant had been...warm. She still remembered him and the guilt hit even more.

*****

Livia sat up in bed later that night, waiting for Richard to sneak back in. A candle burned low on the table. Outside her chamber, the corridor was quiet except for the occasional muted step of a guard making his rounds. She could not have slept even if she wanted to.

Every time she closed her eyes, her thoughts drifted back to Henry.

His voice.

His anger.

His poem.

She pressed both palms over her face and breathed out a curse. What was his plan? What was he thinking?

Did he think getting rid of Richard would suddenly make her fall back into his arms?

She wondered, not for the millionth time that day, if she should tell Richard. Tell him and be free of it.

The cons outweighed the pros. Yes, perhaps she would have peace. Perhaps the guilt pressing against her chest would loosen enough for her to breathe without feeling like a liar. Perhaps she could look Richard in the eyes and not feel the shame of holding back a truth of such magnitude.

But what would that knowledge do to them? What would it do to the warmth he still gave her so freely?

And worse—what would it do to his friendship with the king?

She groaned and looked toward the fire burning low in the grate. The flames licked lazily at the logs, throwing gold over the bedchamber walls and making the shadows shift.

(100 power stones! On to 200 people! We can do it!)