His Secret Slave to Scandalous Queen

"I am not duchess yet!" Livia cried.

"No," Mrs. Crowe said calmly. "Which means we still have time to prevent disaster."

Livia’s lips parted.

The audacity.

Her irritation rose—not because she disliked the woman, but because Mrs. Crowe’s certainty pressed too closely against old bruises. Livia did not want to be told what to do. "Tabitha....I will be going to the kitchen. I am quite sure you are not going to stop me."

Then Livia turned and walked out. That was the end of it.

******

Lady Bella received Livia’s letter two days later. It arrived before dinner, sealed neatly and addressed in the careful hand Bella had come to recognise from their lessons.

Livia asked after her health first. She wanted to know whether the wound still troubled her, whether the physician was pleased with her recovery, and whether Bella had finally learned to remain in bed instead of wandering through Whitehall.

Bella smiled faintly at that. The smile vanished when she reached the next paragraph. Their weekly French lessons would have to be cancelled. Livia would soon be leaving England for France with the Duke of Kingsmere.

Bella read the sentence once and again. She threw back the coverlet and climbed out of bed, ignoring the pain and began pacing across the chamber, the letter clenched in one hand. Her mother looked up from her embroidery.

"Bella, will you stop that?"

Bella turned at the end of the room and marched back. "She is leaving!"

Her mother paused. "Who?"

"Diana!" Bella looked down at the letter again. France. Diana was going to France with the duke, where they intended to marry.

It was an absolute disaster. How was Henry supposed to repair anything if the woman he loved crossed the Channel with another man?

"Oh, yes," her mother said, returning calmly to her embroidery. "I received a letter from your brother." "He told me they are looking for another French teacher for the girls."

"I have to stop this!" Bella declared.

"Bella, for God’s sake. She is leaving England, not dying."

"I will die, Mama. I will."

Her mother set the embroidery aside. "What has got into you? You have been behaving strangely for weeks."

Bella had nothing to say. How exactly was she supposed to explain this? "I have to see the king."

"You have to return to bed. Bella!"

But Bella had already headed for the door. Her mother’s protests followed her into the corridor, growing fainter as Bella hurried away as quickly as her healing wound allowed.

Apparently Bella was the only person in England with enough sense to understand that the princess of France was going to spell doom for England. Bella understood the king couldn’t marry Diana but Diana could keep him from being totally under the thumb of the princess.

She turned toward the king’s private apartments and saw the Princess Madeleine. Speak of the devil.

"Oh, my God," Madeleine snapped, standing in her way. "Do you never get enough? Do you ever remain in your chambers?" the princess continued. "You hover around the king like flies around cow dung."

Bella drew in a slow breath, she had already been accused of causing enough trouble. "If you would excuse me, Princess."

"You will return to your chamber," Madeleine ordered. "Now."

"Or what?" Bella asked. "You will stab me in the back again?"

Madeleine smiled. "So...I heard you have been feeding His Majesty lies."

Bella’s fingers tightened around Livia’s letter. "I did not feed His Majesty anything," Bella replied. "He is perfectly capable of thinking for himself. He is a brilliant man." Bella lifted her chin. "If he believes something is wrong, then something is wrong."

"Go back to your chamber, Lady Bella, or I will have the guards remove you."

Bella looked toward the men stationed outside Henry’s apartments.

"With what authority?" a woman asked from behind them.

The voice was smooth, elegant, and cold enough to frost glass. Bella turned quickly. Theodora stood at the far end of the corridor, attended by two ladies. She wore deep blue velvet trimmed with dark fur, determined to remind anyone foolish enough to forget that exile had not stripped her of rank.

Bella curtsied immediately, lowering her head. "Your Grace."

Theodora’s gaze rested on her for one moment then her attention moved to Madeleine. The princess offered a curtsy of her own.

"Your Grace," Madeleine said. "You are finally back from the Tower."

The remark was polite in shape and poisonous in spirit.

Theodora smiled. "Yes, I am." She approached slowly. By the time she reached them, even the guards seemed to be standing straighter. "And I wonder," she continued, "why you are causing a commotion outside the king’s private apartments."

"I was merely—"

"He is the ruler of this great kingdom," Theodora said, cutting across her with effortless grace, "and you cannot even grant him the luxury of rest."

"I am to be—" Madeleine began.

"Queen, yes, I know." Theodora cut through the sentence with the weary patience of a woman hearing the same dull sermon for the hundredth time.

"You have said it a great many times," she continued. "So often, in fact, I suspect the walls have begun repeating it among themselves."

Bella lowered her eyes quickly, hiding the smile that threatened to betray her.

"But you are not queen yet." Theodora’s tone remained mild. She did not need to raise her voice. Authority sat upon her naturally, bred into every straight line of her posture. "Now...allow me to show you what real authority looks like." She turned her head slightly. "Guards, escort the princess to her apartments."

The guards instantly obeyed. Theodora was the King’s mother, a dowager of royal rank, and—whatever punishments Henry had imposed—still a woman whose displeasure had once ruined men before breakfast.

"I was going to see the king," Madeleine protested as the guards stepped around her.

Theodora had already turned away. The dismissal was so complete it bordered on art.

(In advance to 100 power stones...incase I am already asleep)