His Secret Slave to Scandalous Queen

"I will open my doors," she continued, each word carved from fury, "to any and every man who would care to fuck me. I will make myself the scandal you are so determined to turn me into. I will cause you such shame that no one in England will speak your name without remembering mine. I will make your mother regret every breath she spent trying to cage me."

Henry looked like she had driven a blade into him. 𝒇𝙧𝙚𝓮𝙬𝙚𝓫𝒏𝓸𝓿𝓮𝒍.𝓬𝙤𝓶

"I will cause you such scandal, the sight of me will be appalling and nauseating..."

Henry lost himself in that moment. One moment Livia was standing before him, throwing ruin back in his face with shaking hands and burning eyes; the next, something dark and vicious rose inside him and swallowed every better part of him whole. His hand closed around her arm.

Livia gasped as he dragged her back, the force of it stealing her balance. He did not know where the rage came from. It felt older than him, than the crown, than Livia. It felt like every loss chose that moment to surface. She had dared to say she would give herself to others.

Dared to make herself untouchable by promising to become ruined beyond even his reach. There was no tenderness left in his hands.

He shoved her down onto the bed. Her hair whipped across her face, blinding her for a heartbeat, and the room spun—curtains, Henry above her.

Her heart slammed into her ribs. He climbed over her, his breathing harsh, his eyes wild.

"You have no idea how a whore is treated," he said. "I saved you from that fate."

Was that what he called this? She had told herself that Henry had been different but the man above her was not from that memory.

"You want to be a whore?" Henry said. "Then I will be the first to treat you like one."

"Your Highness!" Livia shrieked.

He caught her wrists, pinning them above her head, and panic exploded through her.

"No!" she cried. "Stop!" She twisted beneath him, fighting with everything she had. Her shoulder struck the bedding, her skirts tangled around her legs, her breath coming in broken bursts. Tears blurred her vision, but she did not stop struggling.

In that terrible moment, with tears streaming down her face and Henry over her, Livia realised she had been wrong all along.

Everyone had been wrong about him. There was never her Henry. There was only the king.

"A whore is fucked whether she wants it or not," Henry growled near her ear. "A whore is used. A whore is not loved."

She turned her face away, eyes squeezed shut, every muscle in her body locked against him. His breath was hot against her skin, his grip too hard, his anger everywhere. It filled the space between them until there was no room left for memory.

Panic roared in her ears. Henry’s hand navigated around her skirts, pulling at her drawers, his being rough with fury and desperation and Livia’s breath broke into a sob she hated herself for making.

Then he looked down. The rage in him faltered. His gaze caught on her face now that he was closer, on the red imprint across her cheek.

Everything inside him went dead. All that remained was the mark on Livia’s skin and the sickening understanding of how she must look beneath him. Trapped, crying, terrified.

His stomach turned. Livia still had her eyes shut, bracing for the inevitable that did not come. Her breathing was broken, shallow, frightened. When nothing happened, she blinked carefully.

At last, she looked at him. Henry’s eyes were locked on her face.

The mark.

The tears.

The fear.

God.

What had he done?

"Did..." His voice cracked. He barely recognised it. "Did my mother do that to you?"

"You’re hurting me, Your Highness."

Henry got off her so quickly it was as though her words had burned through his skin. He stumbled back from the bed, breathing hard, his hands shaking. For a moment, he looked down at them as if they belonged to someone else. As if some stranger had used them.

Livia scrambled upright, dragging her skirts around herself, her movements jerky and protective. She could not even bear to look at him.

Henry stepped back again. His eyes widened, horror dawning fully now. He had wanted to keep her. Had told himself it was love but love did not make a woman cry like that.

Love did not pin fear beneath it.

Livia sat up slowly, rubbing her wrists. The skin there ached where his hands had held her. "This is the only way you will ever have me again...You will have to force me." She swallowed, forcing herself to stand though her knees wanted to fold beneath her. "You will have to be the monster I always knew the king was."

Livia adjusted her dress with trembling hands, smoothing the fabric where it had twisted. Henry said nothing.

There was nothing to say. No apology could climb out of the pit he had opened. No excuse could soften what had happened. He stood glued to the floor, looking like a man who had finally seen his own reflection and found something monstrous staring back.

Livia waited. Only for a moment. A foolish, pathetic moment. Some battered part of her still hoped he would speak. That he would stop her to set her free.

Silence answered.

Her throat tightened. "I will go do as you have ordered...Goodbye, Henry." She turned toward the door.

Then, without looking back, she added, "See you later, Your Highness."

She reached the door with every step feeling heavier than the last. Her hand closed around the latch. She pushed the door open and stepped out.

Stephen stood nearby, and whatever he saw on her face made his own drain of colour. Livia did not look at him long enough to be pitied. She kept walking.

(Brought to you by Mar King 2/3)