His Secret Slave to Scandalous Queen

"Do you know why the king has so many mistresses coming and going?" she asked. "Some he likes enough to stay, some he doesn’t?"

"I’m assuming you are about to tell me."

Theodora gave a small smile. "Because I am meant to be obeyed. All of his women should do as I say, and they enjoy His Highness just a little bit more. But when they don’t, I merely offer him another beautiful woman, someone else to sway his attention."

Madeleine said nothing, but Sophie saw her fingers tighten in the bedclothes.

"Lady Bella learnt fast," Theodora continued. "See how much power she has now? You think she would bear a child if I didn’t want her to? Nothing happens in this palace without my say so. I think its best you understand that."

Madeleine lifted her chin. "Your Grace," she said, her tone so even that Sophie flinched at how dangerous it sounded, "who holds more power in this palace? The queen or the queen mother?"

"And you will not become queen without my say so, Madeleine."

Then Theodora smiled—a small, satisfied thing, polished with victory—and walked out of the room.

Even her exit carried the insulting grace of a woman who believed the earth itself ought to move aside for her slippers.

Madeleine’s expression shattered. "I’m going to kill that woman!" she hissed.

Sophie’s eyes widened. "I’m so sorry, my lady. If I knew this would happen, I would never have suggested..." She felt guilty for every helpful thought she had ever had in her life.

Madeleine waved her off with impatient fingers. "No time to dwell."

There was still fury in her face, but it had already begun changing shape. The princess shifted against the pillows, gathering herself. Her hair had come loose around her face.

"Remember when I said there were two distractions?"

Sophie swallowed. "Yes, Princess."

"Make that three."

"Oh Lord," Sophie said.

"I want you to sniff around," the princess ordered. "Find out anyone with the name Livia."

"Why?"

"Because the king seems to be enamoured by her so much he whispered her name while I touched him," Madeleine said.

Madeleine’s face changed, enough for Sophie to glimpse the wound beneath the fury. To be measured, watched, controlled by the Queen Mother was one thing. To find herself in another woman’s shadow even in the king’s bed was another entirely.

Sophie lowered her eyes. "I will do as you say, Your Highness."

"Oh, and tonight," she said, with the same calm one might use to discuss changing gowns, "the mistress’s son dies."

Sophie went cold all at once. "My lady," she said carefully, "why not focus on the Queen Mother for now?"

Madeleine turned her gaze toward her. "That is what I am doing," she said. "She thinks she controls everything. Let’s see her control death."

Sophie’s heart thudded. She swallowed. "But how do we even get close to him? His room is constantly guarded. His nurse is always with him," Sophie said.

"We wait," Madeleine said, "for the perfect opportunity. And when the king is grieving, guess who will be by his side to comfort him?"

A smile touched her mouth then—small, cold, and full of early triumph. Sophie felt ill.

"I’m going to show that witch exactly what I can do," Madeleine said. Her tone remained calm. "If she spent less time monitoring the king’s bed, maybe her grandson wouldn’t have died."

Sophie stared at her mistress, horror and pity wrestling inside her so violently that she could not tell which would win. She dropped her gaze, because meeting Madeleine’s eyes suddenly felt dangerous. "Princess..."

Madeleine had already turned away. Her fingers moved absently over the edge of the sheet, smoothing it once, twice.

*****

Livia was prepared for the night, and she waited for the carriage to arrive. She had dressed early to save time, if she was honest with herself, saving time had very little to do with it. Restlessness had driven her into her gown long before she needed to be in it. She had chosen carefully too—an outfit she knew Nicholas would not ask her to change out of.

She paced. Across the room. Turn. Back again. Waiting always stretched time. Every small sound from the street below made her pause and listen. Wheels over stone. A raised voice. A burst of laughter. Hoofbeats passing, then fading. She folded her hands. Unfolded them. Adjusted her sleeves. Smoothed her skirt. Held her breath. Let it out. Then held it again.

When the door finally opened, relief leapt in her chest. Nicholas entered. But this time there was no smile.

Livia turned at once and faced him, every hopeful thought rising and then stalling in the same instant. She looked at him and said nothing.

He looked at her and took in the gown, the careful hair, the readiness. "You are dressed," Nicholas said.

"Yes," she answered. Her mind moved fast. "I was thinking of coming down to watch the girls dance." She lied.

"No matter," Nicholas said. "We have a problem."

Livia felt her stomach tighten. "Anything I can help with."

"Well," he began, drawing the word out, "I received payment from someone else for next month. I assumed your previous gentleman was no longer interested. But he is here now and has also paid for next month." He paused, then added shamelessly, "Even though I doubled it."

"You collected payment from two people?" she asked.

Nicholas spread his hands. "Of course."

The nerve of him. The reckless, greedy, impossible nerve.

"You have to return the lesser one, of course."

At that, Nicholas chuckled enough to make her want to throw the nearest object at his head.

"Oh, you sweet summer child. Come on," he said at last, pushing himself off the door. "Off you go. Go rock his world. I shall find a way out of this for us."

"Yes, sir," Livia said. She did her best not to flee the room.

Everything in her wanted to hurry—to snatch up her skirts, escape and put as much distance as possible between herself and the ridiculous mess he had dropped into her lap. So she moved with care, with dignity