His Secret Slave to Scandalous Queen

To buy himself a moment—just a moment to prepare a lie polished enough to survive her eyes—he reached for the flask Lionel had forced upon him earlier and took a swig.

He kept his face admirably steady. "I trade," he said at last, lowering the flask, "a great many things. Anything needed by the nobility. Fabrics, jewels..."

Livia’s mouth curved. "Books?" she asked, the teasing in her voice soft.

Henry huffed a laugh. "Yes, books. But mainly for you. I’ll have a room filled with books for you," he said. "Your own personal library."

"I would love that," she said.

Then she asked, with maddening innocence, "Another question. Will we live together?"

"Uh... no," Henry said.

Livia’s brow lifted. "Oh?"

Henry wished immediately for another swallow of ale, and that was what he did again, buying himself time but there wasn’t enough.

"I... uh... I..."

"I understand that you have other commitments," Livia said quickly, before he could continue stumbling over himself and turn a moment of awkwardness into a full collapse. "A lot of men do it. At the tavern, most men there are married. But there they are every night, picking up different girls to spend the night with."

She said it lightly. She was rescuing him by lowering her expectations.

"Its not that..." He said it at once.

Livia noticed he had not said he was unmarried.

"Its just..." he tried again.

The words refused to come. And now, on top of everything else, he was beginning to feel strange.

Warm, first of all. A creeping, unnatural heat spreading through him. It moved under his skin and into his face and neck. He wondered if he was falling ill.

"Are you alright?" Livia asked.

Henry blinked at her. "Is it hot in here?"

Livia glanced toward the hearth. "No... but if you are, I could put off the fire."

She was already getting to her feet, but Henry lifted a hand quickly.

"No. No, I..." He cleared his throat and reached for the flask again. He took another sip.

And then it struck him. His eyes widened.

"Oooooh Lionel..." he muttered. "You son of a... pig..."

That treacherous bastard had taken it upon himself to meddle. Lionel had clearly decided to solve what he had very grandly called Henry’s "problem".

And the effects, Henry now realized with mounting dread, were only just beginning to kick in.

Wonderful. Soon, he was going to be a full maniac. It was something they had messed around with when they were younger, Henry was not unfamiliar with its effects.

He looked up at Livia, who was standing now, watching him with concern. There were, Henry thought dimly, very few dignified ways to explain sudden panic, rising heat, and murderous feelings toward one’s personal guard. He found none of them. "I have to go."

"What? Why? Don’t—" Livia stammered, reaching for him even as he pulled back. "Did I say something wrong?"

"No." Henry pressed the heel of his palm to his forehead, jaw tight. "It’s not you. It’s not you."

"Then what—"

"I’ve been slipped something." He said it flatly. "Something that would make even a cow irresistible at the moment."

"Oh my God." Her eyes went wide. "Someone drugged you? Who would do that to you?" She was already moving toward the small table in the far corner where a pitcher of water sat. Her hands weren’t entirely steady as she poured.

"When I get my hands on him," he said, "I will fry his ass." He pushed himself to his feet. The room swayed its opinion on this decision but he ignored it.

Livia came back and pressed the cup into his hands. "What can I do?"

"Nothing. You will do nothing."

"Henry—"

"No." He took a breath. Tried to locate the version of himself that made reasonable decisions. "If I—" He stopped. Started again. "If I fuck you in this state—" He hesitated, searching for the right arrangement of words. "Your first time will hurt," he finally said. "I don’t want to hurt you."

He meant it. That was the thing Livia heard underneath everything else. He simply, plainly, did not want to hurt her.

Livia’s heart was racing. Of all the things he could have said, that stayed. It unsettled her. She watched him drink the water, watched the way his hand tightened faintly around the cup. When he placed it down on the small table, it made a soft, final sound.

He stepped closer, leaned in and placed a small kiss on her forehead. "I’ll see you again soon," he promised.

And then he turned to walk away. Livia stood there, frozen. She could let him go but she couldn’t let him slip through her fingers.

No. Not again. Before her courage could falter, she hurried forward and planted herself directly in front of him, blocking his path completely.

Henry stopped short, surprise flashing across his face.

"You will not hurt me," Livia said, lifting her chin. "I know from the brothel that you have to do something about it."

"Livia... move!"

"No!"

Henry’s brows rose. The word itself had no place being spoken to him. It had crossed some invisible line that most people never dared approach. "You cannot say no to me," he said.

"The last time, I let you walk out," she said. "This time, I do not plan on allowing that."

Henry stared at her. And Livia held her ground. Fear was there—of course it was—but it no longer ruled her.

She took a breath. "You are going to stay here," she said, meeting his gaze without flinching, "and you are going to...fuck me. I assure you, I have more steel in me than my fragile frame deceives you into seeing."

"Do you now?" Henry said, and despite himself, the corner of his mouth lifted just a fraction. It was the smallest smile, reluctant and edged with disbelief, he felt he ought to be offended but could not quite manage it.