His Secret Slave to Scandalous Queen

"Most?" The Lord Chancellor asked.

She nodded quickly. "He stirred once. I soothed him. He quieted."

"And then?"

Agnes’s fingers twisted tighter. "Then the Princess of France fell ill in the corridor."

The Lord Chancellor’s eyes sharpened. "Princess Madeleine?"

"Yes, my lord. She was passing in front of Lady Bella’s apartments when she suddenly went down. I heard the commotion. The guards rushed forward, but she forbade the men to touch her."

"Continue."

"The guards called for a woman. I was nearest." Agnes lowered her eyes. "They asked me to help."

"And you left the child?"

Her face crumpled. "Only because he was sleeping, my lord. And only because I thought—I thought I would be gone for a moment."

"How long?"

"No more than fifteen minutes. I helped the princess to her feet. She was weak and in pain. She leaned heavily on me, and I took her to the infirmary."

"Did the princess enter Lady Bella’s apartments at any point?"

"No, my lord."

"Be certain."

"I am certain." Agnes shook her head hard. "She fell in the corridor. The guards came to help, but she sent them back. She said no man was to lay hands on her. They did not know what else to do, so they called me."

"Was anyone else with her?"

Agnes hesitated. "No."

"And when you returned?"

"His Grace was still in his cradle. Still asleep."

"Alive?"

Agnes flinched. "I thought so," she whispered. "God forgive me, I thought so. He looked peaceful but babes sometimes sleep deeply after feeding. It was not until about an hour later," she said, voice shrinking, "that I became suspicious."

With every explanation gathered, every name written down, every account compared against the next, the Lord Chancellor reached the conclusion no one in the palace wished to hear but everyone had expected.

The king’s son had died of natural causes and the rest was up to the royal physician to determine. 𝘧𝓇𝑒𝑒𝑤ℯ𝑏𝓃𝘰𝑣ℯ𝘭.𝘤ℴ𝘮

The official announcement was drafted, sealed, and sent out. Geoffrey sat alone for a moment after the clerks had finished copying the report. On the table before him lay statements from Lady Bella, the nurse, the guards, the physician, and half a dozen servants who had seen nothing useful but had managed to tremble impressively while saying so.

He sighed once. He had served long enough to know that not every tragedy had an enemy behind it. Sometimes children simply died. The Lord took them, physicians failed them, and mothers were left to scream while courtiers looked for someone to blame.

Still, at court, "natural causes" rarely satisfied anyone. The doors opened. Geoffrey looked up.

The Queen Mother entered without waiting to be announced. He rose immediately. Theodora swept into the room in black silk, her grief arranged so carefully it was almost indistinguishable from anger. Her gaze moved once over the chamber—over the table, the papers, the ink, the two remaining scribes—and then sharpened.

"Everyone leave!" she commanded.

The scribes obeyed with speed.

"Your Grace." Geoffrey bowed.

"Lord Chancellor. I got your conclusion. You are absolutely sure?"

Geoffrey straightened carefully. "Your Grace, by now I believe you should not question my judgements."

It was a bold thing to say to her. Bold enough to remind her that his office was not decorative, and that his authority, though below the crown, was not to be handled like a servant’s opinion.

"I have another matter to discuss anyway," Theodora said.

"I’m all ears, Your Grace," Geoffrey said. He remained standing, though Theodora had already taken the liberty of sitting.

"The princess," Theodora said, folding her hands in her lap, "needs to be returned to France."

Geoffrey’s brow lifted. "Your Grace?"

"You heard me."

"Yes, unfortunately. I was hoping my age had finally begun doing something useful and ruined my hearing."

Theodora gave him a look sharp enough to carve meat. "I do not mean to overstep my bounds," Geoffrey continued, "but this is a matter of state, not the king’s bedroom issues."

"It turns out both have now become one."

Sending Princess Madeleine back to France was no small thing. She had not come as a guest to be dismissed after supper. She was a royal bride in waiting, a living treaty. If handled poorly, her removal could insult the French court, unsettle allies, and lead to God forbid, war.

"The princess cannot be queen," Theodora said.

"Why do you say so?"

"She is proud, for one."

"As all royals should be," Geoffrey replied.

Theodora’s eyes narrowed slightly.

He went on before she could cut him. "A meek princess is either very young, very frightened, or very poorly bred. None of those makes a better queen."

"She challenges me."

"Most people simply lack her courage to attempt it."

"She does not listen," Theodora argued.

"Your Grace, pardon me, but what you describe is exactly you."

"Then you shouldn’t have brought her here for my son!" Theodora snapped.

"I brought a princess of France to England because the crown required an alliance," Geoffrey replied. "Not because I wished to furnish your household with a daughter-in-law you could arrange beside the curtains."

"She is unsuitable."

"She is royal, educated, fertile by every reasonable expectation, and politically useful. That places her ahead of half the women ever considered for a throne."

"She is insolent!"

"You used to think you were the best to be queen."

Theodora went still. That one landed. For a moment, the years seemed to strip away from her face—not enough to make her young, but enough to reveal the old wound beneath. Once, she had stood near power too. Close enough to feel its heat. Close enough to believe it might become hers. Then the world had reminded her that being brilliant, beautiful, and ruthless did not matter if the law preferred another woman’s womb.

Geoffrey saw the memory pass through her eyes.

"I need my son under my control, Lord Langford," she said at last. "A queen that answers to me."

"There it is," Geoffrey murmured.

Her mouth tightened. "Do not test me today."

"Your son ceased to be under your control the minute he became king."