His Secret Slave to Scandalous Queen

The maid by the wall began to sob. Madeleine turned her head slowly. "Do stop making that sound."

The maid choked, then clapped her hands tighter over her mouth.

Now, everyone would start asking questions. That was the worst part. Why had the princess’s maid done this? Was she unwell? Was she frightened? Had she known something? Had she seen something? Had Princess Madeleine noticed anything strange?

Of course she had noticed something strange. Sophie had spent an entire day shaking like a sinner in church.

Madeleine’s jaw tightened. This was inconvenient. Deeply inconvenient. She turned and walked out of the room before anyone could mistake her presence for sympathy. "Well," she muttered under her breath, "good riddance to bad rubbish."

Guards rushed down the hallway moments later, boots striking hard against the floor. They poured into Sophie’s room, followed by more servants, then whispers, then panic.

Madeleine stood outside only long enough to look properly offended by the disruption.

Then she turned back toward her own chamber. At least now she could write to her father and request someone useful. Someone trained. Someone with sense. Someone who could help her manage court affairs without trembling.

She couldn’t stand stupidity and cowardice. Whatever they were doing, they were doing for the good of France.

What was wrong with a little patriotism?

*****

Days had passed, and Livia had still heard nothing from Henry. Not a note. Not a message. Not even Stephen appearing with a carriage waiting in the street.

Nothing.

And now Nicholas was beginning to prepare her. That was the word he used, of course. Prepare. Livia had no clue who would come through the door when the time came. Henry or the other gentleman Nicholas had accepted money from?

So once again, she prayed that whatever was keeping Henry busy would cease. She prayed, then hated herself for praying. Prayer had always seemed to work best for people already favoured by God. For women like her, it often felt like throwing wishes into a locked room.

Where was he? Had he travelled for business again? Was he somewhere among merchants, ledgers, silks, jewels, and all the other things he claimed to trade? Or had his other life swept him away?

He still hadn’t admitted whether he was married or not. A worse thought followed. Had he finished with her?

Had the curiosity faded now that he had touched what he once only wondered about? Men could be disgustingly brief in their devotion. They burned, swore, promised, praised God and women in the same breath, then woke the next morning suddenly reminded of wives, businesses, estates, or morals.

Had he abandoned her and moved on to the next woman who caught his eye? Livia hated that the question hurt.

She turned toward the table and looked at the dresses, jewellery, and perfumes Nicholas had ordered the servants to bring up. Fine things. Costly things.

It was like fattening up a cow for slaughter. She touched one sleeve and drew her hand back.

What was she to do? The room suddenly felt too small. Too warm. Too full of fabric and perfume. Her chest tightened. The walls pressed in.

"I need air," she muttered. She threw a shawl around her shoulders and stepped out, moving down the corridor and down the stairs. She only meant to breathe, to stand somewhere that did not smell like Nicholas’s plans. She shouldn’t have. She really shouldn’t have.

The girls were gathered at the entrance to Nicholas’s private study.

"What’s going on?" Livia asked.

The question landed among the gathered women like a coin tossed into a snake pit. Several of them turned at once, their faces tightening the moment they saw her. Jealousy sat plainly in some eyes, anger in others. No one answered her. One girl looked her up and down, then turned away with a sniff so dramatic it deserved applause. The others shifted closer together, shutting Livia out as neatly as if they had closed a door in her face.

Wonderful.

Apparently, whatever was happening, she was late to it and already hated for it. Livia frowned and looked around for Jane.

She spotted her near the study door, bent slightly forward, one ear pressed shamelessly close to the wood. "Jane," Livia hissed. "Jane!"

Nothing.

The girls near the door glared at Livia.

Livia lifted her voice slightly. "Jane!"

At last, Jane looked over her shoulder. When she saw Livia, her eyes widened with excitement.

Livia waved her over. Jane hesitated, clearly torn between friendship and the possibility of missing a single word through the door. Friendship won, but barely. She hurried over, gathering her skirts and squeezing between two annoyed girls who muttered complaints as she passed.

"Oh my God, Livia!" Jane whispered breathlessly. "I was going to come up and call you, but I didn’t want to miss anything."

"What is it?" Livia asked.

"There is a regular customer of the brothel in there."

"That is hardly news. This is a brothel."

"Not like that," Jane said impatiently. "He wants to purchase one of us permanently from Beaumont."

"Permanently?"

Jane nodded. "Yes. And he came with the king’s seal."

"Why would the king need a girl from here?" Livia asked. "He is in mourning, isn’t he?"

Jane gave her a look. "It’s not for him." The man wants to marry the girl. He only came with the king’s seal in case Beaumont disagrees."

"Oh... so who is he paying for?" Livia asked.

Jane’s excitement faltered into frustration. "We don’t know yet. I can’t really make out anything they’re saying with all the whispers coming from the girls." Jane turned sharply and scowled at the cluster near the door. Several of the women were pressed close enough to the wood that one good shove would have sent them tumbling straight into Nicholas’s study. They whispered, hissed, elbowed one another.

Jane rolled her eyes and turned back to Livia. "Idiots. All of them."

Livia’s gaze returned to the closed door.

"Oh, Livia," Jane said, "you have no idea what I would give to get away from here."

(100 power stones!!!!!!!)