His Secret Slave to Scandalous Queen

"Almost immediately," Lionel responded.

"Good," Henry said. "I’ll talk to her when all this is over."

"Will you be marrying the princess, my lord?" Lionel ventured.

Henry did not answer at once. The question had been waiting for weeks. Princess Madeleine of France. A bride brought for alliance. A woman with a crown-shaped future. If Thomas’s death had changed anything, it had made Henry’s marriage no longer a matter of politics alone.

Everyone wanted something.

"I guess I will," Henry said. "Especially now, the Church will begin to push the matter of my marriage more."

Lionel nodded. "The Lord Chancellor will be glad to hear it." He sighed. "But let’s hold it off for as long as we can, uhn?"

Lionel looked at him.

Henry’s smile turned dry. "Don’t want the French to think we are too eager."

Lionel chuckled softly. "Good thinking, Sire."

*****

Nicholas Beaumont watched as Livia and the other girls came down the steps to entertain the men that night.

The tavern was already bright with candles, smoke, laughter, and the sour-sweet smell of wine. Music scratched from the corner where two musicians played. Men lounged at tables with cups in hand, eyes lifting eagerly as the women appeared.

The other girls descended with painted smiles and swinging hips, eager to impress, eager to be chosen, eager to prove they were worth spending the night with.

Livia looked like she would rather swallow a dog. The girl was beautiful, there was no denying that.

Beautiful enough to make men forget the price before Nicholas even named it. Beautiful enough that his wife had smiled for the first time in weeks when he told her how much one girl had brought in within a month.

But God help him, Livia had a stubborn streak wide enough to block a carriage. Other girls would have given up by now. They would have cried, yes. But eventually, they would have accepted the shape of their fate and bent themselves around it.

Nicholas stood behind the counter, a cup of ale in hand, watching the entertainment unfold.

The girls danced. Some moved with grace. Some with hunger. Some with desperation. Livia danced like a woman walking to her own execution.

Even furious, she drew the eye.

Nicholas took a drink and sighed. It was not that he wished to send her off with the old fart. Truly, he did not. The girl was profitable. Livia had brought him a ridiculous amount of money with just two men. Add the old lord to the count and that made three. Three men, and suddenly his accounts looked healthier than they had in months.

But what could he do? Orders from the king himself could not be disputed. Nicholas’s mouth twisted.

Fucking royalty. Always thinking they could have whatever they wanted, whenever they wanted it. No wonder the bastard had lost his son. All that blood on his hands apparently had not been enough. He had to take a swing at Nicholas’s business too.

He knew better than to say that aloud. Even Nicholas Beaumont had limits to his stupidity. His gaze shifted back to the girls as the men roared with approval. One drunken patron leaned too close to Livia, reaching for her ass.

Livia slapped his hand away. The room laughed. Nicholas’s grip tightened around the cup.

What was wrong with the bitch? It wasn’t that she had not been fucked before. She knew how this place worked. What was she holding on to?

Foolish girl.

Just as Nicholas was about to move across the room and deliver a very harsh warning, the front door opened.

A draught of cold night air swept in first. Then came the Duke of Kingsmere. Nicholas’s irritation vanished quickly. His face transformed from murderous innkeeper to delighted host in the space of a heartbeat.

"Your Grace!" Beaumont beamed as soon as Richard entered.

Richard had an enigmatic presence. He was finely dressed, his cloak dark, his boots still carrying the faint dust of the road. "Hello," Richard said.

"I have been expecting you for days already."

"I had other business to take care of."

"Of course, of course. Important affairs, no doubt. A man of your standing must always be busy."

"So... is my girl ready?"

Nicholas’s smile widened. "Oh, very ready, Your Grace. There she is now." He gestured grandly toward the floor.

Richard glanced across the room. Livia stood among the other girls, dressed beautifully enough to please any man with eyes and looking miserable enough to make Richard’s jaw tighten. He looked away and moved toward the counter then he leaned over. "I paid for the month," Richard said.

Nicholas blinked. "Yes, Your Grace. And I have honoured that arrangement as far as—"

"As far as nothing," Richard cut in.

The warmth in Beaumont’s face began to falter.

"I paid for a month. A full month. That means she is mine for that period unless I release her. Not yours to parade."

Nicholas’s throat bobbed. "Of course," Beaumont said, laughing awkwardly. His eyes flicked once toward the room, toward the men drinking and watching the girls with greedy interest, then back to Richard. "She merely assists the other girls once in a while," Beaumont said quickly. "Remember? Like she did you?"

"Look," Richard said, his voice calm enough to be far more dangerous than shouting, "I know you are a greedy bastard. I have no problem with that," Richard continued. "A man must have a calling, and yours is apparently squeezing coins out of misery."

"Your Grace—"

"But when I pay for the month," Richard cut in, leaning one elbow on the counter, "I do not expect my girl to even be glanced at by these fuckers around here. It happens again," he said, "I’m going to dig up every chest of coin you have hidden in this place and throw them down the well."

Beaumont’s mouth opened.

"Are we clear?" Richard asked.

"Of course, of course, Your Grace. Won’t happen again."

"Excellent." Richard straightened, adjusting one glove with maddening leisure. "Can I get my private time with her then?" He raised a brow.

"Yes. Yes, certainly." Beaumont gave a quick little bow, sweat beginning to shine at his temples. "I will be by in a minute." He scurried off.

Livia saw him coming and stiffened. He caught her by the arm.

"Move," he hissed.

She stumbled as he dragged her toward the staircase, skirts tangling around her legs. Livia’s heart pounded as Beaumont hauled her up the stairs.

"What is happening?" she demanded under her breath.

"You ask too many questions."

"Where are you taking me?"

"To the man who paid for you."

The words struck like a slap. They reached the top floor, where the noise from below became muffled beneath thick rugs and closed doors. This was the more expensive part of the house, the portion Beaumont showed to wealthier gentlemen. Paintings hung along the walls. A vase of flowers sat on a table.

Beaumont pulled open one of the doors to the special rooms and shoved her inside. Livia caught herself against the bedpost. "Better behave," he snapped from the doorway, eyes hard with warning, "or I will have your head."

Livia choked on a sob as the door shut behind Beaumont. She could not move. Her entire body began to shake. She wrapped her arms around herself, fingers digging into her sleeves, trying to hold all the broken pieces in place. Her stomach twisted so violently she thought she might be sick.

This was it. Her eyes locked on the door handle. When it turned, Livia took one step back.

The door opened and Richard entered.

"Hello, Diana," he said.

Livia shut her eyes and held her breath, willing herself to die or disappear—whichever God could arrange faster. She could hear him moving in the room, the soft fall of his boots, the quiet shift of fabric as he removed his gloves.

He placed them on the little dresser. "I’m glad to see that I am not the only man who repulses you."

Her eyes snapped open. Richard stood a few feet away, watching her. His expression was dry.

"I saw you downstairs," he continued, glancing briefly toward the door, "with your weak attempt at entertaining the men." He tilted his head. "Truly dreadful. I have seen funeral processions with more enthusiasm."

Her fingers tightened around her sleeves. Richard walked closer to her. His gaze moved over her slowly, and Livia felt every inch of it like a hand. Her skin went cold beneath the fine gown.

"I’ve been looking forward to this," he said. His tone was light enough to sound playful. Richard lifted his hand and touched her chin, tilting her face upward.

"Please..." Livia shuddered at the contact.

At once, Richard dropped his hand.

His brows drew together. "Come on," he said. "I cannot repulse you that much."

Livia’s breath came too fast. She shook her head. "Just... please."

"I don’t understand."

"I can’t say anything."