His Secret Slave to Scandalous Queen

She was so engrossed in her book that she did not notice the first few footsteps that joined her on the roof.

The night had swallowed most of London in smoke and shadow, and the little lanthorn beside her threw a warm circle of light across the open pages of La Vita Nuova. The words were strange and beautiful, filled with longing so dramatic it made her smile. Men in books suffered so prettily.

For a little while, the roof was hers. Just the cold air, the city below, and Dante’s foolish, aching heart keeping her company.

Then came more footsteps. Livia looked up slowly. At first, she thought Beaumont had sent someone to fetch her. Then she turned and saw the other working women standing near the entrance to the roof, gathered together.

Her stomach tightened. "Is everything alright?" she asked.

No one answered. Their faces were half-hidden by the dim light, but Livia could see enough. Tight mouths. Hard eyes.

Her eyes found Jane behind them. Jane was looking everywhere but at her. "Jane?" Livia’s voice changed. "What’s going on?"

"What’s going on," Anne snarled, stepping forward, "is you have to go."

Livia frowned, gripping the book in her lap. "Go where?"

"You’re the smart one," another girl spat. "Figure it out."

The cold moved through Livia’s body all at once. She glanced toward the stairwell, but the women had already spread enough to block it.

"Jane," Livia said again.

Before Livia could stand on her own, two of the girls rushed forward and yanked her to her feet. The book slipped from her lap and fell open against the roof stones, its pages fluttering in the night wind.

"Jane!" Livia yelled.

"I’m sorry," Jane whispered. "But they are right. We have no shot with you around."

"No shot at what?" Livia snapped, struggling against the hands gripping her arms. "Are you all mad? What are you going to do to me?!" Livia shouted.

One of the girls flinched at the sound and glanced toward the edge of the roof, then toward the stairwell, panic already nibbling at her courage.

"Someone shut her up for God’s sake."

Livia shoved one of the girls off her. The girl stumbled back with a sharp curse, arms flailing. For one blessed second, Livia saw an opening near the stairwell and ran for it. She did not get far.

Someone grabbed her hair. Pain shot across her scalp and Livia yelped as she was dragged backward. Her hands flew up, trying to pry the fingers loose, but another girl seized her arm, then another caught her around the waist.

"No!" Livia cried. "Get off me!"

A hand slapped over her mouth.

"Shut up," Anne hissed near her ear.

Livia tried to bite the palm covering her lips. The girl cursed and pressed harder, smearing the taste of sweat. Livia thrashed, kicking out with her slippers, catching someone in the shin.

"Ow, you bitch!"

"Hold her properly!"

"I am holding her!"

"Then why is she still moving?"

"Because she has arms, Martha!"

They dragged her toward the edge of the roof. London sprawled below in flickering pools of firelight, rooftops and alleys disappearing into smoke and shadow. The drop seemed endless.

Livia’s eyes searched frantically for help. No one. Only the night. Only the wind. Only the girls who had shared bread with her, one of them she actually called a friend. She fought harder. Her elbow struck someone’s ribs. Her heel scraped against the stone. She twisted, nearly freeing one arm, but then her body lurched too close to the edge.

She froze. A muffled cry tore from her throat. Livia’s eyes landed on Jane. Jane stood back from the others, her hands pressed to her mouth. For one desperate moment, Livia begged her without words. Help me. Stop this. Say something. Do something. Be the friend I thought you were.

Jane’s eyes filled with tears. Then she looked away. Livia surged forward with the last of her strength, grabbing onto the nearest girl’s sleeve, then her wrist, anything solid.

"Now!" Anne hissed.

They shoved. Livia went over the edge. But they had not noticed that one of them was still caught in her grip.

The girl screamed first. Then Livia screamed too. Both bodies tipped into the empty night together, skirts snapping in the air, voices tearing through the darkness as they dropped the entire way down.

The remaining girls stood frozen at the edge, horror breaking over their faces.

"She—" Martha choked. "She took Bess."

Panic arrived. Quickly, they hurried away from the roof.

Richard was already on his horse, heading away from Beaumont’s when the night split open.

A brief scream then a heavy thump. His horse startled beneath him, tossing its head, but Richard had already pulled hard on the reins.

Richard cursed under his breath and turned his horse sharply, galloping toward the sound.

The alley beside the tavern was poorly lit, squeezed between the brothel wall and a row of old buildings that leaned toward one another. His horse slowed as he pulled the reins.

Two bodies on the ground. Richard’s stomach dropped. He jumped off the horse before it had fully stopped.

"Diana!"

She was tangled with another girl, her body half across the other as if the fall had thrown them together in some cruel mockery of an embrace.

"Diana!" he called again, dropping to his knees beside her.

For one wild moment, he forgot how to breathe. He pulled her carefully from on top of the other girl.

"Come on," he whispered, his hand moving to her cheek. His fingers moved to her throat, searching. Richard exhaled sharply. "Thank God."

She was breathing, unconscious but alive. He looked upward, scanning the roofline. The space above stood empty, black against the sky.

His gaze dropped to the other girl. He did not need to check to know it was too late for her. The blood told him enough. Richard rose halfway, intending to run back into the tavern and call for help.