His Secret Slave to Scandalous Queen

"A damsel in distress is every man’s dream." She smiled and waved at him just as he shut the door.

The moment it closed, the smile faded. Livia lay back against the pillows, staring up at the painted ceiling, and tried to breathe. Her head ached. Every time she blinked, pieces of the night returned. Hands in her hair. Jane’s eyes sliding away. The cold edge beneath her feet. The terrible drop. The scream that had not belonged to her alone.

She squeezed her eyes shut.

No. Not now.

Thinking of the fall led to thinking of the dead girl, and thinking of the dead girl led to a guilt she did not know what to do with. Had she pulled her down? Yes. No. She had been trying to live. Was a woman meant to politely die alone because her murderers deserved balance?

Still, someone was dead and she was alive. Then she thought of Henry. Her chest tightened. He would not be able to find her here. Not if no one knew where Richard had taken her. All she knew about Henry was that he was a merchant. A wealthy one. Maybe a little strange with the way he speaks like he owns the world.

Richard was a duke. Surely dukes knew things. They knew men. They knew merchants. Unable to wait even a minute, Livia reached up and pulled the bell rope.

The sound rang somewhere beyond the wall. Within seconds, a young maid walked in. She looked a few years younger than Livia, with round cheeks, bright eyes.

"Hello, my lady," the maid said, dipping into a quick curtsy. "What can I get you?"

"I... uh..." Livia pushed the sheets aside and carefully threw her feet over the edge of the bed.

The maid hurried forward. "Lady Diana, you shouldn’t—"

"No." Livia gripped the bedpost until the floor agreed to remain beneath her. "I’m fine. I assure you."

"You do not look fine, my lady."

She took one careful breath. "Where is Rich... I mean Duke Richard."

"He is in his quarters," the maid answered.

"Would you please take me to him?"

"I was told you have to stay in bed until the nurse arrives."

Livia sighed, pressing one hand lightly against the side of her head. "What I have to tell him cannot wait."

The maid hesitated. Her eyes moved from Livia’s bare feet to the bed, then to the door, then back to Livia. Clearly, she was calculating whether or not to disobey direct orders.

"Please," Livia added. "It is important."

The maid’s shoulders dropped in defeat. "Alright, ma’am. Come with me."

Livia followed her into the corridor, walking as slowly as she could without admitting she needed to. The house was grand. Polished floors. Tall windows. Artwork lined the walls. Some she recognised, some she didn’t.

They continued through the halls. At last, they reached a large door. The maid knocked.

"Enter!" Richard’s voice came from inside.

The maid nodded to Livia and quickly walked away. Livia pushed open the door. The room inside was warm, lit by fire and candlelight. There were books stacked carelessly on a table, a half-open trunk near the bed, and a chair with a coat thrown over it.

Richard stood near a side table, pouring himself a goblet of wine. He turned at the sound of the door. He had nothing but a pair of pants on.

"Your Grace," she said.

Richard stared at her. His hand froze on the goblet, his hair slightly disordered. "I told you to stay in bed!"

Livia blinked. "Yes. I’m sorry," she said, though she did not sound sorry enough to satisfy him. "But I really needed to talk to you."

Richard set the wine down carefully. "You could have had them call for me."

Livia lifted her head to look at him. Call for him? She almost laughed. She, who had spent most of her life learning not to ask too much of men was supposed to lie in a grand bed and summon a duke? The thought was so ridiculous it nearly made her headache worse. Men like Richard entered rooms when they pleased.

Women like her waited to be remembered. She laughed internally, but did not let her amusement show.

"I did not want to trouble you."

"Sit," he ordered.

"I am fine."

He pulled a chair closer and pointed to it. Livia considered refusing, but her head throbbed hard enough to make pride seem terribly expensive. She sat.

Richard stood before her, arms folded, trying very hard to look stern despite being half-dressed and barefoot. It ruined the effect slightly. "Well?" he asked. "What was so urgent?"

Livia drew in a careful breath. "I was thinking if you could help me find Henry."

Richard paused. "You want me to help you find your lover?"

"Yes," she said. "If it won’t be too much trouble."

"Of course not," Richard said after a pause. His voice was light, but his eyes had sharpened. "What is his family name?"

"I..." She looked down at her hands, embarrassment heating her face. "I don’t know."

"You don’t know."

"No."

"You are asking me to find a man named Henry in London."

"Yes."

"Well, what do you know?"

"He is a merchant," she said quickly, clinging to the one thing she had.

"That narrows it down." He said sarcastically.

"Maybe if you check in the merchant district," she continued, "ask around?"

"The merchant district," Richard repeated dryly. "Excellent. I shall walk into London and ask, ’Good sirs, has anyone seen Henry, the merchant who visits brothels?’ I am sure that will go well."

Livia’s cheeks warmed. "You don’t have to mock me."

"It is one of the only pleasures you will allow me."

"Your Grace." she chastised.

"Fine. I will search the next time I go into London."

Relief moved through her. "Thank you."

"But why do you need to find him?" Richard asked.

"I cannot explain it properly," she said. "But we had plans. Plans to be together."

"His plan was to get you away from Beaumont," he said. "What was your plan?"

(100 power stones and just in time too!)