His Secret Slave to Scandalous Queen

Jane looked down and finally noticed properly what he had brought. Bread, cheese, fruit, salted meat, a small jar of honey, and more sensible things she did not yet know what to do with. Her smile softened. "Thank you." She took the basket from him and walked into the kitchen area.

Lionel followed behind. "Would you like a maid or something?"

Jane froze and turned. "A maid?!"

"I... I don’t know the protocol here but I..."

"It’s quite all right." Jane smiled, running a finger along the kitchen shelf. "I can manage perfectly well by myself...Is this a permanent arrangement," she asked, turning to face him, "or should I start looking for somewhere else soon? I’d rather know before I get comfortable."

Lionel leaned against the doorframe, arms folded. "For as long as we have our arrangement, I’d imagine." He shrugged. "I always liked to fuck you, Jane. Now that Beaumont’s is closed, it would be a shame to let a nice piece of ass go to waste."

Jane turned to look at him slowly. "It’s been a while," she said, stopping just short of him, "since you had the nice piece of ass."

"Been busy."

"Mm." She tilted her head. "You’re not busy now."

"No," he said. "I am not." He reached for her. His hands found her waist and lifted her, depositing her onto the kitchen stone top. Jane laughed — a genuine, surprised sound that she didn’t entirely mean to let out — and steadied herself with a hand on his shoulder. His fingers found the hem of her dress and slid beneath the fabric.

"I’ll leave you a bag of coins before I go." His fingers continued their exploration even as he spoke. "Go out and get yourself things that haven’t been soiled by another man’s seed." His fingers found exactly what they were looking for.

She forgot what she was going to say. So instead, she said "Yes, my lord."

"Things are going to change now," he said.

"Hmmm..."

"For the term of our arrangement," Lionel continued, "you are mine alone."

It sounded possessive, yes, but also steady.

"Of course," she whispered.

A kept woman was still kept, but being kept by one man was better than being passed from hand to hand in Beaumont’s house until her name meant nothing.

Lionel quickly undid his pants and entered into her proceeding to fuck her hard and rough.

*****

Theodora could not believe what she was hearing. The Crown associated with a brothel. A brothel.

The scandal was already beginning to ripple around town. Naturally. This had to be Lionel’s doing.

Her eyes narrowed. Or that fool. What was his name again? The Lord Chancellor’s son. Ugh. The Duke of Kingsmere.

It must be. There was no other way her son, the mighty King of England, would stoop so low as to cause a ruckus in a place like Pudding Lane.

The doors to the throne room opened before Theodora, and she stepped in as regal as ever. The Lord Chancellor was already in the room with the king, papers spread across the table between them. Seals, letters, drafts, maps, and all the usual nonsense men surrounded themselves with when they were talking about marriage and administration.

"The French envoys are insisting the dowry terms remain as previously agreed," Lord Langford was saying. "But they are willing to reconsider the port concessions if England confirms the wedding date before Michaelmas."

Theodora nearly sighed aloud. The treaty with France. Ugh. That again. As if the entire court had not already suffered enough from France in the form of one rude and hot wired princess.

"Your Highness," Theodora greeted.

Henry looked up from the papers. "Mother. I’m glad you are here. Saves me the trouble of sending for you."

Theodora’s brows lifted. "You wanted to see me?"

"Yes." Henry leaned back slightly in his chair. "I would like you to make preparations. The princess’s maid is arriving shortly."

"The princess’s maid?"

Henry nodded toward Lord Langford. "Lord Langford just gave me the news."

The Lord Chancellor bowed his head, wisely choosing to look at the papers instead of directly at Theodora. Sensible man.

"I don’t understand," Theodora said, though she understood perfectly and disliked every part of it. "I did not request for a maid to be sent from France. I gave the princess a maid already."

"An English maid," Henry said. "Madeleine is homesick."

"Is she? I cannot imagine why she would be. She leaves in more opulence, I believe."

"She wants something familiar while surrounded by all the strangeness of England."

Theodora clasped her hands in front of her. "How unfortunate."

Henry gave his mother a look. "She crossed the sea to marry into a foreign court. A familiar attendant is not an unreasonable request."

Theodora smiled thinly. "And you approved this?"

"I sent for the maid myself."

That bitch. Theodora kept the thought neatly behind her smile. Madeleine had gone over her head.

Wonderful.

Still, she kept calm.

"Actually," she said, "I came to discuss something else. Something Lord Langford must have heard and, I am guessing, refused to address." She turned her eyes toward the Lord Chancellor.

Lord Geoffrey Langford folded his hands over the papers before him. "What might that be, Your Grace?" Geoffrey asked.

"There is a rumour going around town," she said, "that the Crown shut down a brothel on Pudding Lane."

"Yes," Geoffrey said. "I received a complaint from the owner, a Nicholas Beaumont."

"Then perhaps someone would like to explain why the Crown is now associated with tavern whores and Pudding Lane filth."

Geoffrey lowered his gaze.

"Why would the Crown take interest in such a place?"

"Someone died there," Henry replied. "Another is missing. It simply came to my attention that the place is unsafe for citizens."

"Since when do you personally inspect every unsafe tavern in London? Shall we expect you at the fish market next? A woman may slip on herring and require royal intervention."

Henry’s jaw tightened. "A girl fell from a roof."

"It really doesn’t matter to you, does it?"

"Why shouldn’t it?" Henry demanded. "Everyone in this city are my people. It is my responsibility to look out for them."

"Your Highness," Theodora said, "that is not all I heard."

Henry exhaled. He already knew this conversation would be miserable, but his mother had a gift for finding new floors beneath hell. "What else did you hear, Mother?"

"I am told that the Crown authorised a nobleman to marry a whore working there."

Lord Langford’s brows lifted slightly. Henry’s face hardened.

"Yes," he said. "A friend of a friend was interested in one of the girls. Not a whore."

"She works in a brothel," Theodora replied. "That is what she is." She stepped closer to the table. "This kind of thing besmirches the dignity of the Crown."

"The dignity of the Crown? Truly? Freeing women from Beaumont’s chokehold is where dignity dies?"

Theodora’s eyes flashed. "Those women were bound to him legally."

"Maybe I should make a petition to the Lord Chancellor about abolishing the purchase of humans!" Henry turned to Lord Langford.

"Good idea my Lord, but I fear more than half of the country would request your head on a pike." Geoffrey chipped in lazily.

"Did Lionel make you do this?" Theodora demanded. Then her sharp gaze swung to Lord Langford. "Or his son?" She pointed an accusing finger at Geoffrey. "Do not play innocent with me, Geoffrey. That boy has never met trouble he did not wish to shake hands with."

Henry’s patience snapped. "Mother!" he thundered. "This is matter of state. You have no business with it! Now please, head back to your apartments and prepare for the arrival of the princess’s maid!"

Theodora turned back to him, eyes flashing.

Henry pointed toward the door. "Out."

Her lips thinned. "Very well." She huffed, gathered her skirts, and left angrily.

Lord Langford exhaled. "I should probably ask, was it Richard that asked this favour of you?"

Henry looked at him. "No."

"Thank heavens."

Geoffrey adjusted one of the papers on the table. "Your mother may not see the good in what you have done, Your Highness," Geoffrey said, "but you did good."

Henry nodded. He accepted the words because they were kind, and because Geoffrey meant them. But inside, he knew the exact reason he had done it.

It had not been for those women’s freedom. It had not been for some grand royal duty to cleanse London of rot.

He had done it for himself because he was going mad. Every hour without news of Livia felt like a hand closing around his throat. He had to find Livia. He needed to find her.

Maybe he should have revealed his true identity to her. Maybe then she would have found him herself. Maybe she would have come to Whitehall.

He was working Lionel and the watchmen to the bone, searching the city. And still there was no news, nothing that could point him in the right direction.