His Secret Slave to Scandalous Queen

He moved closer and shook her gently by the shoulders. "Diana?"

Her eyes opened slowly. She stared at him without understanding, caught between sleep and waking. Then recognition came, and with it a faint crease between her brows.

"Hey, Diana," Richard said softly.

"My lord." Her voice was rough with sleep. She looked around and noticed the room was still dark, the candles low, the window black beyond the curtains. "Is everything alright?" She sat up in bed, the covers slipping to her thighs.

Richard looked away immediately because he had already decided not to be an ass, and staring at her bare cleavage did not quite support that noble ambition. "I have to go to London for two days or so."

"Oh." Livia blinked, still gathering herself. "I thought you were to take me to begin my new job."

"I know." He turned back carefully, keeping his eyes on her face. "Something urgent came up. I will have them prepare the carriage for you," he continued. "One of my men will escort you to the Cresswells’ estate in the morning. You need only introduce yourself when you arrive."

She looked down at the blanket. "And if they ask questions?"

He sat on the edge of the bed, careful to leave a decent space between them. "You have the answers. You were educated abroad. You recently suffered family misfortune. You are under my protection."

Livia repeated it silently, lips moving.

"Remember your name?" he asked.

She lifted her chin. "Diana Bellamy."

"Good girl." His smile returned. "And remember, you are not begging them for kindness. They need you. You are practically a gift from God. Do not allow yourself to be mistreated. You can always get other opportunities."

She smiled faintly.

Richard stood. "You will do well."

Her eyes lifted to his. "Did something happen in London?" she asked as he got to his feet.

"I have no idea," he said, "but the king needs me."

She pushed the covers aside. "Okay. I can walk with you."

"Never mind. I’m leaving with Lord Ashcroft. He is waiting already." Richard moved toward the door, then stopped again. "Take care of yourself, and please... be careful."

Livia smiled faintly. "I will be." She gave him a sleepy look. "Goodbye, Your Grace."

Richard held her gaze for a moment longer. "Goodbye."

He hurried out of the room before he could do something foolish, like kiss her again. Lionel was waiting already on horseback, Richard’s horse beside him.

Richard mounted fluidly, gathered the reins, and looked toward the road. Then they raced all the way to London.

*****

Stephen welcomed Richard early the next morning. By then, he was not needed anymore. After the queen mother had left the night before, Henry had called Stephen in with a voice far calmer than before.

"Clear it all," Henry had said.

Stephen had looked at the cups, the empty bottles, the half-drunk pitcher, the crate still waiting in the corner. "All of it, Your Majesty?"

"All of it."

So Stephen had packed up every trace of wine. Every cup. Every pitcher. Every bottle. Every sour smell of the king’s collapse. He had opened the windows despite the cold.

Henry had gone to bed immediately after. Stephen had nearly crossed himself. Now, as Richard entered Whitehall still dusty from the road, Stephen bowed deeply.

"Your Grace. It is good to see you."

"Stephen!" Richard called exuberantly, arms opening as if they were old lovers reunited after war.

Stephen immediately regretted speaking.

Richard looked him up and down with theatrical concern. "You look unwell. Hollow around the eyes. Might this be because Beaumont’s has been shut down?"

"What?" Stephen’s eyes widened in genuine shock.

Richard leaned closer, lowering his voice. "Stephen, you and I both know you do not have a sister working there."

Stephen went very still.

"You go there for the ladies," Richard finished with a wink.

Colour rose instantly up Stephen’s neck and into his face. "Your Grace... I assure you—"

"Oh, spare me." Richard waved him off. "There is nothing to be ashamed of. We are all men. We need somewhere to stick our sticks."

Stephen wished the floor would open and swallow him whole.

Richard smiled wider. "Relax. I am not judging you. I have never judged a man for sinning."

Stephen groaned softly. If he could have shoved the duke through the doors and locked him inside with the king, he would have done it gladly. The Duke of Kingsmere, God bless his wicked heart, was a fine man. Loyal. Brave.

But his mouth. His mouth could make the Archbishop of Canterbury blush, faint, and wake up speaking Latin backwards.

"His Highness awaits your presence, my lord," Stephen said, choosing dignity because murder was frowned upon in royal service.

Richard chuckled at Stephen’s visible distress. "You are too easy, Stephen."

"I live to provide amusement, Your Grace."

Richard laughed and moved toward the king’s chamber. As he passed, he clapped Stephen lightly on the shoulder. "Do not worry. If you need somewhere new to indulge yourself, I know places with better wine and far more gorgeous women."

Stephen closed his eyes. "Please go in."

Richard entered Henry’s room. Henry looked up. "Your Highness." Richard bowed.

"Richard..." Henry sighed as soon as the duke straightened. "Please tell me those fools didn’t drag you all the way here."

"I heard there was fine wine, my lord."

Henry laughed. "Too late! I realised how low I had sunk when I almost spilled my guts to my mother. That pulled me out of the gutter real quick."

"Good God." Richard crossed himself badly and without sincerity. "You were worse than Lionel said."

Henry rubbed a hand over his face. "I know."

"I compete with Her Grace now?" Richard asked, moving deeper into the chamber. "I thought I was the one who could scare you sober."

Henry shook his head. "You aren’t even competition...."I’m sorry Lionel bothered you. I’m sure you have things to do...I should come take a look at your lands one of these days. I hear they’re doing well since you took charge."