His Secret Slave to Scandalous Queen

Chapter 144: I Received A Message

"Oh," Geoffrey said. "I received a message. His Majesty arrived back in Whitehall this morning."

Richard’s world went blank. Henry was in Whitehall. Diana was in Whitehall. "He’s in Whitehall?" Richard asked. "Already?"

"I asked the same question too," Geoffrey said. "After last night’s attack, I assumed they would keep him hidden until the palace was fully secured."

"Fuck! I have to get there."

Geoffrey watched him scramble for his clothes. "Funny how you care more about your friend than your intended."

Richard shot him a look while forcing one arm into his shirt. "I care about both." He grabbed his waistcoat, his fingers moving too quickly over the buttons. Then he reached for his boots.

Geoffrey stepped further into the room. "Oh, one more thing."

"Father, not now."

"Yes, now."

Richard bent, yanking one boot on. "Unless this house is on fire, it can wait."

"It cannot."

Richard looked up, irritation flashing across his face. "What?"

Geoffrey folded his hands behind his back. "I think you should hurry up with your wedding to Diana."

Slowly, he straightened. "Why?"

"The king has assigned you as ambassador to France. Effective as soon as possible."

His pulse kicked hard against his ribs. Of course. Of course Henry would do something like this.

An order.

A punishment.

Richard laughed darkly under his breath. "You said no, right?"

"Why would I say no to the king?" Geoffrey asked, one brow lifting.

Richard stared at him. He wondered if his father was being deliberately dense. "Father," Richard said slowly, as if speaking to a man who had suffered a blow to the head, "I am getting married."

Geoffrey folded his hands behind his back. "I did not know that at the time."

"You know now. And yet you seem strangely unmoved by the fact that His Majesty has just decided to fling me across the Channel."

"It is an ambassadorship, Richard. Not transportation to the gallows. You will fit in beautifully."

"I cannot go," Richard said, turning back to his clothes. His fingers fumbled with his waistcoat buttons, rage making him clumsy. "I cannot."

"Well," Geoffrey said, "you are close with the king. You can talk it out with him."

Richard laughed once, harsh and short.

Talk it out.

Yes, splendid. He would simply walk into Whitehall, sit Henry down, and say, Your Majesty, I know I hid the woman you love, intend to marry her, and generally ripped open your chest with both hands, but could you kindly not exile me to France?

Very reasonable.

"Oh, I will," Richard spat. He grabbed his coat and pulled it on.

Geoffrey watched him carefully now. "Richard."

"What?"

"Whatever is happening between you and the king, do not be foolish."

Richard froze. His father knew nothing. But Geoffrey had a statesman’s instincts. "Nothing is happening," Richard lied.

"Then there should be no trouble speaking to him. Are you riding with me?"

"No," Richard said, reaching for his gloves. "I’ll take a horse. It will be faster."

*****

Stephen made sure Lady Bella’s apartments were empty of maids when the king arrived once more.

Henry needed to speak with Livia. He needed to know what she was thinking. Needed to see whether the shock in her eyes had turned to hatred, betrayal, or nothing at all. He needed, at the very least, to explain that he had not abandoned her. That he had not simply taken her body, taken her trust, then vanished.

Fate had thrown a wrench in his plans for her.

Livia was sitting by Bella’s bed, her fingers tangled with hers. Bella’s hand felt too light in her grip. Livia held her hand tighter, as though strength could be passed from palm to palm if she only wanted it badly enough. If she could give Bella some of hers, she would. Not that there was much left.

Her own strength had been scraped thin.

The door opened. Livia knew before she looked. The room seemed to change when he entered. The servants had been cleared away, the physician gone, the power of him filled the chamber.

She quickly got to her feet and curtsied. "Your highness..." then she started to leave.

Henry’s hand shot out, closing around her arm. Firmly enough that her breath caught. "Stay..."

Her heart began to thump so loudly she wondered if he could hear it. What was she to say? What was there to say?

That he lied? That the man she had searched for had been sitting on England’s throne all along?

She bowed in response even when her heart did not know how to keep beating properly. Henry let her go.

Both of them stood looking at Bella. Henry stood beside her, close enough that she could feel him without touching him.

"The vain travail hath wearied me so sore..."

Livia’s breath caught. Of all things, poetry.

"I am of them that farthest cometh behind," Henry continued, eyes fixed on Bella but words meant for Livia. "Yet may I by no means my wearied mind draw from the deer. But as she fleeth afore, fainting I follow."

"I..." Livia’s voice broke before it found strength. "I didn’t flee."

Henry’s gaze shifted to her. She still would not fully look at him. Her eyes remained on Bella.

"This is not my fault," she whispered.

"No," Henry said at once. "It isn’t."

Silence fell again. Bella breathed faintly on the bed. Livia clung to that sound. It gave her something to do besides fall apart.

"Say something, Livia," Henry said.

Her name in his mouth nearly split her open. She finally looked at him. "Of course...I am not Livia anymore. I am Diana Bellamy."

"Yes," he said. "I know."

The words carried more than agreement. They carried bitterness, resentment.

"The Duke of Kingsmere’s intended," he added.

"You knew?"

"I figured."

"Oh my God..." She stepped back from him. "Did you say anything to the duke?"

Jealousy moved through Henry. He looked away, then back at her. Did the duke not tell her anything? Did he not even give her any idea whatsoever?

"Do you love him, Livia?"

"Please," she cried. "Stop calling me that."

Henry’s face tightened. Each time he said it, it felt like he was dragging her backward. He swallowed. "Do you love him?" he asked.

Livia closed her eyes. "Yes."

No sword had ever entered him so cleanly.

"So soon after me?" he asked. His face was not the king’s then. It was the face she remembered. The man who had made her feel. "I thought we..." He stopped. "I assumed you..."

"That I what?" Livia asked, her voice trembling. "That I loved you?"

Henry said nothing.

"Henry..." she began.

Then she caught herself.

"Your Highness. I did seek solace in your arms," she said. "Yes. I will not lie about that. I wanted you. I trusted you. In a sea of sharks and wolves, you were the safest thing I could find." Her eyes filled again. "You made me feel as though I could breathe. Turns out, you are no better."

Henry smirked. Even now, even with her voice shaking and her eyes wet, she had not bowed beneath him. She had not softened her words because he wore power. She spoke to him as she had always spoken to Henry. He had missed that. He realised then, with painful clarity, that his greatest mistake had not merely been hiding his crown.

It had been believing the crown would change how she saw him. It had not. The lie had.

"Why?" Henry asked quietly. "Because I am the king?"

"Because you lied to me."

Henry’s smirk faded.

"You let me trust a man who did not exist."

"I existed."

"Henry the merchant existed because you created him."

"For good reasons, I had to keep my identity hidden," Henry said. The edges of his voice shook with everything he was trying to keep from spilling out in that room: jealousy, anger, longing, the humiliating ache of standing before the woman he had lost and having to explain himself like any ordinary man caught in a lie.

"The king moving around London without security," he continued, "what do you think would happen?"

"You speak as though I was asking you to announce yourself in the middle of Cheapside with trumpets and a crown."

Henry’s jaw tightened. She had always been to smart for her own good.

"It doesn’t matter anymore," Livia said, looking away from him. "I am getting married."

"Yes," Henry said, the word leaving him like a blade drawn from flesh. "To my best friend." He reached for her arm and turned her to face him.

Neither of them noticed Bella beginning to stir on the bed. They stood too close now. Far too close. Close enough for him to see the tears she was fighting.

"Did you tell him?" Henry asked.

Livia’s brows drew together. "Tell him what?"

"That I fucked you."

"Did you tell him I was your first? Did you tell him you once trusted me? That you once promised yourself to me because you thought I was the safest thing in your miserable world?"