His Secret Slave to Scandalous Queen

Chapter 220: I Cannot Tell You That

Lionel was honestly surprised the Queen Mother had not yet suspected that something was wrong.

Theodora noticed everything. Very little escaped her. Fortunately, the preparations for the royal wedding had consumed Whitehall. The French royal family would be arriving in a day or two.

For once, chaos had proved useful. Lionel approached Livia. She had scarcely shifted since the physician entered. Her back was straight, but worry had drained the warmth from her face.

"Miss Valenti..."

She turned immediately. "How is he?"

Lionel paused. "I cannot tell you that."

"Of course." Livia nodded once and returned her gaze to the closed doors.

Lionel had expected protest, perhaps even one of the sharp remarks Henry seemed to encourage from her. Instead, she accepted his refusal with resignation.

"You should return to your apartments," he said.

"I shall wait, my lord."

"There is little you can do here."

"I know." Her fingers tightened around one another. "I only need to know that he is well. Once I do, I shall leave."

Lionel studied her. She looked afraid. He sighed and turned away. If Henry recovered, he would undoubtedly ask whether she had been allowed inside. Lionel would explain that protocol had forbidden it.

Serving the Crown required courage, loyalty, and an extraordinary tolerance for being blamed.

"My lord?" Livia called.

Lionel stopped. When he turned back, she was watching him now rather than the doors.

"You do not seem to appreciate my presence here in Whitehall," she said.

His expression gave nothing away, though inwardly he cursed himself. He had believed his disapproval discreet.

Livia lifted her chin. "Since it is clearly not my will, I would like to know why."

"I have nothing against you, Miss Valenti," Lionel said. "You mean nothing to me."

"And yet..." she prompted.

Lionel looked towards the closed doors of the king’s apartments, his jaw tightening. "You do not seem to understand what you are doing to them both, do you?"

"Both?"

"His Majesty and His Grace."

Livia stared at him. "Please, enlighten me, my lord. Tell me precisely what I have done to them. Or is it simply easier to blame a woman for everything?"

There was always a woman to blame. For jealousy. For a man’s temper. For his infidelity. For his inability to hear the word no.

"At first," Lionel said, "it seemed harmless. My king was interested in something that stirred his loins."

Livia’s brows climbed higher. "Something?"

Lionel ignored the warning. "He was amused. Alive in a way I had not seen for years. I was pleased for him. I thought you would pass. A simple infatuation. His Majesty has had women before. Some beautiful than you could dream of. They came, they went but you did not go." He stepped closer, his expression grim. "Then Richard. Two men circling one another over you. One is the king. The other a duke."

"I never asked either of them to fight."

"No," Lionel said. "But they are fighting all the same. His Majesty neglects caution when you are concerned," he continued. "He risks his life without hesitation."

Livia’s face hardened. "So I should apologise?"

He looked at her with no trace of softness. "If you ask me, all you have become is a nuisance to the throne and a threat to the kingdom."

"That may be so," Livia said. "If you would be kind enough to tell His Majesty precisely what you have told me, perhaps he will finally permit me to leave Whitehall. Then I may remove myself from everyone’s lives and rescue England from the terrible danger of my existence."

Lionel said nothing. Livia waited, one brow raised. His silence was answer enough.

"Ah," she said. "It appears neither of us can have what we want."

Lionel’s jaw tightened, but she continued before he could gather another accusation.

"If the king commands me to leave, I shall do so gladly. I have never asked to come here. I did not request these apartments, his protection, or the privilege of becoming his mistress."

"You could still wait elsewhere," Lionel replied. "Your presence outside these doors changes nothing. The physician will not work faster because you are standing in the passage."

"No, but at least I shall know the moment he is well." She looked towards the closed doors again, imagining Henry beyond them. Her anger with him remained, but fear had settled beneath it. "I gave him my word that I would not leave him. And I am as near as your precious protocol allows."

Livia turned to him fully. "The king and I rarely agree upon anything. He commands; I object. It is a remarkably exhausting arrangement, and I assure you, neither of us enjoys it. But when I make a promise," she continued, "I keep it. I told him nothing would tear me from his side until I knew he was safe. Since you have decided the doorway is the nearest I may come, the doorway shall have to endure me."

Lionel exhaled. "Miss Valenti—"

"Until then," Livia interrupted, "I apologise that you must suffer the dreadful burden of breathing the same air as I do. I shall try not to consume more than my proper share." She tore her gaze from his and fixed it firmly upon the passage leading to the king’s doors.

*****

"Where is Livia?"

Stephen froze with the folded linen still clenched between his hands. It had been steeped in cool water scented with rosemary and lavender, then pressed against the king’s fevered skin in the physician’s increasingly desperate attempt to soothe him.

The voice had come from the bed behind him—hoarse, weak, but unmistakably awake.

"Your Majesty!" Stephen turned quickly. Relief crossed his face with such painful honesty that Henry managed the faintest smile.

"Did I just rise from the dead," Henry murmured.

"You came uncomfortably close to being dead, Sire."

The royal physician hurried to the bedside. He placed two fingers against Henry’s wrist, then reached to test the heat of his brow.