His Secret Slave to Scandalous Queen

Chapter 221: You Must Conserve Your Strength

Henry endured the examination for all of five seconds. "Where is she?" he asked again.

The physician frowned. "Your Majesty, you must conserve your strength. Your body is still fighting whatever poison remained upon the arrowhead."

"I asked a question," Henry said, directing his gaze toward his valet. "Where is Livia?"

"I shall bring her immediately, Sire." Stephen bowed and hurried from the chamber. He returned only minutes later with Livia beside him. The instant she saw Henry awake, relief broke across her expression.

Henry’s eyes softened. He smiled at the sight of her. "My queen..."

Every soul in the chamber froze. The physician stopped with two fingers pressed to Henry’s wrist. Stephen went rigid beside the bed. Livia stared at the king.

"He is delirious," the physician said quickly.

A collective breath escaped the chamber. Relief moved through everyone. Delirium better be the damned explanation especially when the French princess’s wedding gowns were already stitched.

Henry ignored them all. "Come," he said, extending one hand toward Livia.

Livia approached the bed with care, acutely aware of every eye following her. Bowls, cloths, and glass bottles crowded the table beside him. She sat near the edge of the mattress and allowed her fingers to slip into his. "How are you feeling?"

"I am well now." Henry’s eyes remained fixed on Livia. "You said you would not leave."

Her heart stumbled. She glanced at Stephen. The valet’s expression revealed the problem at once. Henry did not know she had spent the past few hours outside his doors, barred by protocol. If he discovered it now, Lionel might find himself reassigned to guarding geese in the northernmost corner of England.

Livia offered Stephen a quick, reassuring smile. "I have been here," she told Henry softly. "I merely stepped away to use the privy in my apartments. It has not been more than a few minutes."

The lie came surprisingly easily. Whitehall was already improving her courtly education. His expression eased.

He smiled. His fingers tightened around hers. "I shall attend the wedding...I assure you."

Livia forced a smile. "Of course."

"I shall stand upon my own two feet and marry you," Henry said.

The chamber fell silent again, everyone eager to hear what catastrophe royal delirium might produce.

Fever had apparently stripped the king of caution, dignity, and any concern for the diplomatic disaster that could happen.

"You had better," she replied lightly. "I have no wish to begin married life pushing my husband about in an invalid’s chair."

The physician looked towards the ceiling, perhaps appealing directly to God.

Henry smiled. "At least you would be pushing me?"

"Down a hill, perhaps."

"Hmmm....A devoted wife already." His fingers tightened around hers. Beneath the jest, Livia felt the weakness in his grip. It frightened her more than his pallor. "You will wait for me?" he asked.

Livia’s smile faltered. She knew he was speaking from fever, confusing his bride with her yet the hope in his eyes was real enough to wound her. "Surely."

Stephen immediately nudged the physician. The physician gave him a helpless look. Henry’s body had to overcome the poison.

"He must sleep, my lady," the physician said at last.

"Of course." Livia began to withdraw her hand, but Henry held fast. She looked down at him. "Your Majesty..."

"No."

"Henry," she whispered, abandoning formality in the hope that tenderness might succeed where rank had failed. "You need to rest."

His gaze remained fixed upon her face. Something in it changed, the fevered amusement giving way to a sadness so naked that Livia forgot the people watching. He lifted her hand towards his chest, holding it over the restless beat of his heart.

Then he spoke as if recalling words learned in another life.

"War is my state, filled with grief and anger and only in thinking of her do I find peace."

"Henry," she whispered. "Rest...Be at peace. I shall go now and prepare for our wedding."

The lie hurt as it left her lips. He raised her hand and pressed his lips to her fingers.

"I shall be there," he murmured.

Livia nodded. If she spoke again, her voice might betray her. It might reveal how deeply the sight of him frightened her.

Without understanding what had overcome her—for the second time in less than a day—she leaned down and kissed his forehead.

She slipped from the bed, smoothing her skirts beneath the attentive silence of the room. The physician moved closer at once, clearly relieved that his patient might finally stop proposing marriage long enough to recover.

Henry settled more comfortably against the pillows. His fingers loosened where they rested upon the coverlet, and his eyes drifted closed.

A faint smile remained on his lips. Perhaps he had already returned to dreams of the life he had described—a future where he stood beside Livia.

Livia could not decide whether the thought comforted or devastated her. She left the chamber before anyone could see the trembling in her hands.

On the journey back to her apartments, she counted her steps. It was a childish exercise, but numbers were orderly.

By the time she reached her door, her entire body trembled from the strain of holding herself together.

She entered her apartments and found Tabitha already waiting beside the prepared table.

"My lady," Tabitha said, rising. "Supper has been ready since I heard you had returned to the palace."

"I am not hungry," Livia said. "I only... I would like to go to bed."

"Is everything well?"

"Yes. Yes, of course." Livia summoned a reassuring smile. "I am merely tired."

Tabitha understood when not to press.

Livia crossed into the adjoining bedchamber and pulled the heavy curtain closed behind her. The enormous bed waited beneath its carved canopy. Its splendour offered no comfort. She reached behind herself and began undoing the fastenings of her gown. Her fingers moved mechanically, tugging at laces and releasing hooks until the heavy fabric loosened around her body. She stepped out of it carefully, folded it over a chair, and reached for the linen shift laid across the bed.

(Brought to you by Mar King 1/3)