His Secret Slave to Scandalous Queen

Chapter 222: Books Were My First Love

Nothing about what was happening was right. Henry had taken her freedom. He had dragged her into his world, ignored her refusals. His mother had threatened and manipulated.

None of it should have inspired tenderness yet Livia could not forget Henry lying pale against the pillows, searching the room for her. She could still hear the softness in his voice when he called her his queen, and remember the peace that settled over his face.

It was cruel that affection could grow in such poisoned soil. Her heart softened toward him despite every sensible argument she made against it.

She pulled the shift over her head and sat on the edge of the bed. Fear arrived. Henry was never going to release her.

Tears blurred her vision. She was going to remain trapped in Whitehall, surrounded by beauty she had never requested and loved by a man powerful enough to ruin her if she tried to run.

Tabitha’s hopeful suggestion that she might one day be free was never going to happen.

*****

For the next two days, Livia did not see the king. News of him came in fragments, carried discreetly by Stephen whenever he could escape the royal apartments. Henry’s fever had lessened. The poison was slowly leaving his body. He was sleeping more, and therefore, recovering.

Livia accepted each report then spent the following hour pretending her relief had not made her knees weak.

To occupy herself, she accompanied Bella through the seemingly endless preparations for the wedding. They examined jewels, ribbons, embroidered gloves, painted fans, and enough silk to clothe a respectable army.

When Bella was engaged elsewhere, Livia retreated to the palace library. She and the keeper of the books had quickly become friends. He was an elderly scholar with excellent Latin. Livia approved of him immediately.

Over the past two days, she helped him work through several Italian and French passages while his scribes prepared fair copies of the books she had selected. The task steadied her.

Beyond the library, Whitehall moved in a frenzy. The palace rang with hammering, shouted instructions, and the complaints of cooks. Servants carried plate, linen, flowers, and wine through the galleries. Courtiers discussed the ceremony, calculating where they would sit and who might be wearing what.

Amid all that splendour, few realised their king was still fighting poison. The wedding was only one day away.

The French monarchs had arrived in England with royal attendants, senior nobles, ladies, clerics, and envoys. Until the marriage rites were completed, Lord Chancellor Geoffrey arranged for the party to be lodged in Bridewell palace, a suitably grand noble residence near Westminster.

The previous two days had otherwise passed without incident. Livia had managed to avoid the Queen Mother entirely, though she suspected that owed far more to the royal wedding than to any skill of her own.

Livia sat in the farthest corner of the palace library, surrounded by books. She had become so absorbed in the volume resting across her lap that she did not hear the footsteps crossing the floor towards her. It was only when someone cleared his throat directly beside the table that she looked up.

Henry stood before her.

"Your Majesty!" Livia shot to her feet. She dropped into a curtsy.

"I see I was not missed," he said. His gaze travelled over the books occupying the chair, the table, and a considerable portion of the floor. Several volumes lay open beside loose sheets covered in Livia’s handwriting. A pot of ink balanced dangerously close to the edge.

Livia straightened and followed his stare. "What can I say?" She smiled. "Books were my first love."

"You do know precisely what to say to a pining man."

"I do my best, Sire."

He looked better. That was the first thing she had noticed. Colour had returned to his face and he stood with greater ease.

She had spent two days accepting Stephen’s reports with calm nods, then lying awake at night imagining every possible reason the next report might not come. "Are you truly better, my lord?" she asked.

"Yes. Entirely restored."

"The royal physician must be very skilled."

"He should be named sorcerer to the realm," Henry declared. "The man dragged me back from death." His expression gentled at the concern she failed to conceal.

Livia lowered her gaze to the books, guilt pressing against her ribs. The arrow had been meant for her. The poison had entered his body because he had stepped between her and death. "I apologise for causing you so much harm."

"I wanted to speak with you," Henry said, gesturing towards the chair she had just vacated.

Livia looked from the seat to his face. "I would rather you take it, my lord. I am not the one who has only just returned from death’s door."

With a resigned sigh, he lowered himself into the chair. Livia experienced a brief, foolish sense of victory.

It lasted precisely two seconds. Before she could retreat to a sensible distance, Henry caught her by the wrist and pulled her towards him. Livia gave a startled gasp as she landed sideways across his lap, one hand braced against his shoulder to keep from falling.

"Your Majesty!"

"Hush," he murmured. "And listen."

Livia glared at him. She arranged her skirts, straightened her back and did her very best to remain uncomfortable.

His arm rested securely around her waist, while the warmth of his body seeped through the layers between them. His face was close enough for her to notice that he still looked tired despite the humour in his eyes.

For several moments, he merely looked at her. The quiet between them changed, becoming heavier.

"I shall marry the French princess tomorrow," he said.

"I am aware."

"I do not want you to attend."

"I assure you, my lord, I had no intention of attending."

"My reason is not embarrassment," he said. "Nor am I ashamed to have you beneath this roof." His gaze lowered briefly to her mouth. "Because I cannot bear the thought of you standing there while I make vows before God to another woman."

(Brought to you by Mar King 2/3)