His Secret Slave to Scandalous Queen

"Oh God— oh God— "Oh—"

He watched her face and thought, that he was in serious trouble. "In thin array," he began quietly, "after a pleasant guise."

She opened her eyes. His fingers were still inside her, still, no longer moving, just present.

"When her loose gown from her shoulders did fall." He watched her face as recognition moved across it. "And she me caught in her arms long and small. Therewithal sweetly did me kiss—"

Breathing hard, her chest still rising and falling with the exertion of what had just moved through her, Livia held his gaze. "—and softly said," she continued, "Dear heart, how like you this?"

Henry smiled. He pulled his fingers free of her slowly, carefully, feeling the reluctant clench of her body at the withdrawal and steadied her with both hands at her waist as her legs remembered their function. He wanted her. He wanted to lay her down on that bed and take his time with every inch of her. He wanted to hear his name in her mouth the way she’d said it when his finger had first pressed inside her. He wanted to feel that tight wet warmth around his cock instead of his hand, wanted to watch her face when he filled her, wanted—

He wanted quite a lot of things, as it turned out. And that, precisely, was the problem. He knew himself. He knew what happened when a thing that had been desired was obtained.

The chase, he thought, is the thing you cannot recover once it’s spent. Right now, Livia was the most interesting person in any room he’d been in for longer than he could immediately calculate.

The moment his cock got the bliss it was currently demanding with some insistence, his brain would take its exit. The interest would dissolve into the satisfaction and the satisfaction would cool and she would become simply another thing obtained, and this particular dance would be over.

He was not ready for it to be over. He would return to court. There were women there who could address the fire Livia had ignited in his blood. He would manage. Henry stepped away from her with visible reluctance, each inch of distance required effort. He bent to retrieve her dress, the fine ivory muslin whispering through his fingers. The garment was exquisitely made.

"Henry?" she called, her voice laced with confusion. A loose curl framed her flushed face. "Is that it?"

He turned and held the dress out to her. The gesture felt strangely formal. Livia accepted it slowly, pressing the fabric to her chest. "Yes," he replied. "I have to get back home. I’ll send the carriage to pick you up when I need you again."

"But..." She hesitated, searching his face for an explanation that refused to come. The unspoken questions lingered between them—Had she displeased him?

"Beaumont will behave. I promise you," Henry added, attempting reassurance. "Be well, Livia." He leaned in and kissed her once more. It was brief, chaste compared to what had passed between them. He lingered, his hand hovering, tempted to draw her back into his arms. Instead, he stepped away abruptly, running a hand through his hair.

Leave now, he told himself. Before reason is utterly lost.

With a final glance, he turned and quickly escaped the room. Livia dressed slowly, mind racing with unanswered questions. Society had always insisted that men were slaves to their desires, creatures incapable of resisting temptation. Yet Henry had done precisely that.

She studied her reflection in the cheval mirror: flushed cheeks, tousled hair, lips still tinged from his kisses. Was it something lacking in her? Perhaps she was not alluring enough. Perhaps she did not know the subtle arts of teasing a gentleman, of making him crave her.

*****

"Her Grace is on a war path, Your Highness. Guards are already in the city scouring for you." Lionel’s voice carried urgency as he emerged from the shadows of the stables. A lantern swung gently from a wooden beam, casting wavering light over the two saddled horses waiting patiently.

Henry approached. He placed his boot in the stirrup and swung himself onto the horse, the movement elegant. "Why?" he asked, wearing his gloves and settling the reins in his hands.

Lionel mounted his own horse. "She does not like it when she has no idea where you are," he replied dryly. "Besides, it’s the middle of the night. The queen mother tends to imagine assassins behind every curtain."

The two men guided their horses onto the cobbled street. They rode in silence for a few moments, the rhythmic clop of hooves echoing through the quiet streets. Lionel cast a sidelong glance at Henry, curiosity finally getting the better of his restraint.

"So," he began casually, "how was it?"

Henry’s brow furrowed. "How was what?"

Lionel smirked, unashamed. "Your time with the girl."

Henry exhaled slowly, his gaze fixed ahead. Images of Livia flashed through his mind, the warmth of her skin beneath his hands. He shifted slightly in the saddle, the memory alone was enough to stir a physical response in his cock once more. "It was... interesting," he said at last, choosing his words.

Lionel raised an eyebrow.

"Make sure Beaumont keeps the men off her," he added. "I do not want her harassed or used for sport."

"Of course. I’ll get Stephen to it once he gets back."

They turned onto a broader avenue leading toward the palace. A patrol of guards passed in the distance, their halberds glinting beneath the lamplight. Lionel watched them thoughtfully before returning his attention to Henry.

"But you will not be seeing her again, right?"

"Why not?" Henry asked.

Lionel shifted in his saddle, glancing at his sovereign. "I mean, there is no use if you have taken her," he said.

The rhythmic clatter of hooves against cobblestone filled the silence that followed. Henry kept his gaze fixed ahead. His expression betrayed nothing.

Lionel cleared his throat. "You did take her?"

Henry offered no response. Instead, the corner of his mouth lifted into a subtle, enigmatic smile. It was answer enough.