His Secret Slave to Scandalous Queen

"Yes," Tabitha said, stepping back inside.

"So I may go?"

Tabitha looked at her strangely. "Livia, you are the king’s intended. Whether he is angry or not, you have every right to be with him."

She was still learning apparently.

Tabitha crossed to the bed and picked up Livia’s robe. "Just send me word if you will be spending the night there."

Livia took the robe from her and slipped it around her shoulders. "You sound as if you expect I will."

Tabitha shrugged. Livia left her chamber and made her way through Whitehall. Stephen was as always waiting by the entrance to the king’s apartments.

"My lady," he bowed.

"Stephen," Livia greeted.

"Be careful, my lady," he said quietly. "It is a bad night."

Livia stopped. Stephen had said that before. Or something close to it. "Why do you keep saying that?" she asked.

Stephen looked up. Surprise crossed his face. "Have I said it before?"

"Yes."

He hesitated. "I did not realise."

"What does bad night mean?"

"It means nothing grave," Stephen said.

Livia’s brows lifted.

"His Majesty has merely been looking forward to your arrival. He was worried." Stephen stepped aside. "He will be glad to see you."

Livia held his gaze, searching for what he would not say. Then she turned and entered the king’s inner chambers. "Your Majesty."

Henry was on the balcony. The doors had been thrown open, and the evening air moved through the chamber, cool and fragrant with river damp, and the faint green smell of the gardens below. Candlelight glowed behind him, but the moon had claimed the balcony. It silvered the edge of his profile, touched the dark fall of his hair.

He stood with one hand resting on the stone balustrade, looking out over Whitehall. Then he turned at the sound of her voice.

A smile split his face. It struck Livia with such force that the worry Stephen had planted in her chest loosened a little.

"My queen," Henry said.

Livia smiled back. Henry stood there looking at her as though the moon had answered a prayer. She hurried into his arms.

Henry caught her. His arms closed around her, and he bent over her at once, burying his face in her hair.

Livia felt then what Stephen had not said. The tension in Henry’s body. The way his hand pressed against her back. The way he breathed her in.

"I missed you," he said.

Livia’s arms tightened around his waist. "I am sorry. There were so many people coming in and out. I had to stay."

He lifted one hand and touched her cheek. "I love you."

Livia smiled. The words themselves still frightened her. She was still learning what it was. So she leaned into him instead. She rested her cheek on his chest. "I have never been out here."

Whitehall stretched below and around them. Beyond the palace walls, London breathed in shadows. The Thames lay like a dark ribbon under the sky, silvered in places where moonlight touched the moving water. Boats drifted quietly along its surface, their lanterns small and golden.

"It is beautiful," she whispered.

"It is calming too," he said. "When the palace becomes too loud, I come here or I go up to the top. The air feels fresh," he murmured. "It feels like the moon is in love with you."

Livia decided that now was not the time to speak of anything that might ruin the moment. There were plenty of things waiting to be said. Too many, really.

All of it could wait. Livia rested her hands over Henry’s and let herself breathe.

"Calm was the day, and through the trembling air..." she began softly. "Sweet-breathing Zephyrus did softly play; A gentle spirit, that lightly did delay. Hot Titan’s beams, which then did glister fair."

Henry looked down at her, and the pleasure that moved through him was so clear she could feel it. He loved when her mind opened like this, when she reached for words older than their trouble and made them theirs. It pleased him in a way flattery never could. Compliments slid off him. Obedience bored him. Desire drove him nearly mad. But her mind, bright and hungry and unafraid, undid him every time.

"Walked forth to ease my pain, Along the shore of silver-streaming Thames; Whose rutty bank, the which his river hems, Was painted all with variable flowers." he added.

Livia turned slightly in his arms. Their eyes met. Together, softly, they finished:

"Sweet Thames, run softly, till I end my song."

They stood there, trapped in each other. Bound by the strange, quiet force that had been pulling them together long before either of them had known what to call it.

Only the breeze moved between them. Henry’s gaze did not leave her. Livia could feel it on her face, her mouth, her eyes. He looked at her as though she were the view. As though the river, and all England had done their best and failed to compete.

It made her heart ache.

"Kiss me," she whispered.

It was a ridiculous request, considering their lips were already inches apart. Henry’s mouth curved slightly, as if he wished to tease her for it.

He closed the distance. The kiss was soft. His mouth touching hers as if asking for nothing except the right to remain. Livia lifted one hand to his cheek, feeling the warmth of him beneath her palm.

When he pulled away, she kept her eyes closed. Inside her, thoughts moved quickly. She pushed aside the worst of it.

If she gathered only the pain, she would miss the miracle. Henry had come for her. Again and again, in his imperfect way, he had come for her.

He had wanted her. He had loved her. Livia opened her heart quietly, like a door she had been holding shut with both hands.

"I love you," she whispered.

Only then did she open her eyes. Henry stood there looking unbearably smug. He looked pleased, and entirely too satisfied, like a man who had been waiting for the moment to say I told you so.

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