His Secret Slave to Scandalous Queen

Richard looked towards the line of guests still filing in and decided he needed a drink. Preferably, the drink would be strong enough to drown the absurdity of the evening. If it drowned him along with it, he would consider that efficient. He stepped away from the entrance, found a servant with a tray and took a cup.

Then another. Enough to warm the bitterness. All the while, he watched the room. Richard’s gaze kept returning to the inner entrance.

How long would his father take to bring Livia out? Nearly thirty minutes later, once most of the guests had arrived, Geoffrey moved to the centre of the hall.

The music softened, then stopped. Richard remained near a pillar, cup in hand.

"My lords, ladies, and honoured guests," Geoffrey began, "I welcome you to Langford House. It has been many years since this house last held a ball of this scale. The first since my wife, Lady Maud Langford, passed from this world. Many of you knew her and many of you remember the gatherings she held here. I am afraid this evening may not rival what you were once accustomed to under Lady Maud’s hand."

A few gentle laughs passed through the hall.

"However," Geoffrey said, "tonight is not about me, nor even about the memory of what this house once was. It is about the future of what it now becomes. God, in His mercy, has blessed me with a daughter in my old age."

His father had chosen that word deliberately. Geoffrey was not merely sponsoring Livia. He was folding her into the Langford name before every noble family present. He was offering her more than a shield. He was offering kinship.

"This house will sponsor Lady Livia Valenti through her next journey in life," Geoffrey said. "We extend to her the protection, affection, and honour of Langford." He turned towards the inner doors. "I present to you all Lady Livia Valenti."

The doors opened at that instant. Livia stepped out. She stood at the entrance with her chin high, shoulders straight, and every eye fixed upon her. Her gown, now cleaned and restored to its full glory after the king had apparently done his best to ruin it, shimmered around her. Her hair had been pinned elegantly. Around her wrist, the string of her dance card sat securely tied.

She looked magnificent. Richard forgot to breathe. Applause began in small pockets. Then the whispers started.

These had been planted before the guests even came to the ball..

"Isn’t that the name we heard about..."

"The Italian witch..."

"Heard she charmed the princess into murdering the king’s son..."

Of course, the whispers were far away from the Langfords. Richard looked towards Livia. He had known it would happen.

He had known, before she ever stepped through the doors, that seeing her like this would be dangerous. He had prepared himself for it.

Livia walked towards the centre of the ballroom. She was beautiful. That was a useless word, really. Livia was not merely beautiful, she looked glorious.

She curtsied.

He gripped his cup too tightly. The innocence had gone from her eyes. She looked ready to face the world with a spine of steel.

Geoffrey ushered her forward and began introducing her to the guests. Naturally, his father began with the council members and their families.

Richard watched as Livia listened, returned compliments when necessary. She did not shrink beneath attention, though he knew she must feel the weight of it. Every person in that hall had come to measure her. He became restless. He wanted everyone in that room gone. all of them could disappear, or go straight to hell for all he cared.

Let there be only him and Livia.

Just him.

Just her.

He noticed the women looking at her. Then Livia reached Master Hartwell. Richard knew him, of course. Elias Hartwell, the royal library keeper.

Livia’s mask changed the moment she saw him. Her face opened with genuine pleasure. She greeted Hartwell as someone familiar. Someone she trusted. Someone whose presence comforted her.

Richard felt the old ache twist again. Of course she knew the librarian. Wherever books were, there was Livia.

And Henry, damn him, had given her access to the largest library in England. He remembered the books he had given her. They were still in the room she had left behind.

Anyways, tonight, she would know. After tonight, Livia would know exactly the man she was marrying.

She would know the other truth. The blood beneath the throne. The kind of man Henry had been when it mattered.

The music began again, calling couples towards the floor. Livia turned slightly, speaking still with Hartwell.

Richard had waited long enough. He set his cup down and crossed the ballroom. "My lady?" he called.

Livia turned.

Her gaze met his. "Your Grace..."

"May I have this dance?" Richard asked.

Livia smiled at him. The smile was not the smile he remembered. Even the way she looked at him had changed.

Goodness, had it been so long? Or had she changed so much in so little time?

"Of course," she said.

They moved first to the small table where her dance list had been placed, along with an inkpot and quill. Richard picked up the quill. His hand hovered over the parchment for a moment.

Henry’s name sat at the top. He signed beneath it. "Well," he said, returning the quill to the stand, "I see I am not your first claim of the evening."

Livia looked at the list, then back at him. "You are my first dance tonight."

"Curious." Richard offered his hand. "Then His Majesty must have been staking his claim in advance."

Livia placed her hand in his. "No," she said quietly. "We had our own private ball last night. The king does not like balls."

"Of course," he said. "I forgot that one tender detail about our dear king."

"Richard."

The warning in her voice should have stopped him.