Chapter 335: He Awaits You
"So the wedding will be postponed until you have evidence that I was not placed here by the devil himself," Livia said.
"Postponed," he said carefully, "or cancelled."
Postponed had uncertainty in it. It was a door left closed but not yet barred. Cancelled was something else. Cancelled was the Church placing itself between her and Henry.
She lifted her chin. "And you have told the king this?"
The Archbishop folded his hands into his sleeves. "The messenger is yet to return."
"Ah."
If the Archbishop wished to meet the Italian witch, then by God, let him meet her.
"Very well then," she said. "With my witchcraft powers comes divination. I am quite certain, that you will be having a meeting with the king before the day is over." Livia curtsied then she walked out.
The Archbishop remained where he was, listening to the soft retreat of her footsteps beyond the door. He did not require powers of divination to know she was right.
The king would not be happy. No. That was far too gentle. The king would be furious. The Archbishop drew in a slow breath.
He had already made it clear to His Majesty that the Church could not proceed blindly. The rumours had moved beyond idle malice.
Henry had already declared that Livia was his choice. The council had once been allowed to bring him a bride, and what had they given him? Princess Madeleine of France, whose beauty had concealed murder, and enough political ruin.
The Archbishop pressed his fingers together. The king’s spousal candidates had become deeply concerning.
One had been everything plus a murderer. The other, according to the present whispers, was nothing but a witch.
Yet the Archbishop did like Livia. She was not meek, no. She had a sharp tongue, and an alarming ability to stare down powerful men. But she was not empty. She listened when Scripture was read, even when she clearly disagreed with the use to which it was being put. She asked intelligent questions.
And she had courage. A troublesome virtue in a woman, perhaps, but a virtue all the same. Still, the Church was on high alert. It had to be. The people were whispering, and the people’s whispers could become sermons. If the gossip continued to grow, there could be a rift between the Church and the throne.
And so would the collapse of England begin.
*****
Richard arrived at Whitehall knowing two things. Livia had either told Henry about their conversation, in which case he was probably not going to walk out of Whitehall alive, or she had not told him, in which case Henry had discovered some fresh and imaginative way to make his life miserable again.
Stephen welcomed Richard at the entrance. his eyes carrying the wary look of a man who knew too much.
Richard saw that look and leaned heavily towards his first suspicion. Livia had told Henry. He had come to Whitehall to die, then.
"His Majesty is inside," Stephen said. "He awaits you."
Richard gave him his signature charming smile, the one that had worked on ladies. "You look well, Stephen."
"I am well, Your Grace. Thank you."
He glanced past Stephen. "Lionel? I did not see him anywhere."
"He guards the future queen now," Stephen answered.
Richard’s brows rose. Lionel guarded Livia? Lionel Ashcroft was not merely another royal guard. He was Henry’s man. The king’s shadow. The blade closest to the royal pulse. If Henry had given Lionel to Livia, then the danger around her had sharpened enough that the king would entrust her only to the one man he believed could keep death from reaching her.
"Does she need such guarding?" Richard asked.
Stephen looked at him. "She is to be Queen of England."
Richard walked past him, worry tangling in his stomach. Lionel was guarding Livia for a reason. The guards opened the doors. He entered the king’s bedchamber.
Henry’s chamber had not changed much. Richard felt like it was in another life, when he could enter almost without thinking, when Henry was his friend and not a king standing between him and every impossible thing he wanted.
Henry stood near the far side of the chamber, already moving towards the balcony.
Richard bowed. "Your Majesty."
"Duke Richard."
Richard rose slowly.
Henry walked to the balcony doors and opened them. Cool air moved into the chamber, stirring the edge of the curtains. "Join me, will you?"
Richard hesitated wondering whether Henry meant to discuss matters or push him over a balustrade.
Surely Henry would not throw him from a balcony. That would be cowardly. Then again, Richard thought, a man who had stood by while his brothers were murdered had already shown some talent in that direction.
He followed. Henry stood by the stone rail, looking out.
Richard stopped a few steps away. "My lord? You sent for me."
Henry looked over the courtyard. "You are a hypocrite."
"I would ask for a bit more context, but it seems your mind is already made up on the matter."
"You once told me that if we fought, one person would suffer." Henry turned his head slightly. "Livia....You were right."
"I shall go to my grave fulfilled, then," Richard said.
"What do you hope to achieve, Richard, with this new cause?" Henry asked.
"Justice," Richard said.
Henry chuckled. "No... That is not it. No. You want revenge."
"Surely you do not think me that petty," Richard said at last.
Henry turned fully to him. "Oh, I do. You are very petty. You always have been."
"That is rich, coming from you."
"I am not pretending otherwise." Henry’s mouth curved. "Do you remember Lord Darlton?"
"I remember many lords."
"Lord Darlton offended you during cards, and you responded by fucking his intended and bragging about it at the gentlemen’s tavern."
Richard looked away sharply. "That was different. It was youthful exuberance."
"It was petty."
"It was also a very long time ago."
"Yes," Henry said. "And yet your methods remain beautifully consistent." He leaned one hand on the stone rail. "You believe I took something precious from you. You also believe my downfall would give you satisfaction."