His Secret Slave to Scandalous Queen

Henry’s mouth twisted. "Then, within months, I was king. I had no one to speak to. No one to advise me."

"You wanted to become king, Henry," Richard said. "Admit it."

Henry’s expression closed. "No."

"Why else would you keep the letter from surfacing?"

"I did not know of the existence of a letter until Livia mentioned it to me. She spoke to me exactly the way you are speaking to me now. As though every silence I kept was proof of some greater design. I did not have the letter,"

"Why should I believe you?"

"Because now I have the letter," Henry said. "And I am willing to give it to you if you prove to me that what you seek is justice and not revenge."

"How am I supposed to prove that?" Richard demanded.

Henry had a way of making impossible demands, he had come to learn that too late in their friendship. "I do not know,"

"How generous of you to begin practising honesty now."

Henry’s jaw tightened, but he did not rise to it. "All I know is that I need the right reasons and the right motive if I am going to hand this letter to you."

"So I must purify my soul to your satisfaction before Your Majesty allows justice to proceed?"

"If you want to use my mother’s crimes to tear open the throne, yes."

"Your mother’s crimes. Not yours."

Henry looked at him then. "I did not say that."

Richard looked away at the view in front of them. "What do you hope to get out of this, Your Majesty?"

"Peace," Henry answered. "I have suffered for years because I did nothing. Because every time I tried to live as though the dead were buried, I found them standing at the foot of my bed. The letter will not save me from guilt. It will not make me brave in the past. But perhaps it may stop the lie from outliving all of us."

"The people will come for you."

"Funny," Henry said. "Livia thinks the opposite. She thinks the people love me enough to forgive me,"

Richard had no immediate answer. Because she had a point. Henry was a good king.

Damn him.

He listened. He took petitions seriously, even from people whose names other rulers would never learn. He reduced levies where he could, answered grain shortages before they became riots, and had an infuriating habit of knowing when a magistrate in some distant shire was using office as a purse.

The people did love him. And if Henry stood before them with the letter in his own hand, accusing his own mother, admitting his silence, condemning the true architect of those deaths...

Richard hated that he could see it. "I cannot forgive you, Henry,"

"For what?"

Richard looked at him.

Henry stepped away from the rail. "For what, Richard? Tell me plainly. I have done you no harm."

"You took her from me."

Her name did not even need to be spoken. She was already standing between them, as she always had since the day Henry realised Richard had hidden a woman who was never meant to be his.

"Because she was always meant to be with me," Henry said and moved closer. "Did you truly think you would get away with it? With deciding for her. You protected her, yes. You also built a life around her gratitude." He did not stop. "Did you think she would not come to resent you if she had married you?"

"Eventually she would have looked at you and seen the lies and the manipulation."

"I did not ask to fall in love with her," Richard said. "I did not do this to myself. I had her. Then you walked in with your crown and your power, and you took her."

Henry’s eyes flashed. "Should I not say the same, then? I had her. Then you took her from me in the most painful way possible. You had me believe she was dead. Do you know what that did to me? And then you stood before me and reminded me you had touched her. Held what I wanted and could not claim. You wounded me deliberately because you knew exactly where to cut."

"You think I do not understand revenge?" Henry asked. "I understand it very well. I understand wanting a man to hurt because you hurt. I wanted to kill you. I could have. But I didn’t. So answer me this right now." He held his gaze. "Is your anger over Livia the only reason you want to ruin me, or do you actually want justice, Richard?"

Richard swallowed. "I do not know how to answer that,"

"When you do..." Henry began but he did not finish.

"Your Majesty?" Stephen called from behind them.

Both men turned at the sound of his voice. Stephen stood just inside the bedchamber, one hand still on the door.

"Stephen?" Henry said.

"I have received word from the presence chamber guards," Stephen replied. "The Archbishop has sent one of his servants."

"Livia," Henry murmured. He already assumed the worst. Since the moment she had left Whitehall for the Abbey, his mind had turned every silence into danger and every delay into a possible tragedy. Not having her close enough to see had made him restless.

"What is going on?" Richard asked. "What is it?"

Henry blinked as if he had forgotten Richard stood there. "I do not know. Send him here."

Stephen bowed. "At once, Your Majesty." He left quickly.

Richard watched Henry’s face. "Where is she?"

"At the Abbey."

"For the marriage preparations?"

Henry nodded.

"Then why are you worried?" Richard asked. He had no idea what Livia had endured in Whitehall. He did not know about the assassin’s sword meant for her, or the poison. He did not know how often Henry had nearly lost her since gaining her.

And right now was not the time to tell him. Henry turned away from the balcony and walked back into his chamber.