His Secret Slave to Scandalous Queen

They stopped before the council doors. Beyond that door, Geoffrey Langford and the royal physician waited.

He was about to tell the Lord Chancellor that the King of England bore symptoms of a mind broken.

From there, everything could go downhill.

"Your Majesty?" Lionel called quietly.

Henry kept staring at the door.

"Your Majesty?" Lionel said again.

Henry turned his head like a man pulled back from very far away. "Hmm?"

Concern sat behind Lionel’s eyes. "Are you going in?"

"Yes," Henry said. "Yes, of course." He gave Lionel a small smile. Then he walked forward, the doors opened and he stepped through, leaving Lionel behind.

Geoffrey Langford stood near the long table. The royal physician waited beside him. They both bowed as Henry passed and took his chair.

"I asked my physician to be here this morning," Henry began. "He has some things he needs to explain to both of us."

Geoffrey turned first to the physician. "Is the king unwell?" he asked.

The physician swallowed. "No, my lord....His Majesty is of sound bodily health." He made the fatal mistake of glancing in the king’s direction. Henry’s face was hard, his eyes cold. The physician’s mouth tightened. "But... the king... His Majesty..."

Geoffrey’s brows drew together. "But what?" He lost patience. "Oh, for all things holy, man, we do not have until Judgement Day."

The physician blurted, "The king’s mind gives way, my lord."

Geoffrey appeared not to understand the sentence at all. Seeing fear grip Geoffrey’s face was harder than Henry expected. "What are you saying?" Geoffrey asked.

The physician drew a breath. "At times, my lord, when His Majesty is overcome by rage or grief, he becomes disordered in his senses."

Geoffrey’s voice rose sharply. "Choose your next words with greater care."

The physician bowed his head, but continued, because Henry’s silence ordered him more firmly than Geoffrey’s outrage restrained him. "He loses command of himself."

"Shut up," Geoffrey bellowed. "Please...Stop talking."

"Geoffrey." Henry called.

The Lord Chancellor’s eyes snapped to him.

Henry’s voice remained quiet. "It has to be said." He turned to the physician. He gave a small nod.

The physician continued carefully. "I have tried to steady His Majesty as best I can by administering calming draughts or vapours when the episodes occur. The opiate is not intended as a cure. It only calms him until the storm passes." He bowed his head. "All I can do is calm him, my lord. I cannot mend the cause."

"Mend?" Geoffrey gasped. "My goodness."

Henry looked at the physician. "Is that all?"

The physician bowed. "Yes, sire."

"Thank you," Henry said. "You may leave."

The physician bowed at once.

"But stay nearby," Henry added and glanced towards Geoffrey. "With the colour on Lord Langford’s face, I believe we may be needing your services." He said it lightly.

Unfortunately, the attempt sailed directly over the heads of both men and died somewhere near the ceiling.

Henry did not blame them. Even Henry could admit that jesting about Geoffrey needing a physician immediately after confessing that the king’s mind sometimes cracked was perhaps not his most inspired display of wit.

Still, someone had to attempt lightness. Henry was frightened too, though surely not for the same reasons as the men before him.

Geoffrey feared for the realm. The physician feared something smaller and more immediate.

Himself.

A broken king would not reflect well on the man who had been secretly treating him for years. It was, Henry supposed, professionally inconvenient.

Henry feared Livia. He feared what this truth would do to her. He feared the moment he would have to look into her eyes and tell her that the man she had finally admitted loving had been managed in secret. He feared, most of all, that she would look at him with pity.

And yes, he feared for the realm too.

Obviously.

But Geoffrey looked perfectly capable of carrying that particular terror for both of them. If the kingdom ever needed a patron saint of grim administrative panic, Geoffrey Langford could be canonised.

The physician bowed himself out.

"Geoffrey," Henry said at last.

The Lord Chancellor did not move.

"Geoffrey?"

This time, the older man turned his head.

"Now is the time for you to say something," Henry said.

"You need an heir."

Henry stared at him. "What?"

Geoffrey closed his eyes. "My apologies, sire. My thoughts are somewhat jumbled. You caught me at an unfortunate point in the sequence."

"The sequence began with my mind breaking and arrived immediately at breeding?"

Geoffrey opened his eyes and looked faintly pained. "When a kingdom is involved, succession is never far from any road." The Lord Chancellor rubbed a hand over his face. "How is Your Majesty feeling?"

"It is a sickness of the mind, Geoffrey, not the body. Even I did not know I was sick. Do not start looking wounded on my behalf. I have not the strength to comfort you."

"Surely something must have brought this on."

Henry gave him a flat look. "Take your pick. A maniacal mother," Henry began, counting on his fingers. "A demanding country. Friends with knives in my back. Foreign princesses with murderous intentions."

Geoffrey held up a hand. "Point taken."

"I had more."

"I do not doubt it. I beg Your Majesty to spare me the full inventory."

"I suppose you have to inform council," Henry said.

Geoffrey looked at him sharply. "No. If I may, Your Majesty, I do not think council should be informed just yet. I am not suggesting we bury the matter indefinitely."

Henry rose from the chair. "If council is not informed and something happens—"

"Then I will bear responsibility for the delay."

"What are we waiting for?"

Geoffrey straightened. "To establish a way forward first."

"There is no cure for this," Henry said. "I believe I am learned enough to know that. I do not need to be a physician to understand there is no simple cure for a sickness of the mind."

"The succession line must be established first," Geoffrey said. "The wedding should be moved closer."

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