His Secret Slave to Scandalous Queen

Livia lifted her brows. "Why, Your Majesty. Do you plan on taking me home after this dance? Such flattery."

"Yes," he said. "The king’s bed is where the queen belongs, is it not?"

Colour rose warmly in Livia’s cheeks. Henry watched it with enormous satisfaction.

"Lord Langford says there is a chance I will be leaving for the cathedral soon."

Henry nodded. "Yes."

Livia’s mind slipped back to the Tower, to the Queen Mother’s hatred. Theodora had asked if she knew what England did to witches. Livia supposed that if the Queen Mother meant to accuse her of witchcraft, then Livia would need the Church standing firmly at her back.

Theodora’s voice returned to her mind like smoke beneath a door.

Do you know what England does to witches?

Livia did.

Everyone knew.

A woman did not need to practise dark arts to fear the accusation. Sometimes it was enough to be foreign. A woman merely had to become inconvenient.

And Livia Valenti had become very inconvenient indeed. If Theodora wished to whisper witchcraft, then Livia would have to become untouchable in all the proper places first. She would need priests. The Archbishop’s blessing. The Church’s approval. A public record of holiness.

But Tabitha had warned her of her limitations. Until the vows were spoken, Livia could attend Mass, make herself visible in devotion, and behave with spotless caution. She could not yet claim the full weight of queenly patronage. She had to wait.

"When your confessor or the Archbishop men ask about your virtue," he said lightly, "make sure you tell them there has only been me."

Livia looked up sharply. "They will ask that?" She searched his face, trying to see whether he teased or warned. With Henry, the answer was often both.

"All they need to know," he said, "is that I took your innocence."

Livia’s eyes softened. "Well, you did."

The king’s expression changed. Desire stirred first, then the knowledge that there had been a before and after between them. He had not forgotten. "No...I will never forget."

The music moved gently around them, the viols softening near the end of the measure.

Henry leaned closer. "And after the wedding, I will never let you forget it either."

Heat climbed Livia’s throat.

She smiled.

Then she looked up at him properly. "Thank you."

"For what?"

"For doing your best to protect me."

"Entirely selfish reasons, my love. I protect you because I love you, and because I have no intention of surviving a world without you if I can help it."

"It can be not selfish too."

He smiled faintly. "You always insist on making me better than I am."

The music neared its end. Henry kept his hand on her waist.

"When you do things like this," he said, "it is hard not to want to protect you."

"I shall try to be more unreasonable after marriage."

Henry laughed. "You are a treasure."

The final notes of the music drifted through the chamber. Henry released her hand only enough to bow.

"It was exceptional," he said. "Thank you. Though I do feel underdressed."

Livia allowed her gaze to move over him. He wore the robe Stephen had thrown over him in haste, loosened enough to show the strong line of him beneath.

He was a beautiful man. Her man for however short a time according to Theodora.

"You look..." Livia paused, searching for the proper word. "Edible."

"My queen," he murmured, "such words."

Livia lifted her chin, suddenly bolder. "A queen is allowed to be a slut for her king, is she not?"

Henry’s gaze bored into hers. The room became too crowded. Without looking away from Livia, he commanded. "Leave us."

Livia stood where she was, holding his gaze. There was challenge in her eyes. They were at the finish line now. The vows were close. The Church was already circling. Geoffrey had begun moving wedding arrangements as though England itself would fall apart if Henry did not become a husband quickly enough. But it all did not mean Livia could not test Henry’s restraint every now and then.

After all, he had been insufferably proud of possessing restraint. The musicians fled. His gaze lowered over her gown, then returned to her face.

"Take a seat," he said.

Livia moved to the nearest chair. She gathered her skirts lightly, crossed the small distance, and sat.

"I have behaved myself lately," he said and began walking towards her. "I have tried to be a gentleman." Henry came nearer with every word. "And yet you seem hell-bent on being my doom."

Her pulse fluttered, but she kept her voice steady. "That does not sound so bad, Your Majesty."

He stopped just before her. She looked up at him.

"You are mine too," she said.

Henry’s jaw flexed. "Place your legs on both armrests," he ordered.

She adjusted in the chair, lifting first one leg, then the other, setting them carefully over the carved armrests. Her skirts fell in heavy folds around her thighs. The position left her open beneath the fabric.

Henry inhaled.

She looked like God had set a table before him. Livia’s fingers closed around the edge of her gown. Slowly, she drew the fabric higher. The hem lifted past her ankles, then her calves, then her knees. Henry watched as if the motion itself might kill him. She raised the gown higher still, exposing the pale linen of her shift beneath.

"Jesus Christ," Henry breathed. He stood before her, visibly at war with himself. His hands opened and closed once at his sides. He looked as if he did not know whether to touch her, or throw himself out the nearest window for the sake of restraint.

"Troubled, sire?"

Henry bent slightly, and his hands finally came to her. His fingers slid inside her thighs. He moved slowly over the silk-soft skin of her inner thighs, thumbs brushing lightly, his gaze never leaving her face. "The things you make me do," he murmured. "I have been patient for a very long time."

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