Chapter 184: My Name Is Livia Valenti
He quickened his pace and moved ahead, placing himself between Madeleine and Livia before the princess could take a fuller measure of her.
Slowly, Madeleine pulled the veil back from her face.
"Stephen?" she called.
He stopped and bowed deeply. "My Lady."
Her eyes moved past him to the woman he had tried to shield. "Where is His Majesty?"
"His Majesty is not in the palace," Stephen answered.
She stepped closer toward the woman. Stephen shifted instinctively, but Madeleine’s gaze cut to him, cold enough to halt the movement before it became obvious.
Stephen’s gesture made Madeleine’s interest sharpen. Her eyes swept over the stranger from head to toe.
The gown was fine, extravagant, provocative. The neckline, the cut, the choice of fabric—everything about it suggested presentation.
Livia did not look at her. Her gaze remained fixed ahead, neither lowered in proper humility nor raised in open challenge. It was a calm, distant stare, as if she had drawn herself inward and left only her body standing in the corridor.
"Does she know who I am?" Madeleine asked Stephen.
Stephen’s jaw tightened faintly. "I do not know, my lady."
She turned fully to Livia. "I am Princess Madeleine of France...And you should greet me accordingly."
Only then did Livia move. She gave a small curtsy. It was correct enough to avoid open insult, but no more than that. There was no trembling awe, no stammered apology. She bent, rose, and returned to stillness.
"And who might you be?" Madeleine asked.
Livia finally turned her eyes to Madeleine. "My name is Livia Valenti...a guest of the King."
At the mention of her name, Madeleine’s gaze widened.
Livia Valenti.
No.
It could not be. She had heard that name before. The first time had been from Henry’s own lips. He had murmured it, caught between sleep and longing, half-lost in some dream while Madeleine had been the one beside him, the one touching him, the one trying to draw him back to the present. Even then, the name had landed like an insult.
Then Stephen had said it too. He had spoken under the influence of whatever draught the Queen Dowager had forced upon him, his thoughts loosened, his tongue stripped of caution. Madeleine remembered the moment clearly: the broken confession, the fury that followed, the revelation of who Livia was. That had helped bring disgrace upon the Queen Dowager, earning her a month’s confinement in the Tower by the King’s command.
And now Livia Valenti stood before her. Madeleine’s thoughts spun so quickly she could barely seize one long enough to understand it.
She turned slowly to Stephen and saw the unease there. The guarded breath. The refusal to meet her gaze for more than a heartbeat. "Does the Queen Mother know this?" Madeleine asked. "Does she know she is here?"
"My lady," he said at last, "she is here by her instructions."
Madeleine found she could not move. Her feet remained fixed to the floor. She felt light-headed, unsteady, and unbearably exposed.
Livia, however, did not appear interested in her distress. She simply faced forward. Madeleine’s anger was merely another inconvenience in a day already crowded with them.
The princess of France was not worth the effort of concern.
Stephen noticed the change in Madeleine’s face and wisely chose not to wait for it to ripen into accusation. "If you will excuse us, my lady."
He bowed, then gestured for Livia to continue. Madeleine watched them pass. She watched Stephen fall into step beside her.
All this time, she had believed Lady Bella was the danger. Madeleine had watched the King’s face harden and soften around that woman and assumed the threat was there.
But no.
It had been the tutor. The foreign woman sitting beside Bella during those lessons while the King watched from a distance. She had thought he was looking at Bella.
How blind she had been. She had misread the room, misread the King. Madeleine turned sharply. She did not waste another glance on Livia’s retreating figure. The answers she needed were no longer in that corridor.
They were with Theodora.
Madeleine stormed through the palace halls, her maid hurrying behind her. If the Queen Dowager had truly done this—if she had dared bring that whore into the palace—Madeleine swore to herself that the woman would die a very painful death as soon as she became queen.
The guards stepped aside the moment they saw her. Madeleine slowed. That was when she understood.
Theodora had been waiting.
The doors opened, and Madeleine swept inside. Theodora stood before the hearth.
"I have been expecting you," Theodora said.
Madeleine stopped in the centre of the room. "You did this?"
Theodora turned slowly.
"You brought that woman into the palace," Madeleine said, her voice shaking despite every effort to control it. "You brought a whore to the palace."
"Mind your tongue."
"You arranged this."
"What the King wants, Madeleine, the King gets. It is not for you or me to forbid him."
"You allowed this?" Madeleine said.
Theodora smiled. "Ordinarily...I would not have." She stepped away from the fireplace. "But you mistook one month of confinement in the Tower for defeat. You thought because my son banished me from Whitehall while you smile, that I had been humbled. This," Theodora continued softly, "is to remind you that I fight dirty, Princess. I have been surviving court since before your mother thought to bear you."
Theodora came closer, her voice lowering. "You may become Queen of England. You may have the palace, the kingdom kneeling at your feet. But the King?" Her smile deepened. "My son?"
"Not unless I allow it."
Then she stepped past Madeleine and dropped into her chaise.
"Now take yourself to the cathedral," Theodora said, settling back against the chaise as. "You have a wedding to prepare for."
"I cannot believe you would bring such a stain upon the Crown of England," Madeleine said.
Theodora gave a faint shrug. "To bring you to your knees, Princess, I would walk barefoot through the market in my shift and let the fishwives jeer."
(Its the weekend people! Shall I bring a truck to pick up the gifts?)
