Chapter 193: The Palace Library
To her, he was only a royal and well-mannered Beaumont. A gentler voice. Finer clothes. A crown instead of a whip.
They entered the palace through a side door, leaving the garden’s shadows for candlelit corridors. Their footsteps echoed softly through the halls. Henry walked ahead while Livia followed with the shawl drawn close over the indecent fall of her gown.
Henry noticed almost immediately that as they walked, the passing servants and guards on duty could not help but steal glances at Livia.
The shawl did little to help. It covered her shoulders, yes, but not enough of the dangerous dip of the bodice or the soft swell of her breasts. Every step shifted the fabric. Every candle they passed seemed to find another inch of her to expose.
A passing footman’s gaze slipped, then dropped in terror when he realised the King had seen him.
Henry stopped so abruptly that Livia crashed into his back.
She caught herself at once, stepping away with a sharp intake of breath. "My apologies, Your Majesty."
He turned to her slowly. His gaze moved over her. He knew who had dressed her. He knew why. And still, seeing her like that in the open halls, exposed to every careless eye in Whitehall, made something in him tighten to the point of pain. "I once told you...that I did not want you wearing such garments."
Livia’s eyes lifted to his. "This is what the Queen mother gave me to wear."
Henry looked down the hall. Without another word, he shrugged out of his loose banyan robe and stepped toward Livia. He placed the robe around her shoulders. "Wear this."
The robe swallowed her almost entirely. It hung loose from her frame, the dark fabric falling past her wrists and nearly brushing the floor.
Livia pulled it tighter around herself. Neither of them noticed the corridor watching. They did not see the quick glances exchanged between servants, the silent widening of eyes, the birth of a rumour taking shape before them. By morning, the palace would know. By week’s end, the kingdom would make it into something larger.
Livia tightened the robe once more, then glanced up. Henry was staring at her. The intensity of it made her breath catch. She made to take a step back, but one arm came around her waist, holding her still.
"If I beg you to stop running from me," Henry asked, "will you?" His gaze dropped to her lips.
Livia felt it like touch. The arm around her waist held her still. "No."
Henry closed his eyes for a moment, as if the word had hurt him more than he wished to show. "Livia..." His other hand rose to her face, framing her gently. His thumb hovered near her cheek.
She looked up at him and hated how beautiful he was in the candlelight. She was pressed against his bare chest. Without the garment, he seemed dangerous. "Should we not be going somewhere?" she asked.
A faint breath left him. "Of course."
He released her and turned away. He began walking again. Without the robe, he looked improperly undressed for the palace halls.
They passed through quieter passages now, away from the busier halls and the whispers beginning to multiply behind them.
At last, they reached a pair of tall doors. Henry took a candle from a wall sconce, shielding the flame with one hand before pushing the door open.
They stepped inside. This time, Henry made a deliberate effort to keep his eyes on her face. He wanted to see the moment she understood where he had brought her.
He was rewarded. Livia stopped just inside the threshold. Her eyes widened, then lit with unguarded awe.
"Oh... my God..." she whispered.
Shelves rose around them like dark wooden walls, climbing high toward the shadowed ceiling. Books filled every space, some bound in calfskin, others in vellum, their spines marked with gold and ink. Ladders stood against the shelves. Long tables waited beneath tall windows. The air itself seemed sacred.
The royal librarian had finished for the day so the place was empty.
"What is this place?" Livia asked. Her voice was hushed.
Henry watched her face. He had brought her here for this exact moment, for the widening of her eyes, the soft parting of her lips. "The palace library...One of the finest royal collections in England. Whatever you want, you may ask for. If a book is rare, the keeper can arrange for a fair copy to be made for you."
Livia turned slowly, taking it all in. For a moment, delight moved through her before she caught it and shut it away.
Then she looked back at him.
"Are you manipulating me?"
Henry lowered the candle he held. "No. I brought you here because you love books," he continued. "Because when you were Livia before you were Diana, when you thought I was only Henry, you spoke of learning the world for freedom. I remember that. I have been the cause of your sorrow...I know that. I intend to make amends in every way I can. It does not matter how long it takes. I will make you happy, Livia, even if you never believe I deserve to see it."
She gave him a suspicious glance, turned away, and began walking between the shelves. Henry let her go. Livia moved slowly, one hand trailing close to the books. She could spend a lifetime in here.
Henry, meanwhile, busied himself with lighting the room as much as he could. The library was huge, the size of ten rooms put together.
When Henry had finished lighting what he could, the library no longer seemed quite so cavernous.
Candles burned along the tables and wall sconces, sending warm gold over the long rows of shelves. Shadows still gathered in the high corners, but now the leather spines gleamed faintly, the gilt lettering catching light.
Livia stood between two towering shelves, one hand hovering near the books without touching them. Her fingers trembled slightly. She had not chosen a single volume.
