Chapter 202: She Will Not Budge
Bringing her into Whitehall under his protection would change everything. She would not be queen; he knew that. She would not be his wife. But once he placed her within his household, acknowledged her as a woman kept by the King, any man who touched her would not merely be taking liberties with a mistress. He would be defying the Crown itself and that was treason punishable by death.
"My lord..." Stephen’s voice trembled at the edges. "She will not budge. Unless I use force, there is no way I can get her to Whitehall."
Henry looked up slowly. Stephen swallowed. The poor man had the unfortunate complexion of someone who had spent the entire day carrying messages back and forth.
"Get Lionel," Henry said. "Tell him to meet me there." He reached for his riding gloves and turned from the table.
Stephen took one hurried step after him. "Your Majesty, if you could wait a few minutes, I will have him meet you in the courtyard."
Henry was already moving.
"My lord—"
Henry strode through the corridors of Whitehall. He crossed into the courtyard and made straight for the stables.
The stable boys arranged him a horse in minutes and he was riding out to Covent Garden. Henry rode hard through the gates of Whitehall, his cloak snapping behind him as the horse thundered onto the road.
Rage sat in his chest. By every law of crown, and basic self-preservation, Livia Valenti should have been in the palace by now. Instead, she had refused him. Refused his command.
The streets between Whitehall and Covent Garden blurred past in the dark, lamplight breaking against wet stone and shuttered windows.
It took less than a quarter of an hour to reach the house. Henry dismounted, tossed the reins aside, and strode to the entrance.
The door flew open under his hand. Tabitha came hurrying from the passage, and the moment she saw him, she dropped into a bow with admirable speed.
"Your Majesty!"
"Where is she?" Henry thundered.
"In the drawing room, sire."
He did not wait for more. His boots struck hard against the floors as he crossed the hall. Every step fed the anger in him. She had tested him all day. He reached the drawing-room doors and threw them open.
The room was lit softly, candles burning low, shadows gathered thick in the corners. His eyes swept across it in one swift, furious movement.
Then he stopped. Livia was in the middle of the room on her knees. Henry did not understand what he was seeing. His mind, which had been so ready for battle, so prepared for defiance, found no enemy standing before him.
Her hands rested in her lap, fingers clasped. Her head was bowed. The sight struck him with such force that the fury inside him lost all direction.
It was like a switch went off inside him. His rage disappeared, took the nearest window out at the sight of her submission.
He cleared his throat. Submission did not suit her. Everything in her had been made to resist. Even kneeling, she did not look conquered. She looked like a woman who had set a trap with her own pride as bait and was now waiting to see whether he would step into it. Henry forced steel back into his voice.
"What is the meaning of this?" he demanded. "Have you forgotten I am your King?"
Livia bowed her head a little lower. "I apologise, Your Majesty."
This careful humility left him standing in the doorway with his anger in his hands and nowhere useful to put it.
"Get on your feet," he ordered, stepping farther into the room.
She did not move. Henry’s jaw tightened.
"Livia."
"Please, Your Majesty," she said, lifting her eyes only slightly. "I would rather make my petition on my knees. I know I have angered you," she continued. "I know I have defied you. But I beg you to hear me."
"No," he said. "First, you will listen. You will do as you are ordered," he continued. "You do not negotiate with me." He stepped closer. "I may love you. I may be weak enough to admit that, even after everything. But I remain King of England. Until that changes, you will obey royal command."
Livia slowly lifted her head and met his eyes. "I just need you to listen."
At last, he turned and lowered himself into the nearest chair.
"Fine, speak," he said, taking a seat.
"I will do as you say," Livia said quietly. "But I have some requests to make."
The sheer nerve of her was astonishing. Livia Valenti was apparently never fully sensible.
"You still do not understand," he said. "I gave you allowance. I gave you freedom here." His voice hardened. "And you chose to abuse it. You will come under my protection whether you like it or not. Call it mistress, royal concubine, kept woman—choose whatever word wounds your pride least. But once you are placed within my household, any man who takes liberties with you will not merely insult me. He will defy the Crown."
Henry leaned back, watching her carefully. "So you know exactly what happens when you, or whatever fool you wish to dally with, decides to test me again."
Livia swallowed. Then, to his surprise, she bowed her head. "I accept it, Your Majesty. I do...But sending me into Whitehall, with no protection, opens me to cruelty. Give me any other punishment," she begged. "Lock me in this house. Post guards at every door. Take away every book, every letter, every window if you must. But do not send me there alone. Do not make my life more miserable than it already is."
Henry chuckled. "Get on your feet. This act does not suit you...You think kneeling there, looking sad and pitiful, will soften me, manipulate me. I have seen you unbroken under worse conditions," he continued. "Do not insult us both by pretending submission now."
Livia bit her lip.
(brought to you by Janelle Fox 1/2)
