Chapter 225: Clear The Abbey
Henry looked magnificent. Only someone who knew him well might have noticed the absence of joy in his face.
Everything around them was perfect yet Bella knew, with complete certainty, that she had never witnessed two people less suited to one another.
The princess advanced beside her father, the King of France, while noble attendants followed. The entire court seemed to inhale at once, delighted by splendour.
The Archbishop began the solemnisation, his voice rising beneath the immense stone vaults of Westminster Abbey.
At first, everything proceeded perfectly. Prayers were spoken. Responses came at the proper moments. Incense drifted before the High Altar, and the gathered nobility bowed and rose with admirable unity.
Henry stood beside Princess Madeleine, composed. He appeared every inch the triumphant monarch.
The Archbishop asked the required questions of consent. Madeleine answered clearly, promising before God and the assembled court to take Henry as her husband.
The Archbishop turned to Henry. Henry was required to declare his willingness to take Madeleine as his lawful wife and, afterwards, to plight his troth. The answer demanded only a few words.
He opened his mouth.
Nothing came.
A faint stir moved through the congregation. Bella leaned forward before remembering that several hundred people were doing precisely the same thing.
Henry tried again. "I..."
The word broke apart.
Madeleine turned her head towards him. The composure on her face held, but her fingers tightened around the edge of her sleeve.
The Archbishop waited patiently but after a bit, he prompted. "Your Majesty?"
Henry swallowed. "I... beg your pardon. I..." His gaze travelled across the altar, the bishops, the French royal household and the rows of expectant English nobles. Every obligation of his reign stood there, watching him fail to speak. "No."
The single word carried farther than a shout. A gasp swept through Westminster Abbey. Bella nearly cried out with delight. Only her mother’s hand closing over her wrist prevented her from celebrating the possible collapse of an international alliance in front of its principal architects.
The King of France rose from his place, fury transforming his face. "What is the meaning of this?"
Lord Chancellor Geoffrey sprang up. He hurried towards the French royal party. "Peace, Your Majesty...I shall have this matter resolved at once."
"Your Majesty... what is this?" Madeleine asked.
Panic had stripped the polish from her voice. Now she looked painfully young, abandoned and left with the weight of two kingdoms watching her humiliation.
"Why?" she whispered. "Why are you doing this?"
Henry stared at her. He had an answer. This just wasn’t the time or place. He had truly believed Lionel’s words would carry him through the ceremony.
Yet when the moment came, his heart had rebelled in public, where the damage could not be contained.
Lord Chancellor Geoffrey hurried towards the altar, his robes sweeping behind him. He kept his face composed, though his eyes carried horror. "Your Majesty...do you require a moment?"
A moment?
It was an admirably modest request for a disaster that might require decades. Henry looked across the Abbey.
The French delegation had risen. English nobles whispered. Bishops exchanged alarmed glances.
"Dismiss everyone," Henry said.
Geoffrey went still. "Sire?"
"Clear the Abbey."
"My lord!" Madeleine cried. Her voice rang. Tears brightened her eyes.
The ceremony dissolved into disorder. The French king demanded answers from anyone unfortunate enough to stand near him. Heralds looked towards Geoffrey. Clerics gathered around the Archbishop, speaking urgently.
A royal wedding had become a diplomatic riot. Madeleine’s gaze moved beyond Henry. The Queen Mother sat motionless in her place of honour, her face drained of colour. She looked not merely shocked but afraid.
Madeleine saw it as the understanding passed between them. They both knew why Henry had stopped.
Livia.
The bargain they had struck, and every promise Madeleine had swallowed to preserve the marriage didn’t matter anymore.
Madeleine turned fully towards Theodora, humiliation finally breaking through her restraint. "Happy now?!" Madeleine yelled.
Henry stepped down from the altar feeling lighter than he had in years. The sensation was astonishing. his lungs seemed able to fill properly for the first time since the marriage had been arranged.
Around him, Westminster Abbey dissolved into magnificent disorder. Questions flew from every direction. French nobles demanded satisfaction. The congregation whispered with such force that the sound rose into the vaulted roof.
Henry knew he owed them an explanation. He raised a hand and cleared his throat. The Abbey quieted. Even the French king ceased shouting. "The marriage will not proceed," Henry declared. "No vows have been completed, and no union has been made. The articles governing this match shall be set aside," He continued. "England will honour every lawful obligation concerning the princess and the safe return of the French party. My Lord Chancellor will confer with ministers regarding suitable amends for the insult given today."
Henry turned towards the French royal family. "A revised agreement may be negotiated once you return to France. Your demands may be presented to Richard, Duke of Kingsmere, whom I have appointed my ambassador extraordinary at the French court. He will receive your terms, argue generously and send them to my council."
The French king stared at him in fury. Henry continued before anyone could interrupt.
"As for England, I shall choose another bride. When that choice has been settled, she will be presented to the realm. Whoever she may be, I expect the same loyalty accorded to the Crown."
A murmur swept through the English nobles. Several hundred people began instantly wondering which woman had overturned France.
He descended from the sanctuary and walked through the divided congregation. Faces turned after him: shocked, furious. Lady Bella’s was the only one displaying unrestrained approval. She smiled so broadly that her mother discreetly pinched her arm. Henry smiled back. He passed beneath the west doors into daylight.
The bells were still ringing for a wedding that no longer existed. Crowds beyond the guarded approach continued cheering, unaware.
Once he was outside, he could tell the news had reached Lionel already. Stephen had the royal carriage waiting beyond the Abbey doors, his posture respectful and his expression entirely too pleased with himself.
"Your Majesty."
Henry stopped before him. "You do not look surprised, Stephen."
"I am surprised, Sire," Stephen replied. "I am surprised you made it as far as the altar."
Henry laughed, the sound freer than any he had made that morning. Behind Stephen, Lionel remained mounted, his horse held rigidly beneath him. He was ready to escort the king back to Whitehall, his face suggested he would rather escort him directly into a council chamber and lock the doors until reason returned.
Henry glanced towards him. "Lord Ashcroft does not share your delight."
Stephen followed his gaze. "Lord Ashcroft is loyal to the Crown."
"And you are not?"
"I am loyal to you," Stephen said. "There is a difference." he smiled. "Lionel will come around."
Henry rested a hand on Stephen’s shoulder. Stephen honestly looked glad. Henry entered the carriage.
The door closed behind him, shutting out the frantic movement at the Abbey entrance. French attendants rushed between carriages. English nobles gathered in alarmed clusters. Lord Chancellor Geoffrey was aging several years with every passing minute.
More than five hundred guests remained inside Westminster Abbey, each demanding to know what had driven the King of England to abandon a princess before the altar.
By sunset, London would offer a hundred answers. Yet the answer had already begun spreading through Whitehall’s kitchens, corridors, guardrooms, and servants’ stairways. Those who lived within the palace had watched Henry’s attention follow one woman and understood the danger long before the kingdom did.
A woman without title. The king had chosen desire over duty.
Queen Mother Theodora remained inside Westminster Abbey, simmering fiercely. It had better not be what she feared. She ought to have felt victorious. Madeleine would not become queen. Theodora had wanted to break her. She simply had not expected Henry to break the wedding with her.
Over her dead body would a harlot sit upon England’s throne. Livia might amuse the king. She might warm his bed. But queen? Never.
Queens did not emerge from houses such as Beaumont’s with scandal clinging to their skirts. If Henry truly intended to raise Livia beside him, Theodora would move heaven, earth, Parliament, bishops to prevent it.
And if saving the throne required breaking it first, then so be it.
A few yards away, Madeleine endured a different execution. Her father stood before her, his fury barely restrained by the sanctity of the Abbey and the number of English swords within reach. His advisers hovered nearby, speaking in urgent whispers, while her ladies formed a protective half-circle around her.
"You had one duty," the French king said beneath his breath. "One."
Madeleine’s face burned.
According to him, securing Henry’s affection should have been simple.
"I did everything that was required of me," she said.
"Clearly not."
Madeleine tried to explain but no one wished to hear explanations from a failed bride.
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