His Secret Slave to Scandalous Queen

Chapter 240: That Is My Girl

He stroked one hand up her back. His mouth pressed into her hair. "That is my girl," he whispered. "My queen."

She made a faint sound against his shoulder, too exhausted, ashamed. Henry smiled faintly into her hair.

He did not let her off him. He wanted her exactly where she was, sprawled on top of him, warm and trembling, her body softening against his as the last waves of pleasure ebbed away. He wanted to trap the moment and keep it. "I love you," he whispered.

The words were barely louder than the fire beyond the curtains. He kissed her hair, once, then again.

Livia remained silent but her fingers, still curled in his shirt, did not let go.

*****

Theodora was not sitting idle. She received hourly reports. Servants moved quietly in and out of her apartments with news.

By midnight, the truth had become impossible to mistake. Livia Valenti was spending the night in Henry’s chamber.

Theodora sat very still when she heard it. She sat in her favourite chaise, eyes fixed upon the fire. She had lost control of the king’s bedchamber.

But it was not the only thing she had lost that day. She had lost Madeleine’s usefulness. The throne had shifted towards a Florentine girl with too much beauty, too little fear.

The door opened softly. The chief gentlewoman of the household entered and curtsied low.

"Your Grace."

Theodora did not look away from the fire. "Tell me."

"The miss remains in His Majesty’s bedchamber."

Theodora’s fingers rested motionless against the arm of the chaise. "Go on."

"Master Stephen and Mrs Crowe have begun making arrangements to move some of her belongings into the king’s chambers. I do not yet know the full extent, Your Grace, but they requested a new looking glass, a carved wardrobe, and a small table fitted for her powders, combs, and scent bottles."

"Stephen and Tabitha uhn?" Theodora asked.

"Yes, Your Grace," the woman answered.

Theodora said nothing at first. The fire shifted before her, throwing gold over the hard planes of her face.

Stephen and Tabitha. The pairing sat uneasily in her mind. Could Stephen be Tabitha’s ally inside Whitehall? Had he been the one helping the woman keep those dangerous old secrets buried? Tabitha had claimed there were others who knew the truth of the late king’s death, but Theodora had always doubted it. This was Whitehall. If more than three people knew a secret, it usually became supper conversation by dawn. If it was truly valuable, someone would have sold it.

"Bring me the Clerk of the Kitchens," Theodora said.

The woman curtsied at once. "Immediately, Your Grace."

Theodora remained seated until the door closed. Then she rose. Her dressing gown whispered over the carpet as she crossed to the wardrobe. She opened the carved doors, pushed aside a row of heavy gowns, and reached into the hidden compartment built behind the lining. Her fingers closed around the parchment tube.

She drew it out and unrolled the parchment. Perfectly blank, save for the royal seal impressed at the bottom.

Theodora ran her fingers near the wax, not touching it. Earlier that day, in the gaol, Jane had given her something useful. Jane had given her a path.

Bella could be useful again and once Livia was outside the palace walls, the deed would be simple.

Theodora did not trust Jane’s little circle of desperate women to manage it properly. So she had made arrangements of her own.

But not anytime soon. Henry would suspect her at once, and the boy’s intelligence had always been a nuisance. She had raised him to be watchful, but there was nothing more irritating than a weapon one forged turning sharp in the wrong direction.

He had discovered things he should never have known. She had never intended for him to learn that she had cleared the path to the throne by removing his brothers. Henry called it murder.

So dramatic.

Now he dangled the accusation over her whenever he wished to wound her. That cold little stare that said, I know what you did.

Ungrateful boy.

Why was she the evil one? She had given him everything. Power did not descend from heaven in a beam of holy light. She had seen the line of succession for what it was: a locked door.

Henry should have thanked her. Instead, he wrapped himself in righteous horror. Did he think kingship came from prayers alone? No. She had made him powerful. She had cut away every obstacle before him and left him a throne with no rival.

Now he dared to look at her as if she were a monster.

Theodora rolled the parchment again with slow care. Her son thought himself good because he still hesitated before cruelty. How charming. How childish. If one had to destroy an enemy, one did it thoroughly, neatly. She tucked the parchment back into its hiding place and closed the wardrobe.

In the mirror, her own reflection watched her: composed, still beautiful. Her mouth hardened. If not for her, he would have never even known what it was to have power much less to sit on a throne.

The doors opened again, and Agnes, Whitehall’s chief gentlewoman, returned with the woman who oversaw the kitchens.

"Your Grace," Joan said, dipping into a curtsy. "You called for me."

"Yes." Theodora had returned to her chaise, one hand on the carved arm, the other idly turning a ring. "I assume you have heard of His Majesty’s newest favourite."

Joan’s eyes flicked once to Agnes. "All Whitehall has heard, Your Grace."

"Good. Then I need not waste time."

"No, Your Grace."

"If Miss Valenti conceives," Theodora said, "I will have you thrown into the Thames."

Joan’s mouth fell open. "Your Grace!"

"No one will miss you."

"I—I am not her maid," Joan stammered. "I do not attend her chamber. Your Grace, I do not understand how I am to prevent such a thing."

"Then listen closely and become educated. Certain herbs will be delivered to you. You will keep them hidden among your stores and add them to Miss Valenti’s daily morning draught whenever Mrs Crowe requests her breakfast."