His Secret Slave to Scandalous Queen

Chapter 241: They Will Not Harm Her

"Your Grace..." Joan started to argue.

"They will not harm her. They will merely ensure that my son’s foolishness does not become a cradle."

Joan’s hands trembled. "Your Grace, Master Stephen ordered her breakfast in the morning to be brought to the king’s chambers. Every dish headed to there is accounted for. If I tamper with it, and anyone discovers it—"

"You will be punished for treason," Theodora finished. "Yes. I am familiar with law."

"Then you understand why I cannot."

Theodora’s gaze sharpened. Joan went still. "How would anyone know?" Theodora asked.

"The taster will taste it. And if he falls ill?"

"He will not. The herbs are harmless to everyone else."

Joan swallowed. "Your Grace, Mrs Crowe may come herself. She inspects everything. She has eyes like a priest looking for sin."

"Then do not be caught."

"Your Grace, please," Joan whispered. "Place this burden on someone else. I have served this household twenty-two years. I have never stolen, never spoken against the Crown, never—"

"How admirable."

"I am begging you." Joan’s eyes filled.

Theodora leaned forward slightly. "I have given you a task. Do you dare argue with me?"

"No," Joan breathed. "Of course not, Your Grace."

"If the girl’s courses fail, if whispers of a child begin, if I hear so much as a rumour, you will answer for it."

"Yes, Your Grace."

"And Joan?"

The kitchen woman looked up.

"Should you confess this to Stephen, Tabitha, or my son, I will not throw only you into the Thames. I will discover every person you have ever loved and make the river acquainted with them as well." Theodora sat back, serene as an icon and twice as merciless. "Get out."

Joan curtsied. "Yes, Your Grace." She glanced once at Mistress Agnes, weary and frightened.

Theodora remained still. This would have to be done slowly. If Livia died too quickly, he would look to Theodora at once.

So patience, then. The Italian whore would not sit on the English throne. Theodora would sooner place the haughty French princess there and endure a lifetime of her powdered arrogance.

*****

As it turned out, Princess Madeleine had also been keeping up with the news moving through Whitehall.

The new favourite had spent the night with the king. By morning, even Madeleine’s English maid had heard enough to avoid meeting her mistress’s gaze.

Madeleine sat before the looking glass while the maid fastened the last hooks of her gown. Her humiliation from the day before still burned beneath her skin. Henry had disgraced her before nobles. Then he had supposedly asked her to remain in England so he might reconsider the marriage.

Reconsider.

The word was insulting. If he meant to reconsider, why was he not crawling to her apartments? Why was he not begging pardon, confessing madness? Why was she hearing that his Florentine whore had slept in his bed while she, Princess Madeleine of France, was left counting rumours?

And where was Elodie? Madeleine had asked twice and received no direct answers. She chose a gown of deep blue velvet. Pearls at her throat. A hood pinned. Her face powdered pale, her mouth reddened.

If Henry expected tears, he would be disappointed. If the whore expected shame, she would be educated.

Madeleine left her apartments with two guards behind her and the English maid trailing. She didn’t understand the addition of guards to her but if that was Henry’s way of making her feel important, then she wouldn’t complain. She reached the passage outside the king’s privy lodging just as Stephen appeared with Mrs Crowe, several servants, and guards overseeing the morning tray.

Madeleine stopped. Mrs Crowe’s presence made Madeleine’s eyes narrow. "Stephen...Announce me to the king."

Stephen’s eyes did not leave the tray. "His Majesty is occupied at present, Your Highness."

Her mouth tightened. "Announce me to the king."

Stephen finally looked at her. "Of course, my lady." He turned and disappeared through the inner door.

Madeleine expected him to return with refusal. To her surprise, Stephen came back moments later and bowed.

"His Majesty will receive you."

Good.

Let the little Italian see what a princess looked like when she entered a room she had every right to command.

Madeleine stepped inside. Her eyes swept the chamber. Servants were laying the king’s meal upon a long table. Henry sat at one end, composed in a loose morning robe, dark hair still damp. At the opposite end sat Livia, dressed in a pale morning gown. Madeleine’s gaze shifted.

The bed had not yet been made. The curtains were half drawn. The coverlets were rumpled, the pillows crushed, the sheets disturbed beyond any possibility of innocent explanation.

Madeleine curtsied. "Your Majesty."

Henry inclined his head from his seat. "Princess."

Livia kept her attention fixed upon the plate before her. The bread had suddenly become fascinating. Truly, no loaf in England had ever carried such importance.

"How have you been faring?" Henry asked mildly. "I heard you had quite the storm in Lady Bella’s apartments yesterday."

"Can you blame me?" Madeleine asked.

Henry took up his cup. "Of course not. I suppose the blame should be mine."

Madeleine’s eyes flashed. "You suppose?"

Henry lifted two fingers without looking away from her. That small gesture dismissed the servants.

At once, the room began to empty. Plates had been arranged, cups filled, covered dishes uncovered, and then the attendants withdrew.

Within moments, the chamber held only three people. Madeleine turned her head slowly towards Livia.

"Why are you still seated?"

Livia’s fingers paused around her cup. She considered pretending she had not heard. Unfortunately, Madeleine had the sort of voice designed to cut through stone. Livia looked at the princess, then at Henry.

Henry had leaned back in his chair, one brow slightly raised, his expression indecently interested. Madeleine misread his silence at once. She thought it meant he expected Livia to leave. The assumption restored some of the confidence humiliation had stolen.

She snapped her fingers. "Hey."

Livia’s head turned back to her.

"Are you deaf?"

(powered by 100 stones)