He kept reading. He shifted back against her pillows and tried to focus on the words, trying to understand what was so fascinating. Perhaps it was the promise of another life inside the pages. Perhaps it was the way sorrow could be made beautiful when written properly. Perhaps Diana liked books because no one inside them could reach out and take from her without permission.
He laid back on the bed, his head sinking into her pillow. It slled faintly of her. Still, he remained committed to the book, dragging his eyes over the lines even as the words began to blur. If nothing else, at least her books were a quick way to fall asleep. He would have to inform her of this discovery.
Soon, his eyelids grew heavy. The book lowered against his chest. Sleep took him slowly, then cruelly.
His dreams were not kind. First, Diana stood at the far end of a corridor, dressed in white, her veil covering her face. He called her na, but she stepped backward, hiding behind Henry.
Then the dream shifted. Henry was on top of her, fucking her, claiming a body Richard had begun to believe was his. Diana’s face turned away, her hand grabbing and clawing at soone Richard could not beco.
Richard stood outside himself, watching, trapped in a body that would not move, a voice that would not reach her, a heart breaking so violently it felt like punishnt. He tried to shout her na.
Tried to tear the vision apart. But all he could do was stand there, helpless, watching Henry take what he feared he had already lost, as he scread.
Another dream ca, worse than the rest. Diana stood before him in the a blue gown, the veil fallen from her hair, her eyes wide and shattered.
"You knew," she whispered.
Richard tried to speak, but his mouth would not open.
"You knew who Henry was all along."
No. Not all along. Not at first. Not when he pulled her from that alley. Not when she woke in his house frightened, injured, and stubborn. But later, yes. Later, he had known. Later, he had sat across from Henry and listened to the king bleed his heart out over Livia while Richard kept Diana hidden in Kingsre like a secret stolen from God himself.
In the dream, none of his excuses mattered. Her face changed from hurt to disgust.
"You let choose in the dark."
That was the blade. Richard jolted, but the dream held him down. He saw Henry behind her, crownless, broken, looking wounded.
He tossed and turned in her bed, dragging the covers half off the mattress, the abandoned book sliding to the floor with a dull thud.
Still, sleep would not release him cleanly. Diana’s voice followed.
You knew.
Henry’s silence followed. Richard turned onto his side, then onto his back, one arm flung over his eyes as if he could block out the guilt waiting there.
It was useless. Guilt was a stubborn bastard. It did not need light to find a man. At last, he could not take it anymore.
He jerked awake with a sharp breath. For a mont, he did not know where he was. Then the scent of her room reached him. The bed that was not his and yet had beco the only place in the house where his fear felt honest.
He looked toward the window. The sun had already begun to set, bleeding gold and red across the sky.
Richard sat up slowly, rubbing both hands over his face. He got to his feet then, restless, angry, afraid, and far too awake now to pretend he could wait peacefully. He was not made for waiting. Waiting made him imagine things. Waiting made him dream of losing her. Waiting made him feel like a powerless boy while two lives he cared about rode toward collision.
He stepped out of the room and found a servant passing through the hall with a folded cloth in her hands.
"Your Grace?"
"Inform the stable to prepare my horse."
"At once, Your Grace." The servant curtsied and hurried away.
Richard headed into his room. He picked up his coat, pulled it on, then snatched his gloves from the table. He was not going to sit and wait for sothing to happen.
*****
Lady Bella welcod Diana into Whitehall at the main gates. The carriage had barely stopped before Bella was already stepping forward, her skirts gathered in one hand, her face bright with expectation. Behind her, the palace rose in all its sprawling grandeur: pale stone, high windows, guarded doors, and corridors.
Livia swallowed. So this was where kings lived. The footman opened the carriage door, and Livia stepped down carefully, one gloved hand holding her skirts. Before her feet had properly settled on the ground, Bella pulled her into a hug.
"Welco, Miss Bellamy," Bella said warmly.
"My lady, please..." Livia laughed, startled but pleased. "Just call Diana. I might be your teacher, but we are gossip partners."
Bella pulled back with a grin. "True. And I have a ton for you."
"Oh dear."
"Co," Bella said, taking her arm. "Let take you to your room before the palace swallows you whole. How is the duke?"
"His Grace is fine," Livia said. "We are getting married," Livia announced.
Bella gasped. "I knew it!" she cried, grabbing Livia’s hands. "I knew it. I knew all that question about love had aning."
"Hush," Livia laughed, looking around.
"The Duke of Kingsre is settling down?"
"I cannot believe it either."
"No one can believe it. The bishops might declare a miracle."
Livia laughed, warmth rising to her cheeks. "He is not that bad."
Bella gave her a look.
"He is... occasionally that bad," Livia admitted.
"I am happy for you," she said. "Truly."
"Thank you."
They started walking again, arm in arm, through the guarded entrance and into the palace.
"But do not tell anyone yet," Livia said quickly. "I believe he would like to inform the king himself."
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