"I’m so happy for you," Bella said, smiling.
The softness in her voice made Livia’s chest warm. She had not expected friendship to co so quickly, especially not from a woman like Lady Bella, who belonged to palaces, kings, and noble bloodlines. But Bella’s joy felt real.
"Thank you," Livia said quietly and looked around. "So this is Whitehall, uhn?"
Bella followed her gaze. "Yes. Whitehall."
The palace stretched before them. Courtyards opened into archways, archways into galleries, galleries into corridors. Servants moved quickly, guards stood stiffly.
Livia swallowed. It was beautiful and terrifying.
"Lucky for you," Bella added lightly, "the queen mother was exiled to the Tower."
Livia turned sharply. "Why?"
Bella’s face brightened. "I told you I had tons of gossip."
"Oh no."
"Oh yes." Bella leaned closer as they walked. "In my absence, the queen mother poisoned Stephen, the king’s steward."
Livia stopped walking. "Oh my God. Is he alright?"
"Yes, yes. It was not a deadly poison."
Livia shook her head slowly. "Why would she do that?"
"She wanted information out of him."
"What sort of information?"
Bella’s eyes glead. "That is the question, isn’t it? The king learned of it," Bella continued, "stord into her apartnts, rescued Stephen, and banished her to the Tower for a month."
Livia’s brows rose. "The king banished his own mother?"
"Yes."
"That is..."
"Magnificent?"
"I was going to say alarming."
"It was both." Bella smiled faintly. "Apparently, he was furious."
They resud walking, and the palace seed to close around them more tightly with each step.
"And then," Bella said, lowering her voice further, "this morning, the rumours around the palace are that the French princess spent the night with His Highness."
Livia looked ahead.
Bella sighed. "Court is never dull, Diana."
"She is to be the queen, right?" Livia asked.
Bella glanced at her as they continued down the corridor. "Yes."
She studied Bella’s face, expecting bitterness, jealousy, perhaps even anger. After all, Bella had loved the king in whatever way a woman could love a man who did not fully belong to her. She had borne him a son. Lost that son. Been sent away to grieve while the palace continued arranging itself around the woman who would wear the crown.
But Bella did not look jealous.
"You don’t seem to sound jealous," Livia noted.
Bella folded her hands neatly before her as they walked. "The king is the lord supre. One woman cannot lay claim to him except the queen. And even then, it still ans nothing if the king wants to be with other won."
Livia slowed slightly. In Beaumont’s house, n had spoken of won as if they were things to be passed between hands. At court, apparently, it was the sa. "So the queen can have his na but not necessarily his heart?"
Bella’s smile faded a little. "A queen is not always chosen for the heart."
"Then what is the point?"
"Alliance."
"And happiness?"
Bella looked at her then, and for a mont her expression was painfully gentle. "Happiness is rarely written into marriage contracts."
Livia looked away. She thought of Richard then. His ridiculous smile. His shaless mouth. He made her happy, he made her laugh, he made her believe in herself. He approved of her need for independence. Now that’s a man one could love, not this king character. "Wow," she said at last. "Again, I do not envy your life."
They finally entered the quieter corridors that led to Bella’s rooms. Bella led her past her own door and stopped at the next room.
"This is yours." Bella opened the door.
The room was modest by palace standards, but to Livia it looked grand. There was a carved bed, clean linens, a small writing table, a washstand, a huge bath and a narrow window overlooking part of the gardens. The maid stepped in behind them and placed Livia’s bag near the bed.
Livia stood in the doorway, suddenly aware of how far she was from Kingsre, from Richard.
Bella touched her arm gently. "You can rest from your travel. We will have our lessons in the gardens in the morning. My maid will co for you."
"Of course," Livia said.
Bella turned to her maid. "If you could find your way to the palace kitchens and bring her dinner?"
"Of course, my lady," the maid replied with a curtsy.
Bella smiled. "See you in the morning, Diana."
Livia smiled back, surprised by how easily the na now answered inside her. Diana. It no longer felt like a borrowed cloak slipping from her shoulders. It was beginning to settle. Beginning to fit. "Have a good night, my lady."
Bella paused at the door and looked back. "Bella, please."
Livia’s smile softened. "Of course. Have a good night, Bella."
That pleased her. Livia could see it in the little lift of her mouth before she turned and headed to her own room.
She stood still for a mont, listening. The palace was not quiet. It murmured. Footsteps passed in the corridor.
Whitehall. She was inside Whitehall. A few months ago, she had been trapped in Beaumont’s house, wearing cheap silk and smiles that did not belong to her. Now she was standing in a palace chamber as a French tutor, with her own earned coins and a future that still frightened her, but at least had doors.
She stepped farther into the room and crossed to the window. The glass was cool beneath her fingers as she looked down at the grounds. The palace gardens stretched below, dim beneath the evening sky. Torches burned along the walks, their flas shifting in the breeze. Guards moved like dark pieces on a board. Servants hurried through side paths. Farther off, near one of the lit terraces, she saw two figures walking.
A man and a woman. The woman’s hand rested on his arm, her gown pale enough to catch the last fading light. Sothing glittered in her hair. A tiara, perhaps. She walked with the ease of soone born to be watched.
(Brought to you by Mar King 1/3)
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