Henry.
No.
The king.
No.
Her mind rejected it at once, violently, desperately. She was tired and frightened. Bella was dying before her eyes. Of course grief could twist sounds. She stared at his back.
Sa height.
Sa shoulders.
Sa dark hair.
Sa way of standing, as if the whole world could lean against him and he would still refuse to bend.
The room blurred around her. The doctor kept speaking, sothing about weakness, rest, prayers, waiting. Livia heard none of it. The words beca water. Her attention narrowed to the man standing near Bella’s bed.
The king who had Henry’s voice. The king who had Henry’s height. The king who had Henry’s hair.
Her fingers curled into the fabric of her skirt, gripping hard enough to hurt. She just needed to see his face.
That was all. One look, and her mind would stop this madness. One look, and she would prove her ears were cruel liars. One look, and the world would remain the world she understood.
But every detail made her colder.
His posture.
The line of his neck.
Her heartbeat began to pound so hard it drowned the room. She watched him run a hand through his hair and turn in her direction.
That was when she knew. Not because of the face alone. No, God help her, it was the shock in his eyes.
The king looked at her, and his whole body stilled. Recognition struck him so hard it stripped the king from his face for one bare, terrible second.
Livia saw him.
Henry.
Her Henry.
The breath left him with a force he could not hide. This was not how he wanted her to find out. Not in a room full of people. Not with Bella lying pale and still on the bed between life and death.
This was wrong. All of it was wrong. He watched her face go pale. Her eyes froze on him. The colour drained from her lips.
Henry almost said her na. It rose in his throat, and for one foolish second he nearly let it escape into the room. Into Whitehall. Into the ears of every person present.
But he pursed his lips instead and swallowed it, buried it. She had been crying. He saw that now. Her eyes were wet, her lashes clumped with tears. She truly cared about Bella.
In that instant, it was only the two of them.
Just them.
Frozen to the ground.
Unable to move.
Hearts pounding.
Henry, her Henry, was the king.
The King of England.
Richard’s best friend.
The man whose na had lived in her heart. Her stomach twisted. She snatched her eyes away from him and turned back toward the window, staring out at nothing. Her breath pained her as it moved through her chest. One hand went to her stomach, pressing there.
Henry wanted to go to her. Every part of him wanted it. To cross the room, take her arm, turn her gently back to him, explain before the silence beca another lie. He wanted to tell her he had searched. That he had mourned. That he had been a coward, yes, but never false in what he felt.
But the room was too full. Too many eyes. Too many ears. So Henry stepped back. His hands curled at his sides.
He turned back to the doctor. "Let know whatever you need."
The physician bowed. "Surely, Your Majesty."
Henry nodded. His gaze betrayed him. It went to the window again. Livia still stood with her back turned. He could see the tension in her shoulders.
The effort it took her to remain standing. He had imagined this mont a thousand ways. In every version, he had words.
Now that the mont had co, all he had was silence and a room full of witnesses. Henry bent his head, forcing himself away before he ruined her further. Before he said her na. Before he reached for her.
He turned and walked out. Lionel was waiting outside. Henry stopped in the corridor. For a mont, he did not speak.
Then, quietly, he asked, "How is she here?"
Lionel frowned. "Who?"
Henry turned his head slowly. "Livia."
Whatever questions Lionel had been ready to ask about Bella vanished behind that one na.
"I have no idea," Lionel said carefully.
"She saw ."
Lionel closed his eyes briefly. "Damn." He looked toward the closed door, then back at the king. "I will speak with the Captain of the Guard. But I am sure she was allowed in because of Lady Bella. She must have co out of concern."
Henry glanced back at the closed door. "I need to talk to her."
Lionel’s face tightened imdiately. "My lord—"
"I need to explain."
"Your Highness, I strongly advise against it," Lionel said. He imdiately knew he had stepped into the fire, but damn it, soone had to.
"I cannot stop you from strongly advising," Henry said, voice cold enough to frost glass. "I will do what I have to do."
"Your Highness," Lionel continued carefully, "she is going to be wife to—"
"Don’t you dare finish that sentence in my presence."
Lionel shut his eyes.
"Let know when the doctor leaves," Henry said.
Lionel’s face hardened with helplessness. "My lord—"
"That is not a request." Henry turned and walked away in the direction of his own apartnts, his shoulders rigid.
Lionel watched him go then he exhaled slowly. "God save us," he muttered.
*****
Lord Langford was ready to leave when he stopped by Richard’s room. He found his son near the window, one hand braced on the fra, the other holding a cup of tea. His shirt was off and his pants hung low.
Geoffrey paused in the doorway. "Richard?"
Richard turned. "Father."
"I am leaving for Whitehall. Do you want to co with?"
"No, Father," Richard said. "I will wait for Diana to get back."
Geoffrey’s eyes narrowed slightly. "You are certain?"
"I do not need to be there. The king is not. So..."
User Comments
0 comments from readers