The servants kept their eyes down. Henry picked up his knife and began to eat. He cut and chewed because his body insisted on remaining alive despite his lack of interest in assisting it.
Stephen stood nearby, watching carefully. "Anything else, Your Majesty?" he requested.
"Make yourself useful and bring more wine," Henry snapped.
"Of course, my lord." Stephen bowed quickly and hurried out.
Once outside, Stephen exhaled. He quickly went to retrieve a crate of wine, though the sight of it made his stomach tighten. At this rate, they would run out of wine before the month’s end. Not that Whitehall lacked wine. Whitehall had enough wine to drown half the court. But Henry was drinking like a man trying to silence sothing inside him, and Stephen had served long enough to know wine never silenced anything.
He lifted the crate with so difficulty. "Wonderful," he muttered. "If the king does not kill himself with wine, I shall die carrying it."
Halfway back, he stopped. Then he made a detour toward the queen mother’s apartnts. It was a risk. But Stephen had to say sothing.
He was announced and let in. Queen Theodora sat at her own dinner table, eating. Candles burned around her. Two maids stood nearby. A silver plate sat before her with roasted at, bread, fruit, and untouched greens.
Stephen placed the crate on the ground beside him and waited patiently. Theodora did not rush.
If Stephen had entered carrying a severed head, she would have finished her al first and then asked whose it was.
At last, she set down her knife. The maids moved forward imdiately, clearing the table. Stephen waited again until they were done.
Once the room was empty, Theodora rose from the table and turned to him.
"Your Grace..." Stephen began.
"Is that for the king?" Theodora asked, pointing to the crate of wine.
"Yes, Your Grace," Stephen said. "It is why I stopped here."
Theodora’s eyes moved from him to the crate. A whole crate. Her mouth tightened.
"The king cannot continue this way," Stephen said hurriedly, before courage failed him. "He is missing council etings and engagents. I have had to make several excuses on his behalf. Headaches, grief, private prayer, exhaustion. Yesterday I told Lord Henwick His Majesty was reviewing naval matters."
Theodora’s brow lifted. "Was he?"
"He was asleep with a cup in his hand." Stephen looked down. "I do not know what else to do."
Theodora stepped closer to the crate and looked at it. "I was told he basically chased away the ladies I sent to him."
Stephen winced. "Your Grace, it was embarrassing."
"That bad? Unless he talks to , I don’t know what to do," she said.
Henry had always been soft-hearted, yes, but this was rot spreading inward.
"Lord Ashcroft is headed to Kingsre now," Stephen said. "He thinks the duke may be able to help lighten His Majesty’s mood."
"Hmmm..." Theodora turned away, walking slowly toward the hearth.
The Duke of Kingsre. She did not particularly like him. He carried scandal behind him. He had Henry’s affection, which gave him influence he had done nothing respectable to earn.
Still... If that arrogant boy could drag the king out of this drunken slump, who was she to object?
A useful nuisance was still useful.
"Fine," she said at last. "Let the duke try."
Stephen bowed his head slightly.
"But I need you to keep your ears close, Stephen."
He looked up.
Theodora’s gaze sharpened. "I want to know what is wrong with the king."
"Your Grace—"
"Do not pretend you have no suspicions. You are his man. You dress him, feed him. Servants always know more than they say."
Stephen swallowed.
"If he does any talking around the duke, I want to hear about it."
"Your Grace, I cannot betray my lord like that," Stephen said.
Theodora turned slowly. For a servant, Stephen had a very unfortunate amount of spine. It was admirable in theory. In practice, it was deeply inconvenient.
"You surprise , Stephen," she said. "Your allegiance to the king, even when you know it will cost you your head. Because it will cost you your head if His Majesty continues this way."
Stephen lowered his eyes. "Your Grace," he said carefully, "would you prefer a disloyal servant?"
Theodora’s mouth tightened. "I prefer a servant loyal to both the king and I," she stated.
Stephen looked at her then. "That’s not possible, Your Grace." He bowed his head. "His Majesty is my master."
"And I am his mother. That should an sothing."
"It does."
"Clearly not enough."
Stephen inhaled quietly, then bent to lift the crate of wine. "I must get back to His Highness before he throws a tantrum about his wine." He bowed while holding the crate. "With your leave."
Theodora said nothing. Stephen took that as permission and walked away. The doors closed behind him. Theodora huffed. For a long mont, she stood in the quiet of her chamber, staring at the place where Stephen had been. Henry gathered such people around himself without even trying. Lionel. Stephen. Richard. n who would walk into fire for him.
She sighed. What was Stephen saying? That the king would consider a servant disloyal if he told her things about him? Her own son didn’t trust her. After all she had done for him. He knew. Henry knew and understood exactly all she had done. He knew she had fought for him. Sched for him. Lied for him. Made enemies for him.
She had blood on her hands to put him on the throne. Didn’t he realise she would do anything for him?
Anything. Henry was her son. Her only son. She sighed heavily and marched out. Theodora moved through Whitehall. Guards bowed.
She was going to fix this. Whatever this was—grief, madness, guilt, so hidden wound eating at him—she would cut it out if she had to. She marched straight to the king’s chambers.
The guards opened the doors. As soon as she entered, the servants all bowed.
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