His Secret Slave to Scandalous Queen

Chapter 122: I Didn’t Lie To You

"I didn’t lie to you, Your Highness," Richard said.

Henry’s eyes sharpened.

Richard swallowed, knowing how pathetic the distinction would sound before he even finished making it. "I didn’t. I just... kept her from you."

A bitter laugh escaped Henry. "Why?"

Richard had prepared for this. Or thought he had. On the road to Whitehall, he had rehearsed explanations, apologies, arguments. He had told himself Diana had deserved the chance to choose before Henry’s crown thundered into her life and crushed every honest feeling beneath awe.

But now, standing before Henry, all those careful defences turned to ash.

"Because..." Richard’s throat tightened. "Because I love her."

The look on Henry’s face turned dangerous. Richard forced himself to keep going. If he stopped now, he would never find courage again. "And I am going to marry her."

Henry rose, his fury gathering. "You must be out of your fucking mind."

Richard held his ground.

"You dare stand in front of me and tell me that you will have the king’s woman?"

Richard had come ready to confess. Ready to be hated. Ready, even, to lose his oldest friend. But he had not come ready to hear Diana spoken of like property. Not by anyone. Not even the king.

"But she isn’t the king’s woman, is she?" Richard said.

Henry’s jaw clenched.

Richard’s pulse hammered. "She knows you as Henry the merchant. She had me searching half of London for Henry the merchant."

Henry froze. The anger cracked. "She was looking for me?" he asked.

Richard looked away. Henry’s voice had changed completely, stripped bare by that one piece of truth. "At first, yes. She did not know where to find you. She asked about you. She wanted answers."

"And you gave her none."

"I did not know who you were to her then."

"But when you did?"

Richard opened his eyes. "When I did, I was already in love with her. She has accepted to marry me, Your Highness."

Henry’s breathing changed. Richard forced himself to finish.

"And I thought you should know because I cannot hide her for much longer."

"That’s why you have to tell me," Henry chuckled.

"No," Richard said quietly. "I am telling you because she is here."

Henry’s smile froze.

Richard swallowed. "Right now. In Whitehall. Under your roof."

The fire snapped in the hearth.

"You cannot marry her, Richard," Henry said, voice low and dangerous. "Livia belongs to me."

Richard’s jaw clenched. "No."

Henry’s eyes shot daggers. "You would do this?"

Richard held his gaze, understanding what this could cost him.

"You would fight me over her?" Henry demanded.

"Far be it from me, Your Highness," Richard said. "But does it have to be a fight? If we fight," he continued, "ask yourself who suffers. She does. Not you. Not me. Her. You claim to love her, my lord, and I believe you. God help me, I believe you. But what you offer her is so much less than she deserves."

Henry turned back sharply. "And what she deserves is you?" His anger sharpened into contempt. "You? Do you even know how to respect a woman? Do you even know how to look at a woman without undressing her? Oh my God."

The rage dropped into realisation.

"Did you touch her?!"

Richard wisely kept his mouth shut. There were many things he could have said but Richard was not completely mad. He might be a man in love, but he also understood that in this moment, he was standing before his king and his king looked close to breaking.

So Richard swallowed the words and forced himself to speak carefully.

"My point is," he said, "she has a new life. A new identity. She is thriving."

Henry’s face tightened.

"She is a French tutor now," Richard continued. "She walks with her head high, and no one looks at her like she is something bought from Beaumont’s rooms. Do you love her enough," Richard asked quietly, "to let her embrace this new life and not drag her back into the woman you knew her as?"

"Why her?" Henry’s voice roughened. "Of all the women you could have, of all the women you are free to have, you chose my one freedom."

Henry had palaces, mistresses, and a country that bent beneath his name. But freedom? No. That, perhaps, had never truly belonged to him. Livia had known him as Henry. Just Henry.

Just a man.

Richard’s voice softened. "I guess we are the same, both drawn to the same kind of women."

Henry’s eyes flashed. "We are not the same. Don’t even compare. You were never overshadowed by anyone. You were never forgotten in a room full of your own blood. I had seven brothers before me. Seven. I was so far back in the line, I might as well have been furniture. No one even knew my name unless they needed me moved from one place to another."

"You were always the star. The charming one. You walked into rooms and men wanted your friendship, women wanted your bed. And I was content being the one in the shadows. I was. I never struggled for what I could not reach. I never argued about what got to me. I accepted my place, even when my mother dragged me from it and placed a crown on my head."

Henry’s eyes shone with fury and pain. "Except this time, Richard. This time, I will struggle. This time, I will argue. This time, I will not step aside and watch another man take what little happiness found its way to me. You will not marry Livia. This one thing..." He breathed hard, his hands curling at his sides. "I will not let slip through my fingers."

Henry turned away sharply, looking at him any longer was too much. "Get the hell out of my palace."

"It’s not really up to either of us, is it?" Richard said.

Henry’s back stiffened. Richard knew he should stop. Truly, he did. He had already confessed, already torn open the wound, already stood before the King of England and admitted to the sort of betrayal men had died for. But he could not leave that part unsaid. Not when both of them stood there speaking of Diana as though love made them judges over her life.

(Brought to you by Mar King 3/3)