His Secret Slave to Scandalous Queen

Chapter 158: An Unfortunate Condition

Bella swallowed. "Because..." she began, then stopped. "Because I do not want you to marry the princess," she said at last.

Henry smiled. He crossed to the chair beside Bella’s bed and sat. Clearly, this would not be a brief conversation. "Even if," He began carefully, "by some miracle she leaves the duke and decides to be with me, Bella, the princess does not simply go away."

Bella frowned. "Why not?"

There were moments Henry forgot how young Bella was. Then she would ask a question so simple and honest. Why not? As if betrothals between crowns could be untied. As if England’s pride were not sitting upon his shoulders.

"Because she is not a troublesome guest I can ask to quit the palace," Henry said. "She is the Princess of France."

"An unfortunate condition, yes, but surely not incurable."

Despite himself, his mouth twitched.

"Your Highness, do you know how rare it is to find love like that?"

"I am aware."

"Why would you give that up?"

"I am not giving it up." Henry dragged a hand over his face. "But all she can be," he said at last, each word seeming to cost him, "is a royal mistress."

Bella’s expression changed so violently that Henry almost regretted saying it aloud. "God, no." She tried to push herself upright. "Your—"

Pain seized her side. Her face twisted, and the word broke into a gasp.

"Bella—"

She made another stubborn attempt, as if sitting up would somehow make him understand the full horror of his foolishness. "Your Highness!"

The title came out strangled with pain and outrage. She was clearly furious that her body had betrayed her at the exact moment she needed to look commanding.

Henry shot out of the chair to her side, one hand hovering near her shoulder, afraid to touch and afraid not to. "Are you alright?"

"Yes... yes, I am fine," Bella said irritably.

A heartbeat later, sense returned. She blinked, then winced from the sheer horror of remembering herself.

"I apologise, my lord."

Henry looked down at her, one brow lifting slightly. "It is all right. Besides, I am frustrated too."

She settled back against the pillows, one hand pressed carefully to her side. The physician had bound her well enough, but every careless movement still sent pain through her ribs. "Please...think about this."

Henry exhaled and turned away.

"I know the treaty between England and France is important," she continued. "I know I am not some council lord so perhaps my understanding is beneath consideration—"

"Bella."

"But there have always been ways to secure alliances that do not include marriage."

Henry glanced back at her.

"You are king. Surely that must come with some advantage."

"It is not that," Henry said.

"Then what is it?"

Henry was silent for too long.

At last, he said, "If I set Madeleine aside and try to make Livia my queen, the Church and the court will dig into her origins."

Bella blinked. "So?"

Henry turned fully to face her. "Bella..."

She frowned. "What? Forgive me, Your Highness, but I fail to see how that is enough to keep her from you."

"I cannot make her my queen," Henry said at last, "not because I am ashamed of her, but because England would tear her apart."

"And why would we do that?" she asked quietly.

He hated this part most. Not the truth itself. Never that. Livia’s past did not disgust him. It never had. What disgusted him was the knowledge of how quickly men with rotting souls would use it against her. Bishops would whisper about purity. Lords who kept mistresses in three counties would call her ruined. Ladies whose husbands bought girls in dark rooms would pretend Livia’s existence offended them.

"She used to work in a brothel," Henry said. "As a slave."

Bella’s eyes went so wide they almost looked in danger of leaving her face entirely. Henry thought she might faint from shock alone.

"But she was not..." Bella stopped, struggling for a polite way to ask an impolite question. "You know."

Henry’s mouth tightened. "Not exactly."

Bella exhaled as if she had been holding her breath for Livia herself.

"I met her right when her master was about to auction her off," Henry said. "Her virginity was to be auctioned. I tried to stop it. I did what I could then, which was not enough."

The confession cost him. He had not been fast enough.

"I was making plans to get her out," he continued. "Then our Thomas died, and everything went to hell." He swallowed. "After that, everything changed. She disappeared and by the time I found her again, the duke had already done what I failed to do."

Bella was silent. It was strange, how suddenly things made sense. Diana’s carefulness. The way she guarded every answer. The way she carried herself, the veil she covered her face with at first. "I was wondering why she had to change her name," Bella said slowly, "but I did not ask her. I only just met her. I did not want to seem nosy."

"Before," Henry said, watching her closely, "I would have accepted that you are not nosy. Now, I am not so sure. Have you always been this determined?"

Bella chuckled. "You are the king. You may not realise it yet, but only your will can be done."

Henry gave a dry laugh. "That is what everyone keeps telling me. Odd, considering how rarely anyone lets me do what I want."

"We follow where you lead. We take where you conquer. You say, and we do." Bella spoke it as if it were simple, but he knew better. A king’s will was not merely a wish. If he reached for Livia, England would bleed. If he let her go, he would.

And here was Bella, still telling him to choose. Still believing choice belonged to him. He reached for her hand.

He took her fingers gently and raised them to his lips. A king’s gratitude given in the only way he could manage.