His Secret Slave to Scandalous Queen

Chapter 20: I Worry A Lot

Lionel exhaled sharply, arriving at his own conclusion. "You didn’t take her." He shook his head in exasperation. "I must say, Your Highness... I worry. I worry a lot. What is going on?"

Henry’s smile widened slightly. "Wouldn’t you like to know," he responded calmly.

Lionel fell silent. News about the king’s inability could not be allowed to spread, especially now that he was dallying with an outsider. Questions of virility were inseparable from questions of legitimacy, and legitimacy was the cornerstone of political stability. A monarch perceived as incapable of producing an heir invited speculation and, ultimately, rebellion.

Lionel’s mind raced with possibilities. Perhaps the king required a bit of help. Whatever the cause, it was his duty to ensure that Henry’s reputation remained secure.

As they approached the palace gates, the guards hurried to open them, the iron bars groaning softly as they parted.

Lionel straightened in his saddle, resolve settling firmly within him. He decided he would give the king a bit of help next time.

*****

Queen Mother Theodora stormed through the corridors of Whitehall Palace, her skirts whispering. The flickering torchlight caught the silver threads woven into her dark gown, making her appear regal and wrathful. Fury radiated from her.

The moment word reached her that the king had returned, there had been no stopping her. Reprimands, and dire imaginings of assassination attempts had fueled her rapid descent into the courtyard. The heavy doors were flung open, and the crisp night air greeted her as she emerged, her presence instantly commanding attention.

Henry and Lionel had just dismounted their horses. Stable hands hurried forward to take the reins, bowing deeply. Henry removed his gloves. Lionel, ever alert, sensed the approaching storm before he even saw it.

"Guards!!!" Theodora’s voice cracked through the courtyard. "Seize Lord Ashcroft. And throw him in the dungeons!"

Several advanced cautiously toward Lionel, hands resting on the hilts of their swords.

"Mother?" Henry said calmly, turning toward her. "What are you doing?"

Theodora’s eyes flashed with fury. "He will have you killed?!!!" she thundered.

Henry arched a brow, the ghost of a smile tugging at his lips. "Don’t you think that is the other way round? He lives to protect me."

"Great job he is doing so far," she retorted sharply. "Having you wander the streets in the middle of the night, with no one knowing where you are. Do you have any idea what danger you place the crown in?"

Henry offered his mother no immediate response. Instead, he turned back to Lionel, his expression shifting from filial patience to regal authority. "Anyone who still has their hand on you in the next five seconds, cut it off," he ordered coolly.

The guards exchanged alarmed glances before hastily withdrawing their hands, stepping back with murmured apologies. They knew Lord Ashcroft well—his loyalty to the crown was unquestioned, and his skill with a blade was the subject of many a barracks tale. It was often said that he could level ten men before most had drawn their swords, and though the claim bordered on legend, none were eager to test its truth.

Nothing less was expected of the king’s personal guard. Henry turned back to his mother.

"I just wanted to enjoy the city," Henry said.

"In the middle of the night?!" Theodora snapped. The pearls at her throat trembled slightly with the force of her indignation. "Kings do not simply wander the streets like reckless youths. There are protocols, Henry!"

"And when, pray tell, is the best time for me to do so? During the day, when every merchant, courtier, and gossiping noble would trail behind me like ducklings? At least at night, everyone is asleep."

"Your Highness!" she exclaimed.

Henry’s patience finally thinned. Straightening to his full height, he allowed the authority of his crown to settle firmly over his demeanor. "Enough, Mother. Enough! Go to your room and get some sleep. We will discuss this in the morning."

Theodora was stunned by the finality in his tone. "Of course, Your Highness," she replied. Her gaze shifted briefly to Lionel, and she bestowed upon him a look so cold and brutal that it could have withered roses in bloom. Without another word, she turned sharply on her heel, her skirts swirling dramatically as she swept back toward the palace, her attendants scrambling to follow.

The courtyard seemed to exhale in relief once she disappeared through the great doors.

Lionel stepped forward, positioning himself beside Henry. "Take it easy with her," he said quietly, watching the retreating figure. "Fear merely drives her."

Henry hummed in acknowledgment, his eyes fixed on the palace entrance long after his mother had vanished from sight.

Fear. The word lingered in his mind. Lionel saw only a mother anxious for her son’s safety, but Henry knew better. Fear, in his experience, was rarely born of innocence. It was the companion of guilt.

Only guilty people live in fear, Henry thought. And his mother was guilty of the most despicable things. Secrets that, if exposed, could shatter not only the monarchy but the fragile stability of the realm itself.

Yet these were truths he could not voice, not even to Lionel, whose loyalty he trusted above all others. Some burdens were meant to be borne alone, locked away.

"Get some rest, Lionel. My apologies for keeping you up so late," Henry said, his voice softening now that the storm of his mother’s anger had passed.

Lionel offered a faint smile, the tension easing from his shoulders. "It’s nice to get away from the palace every once in a while," he replied. "Reminds me that the world is larger than Whitehall Palace." He bowed respectfully before turning toward where his private apartments were located.

As Lionel’s footsteps faded into the quiet hum of the palace, Henry remained standing in the courtyard. The great gates loomed before him, their iron bars silhouetted against the dim glow of London’s sleeping streets.

He exhaled slowly, allowing the solitude to settle around him. Stephen would not be back until morning. The loyal valet had been tasked with ensuring Livia’s comfort and discretion, and Henry trusted him implicitly. Once she had rested, Stephen would return her to the brothel on Pudding Lane.