His Secret Slave to Scandalous Queen

Chapter 25: It Is Not Your Duty

Henry regarded her steadily, the faintest tightening of his jaw betraying his patience wearing thin. "No, it is not your duty," he said. "It is your duty to oversee the noble women of the palace until there is a queen upon the throne. It is your duty to be a grandmother to my son. It is not your duty to police me."

The Queen Mother’s eyes flashed. "I am still your mother," she retorted. "And I will not stand by while those around you—" her gaze flicked sharply toward Stephen "—conspire to place you in harm’s way."

Henry took a step forward. "My valet and my personal guard are beyond your authority," he continued. "They serve at my pleasure and answer only to me. You will not interrogate them, threaten them, or interfere with their duties again. I will not give you another warning. If this repeats itself, I will send you to the Tower of London to live out the rest of your years."

Theodora stared at her son, stunned by the finality of his declaration. "You wouldn’t dare," Theodora snarled.

"Do you want to test me, Mother?" Henry replied, his voice edged with unmistakable steel.

"You admonish me in the presence of guards and servants. Me? Your mother!" Theodora’s voice trembled with wounded pride. "After all I did to put you on the throne!"

"Then tell people what you did to put me on the throne," he challenged quietly. "You cannot, can you? If you are so concerned about assassins in every corner, use this same energy to find them."

She released a sharp, disdainful huff, turned on her heel and swept out of the chamber. Her lady’s maids hurried after her, casting anxious glances back at the king before disappearing down the corridor.

Henry watched the doorway, ensuring that his mother had indeed gone, before allowing the stern mask of kingship to slip. The corners of his mouth twitched with amusement as he turned toward Stephen. "You peed yourself, didn’t you?" he asked lightly.

Colour crept into Stephen’s cheeks. "I neither concede nor deny, Your Highness," he replied. "In case you do not know, the Queen Mother is terrifying."

"That she is," he agreed.

Stephen allowed himself the faintest hint of a smile, relieved that the storm had passed.

Henry’s thoughts shifted to the events of the previous night. "Did she get back okay?" he asked, his tone carrying an undercurrent of concern.

"Yes," Stephen answered simply.

"Thank you," he said.

Stephen bowed deeply as the king turned and walked away. The valet then allowed himself a small exhale. The storm of the morning had passed—for now. In Whitehall Palace, however, calm was often only the prelude to greater upheaval.

*****

Two momentous events were unfolding in the realm that day. The first was deeply personal: the baptism of the king’s newborn son, a ceremony that would quietly acknowledge the child’s existence within the royal household, even if he held no claim to the throne. The second was profoundly political: the arrival of the Princess of France, whose presence would seal a long-negotiated trade alliance between England and France and potentially pave the way for a dynastic marriage.

Whitehall Palace bustled with activity. Servants hurried across the courtyards carrying banners, flowers, and ceremonial objects. The great gates were adorned with the royal standards of England alongside the fleur-de-lis of France, their vibrant colors fluttering in the crisp morning air. Nobles gathered in elegant clusters, their attire a dazzling display of velvet, silk, and jewels, each eager to witness the historic occasion.

Henry stood at the palace gates in full regal attire. His doublet of deep crimson velvet was richly embroidered with gold thread, and a heavy ceremonial cloak lined with ermine rested upon his shoulders. The crown, set with pearls and precious stones, gleamed beneath the pale sunlight.

Beside him stood the Lord Chancellor, Geoffrey Langford. Slightly behind them, Queen Mother Theodora maintained a stately presence, her face an inscrutable mask of regal composure.

In the distance, the rhythmic clatter of hooves announced the approach of the French delegation. A procession of carriages rolled steadily toward the gates, accompanied by mounted guards. The anticipation among the assembled courtiers was palpable.

Henry watched the approaching carriage intently, uncertain of what awaited him. All he knew was that this meeting carried immense significance. The alliance promised to strengthen trade, stabilize political relations, and secure the future of the kingdom. Yet the personal implications added a layer of unease he could not entirely suppress.

Sensing the king’s tension, Lord Chancellor Langford leaned slightly closer and spoke in a reassuring tone. "Do not be so nervous, Your Highness. I would not carry on with this alliance if the princess was not worthy of the crown."

"I’m not nervous. I am concerned that the woman to be my queen is a woman I do not even know her name," Henry said, as he kept his gaze fixed on the approaching French procession.

Lord Chancellor Geoffrey Langford allowed himself a faint, knowing smile. "Madeleine."

Henry’s head snapped to the side. "What?"

"Princess Madeleine," Langford repeated calmly. "That is her name."

Henry exhaled. "That’s not the point."

"Not to worry, Your Highness. She will be here for three months—more than enough time for you to become acquainted before any formal arrangements are concluded."

The prospect of time offered a measure of relief. Marriage, particularly one forged for political alliance, was rarely a matter of personal choice.

Behind them, Queen Mother Theodora stood with regal poise. Clad in a gown of deep sapphire velvet adorned with pearls, she observed the proceedings with keen interest. The arrival of the French princess represented the fulfillment of her long-held desire to see her son properly married and the succession assured.

As the carriage drew to a graceful halt before the gates, a hush fell over the assembly. The horses stamped lightly, releasing soft clouds of breath into the crisp air.

Henry straightened, every inch the monarch. Langford stepped slightly aside, allowing Henry to take prominence.