His Secret Slave to Scandalous Queen

Chapter 34: You Naughty Man

"Stephen," Richard said, a grin forming as he took a few steps closer. "You naughty man."

"No—no, uh—" Stephen stammered, waving a hand, physically batting away the accusation. "My sister. She works here. I came to see her."

Richard’s brow lifted. "Sister?" he repeated.

"Yes," Stephen said quickly, nodding too eagerly. "Yes, she—she works here."

"How industrious of her," Richard murmured, glancing briefly toward the tavern entrance before returning his gaze to Stephen. "And where is she, then?"

"Mr Beaumont says she has the flu," he said at last. "I cannot risk being around her. Wouldn’t want to bring illness back to the palace. Don’t want to make the king sick."

It was a decent excuse. And entirely unconvincing. He took in the stiffness in Stephen’s posture, the faint tension in his jaw, the way his eyes flicked just slightly toward the tavern door before snapping back.

Richard folded his hands behind his back. "Of course," he said finally.

Stephen nodded, perhaps a little too quickly. But it was clear. Richard didn’t believe him.

"How is His Highness?" Richard asked.

"He’s... he’s in the palace. Where else would he be?"

"I didn’t ask where he is, Stephen," Richard said calmly. "Far be it from me. I asked how he is."

"Oh..." Stephen’s mouth opened, then closed again as he scrambled to correct himself. "Yes—right—of course. His Highness is well. Long live the king."

"You are acting weird," Richard said at last.

Stephen forced a small laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. "I am always weird."

"Weirder than usual."

Stephen let out another awkward chuckle, this one lacked even the pretense of ease. His eyes darted briefly toward the tavern door, then back again, measuring how quickly he could escape without drawing further attention.

At that moment, Beaumont’s stable boy appeared, leading Richard’s horse by the reins. The animal snorted softly.

Richard glanced at it, then back at Stephen. "I’ll see you tomorrow, Stephen," Richard said finally, his voice returning to its usual easy tone. He took the reins from the boy and mounted smoothly, settling into the saddle. "Enjoy your time."

"No—" Stephen started, lifting a hand. Then he hesitated.

What was he supposed to say? That he wasn’t here for pleasure? That the king had business tied to a brothel? That nothing about this situation was as it seemed?

The words died before they formed.

"Oh, forget it," he muttered under his breath, dropping his hand.

The sound of hooves against stone echoed down the street as Richard rode away, disappearing into the lantern-lit night.

Stephen slipped into the carriage that had been sent for Livia. He exhaled slowly, leaning back as the driver flicked the reins and set the horses into motion. He hadn’t entirely lied to the duke.

Beaumont had said Miss Valenti had the flu. The half lie had been convenient, but it had not been for Richard’s benefit. It had been for Henry’s.

The king was waiting on Wood Street.

Back inside Beaumont’s establishment, Nicholas pushed open Livia’s door with a flourish, his excitement barely contained. "Ask me anything money can buy, Livia," he declared, stepping into the room. "Anything. I will buy you the world."

Livia, seated by the edge of the bed, looked up at him. "Thank you, Mr Beaumont," she said politely. "I am quite content with your generosity."

Nicholas waved a hand dismissively. "Oh—your other gentleman caller finally came. Worst timing ever." He let out a short laugh, shaking his head. "I told him you have the flu."

Livia’s eyes lit up instantly, relief flickering across her face. "Oh... he couldn’t wait."

"No," Nicholas replied. "And I didn’t want him to know you were with someone else." He stepped closer, lowering his voice. "Be sure to keep that between us, hmm? We do not want to lose a valuable customer."

Livia nodded quickly. "Of course, Mr Beaumont."

"Good," he said. "Very good." He turned toward the door. "I’ll have them bring your meal," he added over his shoulder.

And with that, he stepped out, closing the door behind him.

******

Sophie froze the instant the words slipped from Madeleine’s lips. "Your Highness—my goodness!" she gasped. Her fingers trembled as she made the sign of the cross once...twice...three times. "Your Highness, surely you cannot mean such a thing."

"The king spends his time with that little twat," she said flatly, "and ergo, the slut gets to cling to him, sucking his attention dry like some desperate leech. I would wager my entire dowry he is with her this very minute."

Sophie’s mouth fell open. "Your Highness!"

"What?" Madeleine turned, one brow raised, entirely unapologetic.

"This is dangerous talk."

"If the baby dies... the king has no reason to linger around her anymore."

Sophie felt her stomach twist. "Your Highness, please. There must be another way. You are a beautiful woman—any man with sense would fall at your feet. The king is no exception. You simply have to try."

"Do you know what I have done these past two weeks, Sophie? Smiled until my cheeks ached. Sat through endless dinners while his witch of a mother dissected me with her eyes and her words. Curtsied. Laughed at dull jokes. Endured whispers."

"And yet," Madeleine continued, "he has not even broached the subject of marriage. Not once."

Sophie swallowed, gathering what little courage she had. "Then let us try again," she said softly. "Charm him. Captivate him. Remind him what stands before him. Men are simple creatures when it comes to beauty and attention."

Slowly, Madeleine rolled her eyes with reluctance. "Fine," she said at last. "We will try your way first." She straightened. "This marriage has to happen."

*****

Livia startled awake with a sharp gasp, her heart slamming painfully against her ribs as the door flew open. For a moment, she thought something terrible had happened—a fire, a raid, one of the girls in trouble—but then she saw Jane.

"Livia! Get up! Get up!" Jane hissed, already halfway across the room.

Livia blinked at her, disoriented, her hair tangled across her face and sticking to her lips. "What—what’s going on?" Her voice came out thick with sleep.

(Brought to you by Missy Dionne 2/3)