His Secret Slave to Scandalous Queen

Chapter 40: I Am Yours

Madeleine landed on her back against the rumpled coverlet, stunned—then immediately reached for him again, refusing to let the moment end in rejection. Her arms hooked around him. "Then let us set it in stone, Your Highness," she said, breathless but determined. "I am yours."

Henry opened his mouth to ask God what offense had earned him this morning. He never got the chance.

The doors to the king’s chamber flew open with such force that both of them jolted. Queen Mother Theodora stormed in.

Her dark robe swept behind her.

"Mother?!" Henry snapped upright in astonishment. "What—what is this? Are there no more announcements being made? Stephen!"

"Stay out there, Stephen!" Theodora thundered, not even turning her head.

The poor man obeyed instantly. Then she fixed her gaze on Madeleine.

"How dare you?" Theodora demanded, advancing a step. "How dare you belittle my authority?"

Madeleine, whose humiliation had already transmuted into fury, rose onto one elbow and met the queen mother’s outrage with outrage of her own. Her hair had come partly loose, her dignity was hanging by a thread finer than lace, and Henry’s refusal still stung. She was in no mood to be cowed.

"Your authority?" Madeleine shot back. "Must I seek your permission before I enter the king’s chamber? Before I touch the man I am expected to marry?"

"Okay... I am going to—yes. I am going to leave," Henry said.

He pushed himself off the bed, for once in his life, his overbearing mother might actually be a gift from God. He dragged the coverlet properly around his waist, stepped clear of the chaos, trying very hard not to be present in his own bedchamber.

Madeleine stared at him in disbelief.

"I told you how things are conducted in this palace," the Queen Mother said, her voice cold enough to frost glass. "You do not visit the king’s private chamber unless he summons you, or unless I permit it. And the fact that you would come storming through Whitehall threatening consequence and scandal inside the royal household, that comes perilously close to sedition."

Madeleine sat very still on the bed, her pulse hammering beneath her skin, her discarded gown half-fallen across the coverlet. Humiliation burned so hot in her chest it was almost difficult to breathe. She had imagined many outcomes when she came here. She had not imagined being spoken to like an unruly child while the king stood half-dressed three paces away and let it happen.

"This," Theodora continued, stepping nearer, "is your final indulgence. Defy me in this way again, and I will have you returned to France so quickly your ladies will not have time to pack your ribbons." Her gaze dipped to the gown tangled beside Madeleine. "Now collect what remains of your dignity from my son’s bed and remove yourself from his chamber."

Madeleine’s face flamed. "You will allow this?" she asked, turning sharply toward Henry. She had come here to force certainty into being, to claim ground before other women, other whispers, other courtly games swallowed her whole. Instead, she was being dismissed like an inconvenience.

"There are protocols in place, Princess. If you wish to be queen, you must respect them." Henry replied.

She snatched up her dress and dragged it over herself with furious, graceless haste. Then she rose. She carried herself forward with the full, blazing hauteur of her rank and stepped until she stood nearly toe to toe with Queen Mother Theodora herself.

"I am a princess," Madeleine said. "I refuse to be humiliated like this."

"You do not behave like one." Theodora’s reply came so crisply it seemed to cut the air in two. Her gaze moved over Madeleine in one swift, merciless sweep and found her wanting. "And, to ensure France has not attempted to pass off damaged goods under the veil of titles," she continued, "I shall have the royal physician attend your apartments later this morning to examine you and confirm that everything is still... intact."

The pause before the final word was deliberate. Madeleine went white, then red so quickly it looked painful.

For one stunned instant, even Henry winced. Theodora remained utterly composed. Madeleine said nothing. She could not. Her throat had tightened so violently around outrage that speech felt impossible. She only turned her head and shot a look at Henry—a look bright with fury and wounded pride.

Then, holding what little was left of her pride about her, she turned and strode toward the door.

The chamber seemed longer now than when she had entered it. She had arrived feeling bold, desired, certain that beauty and rank would carry the moment if only she seized it firmly enough. She was leaving scorched by rejection, by Theodora’s scorn, and by that unknown name still echoing inside her skull.

Livia.

Whoever she was, Madeleine hated her already. She reached the door just as one of the attendants outside hastily pulled it open for her, clearly terrified of making eye contact with any of the people involved. Madeleine swept past without so much as a glance, but before the doors shut fully behind her, she heard Theodora’s voice once more, dry as old paper and no kinder for being lowered.

"If you required feminine company so urgently this morning," the queen mother said, "I could have had Lady Bella sent to you."

"I do not think even I know what I want while I am asleep, Mother. Now, will you have Stephen come in? I need to prepare for the day. I am riding out with the Duke of Kingsmere."

"Be careful."

"Always, Mother. And perhaps be a little kinder to our guest. We should not have France concluding that we are dreadful hosts."

"If she is to be queen, she must understand that things are done differently here," Theodora said. "She will understand someday," Theodora continued, "when she is Queen Mother herself."

Henry, now thoroughly awake and regretting the entire morning, let out a slow breath. He had not the energy to argue with her interpretation of monarchy before he had even washed.