His Secret Slave to Scandalous Queen

Chapter 126: Its Hard Not To

They had front row seats to the king’s heartbreak all over again, only this time it was worse than when he thought she was missing.

Then, he had still possessed hope. Now she was just in the next wing of the palace. She was here. A few corridors away.

Close enough that if Henry opened his door and forgot every decent thought in his head, he could reach her before the minute was out. Close enough that the knowledge of her presence scraped at his skin, pulled at his ribs, mocked every restraint he tried to gather around himself.

And still, he could not go to her. Henry sucked in a breath and turned to Stephen. "Make sure she is properly taken care of."

Stephen bowed at once, though his own eyes were suspiciously bright. "Certainly, Your Highness."

"My lord," Lionel said slowly, "what do you plan to do?"

"I love her enough to let her go."

Lionel’s eyes widened. "You love her?"

Stephen gasped. Henry looked back at them, amused by their shock.

"It’s hard not to, Lionel." Henry gave a sad laugh and dragged a hand over his face. "You think I do not know how insane it sounds? I am to marry the princess." He swallowed hard and continued anyway. "She’s perfection. She is..." He shook his head, searching for words and hating every one because none of them were enough. "She’s light itself, even when darkness surrounds her."

Stephen’s lips parted. He looked as if he had been struck. "Your Highness..." he cried softly. He tried to hold himself together. He truly did. But he could not listen anymore. He just couldn’t. He bowed his head quickly, hiding the emotion on his face. "Forgive me, my lord."

Then he left the room. He could not watch his king that way.

"Your Highness..." Lionel pushed carefully. "I do not believe His Grace would hurt you this way."

Henry’s mouth twitched bitterly. "And yet here we are."

Lionel lowered his gaze. "Maybe you are right. Maybe you should let her go. My lord," Lionel continued, "not that I do not want your happiness. God knows, after everything, you deserve some. But perhaps it is better we quench this now before it burns through everything." Lionel sighed. "I should have advised you to do it sooner. I should not have pushed. I should have seen this coming."

"Love does not ask why, Lionel. It does not give you notice. It strikes," Henry continued. "And by the time you understand what has happened, you are already bleeding. But you are right. I have to watch my best friend marry the woman I love. You may go, Lionel. I would like to be alone."

There was nothing more to say. So Lionel bowed and walked out. He found Stephen in the corridor, standing a few paces from the door.

"How long ago did the duke leave?" Lionel asked.

Stephen drew in a breath. "Maybe about thirty minutes?"

"Damn it!" Lionel cursed.

"Why?" Stephen asked.

Lionel turned toward him, eyes hard. "Someone needs to punch him in the face."

Under normal circumstances, he would have advised caution. His Grace, the Duke of Kingsmere, was still a duke. The son of the Lord Chancellor. A man with rank, power, charm, and the irritating ability to make half of England forgive him just as quickly as he offended them.

But tonight? Tonight, Stephen approved.

"He cannot leave for Kingsmere at this hour," Stephen said. "It is too late. Perhaps he will spend the night at the Lord Chancellor’s house."

"If the king requests me before I get back," Lionel said, already turning, "that is where I will be."

"Of course, my lord."

Lionel walked out of the palace in a rage. He strode through the halls, down the steps, and out toward the stables. He had no gloves on. He did not care.

The night air bit at his fingers. He ordered his horse saddled, then grew impatient halfway through and finished tightening the strap himself. The stable boy hovered nearby.

Lionel mounted, turned the horse sharply, and charged out of the palace. Whitehall fell behind him in a rush of stone.

Richard.

Damn Richard.

Lionel urged his horse faster. He caught up with Richard just as the duke turned into Chancery Lane, the street that led toward his father’s London house.

Richard was riding at a slow trot, clearly distracted. His shoulders were slightly hunched, his head bowed.

Lionel charged faster. Richard saw him coming and had only a moment to react.

"Lionel—"

That was all Richard managed. Lionel threw himself from his horse. He slammed into Richard hard enough to knock him clean from the saddle. Both men crashed to the ground, rolling through dirt, loose gravel.

Richard hit the road with a grunt. The breath left his body. Before he could properly gather it back, Lionel was on him. Richard was a trained and skilled fighter. He could handle himself in tavern brawls, duels, and the occasional disagreement with an offended father or husband. He had taken punches before and given back worse.

But Lionel was different. Lionel had been trained not for sport but to stand between a king and death. He fought without flourish, without vanity, without the faintest desire to make it look pretty. Every movement had purpose.

His fist struck Richard’s face again and again. Pain burst across Richard’s cheek. His lip split. Dirt scraped the back of his neck as he tried to twist away, but Lionel drove a knee against him and kept him pinned.

"For God’s sake—" Richard grunted.

Lionel hit him again. Richard finally managed to get one arm up, blocking the next blow before it could land cleanly. He shoved hard, twisting his body beneath Lionel’s weight, and with a sharp curse, pushed him off.

Both men rolled apart. Richard staggered to his feet first. His coat was filthy, his jaw throbbed, and blood warmed the corner of his mouth.

He spat red into the dirt. "I guess I deserve that," he said, breathing hard. "But only that."

(Brought to you by Janelle Fox 3/3)