His Secret Slave to Scandalous Queen

Chapter 135: I’ll See You Later

Bella gave a small nod of understanding. Whatever she and the king had once been, t had settled now into companionship.

Honestly, Bella did not mind. A little part of her was relieved. She cared about Henry. She always would. There were parts of him she had seen that most people never would.

She had known him but the queen mother had never made it easy for any woman close to the king’s bed.

Theodora shrunk them into corners until they either obeyed, broke, or became useful in some way she could control. Bella had lived long enough under that shadow to know that a king’s affection was not always a blessing.

So yes, perhaps companionship was safer. Henry leaned down and kissed her hair.

"I’ll see you later," he said. "And if you need to brush up on your French, you know where to find me."

Bella’s lips curved. "Of course, Your Majesty." She curtsied.

For a moment, Henry held her gaze, grateful that she understood without forcing him to carve the truth into words. Grateful she did not ask him to explain.

Bella understood enough then Henry turned and walked out. Stephen was waiting outside, loyal as ever, hands folded before him.

Henry stepped into the corridor and stopped.

Stephen looked at him. "Your Majesty?"

The sadness that had followed him into Bella’s chamber had not vanished, but a wicked spark had joined it now. The dangerous delight of a king who had just discovered that power was convenient.

"Stephen, my friend," Henry said. "I have the most amazing idea. Come." He started down the corridor, already moving faster. "I have to work out the kinks so I can discuss it with the Lord Chancellor."

For the first time all day, he looked alive. Both men walked together through the corridor. The moment they exited Lady Bella’s apartments, Elodie peeled herself from the shadow.

She noted the time and the expression on the King’s face — which was, if she was being accurate in her report, utterly satisfied.

*****

Richard was underneath Livia’s skirts, seated on the floor beneath her reading table, shoulders between her thighs, entirely invisible to anyone who might walk in and see only a young woman sitting very properly at her new table with a book open before her.

The plan had been straightforward. Livia would read aloud. Richard would listen. It would be civilised and educational.

She had gotten through approximately four stanzas before his fingers began to roam — just idly at first, just tracing patterns on her ankle, her calf, the back of her knee — and she had kept reading because she was determined and also because she refused to give him the satisfaction.

Then his hands had pushed her skirts up and then his mouth had found her pussy lips. The words on the page had become significantly more difficult to interpret.

"The valleys, groves, hills and fields," she read, her voice admirably steady for a woman whose knuckles had gone white around the edge of the table. "Woods or steepy mountain—"

His tongue flicked continuously at her clit. Her grip tightened.

"yields—" she finished, approximately one octave higher than she’d started. She could feel him smiling against her.

The orgasm was building whether she cooperated with it or not, coiling tighter with every stroke of his tongue, every perfectly timed moment of pressure.

She turned a page she hadn’t read, bit her lip hard and tried, with everything she had, to remember what words were for.

Every word became something else entirely. Yields became a moan. Meadows became his name. Sweet became a bitten lip.

She stopped pretending to read somewhere around the third stanza from the end. The orgasm arrived without mercy. Livia stopped caring about anything and screamed. "Your grace—!" Her hand shot over her skirts, finding his head, fingers gripping fabric and hair simultaneously as she pushed forward — meeting his mouth with an aggressive fervour. Her hips rolled against him, chasing every last tremor of it, his name dissolving into sounds.

He stayed until she’d taken everything then he emerged. Lips gleaming. Eyes very dark and very pleased with themselves. He cupped her face in both hands and crushed his mouth to hers.

She tasted herself on his lips and her face went immediately crimson.

"Now," he said, smiling against her mouth, "that’s how you read."

"Oh my God."

"Marlowe would be honoured, I think."

"It was Raleigh."

He pressed one last kiss to the corner of her mouth before straightening up and doing up his shirt. "We should start getting ready. London won’t wait."

"Oh," said Livia.

London. The Lord Chancellor of England, Richard’s father. A man she would have to look in the eye and lie to.

My name is Diana Bellamy. I am going to be your son’s wife. I am exactly who I appear to be and nothing more complicated than that.

She closed the book. If they were to marry, his family had to know her. The problem being that the person they would meet wasn’t truly her. "I have no idea what to wear."

Richard, who had been halfway to the door, turned back. "Ah. The ancient lament. The sob story of all the women I know. Ball gowns, dinner gowns, morning gowns, walking gowns and still somehow nothing to wear. Just throw anything on. You will look perfect still."

"Just how many women have you been with, Your Grace?"

Richard’s face lit with immediate danger. The smug smile arrived first. Then the sparkle in his eyes. He crossed back to her, leaning close. "Duchess," he murmured, lowering his mouth to hers, "please, let us not knock on that particular door."

"That many?"

He kissed her. When he drew back, he was smiling still. "The most important thing is that I have only loved one woman, and that woman is you."

So easily given. So freely spoken. She smiled because he expected her to smile, because she wanted to smile, because she was happy.

(100 power stones. Its the weekend people! Lets do this. Send in your gifts. I know you are mad at me but I still may surprise you, you never know. **smiling in evil***)