Henry’s mouth hardened.

"His Grace arrived later," Lionel continued, "and yes, he was angry. He had reason to be. I had his household lined up like criminals outside his own door."

"He gave you a show and you fucking bought it."

Lionel lowered his gaze. He had no defence. "Your Highness, please," Lionel said, his voice lower now, stripped of defence. "Explain it to me properly, and I will fix it."

Richard had not merely betrayed him, but taken something from him that had held back the weight of the crown.

"Livia is here in Whitehall," Henry said.

Stephen sucked in a sharp breath. Lionel went still.

Henry continued, each word tasting like blood. "She is set to marry Richard. She has been living with him since the night she disappeared from Beaumont’s."

The room fell into a stunned silence. Stephen’s face changed first. Shock, then understanding, then pity. He remembered the king in those days.

And all that time, she had been at Kingsmere. With Richard. Lionel sagged against the wall. He could not believe it.

The Duke of Kingsmere, for all his scandal and wildness, had always been loyal in the ways that mattered. Careless with women, carereless with his own reputation, yes. But with Henry? Never. Lionel had believed that friendship had roots deep enough to survive anything.

But this? This was rot at the root. He could not believe the duke would lie to the king like that. He could not believe that all the while he had feared Henry was about to bury their friendship, Richard had already been digging its grave with his own hands.

"My lord..." Lionel sighed.

There was nothing useful after that. No apology could repair what had already cracked. No strategy could make the truth less ugly.

"She’s here..." Henry repeated. He swallowed hard, not understanding why his own body was betraying him. His heart was pounding as if he were about to run to her. His eyes burned. He was king and yet the woman he wanted was a few corridors away, and he could not simply go to her.

Not without risking the life she had built without him. His mouth twisted.

"And I can’t reach her..."

"I can order her brought to you," Lionel said.

Stephen turned his head slightly, giving Lionel a look that said very clearly, Have you lost your mind?

Lionel did not take the words back. He meant them. If the king asked, he would do it. If His Majesty wanted every door in Whitehall opened, every servant silenced, every guard turned aside, Lionel would see it done before the next candle burned low.

"And then what?" Henry asked. His laugh came out hollow. "What? I stand before her and say what? Richard has given her a new life. No one knows who she is now."

Richard had seen the wreckage and built shelter from it. He had given her a name. Work. Respectability. A place where no one spat Beaumont’s filth at her feet. Henry had wanted to save Livia, but Richard had transformed her instead.

"If I fight him over this," Henry continued, voice roughening, "everyone will find out who she used to be. They will drag her through the mud. Court will chew her into pieces."

Stephen lowered his eyes. Whitehall would do exactly that.

"What do I even tell her?" Henry asked, turning back to them. "That I lied? That I watched her trust me and let her believe I was a merchant? That every kiss, every promise, every moment she thought was simple was standing in the shadow of a crown?"

Lionel stepped closer. "You told her that for good reasons. Your identity is not something you can throw around in a place such as Beaumont’s. She will understand that."

"Richard is offering her the noble life. A noble name. She is to be the Duchess of Kingsmere." His mouth twisted on the title. "What do I have to offer her?" Henry sighed.

No one answered. Because what could they say? That he had a crown? None of it mattered. Henry could give her everything but not the one thing Richard could offer without setting England on fire.

Lionel’s face softened. "I am so sorry, Your Highness. I truly am."

Henry flopped resignedly onto the chair, his hand falling loose over the arm, his eyes fixed on nothing. "I lost her."

The sorrow in the king’s voice was so profound that Stephen’s heart broke on his behalf.

"My lord..." he whispered.

It was useless, of course. What could one say to a king who had just realised his crown was not enough? What comfort could be offered to him?

Henry did not seem to hear him. His eyes moved to the window. Tears bit at his eyes. Kings were not supposed to cry. But memory had teeth, and tonight it sank in deep.

The first time he saw her came back to him. The noise of the mob. The press of their bodies. The fire in her eyes.

God, that fire.

He remembered Beaumont’s rooftop too. Her dress shifting in the night air. The strange knowledge in such a small woman. She had seen too much of life and yet, somehow, not enough of kindness. He remembered the first time she truly let him see her.

Nervous beneath all that courage. Proud even while frightened. So vulnerable it had made him ache.

He remembered wanting to be careful with her. He remembered the first time she gave herself to him, he had believed the world had narrowed to the sound of her breath and the trust in her eyes. He had thought desire was the miracle.

She had promised to be his only.

His.

If he had just told her who he truly was... If he had trusted her with the crown. If he had come sooner.

If.

The most useless word in any language. Henry pressed his knuckles to his lips, trying to hold back the tears threatening and stinging his eyes.

Lionel and Stephen stood silent.

(Brought to you by Janelle Fox 2/3)