"No, Mother. I know exactly what you can tolerate. And I know what you cannot." Henry said. "I would really like this matter private."

"Is she the one you have been sneaking out at night to see?"

Theodora did not need the answer. She saw it in the way his shoulders went rigid. Still, he said it.

"Yes."

"I see," Theodora said.

Henry gave her a tired look. "Yes, I know you see. And do not go threatening Stephen and Lionel for information."

Theodora scoffed, offended mostly because she had absolutely considered doing exactly that. "Please, as if they would tell me anything."

"They would not."

"I know. Your men are annoyingly loyal. Stephen is ready to die before betraying you. I do admire it."

Henry’s mouth twitched. "He shouldn’t be punished for it."

Theodora sighed dramatically. "Fine. I shall not skin your precious Stephen or Lionel. Happy?"

Henry looked down at his hands. "I will be fine, Mother. I promise. I just need time."

"I wish you could trust me with this, Henry," she said. "I truly wish. But let your will be done," Theodora said at last. "Just remember, if you need me, I will surely be there."

"Thank you, Mother. I do appreciate it."

Henry leaned forward, then added, "Now please get off the floor. You look odd when you are not all mighty and threatening." He reached for her hands and helped her up. She rose with as much dignity as she could manage. The moment she was steady, she smoothed her skirts, lifted her chin, and became Theodora again.

She patted him lightly on the chest. "You are not me," she said.

"God has shown mercy."

"But you are a good man. And if I could steal happiness from the heavens for you," she said, "I would in a heartbeat."

"I know you would," Henry said. "That’s what makes you frightening."

Theodora smiled. "Good night, Your Highness."

Henry gave a small nod. She turned, and walked out of the king’s chambers with her smile still in place.

The moment the doors closed behind her, the softness vanished. Henry had just handed her the weapon she needed to take the Princess of France down several notches.

Theodora moved through the corridor slowly, her mind already sharpening around the possibilities. Her son had found love. She had to find the girl.

If Madeleine became queen, she would have absolute power. Madeleine already had too much pride for a woman not yet married. Once she became queen, she would be unbearable.

But a mistress the king loved? A mistress could whisper where ministers shouted. She could soothe what mothers could not reach. She could make a king forgive an insult, sign a paper, start a war, end one. All she had to do was whisper what she wanted in his ears.

Theodora paused near a window, looking out over the dark grounds of Whitehall. Somewhere in this city, was the woman who had turned her son into a drunken ghost.

If Theodora found her first, then Madeleine would spend the rest of her life kissing the ground Theodora walked on.

The thought pleased her immensely. Why had she never considered love as a way to control the king?

******

Lionel arrived in Kingsmere late that night. He had ridden all the way from London without stopping once, and cursing every mile that stood between the king and the one man who might drag him back from the edge. By the time he reached the Duke of Kingsmere’s estate, it was well past midnight. The house was asleep, its windows dark except for the faint glow of a few watch candles burning near the entrance.

The guards knew him already.

"Lord Ashcroft?" one of them asked, startled.

"Wake His Grace."

The guard immediately stepped aside. "At once, my lord."

Lionel was taken inside and shown to the drawing room, where a sleepy footman lit more candles with trembling hands. The room slowly came alive in pieces. Lionel could still feel the road in his bones. His cloak was dusty, his gloves stiff from the reins, and his throat dry. But he remained standing, one hand resting near the mantel, eyes fixed on the door.

A few minutes later, Richard appeared. He was still tying his robe around him, hair disordered. Whatever sleep had been on him vanished the moment he saw Lionel.

"Lionel!" Richard gasped. "What’s wrong? Is His Highness alright?"

"I apologise for waking you," Lionel said. "I couldn’t—"

"Forget it." Richard stepped fully into the room. "What’s the matter?"

Lionel exhaled. How did one say that Henry was breaking over a woman no one could find? "His Highness needs you."

"I don’t understand. I thought he was doing well. I saw him before he left the Tower of London. He was back to his usual self. Mostly."

"He’s been drinking," Lionel explained. "He isn’t attending court. He is missing council, ignoring petitions, refusing company. I’m afraid this will be noticed soon."

"Why?" Richard asked. "What ails him?"

"I... uh...That is what you should probably help with."

Richard’s eyes narrowed slightly. If Lionel was choosing not to speak plainly, then either Henry had sworn him to silence, or the truth was too delicate. "Fine," Richard said at last. "Have them get my horse ready."

Lionel’s shoulders eased a fraction. "Of course. Thank you."

Richard turned toward the door, then paused. "I do have to say goodbye to my guest first. Give me thirty minutes." He left the drawing room quickly, went first to his room to change. He dressed quickly, pulling on dark breeches, boots, a shirt, and a riding coat. His hands moved by habit while his mind ran ahead to London.

He left his chamber and stopped by Diana’s room. He knocked first. No response. He waited a moment, then opened the door and peeked through.

She was asleep beneath the covers, one hand tucked near her cheek, her darkened hair loose against the pillow.

Richard stepped into the room quietly. He considered leaving without waking her but he knew he would be gone for a bit.

(Brought to you by Missy Dionne)