Theodora needed truth loosened. Tongues softened. Resistance made weak enough for secrets to spill without the speaker realising they had opened their mouth.

Stephen and Lionel would not betray Henry willingly so she would have to be creative. She had to find out who this girl was and make her the bane of Madeleine’s existence. The thought warmed her better than the fire.

Two birds with one stone. Henry would be indebted to her. Her son would look at her and remember, finally, that no one loved him as fiercely as she did. No one else would wade into filth, scandal, and possible damnation just to drag his happiness back to him.

And Madeleine? Madeleine would learn once and for all who the real queen was. The actual crown had been stolen from her. But she was queen dammit.

*****

Richard could barely breathe as he walked away from Whitehall. Henry the merchant. Henry the king.

Diana’s Henry.

Every step away from the palace seemed to press the truth deeper into his chest until it hurt to inhale.

He remembered when he ran into Stephen at Beaumont’s. God, what a mess. The king had touched her. Kissed her. Had fucked her.

How the hell was he supposed to compete with the king? How did any man compete with a king?

He was a duke, yes. Rich, titled, handsome enough. But Henry had a crown, a kingdom. Plus Henry loved her. That much was clear.

And yet... And yet Henry would subject her to a life as a kept woman. Hidden away. Waiting for scraps of a man who would marry a princess and return to her when duty allowed him to breathe.

Richard’s jaw tightened. Yes, Diana had a questionable background. Yes, the court would rip her apart if they knew who she truly was. But she had fought tooth and nail to keep her dignity.

She didn’t deserve another cage. She didn’t. She deserved all the good things in life. If Henry was not man enough to make her Queen of England, then Richard would make her Duchess of Kingsmere.

The thought struck him so violently he stopped the horse for a moment. Wow. Wow, wow, wow.

Hold on one damn minute. No. Absolutely not. He was not ready for marriage. He was not even ready to think the word without feeling faintly hunted. He still had a great many women to flirt with, offend, seduce, disappoint, and fuck. There was no use thinking about duchesses, wedding vows.

Besides, there was one important truth sitting right in the centre of Richard’s brain, and he was doing his best to step around it.

Henry was his best friend not a rival. Henry. The boy he had grown up with. The king he had served, laughed with, argued with, and defended without thinking. The man currently tearing himself apart because he believed Diana was lost.

And yet... Henry had a court full of women. He had mistresses. He had a French princess waiting to become his wife. Plus he had lied to her.

Richard’s mouth tightened. Why would Henry do that? To hide his identity from her? To protect himself? To protect her? Or because he wanted the pleasure of being loved without the burden of being known?

That last thought was unfair. By the time he reached Westminster Hall, his head was still a storm.

Lord Langford’s working chamber sat off one of the quieter passages, close enough to the courts and clerks for business.

Richard walked straight in. As usual, he found his father buried among parchments and papers. "My lord?" Richard called, noting that his father had not heard him come in. The men outside had not bothered to announce him, as they all knew he was the Lord Chancellor’s son.

Geoffrey looked up with tired eyes and smiled. "Richard..."

"Father." Richard stepped forward, then wisely stopped a careful distance away from the desk.

Geoffrey rubbed at the bridge of his nose. "I had a feeling you were going to show up in London," Geoffrey said.

Richard raised a brow. "How is that?"

"Well," Geoffrey said, "Stephen did not really think we were all buying that story about the king praying whenever he misses court."

Richard laughed softly. "Stephen is a terrible liar."

"Is he alright now?" Geoffrey asked. "The king, I mean."

Richard’s smile faded slightly. "Yes, Father. He will be fine."

"So, what brings you by my side of town?"

Richard shrugged. "Nothing. Just thought you might want to be graced with my lovely face."

"I do want to be graced by you," he said dryly. "I simply do not enjoy the scandal that usually arrives holding your hand." Geoffrey leaned back in his chair, studying his son with open suspicion. "Which reminds me, it has been a while since your name came up in a petition."

"I have been a good boy lately."

Geoffrey scoffed. He had once received two complaints in one week because his son had offended a viscount by flirting with his wife, he had kissed a widow whose husband had been in the ground for no more than two years. "I believe it is the quiet before the storm."

Richard laughed. "You wound me." He glanced around at the shelves stacked with legal rolls, the heavy table buried beneath state papers, the wax seals cooling beside a half-written order. His father belonged here, among law and royal authority. "Do you think I am ready for marriage, Father?"

"Say the word," Geoffrey said, "and I will have the spinsters in London gathered before sunset."

"No, no." Richard lifted both hands quickly. "I don’t need your help."

"Are you certain? Because I know several excellent families with daughters who are virtuous, accomplished and fertile."

"Father. I am not asking you to arrange anything."

"Then why are you asking?"

Richard looked away. "I just..." he exhaled. "Do you think I am mature enough?"

"No."

"You could have lied or even thought about it for more than one second."

"I believe, in your case, marriage will surely force you into maturity."

Richard sighed.