His Secret Slave to Scandalous Queen

Chapter 133: You Look Flushed

Bella wrote it down slowly, her tongue caught between her teeth in concentration. He could almost hear Livia’s voice arguing with him. If she does not understand, why should she pretend she only failed to hear?

His mouth curved faintly. "It shows that you are not quite versatile with the language," Henry said, tapping the parchment lightly, "but willing to make an effort. Je ne comprends pas simply tells the listener you are done with that conversation."

"Hmmm," Bella hummed, scribbling quickly as Henry returned to scanning the notes.

He forced himself to read properly. She was good. He would give Livia that credit. Her spelling was careful. Her translations were simple enough for Bella to grasp without drowning in grammar. She had chosen phrases that could be used immediately: greetings, polite requests, courtesies.

But it also felt as though there was too much information at once. Too many unrelated phrases. No flow. No proper progression from one idea to the next. Greetings here, tea there, confusion somewhere else.

There was no plan.

Yes.

Good.

Find faults.

Criticise the lesson. Disagree with the structure. Think of anything but the woman who had written these words. Anything but her hand moving over the page. Anything but her voice shaping French syllables in that warm, delicious mouth of hers.

The harder he willed himself to find fault, the worse his mind betrayed him. He imagined her speaking the phrases.

Leaning closer to say something seductive. Her lips moving around the words. His imagination turned deadlier.

Her voice lowered. Her breath unsteady. French slipping from her mouth as a moan. A broken sound in a language he would worship.

God.

He dragged himself back to the present with force.

Bella looked up from her writing, her brows lifting. "Your Highness, you look flushed."

Henry straightened at once. "Oh...Maybe the wine."

"You haven’t had any," Bella said, gesturing toward the cup.

Henry looked down. The wine sat untouched on the table. "Indeed..." he murmured.

Bella’s brows lifted. "Your Highness...you did not really come here to discuss my French lessons, did you?"

Actually, Bella, I did, Henry thought.

I came here to have a piece. I came here to imagine her voice. So yes, Bella, I came here to discuss your damned French lessons.

I plan to live vicariously through you.

Outwardly, he smiled.

"I needed conversation, Bella."

She did not look convinced. Something was eating the king up and she suspected it had something to do with the bitchy French princess. Bella lowered her gaze briefly. "Your Majesty...if I may speak freely."

"Of course."

She looked up. "I like Miss Bellamy."

Henry’s fingers tightened around the parchment.

God, Bella, please don’t go there.

"A lot," Bella added.

Henry sighed inwardly. Of course she had gone there.

"When I first met her," Bella continued, "I was... well, I was still lost over Thomas." She looked toward the fire. "Everyone was telling me not to let grief overwhelm me. She said to me, ’why can we not cry as loudly as we should?’ She made me understand that people can do whatever the hell they want about how I feel," Bella said, her voice growing stronger as she spoke. "It is not my business to care about how people handle my feelings. It is my business to feel."

"And I did," she continued softly. "I cried. I laughed. I missed Thomas without apologising for making people uncomfortable. I stopped performing sorrow in a way others found acceptable."

Livia seemed to have a strange gift in making people feel less lonely.

"She said that..." he murmured.

Bella looked back at him. "Yes."

"She sounds like an incredibly smart lady." He said even though he knew that already. He knew Livia was smart. He had known it from the first moment they met. She had a sharpened mind, a quick tongue, a soft heart.

"She is," Bella said warmly. "You would love her, Your Majesty. She is knowledgeable," Bella continued. "Funny too. Not in the polite court way. Truly funny. And honest. Painfully honest. She looks at things plainly. I think that is what I like about her." Bella tilted her head, really now noticing that the king was just the kind of person Diana seemed suited for. "I think you would really like her."

Henry looked up then, the ache in his chest turning sharp. "Bella. You know she is marrying the duke, right?"

The words came out more cutting than he intended before he then forced a smile.

"Because you speak of her as if you were just about to place her in my bed."

Bella’s eyes widened. "The duke has told you?!"

Henry gave a small, pained sound. "Meeh..."

"Oh my God." Bella leaned forward. "He told you already?"

"In a manner of speaking."

"Oooohhh..." Bella breathed, one hand flying dramatically to her chest. "Thank God. It was killing me keeping the news from you. Can you believe it?" she continued, eyes bright now. "The duke is getting married."

"No," Henry said, his voice carefully flat. "Not really. I cannot."

Bella laughed softly. "No one can. I imagine the women of England shall hold a vigil."

"I hope he goes through with it, though," Henry added.

The words tasted vile.

Bella tilted her head. "Why wouldn’t he?"

Henry looked into his untouched wine. "Richard has never been famous for staying with one woman."

"Oh, Diana is quite taken with him, my lord."

A dagger, perfectly aimed because Bella had no idea she held a blade.

"To be fair," Bella went on, "every woman is quite taken with the duke."

"She is, uhn?" he asked.

Bella reached for a sugared almond and continued, utterly unaware that every word was pushing the knife deeper. "Some time ago, she asked me how one would know when one is in love."

Henry’s gaze lifted. "She asked you that?"

Bella smiled, delighted by the memory. "She was trying to sound casual. Asked whether one kind of love could outweigh another."