Chapter 288: Let Her Rest
Henry released Livia’s hand with visible reluctance and stepped away from the bed. He moved only a few feet.
The physician bent over Livia and began his examination. First, soaking her mouth and brushing it so he could check her breath. He checked her pulse, lifted her eyelids, listened to her breathing, and asked questions she answered in a faint voice.
Stephen stood near the king, his face sharpened by concern. "Shall I fetch Mrs Crowe?"
"No. Let her rest."
Stephen looked at Henry more closely. "You should rest too now, Your Majesty."
Henry nodded faintly.
Rest.
He had tried to sleep earlier. Mistress Crowe’s calming tea had coaxed him into perhaps thirty minutes of uneasy darkness, but even that had been crowded. His dreams were full of bodies. His brothers. Thomas. Bella. Every path to the throne seemed lined with the dead, and every corpse had turned its face towards him.
He could not close his eyes for more than a few minutes without seeing them. The physician finally straightened after several minutes.
"She is weak," he said, "but she is no longer in immediate danger."
"Say that plainly."
The physician gave a respectful nod. "She will live, Your Majesty. She must rest. Her strength will return gradually, and if no fever follows, she should be much closer to herself in three days."
"Thank you," Henry said.
The physician gathered his instruments. "I will remain nearby. If her breathing changes, if she grows feverish, or if she coughs blood again, send for me at once."
"I will."
Stephen stepped forward to escort him out, but Henry lifted one hand.
"You may both go back to bed," he said. "I shall call if I need you."
Both men bowed and stepped out of the king’s chamber.
The door closed behind them with a soft click, leaving Henry and Livia alone in the warm hush of candlelight.
Livia watched Henry as he stood near the foot of the bed, one hand resting on the carved post, his head slightly bowed. She had never seen him look so close to breaking.
"Are you all right?" she asked.
Henry gave a faint sound. "Hmm." He lifted his head and looked at her. "You know what? No...No, I am not all right. I still cannot wrap my head around the fact that you poisoned yourself."
"I was going to be married off. No one could stop it. Lord Langford was bound by that forged order, Lionel tried to take me into hiding. He did his best, and all he got for it was a cell and an accusation that he had betrayed you by taking me as his lover."
Pain crossed his face. He had been across the sea. She had been in Whitehall with doors closing around her.
Desperation had offered poison, and Livia had taken it.
Henry stepped closer, his eyes bright. "What if you had not been saved in time? What if the physician had arrived one minute later? What would I have done, Livia? What would I be? How would I live?"
She had not truly allowed herself to imagine Henry standing on the other side of it, holding the price in his hands. That was the selfishness of sacrifice. It often looked noble from the front, but behind it stood the people left to bleed from the decision. "Come here, Your Majesty," she said softly.
A small smile touched her mouth. "Come."
He moved closer and sat beside her on the bed. Livia lifted her hand and touched his sleeve.
"Lower," she whispered.
Henry leaned down.
Livia’s fingers curled weakly in the fabric of his shirt. "I think I still have enough strength in me to kiss you, no?"
Henry’s smile deepened. "Does this mean I win the bet?"
Livia’s breath brushed his lips. "Yes," she whispered. "Yes, you did."
Then she pulled him the rest of the way down and kissed him. Henry’s mouth touched hers with care. His hand came up to cradle her face, thumb resting near her cheekbone, his breath shuddering when she answered him.
The kiss deepened slowly with the bruised sweetness of finding each other alive. His mouth moved over hers with hunger, and Livia felt the tremor run through him.
Henry had been looking forward to this moment since he left the shores of England. He’d missed her with every breath he took.
Henry pulled away only to ask the most important question. His mouth still hovered close to hers, his breath warm against her lips. Touching her alive had reminded him how narrowly he had almost been left with nothing. "How soon before you become my queen?" he asked.
"How soon can you make it happen?" she asked.
"I will make the announcement to council," he said.
"I have no dowry," she said.
"I will provide one."
"You cannot provide your own bride’s dowry."
"I am king. I can provide fields to sheep if it amuses me."
"I have no guardian," she said.
"I will provide one."
Her lips curved faintly. "You appear to have a solution for everything. And what do I give you in return?"
"You."
"That is not enough for a kingdom."
"It is enough for me. You give me you." He leaned closer and kissed her brow. "Just you, my little book thief."
A small laugh escaped her. "Come to bed."
Henry rose and shrugged out of his outer robe, tossing it across the chair and settled beside her cautiously, keeping enough space not to jostle her, then failing almost immediately because Livia reached for him.
She rested against him, and his arm circled her with careful warmth.
"Richard is back," Henry said after a while.
She absorbed the news, her cheek still resting near his shoulder. That warmed Henry more than he wished to admit.
Perhaps she had finally let go of the guilt. Perhaps she understood now that love was not a debt owed to the person who saved you first.
"I am glad," Livia said softly. "So I am guessing war is on the horizon."
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