His Secret Slave to Chapter 57: Shake Off Your Grief

Chapter 57: Shake Off Your Grief

"It should never see the light of day. Ever again. Never. Because there are truths that do not save anyone once spoken aloud. They only destroy what little remains standing. You are the realm’s final hope," Richard continued. "Without you, the kingdom collapses. You know it. I know it."

"Shake off your grief. Your penance, should be serving your kingdom with everything you have. Everything you possess. Rule well. Rule justly. You have been doing a great job so far," Richard said.

"You do not think less of ?"

Richard chuckled. "I have always thought less of you since we were boys," he said. "I think I am the only one who has ever dared. But not because I think you cannot do great things," Richard continued. "Never that. It is simply difficult to tremble before a king when one rembers him trying to outrun the nursemaids with no clothes on, shrieking like a demon and slipping on wet grass."

"We used to run around naked all the ti as boys, so I sort of know what’s underneath the kingly robes and I must say, Sire, not impressive....The people may think you have blood on your hands."

Henry looked into the fire.

"But they still respect your leadership," Richard continued. "More than that, they rely on it. You have kept the kingdom steady. Prove to them you are more than your past," he said. "And prove it to yourself, if that is the harder audience." Richard’s tone sharpened just slightly. "You will not ntion this ever again, Your Majesty."

Henry nodded.

Richard exhaled. "Good."

"I do not recall making you Lord Chancellor."

"No, thank God. I would make a dreadful one. Too handso. No one would focus on the law. Every damsel around

would collapse out of all this masculinity....I’ll send Stephen in with your dinner and I’ll stay with you for now."

Henry raised a brow faintly. "You don’t have anything useful to do in Kingsre?"

"I have very capable hands."

"You don’t have to babysit ," Henry said. "I’ll be fine."

"Fine," he said at last. "But I will be in the city, close by in case you need ."

"Of course." Henry looked down at his hands, then back up. "Thank you, Richard," he said. "You are a good friend."

Richard smiled. Then he bowed his head. He turned and headed out to get Stephen.

*****

Sophie had not co the next morning when Madeleine woke. That was the first sign that sothing was wrong.

Usually, Sophie was already moving about the chamber before Madeleine had even opened her eyes properly—stoking the fire, setting out water, choosing ribbons, muttering under her breath. Sophie was irritatingly efficient at least when she was not trembling like a frightened rabbit, and Madeleine had grown used to waking to the soft rhythm of her work.

This morning, there was nothing. Only silence. Madeleine opened her eyes and stared at the canopy above her bed, waiting for the sound to begin.

It did not.

Her mouth tightened. At first, she told herself Sophie was rely late. The girl had been useless yesterday, pale and shaking, her nerves hanging out of her like loose thread. Madeleine had sent her away to rest, expecting one night of sleep to restore her into sothing at least passably functional.

Apparently, even that had been too ambitious.

Madeleine sat up sharply, the sheets pooling around her waist. The chamber was cold, the fire reduced to ash, and the morning light slipping through the curtains was thin and grey. Her black mourning dress lay folded over a chair from the night before, while the rest of the room waited in disarray for the servant who had failed to appear.

She reached for the bell cord and yanked it hard. The sound rang sowhere beyond the wall.

No response.

Madeleine’s eyes narrowed. "What the hell is wrong with the bitch?" she muttered, tossing the covers aside. "Was she still whining about smothering the child to death?"

If Sophie had decided to collapse under the weight of her conscience, Madeleine would have to take drastic asures.

She hissed under her breath and got to her feet. She snatched up a robe and threw it around herself, tying it tightly at the waist. Then, after checking that she was covered well enough not to give the English court another reason to clutch its pearls, she crossed the room and yanked the door open.

Her entrance was empty. No Sophie. Madeleine stepped out into the corridor. The palace was awake, but muted. Mourning still hung over everything.

A passing maid appeared with a bundle of linens in her arms. Madeleine turned on her at once. "Good morning, my lady," the maid greeted, dipping quickly.

"Get

my maid, would you," Madeleine ordered.

"Of course." The girl bowed again, eyes lowered, and hurried a couple of doors down from Madeleine’s room.

Madeleine waited in the corridor, arms folded, annoyance sharpening with each second.

It didn’t take a second before a shriek followed. Madeleine hurried toward the scream, annoyance arriving before concern.

The shriek had sliced clean through the solemn hush of the corridor, sending servants freezing mid-step and guards turning sharply at their posts. For one brief, irritated mont, Madeleine thought Sophie had rely fainted.

She reached Sophie’s chamber and pushed inside. The maid who had scread was pressed against the wall, both hands clamped over her mouth, eyes wide with horror.

Madeleine looked past her and found Sophie hanging from the ceiling. The little wooden cross Sophie had carried all the way from France was placed on her pillow. Madeleine stared.

Then she sighed.

"Oh crap."

It was the weary disappointnt of a woman who had asked for competence and been given catastrophe as a servant.

She rolled her eyes. She was surrounded by idiots. Total idiots. Why in the world had she ever thought Sophie was a good choice to bring from France? Because she was quiet? Because she followed orders? Because she looked harmless enough to be overlooked by the English? Clearly, Madeleine had been too generous in her assessnt. Quiet did not an loyal. Obedient did not an strong. And guilt, apparently, made fools of everyone.