Stephen would be quite deserving of a break in the morning. Henry allowed himself a small, knowing smile. Even though Stephen would never admit he needed rest, it would have to be given as a direct order.
Turning away from the gates, Henry began to make his way inside. Henry's mind drifted back to Livia.
He was acutely aware of the persistent discomfort in his breeches. Walking away from her had required every ounce of his discipline, and now the consequences of that restraint made themselves unmistakably known. He needed to do something about the discomfort in his breeches, the stirrings Livia had caused in his loins.
Henry made his way through the quieter corridors of Whitehall Palace toward Lady Bella's apartments, his footsteps softened by the thick Turkish carpets that lined the passage. The palace now rested in a rare stillness.
