Nothing about what was happening was right. Henry had taken her freedom. He had dragged her into his world, ignored her refusals. His mother had threatened and manipulated.
None of it should have inspired tenderness yet Livia could not forget Henry lying pale against the pillows, searching the room for her. She could still hear the softness in his voice when he called her his queen, and remember the peace that settled over his face.
It was cruel that affection could grow in such poisoned soil. Her heart softened toward him despite every sensible argument she made against it.
She pulled the shift over her head and sat on the edge of the bed. Fear arrived. Henry was never going to release her.
Tears blurred her vision. She was going to remain trapped in Whitehall, surrounded by beauty she had never requested and loved by a man powerful enough to ruin her if she tried to run.
Tabitha's hopeful suggestion that she might one day be free was never going to happen.
*****
