"Do not be mistaken, Livia," he said, smoothing the last edge of fabric into place. "I will have you. I will take you into my bed and learn every sound you make when you forget to fight me. But only when you become my queen."
"Then I suppose you will wait a very long time."
Henry smiled. Perhaps he would. Perhaps she would keep him waiting until his hair greyed. "You said you wanted freedom," he murmured. "This is the only kind of freedom I can afford you, my love." He stepped close once more and brushed his lips over her temple. "And when you take it," he whispered, "I will make love to you so thoroughly that the sky itself will weep at the sight."
"You have been reading far too much poetry," Livia accused.
Henry's smile was slow, made dangerous by the fact that he knew exactly what he had done to her composure. "How else am I meant to keep up with you?"
Despite herself, Livia nearly smiled. "I cannot become your queen," she said. "For your sake and mine."
