The last time had been when he had found out Princess Madeleine was responsible for Thomas' death.
"Your Majesty," Stephen said carefully, "shall I fetch you some wine? It may help you relax."
"What I want," Henry said, each word drawn tight, "is Livia safe, in Whitehall, Stephen."
Stephen swallowed. "Yes, sire."
"She should have returned. She should have returned by now."
"Please," Stephen said, softening his voice, "let me send a messenger."
"I will not have her think I cannot trust her to walk outside my sight."
"She will not think that."
Henry's hand slipped from the chair. His breathing changed. He noticed the way Henry's gaze lost focus, the way his fingers flexed as if searching for something to hold, the way his body seemed both rooted to the spot and desperate to flee it. "She is dead too, is she not?"
"Sire."
Henry did not seem to hear him. "My mother never misses. She is dead. She is dead too."
"Sire!" Stephen hurried to him and caught his hands.
