Something had happened. And it was doing absolutely nothing to help his courage. Tonight was meant to be the night he told her. About the dreadful truth that his mind sometimes became a place even he could not safely inhabit.
They arrived at Whitehall beneath a cold night sky. The palace received them. She kept her hand on his arm. They walked through the corridors together, and the silence followed them like a third person. Henry tried once more.
"You should rest tomorrow."
"Yes, Your Majesty."
"I shall send the physician to see you."
"If you wish."
Henry's patience thinned. At last, they reached the corridor crossing where one passage led towards her apartments and the other towards his.
Livia stopped then she withdrew her hand from his arm. She turned to face him, lowered herself into a graceful curtsy, and said, "Good night, Your Majesty."
No.
Absolutely not.
No.
