He stroked one hand up her back. His mouth pressed into her hair. "That is my girl," he whispered. "My queen."
She made a faint sound against his shoulder, too exhausted, ashamed. Henry smiled faintly into her hair.
He did not let her off him. He wanted her exactly where she was, sprawled on top of him, warm and trembling, her body softening against his as the last waves of pleasure ebbed away. He wanted to trap the moment and keep it. "I love you," he whispered.
The words were barely louder than the fire beyond the curtains. He kissed her hair, once, then again.
Livia remained silent but her fingers, still curled in his shirt, did not let go.
*****
Theodora was not sitting idle. She received hourly reports. Servants moved quietly in and out of her apartments with news.
By midnight, the truth had become impossible to mistake. Livia Valenti was spending the night in Henry's chamber.
