He pulled her even closer. His heart pounded violently. His eyes burned. Stephen was still waiting outside the apartments when Henry emerged. His eyes flew from Livia's unconscious body to Tabitha. The question in them needed no words.
This was not good. This was not good at all.
"Your Majesty," Stephen said, stepping forward. "Please, allow me." He reached as though to take Livia from him.
"No!"
Stephen stopped at once. Henry's face had gone hard, yet his eyes shone with terror. He turned and strode down the corridor.
How had this happened?
No.
That was a foolish question. He knew how. He had left. He did not need to ask who had done this.
He knew.
He knew in his bones, in the old griefs buried beneath his childhood, in the memory of brothers dead too quickly.
Livia's head shifted against his shoulder. Henry looked down at her.
"Livia," he whispered.
