"I shall not be using it to protect Livia," Henry said.
Stephen's gaze snapped back to him.
"I shall be using it to have my mother beheaded."
Stephen's eyes nearly fell out of their sockets. "Your Majesty. You intend to expose it?"
"To the council. To England, if I must."
Stephen looked as though he needed to sit down.
"Livia has asked me to believe in my people. She thinks if they see me bring justice upon my own mother, they will not raise a storm. She also thinks," Henry continued, with a bitter little smile, "that the people love me enough to forgive my silence all these years. It is a nonsense sentiment."
Stephen straightened. "Her Majesty-to-be has a good head on her shoulders. Your people do love you, sire."
Henry smiled. "We shall see," He looked at him again. "The letter, Stephen."
Stephen held still. The last resistance of a man who had guarded something too long to surrender it easily.
"Stephen," Henry said. "Give it to me."
