by Lyn South
When people say something is fit for a king, this is the scale they imagine.
The rest of the room is sparsely furnished: two small chairs and stools, padded for the occupant’s comfort, a small table beside the bed, and a large wooden chest sitting in one corner.
Henry might keep a piece of Anne close to him as he sleeps, so I start with the bed and the side table first. Unlike modern furniture, there are no drawers, just an upper shelf and a bottom shelf.
No luck.
I search down between the mattress and the platform. Under the pillows. Even under the bed, as far as I can see, in case the locket might have been knocked off the table.
Nothing.
Moving methodically through the room—thoroughly searching one quadrant before moving to the next—yields no results. I have to search the entire suite.
Merde.
Where’s the next most private place the king might keep the portrait?
Aside from the carnal passions he holds for Anne, the king still—at least outwardly—goes through the rituals of religious devotions. Maybe the limning is in the private devotions closet.
Inside the room, there’s an altar, lit from above by a clerestory window. Instead of sunlight, only the stars are visible through the glass. A padded kneeler, the king’s private prie-dieu, sits beneath a canopy made of the same electric blue velvet and thread of gold trim used on the bed.
On a nearby stool, a prayer book lies open. Sitting in the center of the binding, like a bookmark, is a rosary.
A crucifix strung with ten wooden beads. The initials HE8 and Ka are carved into either side of the largest bead.
Holy shit. Henry’s rosary.
The largest bead can be opened. Gingerly, I unclasp the hinge. Inside is an intricate miniature carving of a religious scene: holy men gathered for a service; a priest at an altar, and a sinner kneeling before him.
If the portrait miniature isn’t readily at hand, the next best thing is another item on the acquisition list. I pocket the rosary and keep searching.
Lifting the prayer book from the stool—Anne’s locket may lay beneath it—a specific passage catches my attention. I read it out loud. “Let him kiss me with the kisses of his mouth; for thy love is better than wine.”
“Still thinking about that kiss, huh?” Nico’s voice is filled with swagger as he apparently misinterprets the reading as my poetic reaction to his touch.
“As kisses go, it was okay,” I tease, then hold the book up so he can magnify the text on the page through the contact lens cameras. “Zoom in on this.”
“King Solomon was an old smoothie, wasn’t he?” he says.
“Of much greater interest is that the king reads erotic literature during his private spiritual devotions. This raises the study of his obsessions to a whole new level.”
“Sex is as much a spiritual connection as a physical one.” Nico pauses. “Kinda like the first time we—”
“Dodger, status?” Fagin’s voice breaks into the conversation.
“Nothing, yet,” I say. “How are things progressing down there? Is Trevor still with you?”
“Nope. She just left the Great Hall. Nico, do you have eyes on her?”
“Yeah, and you’re not gonna like it. She’s not headed back to the kitchens. She’s moving in Dodger’s direction.”
“Oh, fuck me,” I breathe out in on one long breath. “Can’t anyone stop her? I don’t need help up here.”
“I’m pinging her on every frequency, but she’s ignoring me,” Nico says.
“We’ve got another problem,” Fagin says. “I overhead the king mention some new scientific instruments he received as a gift from the Flanders ambassador. He’s on his way up to his apartments to fetch a Shepherd’s Dial and an equinoctial dial.”
“Time to go, kiddo. Get outta there.” Nico says.
“I need more time,” I say, hurrying through the rest of the devotions room. No portrait.
“I’ve got Trevor on another frequency,” Nico says, “She knows we’ve been keeping her out of the communications loop, and she’s...annoyed. Patching her through now.”
“I need more time,” I repeat. “I found Henry’s rosary, but still looking for the portrait.”
Trevor’s annoyance would better be described as fury mixed with abject scorn. “What’s this? The infamous Thief of the Century is coming up empty?” she says, unforgiveness thick as venom in her tone. “Aren’t you supposed to be more clever and accomplished than anyone else on the Benefactors’ payroll? I think they would be sorely disappointed in your lack success finding one simple act locket.”
“Trevor, I swear to God, if you don’t get out of my ear. I’ll—
“You’ll what? I’m beginning to think you’re nothing more than the pettiest of thieves who ever lived. So far, I’m not impressed.”
“Do you know how tempted I am to leave your ass here when this mission is done? How do you think you’d fare among the locals with no money, power, or position to call your own?”
Trevor laughs. “Don’t worry. I have backup. As a reminder,” she continues, “you must produce Lady Anne’s limning by tomorrow morning. The rosary won’t cut it. If you don’t come through, both Nico’s and Fagin’s families are on the chopping block.”
“Good luck with that. I don’t have any family,” Fagin says, sounding like she could reach through the CommLink and strangle Trevor with one hand.
“What about Isabella?” Trevor asks.
There’s a brief silence on the line. When she speaks, Fagin’s tone changes from fury to shock. “H-How do you—?”
“You should know by now there’s nothing the Benefactors don’t know about you.”
My brain races through all of Fagin’s recruits since I’ve known her. I’ve never heard that name before. Who the hell is Isabella?
“Dodger,” Fagin says, her breaths coming in short, fast bursts. It sounds like she’s running. “The king is on the privy stair.”
Fuck. He will find the unconscious men in the pages’ chamber. That could bring a swarm of guards upstairs if they think it’s a security breach and not an open-and-shut case of dereliction of duty.
I make it as far as the door between the bedroom and the outer chamber, before the king’s voice booms through the corridor outside. There’s no choice, but to hide until the king returns to the party. And just like that, I’m trapped in the toilet. Again. At least this one has an upholstered red box—with a padded seat, no less—covering the piss pot hidden within.
“What is it with you and getting stuck in the bathroom?” Nico says. “You need to find better hiding spots. At least this one looks bigger than the one at the d’Medici villa. Is that a wood bathtub in front of a fireplace in the background?”
“Do something,” I hiss. “Create a distraction. Get the king out of here.”
There’s muffled words and shoes scuffling on the wood floor out in the king’s Waiting Room, and beyond. Then there’s shouting. They’ve found the guards, presumably still slumped in their chairs at the gaming table.
Pressing my ear against the door of bathroom, I’m startled to hear King Henry’s voice so close. He’s in the bedchamber.
“Send them to the tower,” Henry says, his voice a deep growl. “One hundred lashes minus one for each. Teach them what happens when they fail to protect their king.”
“Yes, Your Majesty.” Lady Anne’s father is in the room. Footsteps retreat to the other room.
I’m not sure if the king exited the room with the Earl of Wiltshire or not, so I wait.
And listen.
The only voice I hear is Becca Trevor buzzing in my ear like a mosquito. “Poor, sad, pathetic little Clémence,” she chuckles. “You think you’re the only human to suffer trauma and heartache?”
Nico’s voice cuts in. “Unless you want me to use this hypo on you, Trevor, you better shut the fuck up.”
Once she learned the king returned to his chambers, Trevor must’ve changed her mind abo
ut joining me. From the sound of it, she’s back on the ship and close enough to Nico for him to make good on the threat.
“You could incapacitate me. The question you should ask yourself is what I might do to your little girlfriend if you do.” Trevor says. “Don’t even think of cutting off this transmission. That’s an order. Because if she doesn’t hear everything I have to say, this mission will get a whole lot worse for all of you.”
There’s a grumble from Nico. With the king so close by, I can’t risk answering her perverted rant, and she knows it. She has me muzzled, and knows I have to stand here and take the abuse.
“Poor daddy murdered by the English,” she says in a sing-song voice, like she’s reciting the beginning of a nursery rhyme. The tone turns colder, more cruel. “Bet the fact that you have to work this mission and make nice with the butchers who eventually slaughter your family sticks so far down your craw that you’re choking on it.”
Trevor is the second loathsome person who knows details about me that only Fagin is supposed to know. My stomach does a free fall to my toes.
“Clémence.” Nico doesn’t often use my given name. When he does it’s because he seriously needs my attention or wants to make a point. With this single, calm utterance of my name, he let me know that even if he can’t stop this full-scale assault, he’s with me, and it’s comforting. “Don’t listen to her.”
“Trevor...please.” Fagin’s voice is a wounded whisper. She’s still gasping for breath. From what I can gather, she hasn’t yet made it back to the ship.
The lieutenant mocks her with an exaggerated whine. “Trevor, please.” Then, she unleashes on me again. “What happens next? Oh, yes. You and mommy get put on a ship for the colonies and it sinks from under you. How does it feel to be an orphan all alone in this big, bad world?”
“Fucking hell, Trevor,” Nico says. “What are you doing? It sounds like,” he pauses. His tone shifts from questioning to accusing. “Like you’re purposely trying to shove Dodger off a cliff.”
Bile burns the back of my throat as I fight to keep the tears locked inside. My knees give way. I lean against the wall. Close my eyes.
Faces flash through my memory. Papa in a pool of his own blood and the Redcoat standing over him. Mama’s horrified face as she’s swept over the rail of the ship by a monster wave. The grim face of the ship’s captain as he drags me, screaming in terror, below deck.
Trevor sounds like she’s just getting started; she speaks at a faster clip, hammering each word like the final nail in a coffin. “How does it feel to know you’re powerless? Impotent? Forever trapped in the living the hell the world has created for you. Hell, you can’t even get out of the toilet, can you? Say the words: I’m powerless. There’s nothing I can do.”
I don’t answer. I’m afraid if I do, a primal scream will erupt like a volcano.
“Say it, now,” she repeats, biting out each word.
No.
“You have to the count of three to say it: I’m powerless. There’s nothing I can do.”
No. I can’t.
“One...”
“You fucking bitch,” Nico says.
“Maybe if I turn the screws on Nico, you’ll be able to say it.”
“I’m a big boy. I can handle whatever you throw at me.”
“Or maybe Fagin,” Trevor says. “Two.”
I believe her. I believe every fucking word she says. If I don’t comply, she’ll hurt Fagin and Nico out of irredeemable spite.
“Last chance.”
Hoarse. Drained. Defeated. I whisper the words. “I’m powerless. There’s nothing I can do.”
Without warning, the lever of the bathroom door turns down, and I don’t have the energy to hide as it swings open leaving me face-to-face with a dumbfounded King Henry the Eighth.
Chapter 19
The shock on King Henry’s face tells me that finding a young woman hiding in his bathroom is not an everyday occurrence. For a moment, we’re both immobilized, blinking at each other like idiots.
The king glances over his shoulder, but he doesn’t call out for Wiltshire or any of his guards. He looks around the stool, then back at me. “Mademoiselle?” he says, extending a tentative hand. I must look a fright because he moves like he’s approaching a wounded animal. “Are you well?”
“Wh-what?”
“You look unwell.”
It takes every ounce of energy I have to rise to my feet. I wobble, reel backward on my heels. The king rushes forward and grabs my elbows. He leads to the bedroom and settles me on a low stool.
Kneeling beside me, he asks, “Why are you here, child?”
“Tell him you had a fight with your mother,” Nico says, realizing my brain is still rebounding from Trevor’s blows. “Tell him you had to get away from the crowd.”
I inhale deeply, and let out a slow breath, focusing on the king’s eyes. They’re soft and concerned. His strong hand encloses my small one in a firm grasp.
Nico prompts again, “You had a fight with your mother.”
“There was... um...” I stumble over the words, following Nico’s voice to firmer emotional ground. “I fought with my mother. I was so distraught that I had to find a quiet place to think.”
Henry’s eyes narrow. “You thought you would find solace in my apartments?”
“This should be good,” Trevor taunts.
My mind teeters on the edge of anxiety, again, when Nico counters her jab with a right cross. “You’ve had your fun. One more word from you and I’ll pull Dodger from the palace right fucking now.”
Trevor must believe Nico’s threat because she actually shuts the hell up.
“I didn’t plan to come here. Once I started walking, I found myself near the stairs, so I climbed them. I found those men asleep from all the ale they’d drunk, I could smell them from the corridor.”
Henry grimaces. “My sentries slept at their post?”
“I didn’t realize these are your rooms until I stepped inside. When I heard you ascending the stairs and I...I panicked. I didn’t know what to do. I know I shouldn’t be here, but I needed a quiet place to compose myself.” I don’t have to act unmoored and emotionally adrift. My heart is still pounding. “I’m sorry, Your Majesty. I don’t mean to trouble you. I just feel so...lost.”
I lean forward and rest my head on his shoulder. He startles and, after a moment’s hesitation, puts his arms around me. He pats my shoulder in a paternal manner.
Powerless. Nothing I can do.
Nico, seeming to read my thoughts, says with quiet resolve, “You are who you choose to be, babe. All that shit Trevor said, it doesn’t have power unless you allow it.”
“Roger,” I say softly, covering the word with a snuffle against the king’s silk doublet. My nose is running, and it’s left a small damp spot on his chest. Henry notices and I try wiping it dry with the fore-sleeve of my gown.
“Sorry,” I mumble, looking up at him.
No matter how tender he seems, Trevor is right about one thing: This king’s progeny will rain violence and bloodshed not just on my parents, but on millions.
Nico’s right, too. I’m not powerless unless I choose to be. In this moment, sitting with the king of fucking England, I see opportunity in a new light. What if I could change everything? What if I could change the whole bloody world?
“You’ve been so kind, Your Majesty,” I say, turning the grief in my eyes to coquettish desire. “Allow me to return the kindness.” I lean forward and brush my lips against his.
“Hey!” Nico says, alarmed. “What the hell was that?”
Henry emits a small, muffled sound of protest, grasps my shoulders, and gently pushes me away. “Mademoiselle, please don’t mistake gentle concern for romantic intent.”
“Forgive me, Your Majesty, but there was a moment, downstairs, when a look passed between us. You wanted me.”
He looks puzzled. Then there’s a small, surprised. “Oh.”
There it is. The memory of lust.
“No, Mademoiselle,” he says, giving me a gentle smile. “You misunderstand.”
I didn’t, of course, because he’s glossing over the leer he threw my way at the banquet table. I play along and shake my head, looking slightly distressed. “Your eyes tell me that I perfectly understood your intent, sire. ’Twas desire that I saw in you.”
“There was a time when I would have plucked you out from among the many roses in my court,” he says, tucking a stray lock of hair behind my ear. “You are beautiful and clever, the wittiest of any lady here in my court save my own sweet Anne.” He tugs upward on a black cord fastened around his neck and, up from the neck of his shirt, pops a silver locket.
I’ll be damned.
He unties the cord and pulls it from his neck so he can open the clasp. Inside is Lady Anne’s limning. “You do know that my heart belongs wholly, completely to the future queen.” The words are kindly said; he seems to think I’ll be crushed by his rejection.
He lifts my chin and wipes the tear from my cheek. With the other hand, he drops the locket into a leather pouch, leaving it’s flap unsecured. “You protested against needing a husband. After this encounter, I’m not swayed from the opinion that you do. A husband would soothe your melancholy and divert your mind to more pleasant things.”
“I will look to your good graces in supplying everything I need, Your Majesty.” Including the trinket in your pocket.
“Good girl,” Henry says, brushing a finger across the tip of my nose. “Make peace with your mother and all will be well. I will speak to my sweetheart about finding you a husband.”
“Again, Your Majesty is very kind.”
“Come, let’s rejoin the banquet, and I will find you as many handsome, virile dance partners as you can stand.”
I let him lead me back to the Great Hall and before we enter, I stop and pull him to face me. “I’m grateful for your kindness and discretion. I am forever in your debt.” Biting my lip like a schoolgirl, I throw an arm around his broad shoulder and kiss his cheek. He’s thrown slightly off-balance against my inertia, and he laughs before extricating himself from the embrace. He bows and I curtsey in return.