"I was told you sent for me, Your Highness," the girl said softly.
Henry turned then. He recognized her vaguely—one of the many faces that passed through his chambers over the months. Pretty, polished, forgettable. He could not recall her name, nor when last he had seen her.
That, in itself, said enough. She stood a few steps into the room, dressed in a sheer cream gown. The fabric was chosen with intention. Her hair had been arranged neatly, her lips tinted just enough to draw attention.
She was, by every standard of courtly expectation, beautiful. And yet... Henry stepped away from the balcony slowly, his gaze settling on her with a strange detachment.
"Pull your dress up," he said. "Show me your legs."
The girl obeyed. She gathered the soft fabric carefully in her hands, lifting it just enough to reveal the smooth line of her calves, then higher—her thighs pale in the candlelight.
Henry watched with a quiet, frustrating scrutiny. His mind betrayed him. Unbidden, it drifted back to Livia. The smooth glimpse of skin he had caught. He exhaled slowly.
A sigh. Disappointment settled where interest should have been. "Go," he said at last, turning away.
The girl blinked, clearly startled. "Your Highness…" she began, uncertain.
"Get Stephen on your way out."
Her confusion deepened. Perhaps she thought she had done something wrong. Perhaps she wondered what standard she had failed to meet. "Have I failed..."
"Did I stutter?" he snapped.
The girl quickly lowered her dress, her hands smoothing the fabric back into place as she bowed. "No, Your Highness." She turned and left, the door closing softly behind her.
Henry remained where he stood for a moment, staring absently at the flickering candlelight. "This is ridiculous," he muttered to himself. He was a king.
Surrounded by beauty. Able to summon pleasure with a word. And yet—here he was looking for a replica of a girl's thighs.
He turned back toward the balcony, and found that for the first time in a long while—Nothing in the palace quite held his interest.
Stephen entered soon after. "Your Highness," he said, bowing. "Did she offend Your Majesty?"
"No," he replied shortly, pacing once across the room before stopping near the hearth. The fire had burned low, casting uneven shadows along the carved walls. "Find me another. Now."
"Yes, Your Highness." Stephen turned and hurried out of the royal chamber, his mind racing as his feet carried him swiftly through the dimly lit corridors of the palace. It was already past midnight and the great halls of Whitehall were quieter. A few servants still moved about with candles though.
He quickened his pace. This was not routine. The king was not a man given to such abrupt dissatisfaction—at least, not without reason. And if there was a reason, Stephen had not been informed of it. He made his way toward the Queen Mother's chambers, knowing that if anyone might understand the king's sudden mood, it would be her.
A maid stationed outside the rooms looked startled as Stephen approached again.
"I must see Her Grace," he said quickly.
The maid nodded and let him pass. Inside, the Queen Mother's chambers. The heavy curtains had been drawn, and a single candle flickered on a small table beside the bed.
Theodora was just returning to bed, her robe wrapped neatly around her as she settled against the pillows. She looked up sharply as Stephen entered. "Stephen?" she said, irritation clear in her voice. "What is this madness in the middle of the night?"
Stephen bowed deeply. "Your Grace, I do not know what troubles the king," he began carefully, choosing each word with caution. "But he has dismissed the lady sent to him… and now requests another."
Theodora stilled. "A different one?" she asked.
"Yes, Your Grace."
Stephen kept his gaze lowered.
"Well," she murmured, "that is unusual." Her fingers tapped lightly against the bedframe as she considered this.
Henry was not fickle without cause. If he had dismissed one companion only to demand another immediately…
Something was amiss.
"Is he unwell?" Theodora asked.
"It does not seem so, Your Grace."
Theodora exhaled slowly, pressing her fingers to her temple. "Fine," she said at last. "Lets prepare another. Then perhaps I may finally get some sleep."
Stephen bowed and withdrew once more, already calculating which lady might fare better than the last.
Fifteen minutes later, he was back. Again. And this time, Theodora did not bother disguising her frustration.
"What the hell is going on with His Majesty?" she snapped as soon as he entered.
Stephen looked as though he would rather be anywhere else. "She has also been dismissed, Your Grace."
Theodora stared at him. "Maybe," she said slowly, "he merely misses Lady Bella."
It was not an unreasonable assumption. Before the child's birth, Bella had been the king's favored companion.
"Go to the royal favorite," Theodora continued. "Tell her to prepare."
Stephen shifted uncomfortably. "But, Your Grace… she has only just given birth."
Theodora's gaze sharpened. "Well," she said coolly, "her duty does not vanish with motherhood. Her place in this court remains the same. Get her to the king."
Stephen bowed again. "Of course, Your Grace." He turned and hurried away once more.
Bella's chambers was already quiet. The soft glow of candlelight illuminated the room where she had only recently been resting. A nursemaid stood near the cradle, gently rocking the sleeping infant, while Bella herself sat at the edge of the bed, her hair loosely gathered over one shoulder.
She looked up in surprise as Stephen entered.
"My lady," he said, bowing quickly. "His Majesty requests your presence."
"Now?" she asked softly.
"Yes, my lady."
She rose carefully. "Help me dress," she said to her maid. She allowed herself to be arranged swiftly—her gown chosen with care, her hair smoothed, her appearance restored to something fitting for the king's attention.
There was a light in her eyes as she prepared. Perhaps he had missed her. Soon enough, they were moving through the corridors once more—Bella walking beside Stephen, her steps eager.