"Get out," Theodora said. She turned her head sharply. "All of you. Get out!"
In the blink of an eye, the room was empty. Stephen also followed the others out. Henry remained seated at the dinner table.
He looked terrible, worn thin. His eyes were shadowed, his mouth hard, his hair disordered. The food before him had been cut more than eaten.
"Your Highness," Theodora began. "Pardon me."
Henry looked up slowly. "That's new, Mother," he drawled. "Not the chasing everyone out. The apology part."
Theodora ignored him. If she answered that, they would fight. If they fought, he would retreat once more.
So she moved closer. Then, before Henry could guess her intention, she lowered herself to her knees.
"Your Highness…" Theodora said, "Henry…"
"Mother, what are you doing?"
