Richard scoffed. "I'm not talking shop, Your Highness."
Henry's face settled. Of course he had tried to turn the conversation. Richard dragged a chair forward.
"I thought you were doing better. When I saw you at the Tower, you were almost yourself. What's going on?"
Henry drew in a breath. "It's nothing, really."
"It is something if Lionel fears for you," Richard said.
"It's… Lionel thinks I shouldn't tell you."
Richard placed a hand dramatically over his chest. "Wow. He wounds me. And I thought he liked me."
"It's not that." Henry sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. "He just thinks it is not something to speak about."
"My lord," Richard said, leaning back in his chair, "we have discussed far worse things."
Henry looked down at his hands, fingers loosely clasped. He had spent days swallowing the truth, drowning it in wine, burying it. "I'm in love with a woman of questionable background," he admitted at last. "And it's killing me, Richard."
