"I remember you vaguely saying yes to marrying me," Henry said, his eyes brightening with the first true mischief Livia had seen in them since he returned. "I am the King of England, hence…"
"Oh my Lord," she gasped again.
Henry's mouth curved. "I thought you would have caught up hours ago."
"Hours ago, I was more concerned with whether my organs were still in agreement with the rest of me. Do you understand what that is?"
"I have some idea, yes." His smile deepened, though he was watching her carefully now. Beneath the teasing, he understood. Of course he understood. He had been born near the throne, raised beneath its shadow, and crowned by its cruelty. He knew what it demanded. He knew better than anyone that a crown was expectation.
