Her heart hammered wildly as she added silently, Please God, get me out of this. I'm not a thief. I'm just a lover of books.
"A book," the man repeated slowly.
"Yes," she said defensively. "A book."
His mouth twitched slightly. Livia shifted uneasily. Only then did she notice another man standing several steps behind him in the alley's shadows.
She glanced past them both toward the mouth of the alley, measuring the distance. If she ran—
No. The second man would catch her before she reached the street. Without warning, the man holding her reached forward and yanked the book from her hands.
His brows rose slightly. "Well," he said thoughtfully. "You have peculiar taste in stolen goods."
Livia folded her arms stubbornly despite the panic swirling in her stomach. "I told you," she said. "It's just a book."
"Yes," he said slowly. "I can see that." "Francesco Petrarca?" the man said, raising one elegant brow as he examined the book.
"You know what…" she said quickly, lifting both hands in surrender. "You can keep it. Return it, if you will. But please let me go."
"Why did you steal this?"
Livia stared at him. "To read?" she said slowly, arching a brow. "Isn't that what people do with books?"
"Not the likes of you."
Livia felt irritation flare instantly in her chest. "And by likes of you, you mean?"
He seemed faintly amused by the challenge. "Are you usually this rude?" he asked calmly. "Were you not taught manners by whoever taught you to read?"
"I don't believe I have been rude to you, sir," she replied with exaggerated politeness. "And," she continued, "if you do not plan on turning me in, I believe it is time for you to let me go."
"What is your name?"
"Uh… Lolita," she said.
"Lolita," he repeated slowly.
"Which house do you work for?"
Livia narrowed her eyes. "Why are you asking all these questions?"
"So I know where to find you if this happens again," he said simply.
"Oh. You are not turning me in?"
"No."
"But," he added calmly, "you will not be leaving with this either." He lifted the book slightly.
Livia sighed.
"You like the poet?" he asked.
"Yes… I like the way he expresses his grief," Livia answered after a moment.
"Carry a lot of sadness, do you?"
"You could say that. Can I go now?" she asked.
The man regarded her for another moment. Then he stepped away from her, creating space in the narrow alley.
She took one cautious step. Then another. Her heart was still racing. She had the strong suspicion that if she moved too quickly, the man might change his mind.
"You still didn't tell me which house you work for," he said casually.
"Uh… the Edmunds behind Covent," she said quickly.
She continued backing away as she spoke, increasing the distance between them step by careful step.
Then she turned.
"Lolita," he called.
Livia kept walking. Then stopped abruptly. Oh. Right. Lolita. She spun around suddenly, pointing at herself with enthusiastic realization. "Yes! Lolita, of course! That's me!"
The man smiled. It was a slow smile, bright enough to make her momentarily forget how to breathe. "No, it's not."
"Bye!" she shouted.
Then she did the only sensible thing left. She ran. Lifting her skirts, Livia dashed out of the alley and back into the roaring chaos of Cheapside Market.
She didnt notice that the thin scarf she had worn around her neck had slipped loose and fallen onto the cobblestones.
"Follow her," the man said suddenly.
"My lord—"
"Follow her," he repeated, sharper this time.
"Your Highness!" the guard protested in a harsh whisper. "I cannot leave you by yourself."
The man exhaled with visible impatience. "Lionel," he said. "I assure you, no one cares about me here. And even if they did, they would hardly expect to find me lurking in an alley."
Lionel looked deeply unconvinced. "My duty is to your safety."
The king gestured toward the end of the alley where Livia had vanished into the market. "Go now, before you lose her."
"As you command… Your Highness."
The king remained behind in the alley, still holding the small book of Petrarch in his hands. He glanced down at the fallen scarf then picked it up. He looked back at the book in his hand. "Canzoniere… hmm," he murmured, running his thumb thoughtfully along the worn edge of the leather cover.
He closed the book and strolled back toward the stall from which Livia had stolen it. The market noise swallowed him easily. No one spared a second glance for a plainly dressed gentleman wandering through Cheapside.
He reached the manuscript stall where the trader was busy reorganizing a stack of prayer books while grumbling loudly to anyone willing to listen. Henry placed the book on the wooden counter. "I believe this belongs to one of your customers," he said.
The trader looked up immediately. "Did you find the wench?"
"No use for names, sir," he said mildly. "But no, she ran and left it behind."
The trader snorted. "Cowardly little thief." He grabbed the book, inspecting it quickly before nodding in satisfaction. "Thank you. Miss Pembroke threw quite the fit before leaving here."
Henry could imagine. "You're welcome," he said, smiling politely. Then he turned and walked away. He wandered through the market.
Eventually the crowds thinned as Henry left the markets behind and made his way toward the wide grounds of Whitehall Palace.
Henry approached the palace gates just as two guards spotted him. They straightened instantly and swung the heavy gates open without question.
*****
As expected, Nicholas Beaumont was beyond livid. His face had turned a deep, blotchy red, the color creeping all the way up his neck as though the rage itself had climbed there. His cheeks puffed out with every breath he took, and the tavern seemed to tremble slightly under the force of his shouting.
First, because the fabrics were not ready—an unforgivable crime apparently committed entirely by Livia.
(The more power stones and golden tickets we have, the more updates we get)