Henry.
No.
The king.
No.
Her mind rejected it at once, violently, desperately. She was tired and frightened. Bella was dying before her eyes. Of course grief could twist sounds. She stared at his back.
Same height.
Same shoulders.
Same dark hair.
Same way of standing, as if the whole world could lean against him and he would still refuse to bend.
The room blurred around her. The doctor kept speaking, something about weakness, rest, prayers, waiting. Livia heard none of it. The words became water. Her attention narrowed to the man standing near Bella's bed.
The king who had Henry's voice. The king who had Henry's height. The king who had Henry's hair.
Her fingers curled into the fabric of her skirt, gripping hard enough to hurt. She just needed to see his face.
That was all. One look, and her mind would stop this madness. One look, and she would prove her ears were cruel liars. One look, and the world would remain the world she understood.
