Page 10 of His King Enslaved

“Of course,” he said, forcing a smile.

In the absence of his Champion, Leya was the only person permitted to bathe and dress him, but Jain missed their old routines, and she was confident she could manage the optics if anyone saw them. She washed his chest and stomach and performed a brief but thorough check of his flower. His face grew hot and his heart raced when eyes were on him, even if they were loving and familiar, and he forced himself not to fidget.

“How deeply were you able to penetrate it?” she asked, and he showed her, bending his index finger to the second knuckle.

They both knew that likely wasn’t deep enough for proper insemination. Flowers were the miracle workers who held royal society together, but they couldn’t defy physics. He couldn’t have babies if the king’s sperm didn’t reach his eggs.

“I’ll practice,” he promised. Now that he had confirmation of his consort’s fertility, he couldn’t ignore his own deficiencies anymore. He must open his bloom. He would manage it. Somehow.

Jain brushed out his hair, an unnecessary task that soothed them both. For a time, he allowed himself to get lost in the familiar glide of the brush over his scalp and through his long silver tresses.

Ardor’s father had decided what he would look like, along with everything else about his body. It was his father who chose his skin color and hair, and he determined they would only share one feature: deep brown eyes. He wanted Ardor to be different, exotic and memorable, and he was. In hindsight, perhaps that was why their relationship deteriorated. When his father looked at Ardor, he did not see a child made in his own image. He saw a man crafted to be desirable to others, to be bartered and exchanged.

Ardor’s expression must have betrayed him, because Jain’s brow knitted. She stopped brushing and pressed a gloved hand to his forehead and kissed it. To kiss a flower directly, even out of chaste loyalty, was forbidden. His consort was the only person permitted to touch him without gloves. The intimacy of skin contact could only come from a man he despised.

“Beloved Eminence, you will have children, and you will thrive. I will do whatever it takes to help you.” She would die for him. He knew that. He’d long trusted her above all others, especially his family. “Trust me. We finally have what we need. You will be pregnant soon, mark my words.”

“Of course,” he said.

* * *

ARDOR SPENT MOST of his free time in the palace garden near the apiaries, in part because the king disliked bees (along with everything else, it seemed). He sometimes fantasized about the little workers coming to his rescue and sending Xandar to an early grave, but afterward he was always ashamed of it.

Xandar’s death would likely trigger a civil war, and all the bees who stung him would die as well. Ardor had grown fond of the little workers, and befriending them provided a much-needed diversion. He dressed mostly in white, knowing it soothed them, and read everything he could about bee husbandry. He soon handled them with ease. This time of year they preferred to flit among the delicate white blossoms in the royal orchard, but some kept him company, cheerfully working among the aster and bee balm near his table.

Leya helped carry his books, and he carried his lunch. He set out a plate and added several smooth stones before filling it with water from a pitcher. His food never left his sight after Jain tested it for poison, and he kept the basket at his feet.

“Will you sit with me?” he asked Leya, knowing the answer.

She blushed. “Oh, Your Eminence, I shouldn’t. May I bring you anything?”

“No, thank you. I’ll stay here for the afternoon.”

She bowed deeply and scurried away. Knowing Leya, she would clean his apartment top to bottom twice before returning to escort him back before his curfew.

After years with a champion constantly at his side, Ardor enjoyed being left to his own devices. Ironically, the public gardens were the one place he was allowed some privacy. He was never truly alone in any meaningful sense, but the garden granted the illusion of solitude. The guards were instructed to keep their distance, and Leya was the only person allowed to approach him. He could undertake his studies and interests without interruption.

He resumed his reading of Kysanian history. It was educational and entertaining. Their version of the centuries-long feud with his nation was fascinating and often hilarious. He only looked up when the bees drinking from the saucer abruptly flitted away.

The king stood in the garden, watching him. His guards remained a short distance away, at full attention. Xandar’s jacket was a dark navy, nearly black. It was a jarring contrast to the brilliant flowers blooming all around him.

Ardor’s heart constricted, but his face betrayed nothing. “Your Majesty,” he said, moving to rise, and the king held out a hand to stop him.

“Please, don’t get up. I’m sorry to disturb you. You seem comfortable here.”

Ardor slowly sat, trying to keep his puzzlement off his face. Again, the king spoke in that new, soft voice. And since when did Xandar care about his comfort?

“I wanted to apologize for my performance at the ceremony,” Xandar said. “I, uh... should have had more decorum.”

“I found it refreshing,” Ardor said. He’d steeled himself for humiliation, knowing he’d be forced to show his ugly bloom to the entire court. Having his consort shudder and come without touching him was an unexpected gift, to be sure.

Xandar cleared his throat. “I would like to have a private ceremony tomorrow. If it pleases you.”

Whatever change had occurred, it was likely temporary. As stressful as public ceremonies were, having witnesses was far preferable to being abused behind closed doors. “I’d prefer a ceremony in the garden.” Ardor couldn’t stop searching the king’s face. It seemed so familiar, yet so different. Was he losing his mind?

“If that’s what you prefer, consider it done.”

The seemingly genuine respect and politeness in his tone filled Ardor with unease, but he’d be a fool not to take advantage of this change in goodwill. “I also prefer it when you don’t touch me. I can inseminate myself, as demonstrated.”