Page 16 of His King Enslaved

As they bowed farewell, Ardor’s thoughts were churning. It was all plausible and neatly explained. He’d even gotten their story straight with Jain, which was a testament to how skillfully his champion had embedded herself in the palace and gained their trust.

Had Xandar’s fertility issues finally compelled them to put an impostor on the throne? But more importantly, was the switch temporary or permanent?

The thought of going back to the cold, cruel king who’d wed him quickened Ardor’s heart. He didn’t like the impostor. Hell, he didn’t know him. But that soft voice and ungrudging courtesy were a massive improvement, to say nothing of his obvious virility.

Perhaps the prudent question was not who or why, but how. How could he keep this stranger in his bed? The answer to all his problems was the same: by getting pregnant as quickly as possible.

SACRIFICE

BEG ALL YOU want.

Those words haunted Sindar as he went about his kingly duties. When he was occupied and he had distance from Ardor, he felt like himself more or less, save a gentle, yawning ache in his chest. But the moment he set foot in that terrible, wonderful garden for the morning ceremony, he became a slave.

Beg all you want.

Beg.

And Sindar did. Each time he crawled onto that bed, he ached to kiss the slender, jeweled foot peeking out from under the sheets. He longed to rest his head on those hidden thighs, to bow his back and do whatever his Flower commanded.

Alas, the Prince of Flowers only wanted one thing from him.

Each time Ardor gave the command, Sindar’s body shuddered and surrendered royal seed. He couldn’t stop himself from climaxing, and he didn’t want to. Under different circumstances, he might have been embarrassed to come so quickly with all those eyes upon him, but the flush of pleasure that rose on Ardor’s lovely face made it all worth it. Sindar ached to please his Flower. If jerking off and coming in his hand was what it took, he’d do it, but he yearned for so much more.

Of course, such things were impossible. Xandar could wake up at any moment, and as time passed, Sindar’s deception gnawed at him. Ardor of Pavar might hate him even more than Xandar when he learned he was a fraud.

“Remind me again why Ardor cannot know who I really am,” he said to Patel, for the fifth or sixth time. He was drinking with his adviser in his office, as they did every evening under the guise of managing the kingdom’s tangled affairs.

“He’s Pavarian, likely a spy, and cannot be trusted. It’s bad enough we let him wander around freely at night. At least he spends most of his time in the garden in plain sight. I can thank the goddess for that small favor.”

Sindar sighed. “I love him.”

“You do not love him,” Patel said severely. “You are besotted. Do you think you’re special? Flowers are bewitching by design. They are supposed to be irresistible.”

“So? It doesn’t change what I feel.” Sindar turned his glass slowly, gazing at the amber liquid within. “Was it like this for Xandar?”

Patel emptied his glass before answering. “No.”

Secretly, Sindar was glad his brother hadn’t shared his fervent desire. He already shared his brother’s face, his clothes, and his life. He wanted to be the only man who worshiped at Ardor of Pavar’s beautiful jeweled feet. “I’m positive Xandar mistreated him. Knowing Xandar, he did it in private, in ways others couldn’t see.”

Patel said nothing. Even now, he minded his tongue where the king was concerned.

Sindar kept turning the glass. “How is my brother, anyway?” He’d never stopped probing, but his wily advisers always neatly side-stepped the issue. He was no closer to finding his brother than when he’d first set foot in the mud.

“Stop worrying about your brother and focus on producing an heir. When his Eminence is pregnant, you’ll have a reprieve. You can get your head on straight and concentrate on running the kingdom.”

Sindar stopped turning the glass. “What do you mean, a reprieve?”

“You won’t need to meet the Flower while he’s pregnant. You can’t knock him up twice. Once you gain some distance, you’ll level out. I’ll vet a female companion for you.” Patel paused. “Or... a man? Or both. Whatever you want.”

The offer left him cold. All he wanted was Ardor.

That night, Sindar slipped away from his guards and went to the gardens. It was quite different after the sun went down. The air was cooler, and the chirp of birds was replaced with the gentle thrum of insects.

Sindar slipped off his loafers at the entrance to the apiary grove. He’d never cared about gardens and flowers and whatnot before, but this was Ardor’s place. It must be respected. The soft, springy ground cover would be damaged by shoes, so he went barefoot as Ardor always did, stepping lightly so as not to crush anything important.

“Your Majesty,” Ardor said, looking up from the book he was reading by lantern. The glow illuminated the curves of his pale face, turning his brown eyes into shiny, dark pools.

A man could drown there. Sindar would gladly.