Page 17 of His King Enslaved

“I want to apologize,” Sindar said.

“Whatever for?”

“For mistreating you previously.” It was a calculated risk, but knowing Xandar as he did, he had an idea of what privately transpired between the king and his Flower.

“You said I brought it on myself. You also said it was your right to treat me however you liked.”

Sindar swallowed. Of course, Xandar would manipulate the power differential. A Flower was not a servant, but they were contractually bound to their consort and at the mercy of the royal family. “I was wrong. I never should have said that.”

“What are you apologizing for, exactly?”

Sindar had long contemplated all the ways his brother, in his arrogance, might punish someone like Ardor. “I’m sorry I kept your champion from you. I’m sorry I didn’t appreciate you and the sacrifices you made to come here. And I’m sorry I allowed my pride to make your time here difficult.”

“I see. What brings this on?”

“I want to court you,” he blurted. Damn it all, that wasn’t what he’d rehearsed! Why couldn’t he stop running his fool mouth whenever Ardor was around? “I mean—I want to keep seeing you. Meeting with you. After it’s done.”

Ardor’s expression was calm and unreadable. Sindar hated that. He wanted a reaction. He wanted to make his Flower feel even a sliver of what he felt. “You want to continue the ceremonies after we breed?”

“After we make a baby,” Sindar said. He really hated the word breed. Breeding was for horses. What he and Ardor shared was pure and noble.

“Ah, I understand the turnabout now. You’re apologizing because you want something from me.”

Sindar’s shoulders slumped. His Flower wasn’t wrong. “It doesn’t have to be like this, so formal and… scheduled. I want you to be happy and enjoy living here. A marriage should be nice. I can woo you properly. If you’ll let me.”

“Nice?” Ardor echoed, and a miserable lump settled in Sindar’s throat. Goddess, he must sound like a naive fool.

Ardor put the book aside, his silver hair slipping over his shoulder as he rose. He approached and circled Sindar, bracelets tinkling. Good goddess, he was gorgeous. Elegant, refined, beautiful, patient, wise…

His scent teased Sindar’s nose, coaxing, drawing him in. A few weeks ago, Sindar would have immediately gotten hard, but daily exposure to Ardor’s scent and body afforded him a semblance of control now. He could handle his Flower’s irresistible perfume without making a horny fool of himself. It was the sight of Ardor’s gorgeous hair spilled across the pillows that undid him now.

Sindar focused on regulating his breathing. He fixed his gaze on the seat Ardor vacated, which was a mistake because he immediately wondered if it still held his Flower’s fleeting warmth. The thought of any touch, even by proxy, stirred his cock. Sindar wrenched himself from such torments and instead focused on the soft green carpet at his feet. As Ardor circled him, his delicate scent surrounded Sindar, wrapping him in desire.

Suddenly, an elegant arm crossed Sindar’s chest, and cool metal pressed to his throat.

“Who are you, and what did you do with the king?” Ardor asked evenly.

“Oh, sweet angels,” Sindar gasped, his cock swelling at the feel of Ardor’s firm body against his back, his arms around him. Finally, an embrace! A deadly one, but an embrace all the same. Sindar’s balls ached. He swallowed a moan, his throat bobbing against the sharp edge, and that only made him harder. “Sweet angels, kill me. Kill me now. Let me die in your arms, so I’ll never go without your embrace again.”

“Answer the question,” Ardor snapped. “Who are you?”

“Your slave,” Sindar breathed. “Your servant. Your instrument. Your sacrifice. Please end me now, or release me so I can fall to your feet and worship as the goddess clearly intended. I am yours, I beg you, use me as you see fit!”

Ardor cursed under his breath, some Pavarian word Sindar didn’t understand, and the cold press of metal and the firmness of his body were abruptly gone. Sindar groaned at the loss, so overcome he temporarily forgot about his aching cock. He put his hands together, beseeching, as Ardor stepped around him, a scowl on his handsome features.

His Flower was annoyed now. Truth be told, it only made him hotter.

“Punish me, if that’s what you desire,” Sindar said, going to his knees. “Pass judgment on me, use me. My body is yours. My heart, my hands, my body—all of it belongs to you. Neglect it, claim it, your will is my sermon!”

“Stop that,” Ardor snapped, a flush rising on his cheeks.

But the floodgates to Sindar’s beleaguered heart were now open, and he could not force them closed. He crawled, head low, to his Flower’s feet. Ardor took a quick step back and bumped into the vine-covered lattice.

“Please,” Sindar said, reaching for Ardor’s foot but stopping just short of caressing it. “Forgive me. Tell me how to make amends. I cannot live a second longer knowing I’ve wronged you. How can I earn your favor? I’ll do anything.”

“Stand up, you fool!” Ardor hissed. “You’re supposed to be a king! You cannot be seen like this! Stand up at once!”

Finally, a command! Sindar surged to his feet, eager to show how well he could obey. “Anything for you!” he said joyously.