Page 22 of His King Enslaved

“What if I ask for eleven, and shorten the waiting period to one month?”

Sweat beaded on Sindar’s forehead. He wiped his brow. “Please don’t. Don’t toy with me. I can’t bear it.”

“It’s a serious question. You keep saying you’ll give me anything I want. If I ask you for something that upsets or displeases you, will you still grant it?”

If Sindar had been in bed, he would have pulled a sheet over his head, just as he did when he was a child and wanted to block out the world. He didn’t understand this world. He didn’t understand Ardor’s position. What if Ardor asked for an earlier grave? He’d give his Flower anything in his power, but not that. Surely not that. “Please, I don’t...”

Ardor rose from his seat. Sindar’s heart clenched at the soft tinkling of his consort’s golden bracelets. A sound that normally gave him joy now plunged him into despair. How much longer would he hear that sound? He’d taken for granted Ardor would be with him… well. Forever.

But why? His own mother had perished so young. Why had he assumed Ardor would be different? Was he truly so stupid, naive, and self-absorbed that he’d never once considered the impact childbirth might have on his mate’s body?

When Ardor’s elegant bare feet stopped before Sindar, he slowly looked up, his distress tinged with shame. He should have known these things. He would have known if he’d tried. If he’d cared. If he’d been anything but a spoiled, entitled princeling who was angry even more of the world hadn’t been handed to him on a platter. He’d know about important things like this if he hadn’t given up and accepted there was no point in bettering himself or even trying.

“Your Majesty,” Ardor said gently. “I know you mean well, and your heart is in the right place, but good intentions are not enough. You need to know the answer to that question, for both our sakes.”

“I’m sorry,” Sindar said, the words a strained whisper.

“I don’t need your pity or sympathy. All I ask is that you only promise what you’re prepared to give. Do you understand?”

It was too much. Standing here, knowing what he now knew, was too much. This kind, wonderful man was expected to fulfill his duty and die. It was wrong. It was obscene. It was so heart-wrenchingly ugly.

Sindar’s gentle heart could not accept it. Swiftly, wordlessly, he rose and walked away.

TRUST

FOR THE FIRST time since the switch, Ardor’s consort was a no-show.

The king sent a note in advance apologizing for being unable to attend that morning’s ceremony, and Ardor, not quite believing it, reported to the gardens anyway. His besotted consort was nowhere to be found.

The absence weighed heavily as Ardor settled onto the exam table for his daily physical. Jain bustled around him, pausing only when she saw the seal on his ceremonial robe had not been broken.

“He canceled today’s ceremony,” Ardor said.

Jain broke the seal herself and opened his robe. She gently palpated his stomach, calming his nerves before she took a sample from his flower. Even with her, a person he trusted utterly, his flower remained stubbornly closed. Fortunately, Jain had done this so many times she could take a sample of the delicate inner lining with little fuss.

“Why?” she asked.

“Officially, he’s fallen ill. Last night, we discussed the royal mutation. He didn’t understand the biological cost of procreation, or realize it would shorten my lifespan. He was upset by it.” Ardor studied the diagrams on the far wall. “I’ve never heard of a royal reacting like that. It’s a simple fact of life. It can’t be changed. Yet he took it so personally, as if he were to blame. He says he’ll amend the contract however I like, but he was very emotional. He surely didn’t mean it.” And even if he had, it was a promise the man surely could not keep. He wasn’t actually a king after all.

Curiosity gleamed in his champion’s eyes. “How did the subject come up?”

“He wanted to waive the five-month waiting period so he could see me during my pregnancy.”

“Whatever for?”

“He offered to rub my feet. Can you imagine? A king waiting on a Flower. It’s unheard of.”

Jain glanced at him, a smile tugging at the corner of her mouth, as she prepared the testing solution. “It might be unheard of in Pavar, but it’s a wide world out there. Would you like it if he rubbed your feet?”

Ardor cleared his throat. “That’s irrelevant.”

“I’m not sure it is. No one would begrudge you making the most of your situation, Eminence.” She took a sample, and Ardor barely felt it. “This doesn’t have to be a strictly political arrangement. If you enjoy his attention and the king is amenable…” She turned to her microscope.

All at once, Ardor pictured his consort on his knees in the darkness of the bedchamber, rubbing his feet, kissing them, begging. He pictured it easily, as it dovetailed perfectly with the imposter’s eager nature. Oh, the “king” was amenable, all right. “I don’t know him. He’s a stranger.” His consort was eager in all ways but one: he’d steadfastly avoided identifying himself. It was probably for the same reason that Jain hid her knowledge of Xandar’s disappearance. They thought they were protecting him.

Jain lapsed into silence as she stared into the eyepiece. She didn’t need to say anything. He still wasn’t pregnant.

“They’re sending Hara,” she said finally, looking up. “I would have told you sooner, but I didn’t want to stress you out unnecessarily. I tried to delay, but the king is adamant that the champion be recalled, and our man on the inside could not dissuade the negotiations.”