Page 23 of His King Enslaved

They were running out of time. Once the Archon’s loyalist was in place, she’d set her plans in motion. Getting pregnant was no longer simply his duty. It might very well be the difference between life and death.

“Do you think she would…” Ardor began. He couldn’t voice the rest. Do you think my mother would have me killed? It would be the most efficient way to start a war. Xandar’s xenophobia and refusal to assign proper guards was a political gift to the Archon, though it mattered little in a practical sense. Ardor could ask his consort to improve security, but Kysanian guards would not hinder a determined Pavarian Wraith.

“Never,” Jain said harshly. “Never, Beloved. You are divine. It is out of the question.”

Her certainty did nothing to reassure him. Jain loved him too much to see the political optics clearly. “What can I do?” Ardor asked. “He’s fertile, and I’ve tried to inseminate myself, but—it’s too tight.”

“Biologically speaking, your flower knows its consort now. It has tasted his seed. If he were to help you put his sperm inside—”

“No. Absolutely not.”

“Beloved,” she said, taking his hand. “I understand why you don’t want him to help you, but a lot is on the line. Tell me what you’re afraid of. Tell me why you won’t consider it.”

The words came out in a rush. “I like the way he looks at me.” As soon as they were out, heat rose on his face. Such vanity. She was right. So much was on the line. Why couldn’t he simply yield?

But he couldn’t. The thought of his consort seeing his ugly bloom and reacting with disgust would break his heart. He couldn’t do it.

“You’re afraid he will see you and understand that you are different.”

Ardor glanced aside, unable to meet her eyes.

“What if he cannot see? He does not know what a flower feels like. He may have seen pictures in anatomy books, but if his eyes are covered, he won’t know the difference.”

Ardor’s throat bobbed as he considered it.

“Has he earned your trust now, Beloved?”

His consort was an impostor and therefore a liar. He wasn’t who he pretended to be, and that made him inherently untrustworthy. But regarding intimacy… yes, Ardor trusted him. His consort never touched without permission, and always obeyed his Flower’s commands, even when it was clearly difficult. He would do as his Flower asked. He would not question it.

“And you’ll be there, watching?” Ardor asked earnestly.

“Of course, Beloved. I’m honored to observe the ceremony, and will not hesitate to act. My allegiance is to you first.” She meant that, but reality was far more complicated. There would be too many questions if a palace doctor interfered with a breeding ceremony. But as usual, Jain knew how to reassure him. “I will say it’s a medical issue and separate you at once. He will listen.”

Ardor nodded slowly. He hated the uncertainty he always felt in this room, on this table. The clinical setting brought back too many terrible memories. He’d never escaped the sense of being examined like a specimen and dissected with clinical eyes.

“Take some time in the garden,” she said. “Think about your options.”

What she meant was, accept that we have no other option. She wasn’t wrong. He could hide in the garden with his plants and bees, but that wouldn’t change the fact Raven Hara was coming, and pregnancy was likely the only thing that could stay his mother’s hand.

* * *

THE KING HAD gone riding. Ardor was not surprised. The impostor could not keep himself away from the stables, even though it put a wrinkle in his cover story. It was yet another reminder that the man who sat atop the throne lacked willpower.

Ardor arrived with a book in hand and Leya at his side, and occupied a bench that gave him a clear view of the surrounding countryside. Focusing on his book was difficult, but soon the sound of approaching hoofbeats reached his ears. His consort did not see him at first. He was shirtless and rode bareback at a slow gallop.

Ardor was no stranger to his consort’s physique, but he’d never seen him ride before. The man was comfortable and confident in his own skin. His core was strong, and he was perfectly in sync with the powerful beast beneath him. His hands were free, and he balanced with apparent ease. The stallion—which evidently had a reputation for being a bit of a bastard—seemed to enjoy the run as much as his rider.

Ardor lightly fanned his face. Despite the cloud cover, it was hotter than he’d realized.

When his consort saw Ardor, he caught a fistful of the horse’s mane, and the magnificent beast obediently slowed. He rubbed the stallion’s neck as they approached. It was an absent, familiar gesture.

Xandar hated riding. He’d been stiff as a board during the parade to the palace and required assistance mounting and dismounting. This man rode easily, comfortably... handsomely.

His consort trotted up to meet them, and Leya sank into a deep, formal bow before moving behind Ardor.

“Your Majesty,” Ardor said, rising to offer a shorter bow of his own.

“Eminence,” his consort said. His confidence on the horse lent him a regal air he lacked otherwise. He might have the stuff of leadership after all. Beaten down and tucked away, perhaps, but maybe there was still hope. His consort glanced aside at the sound of approaching hoofbeats. “I thought I finally lost them. I can’t even have an hour to myself, it seems.”