Page 26 of His King Enslaved

Negotiating a fairer contract wasn’t enough. Even one child would shorten his Flower’s life. So much was at stake, and it still wasn’t enough. He couldn’t do it.

When Ambani arrived to escort Sindar to the garden, he was a bundle of nerves. Excited butterflies no longer fluttered in his stomach. Instead, agonized worms writhed within him, bringing with them a creeping, existential dread. He was numb as he walked down the hall to the gardens, and when Ardor’s fragrant scent washed over him, his heart sank into despair.

The Prince of Flowers lay on the bed, his silvery hair draped over the pillows. He was as gorgeous as ever, his dark eyes glorious pools, but all Sindar could think was: I’m hurting him.

Thankfully, there were few observers this time. Dr. Jain, Ambani, the little acolyte, and an attendant were the only ones present.

Sindar remained soft as he stood at the foot of the bed. He stood there so long that the attendant finally approached to untie his robe for him. The silk pooled on the ground, limp as his flaccid cock.

Ardor’s perfect brow was lifted in concern. “Come here, Your Majesty,” he said softly.

Sindar crawled onto the bed, and it felt for all the world like a death march. He wanted to fold Ardor into his arms and say, “We don’t have to.”

But they did have to. This was the only way members of his family could procreate. For years he’d dutifully worn protection, accepting he should not come inside a woman without fully appreciating why. He’d accepted he couldn’t have children back then. Now he could, and he increasingly wanted them, but he couldn’t bear to harm his Ardor, even indirectly. Even as part of his so-called duty. Even if it were the only way to save his kingdom.

Sindar halted at his Flower’s knees, but Ardor said, “Come,” again, and Sindar obeyed, crawling into his usual position above his mate’s body.

Ardor gazed into his eyes. “It doesn’t hurt,” he whispered. “My flower enjoys it. You have my permission.”

“But do you enjoy it?” Sindar asked. Ardor frequently blushed during the ceremony, and he was clearly amenable to what they were doing, but there was no sign he derived any sort of pleasure from their lovemaking.

“This is bigger than either of us. You know this.”

“Yes, and I know you want me to do this, and goddess knows you are the most beautiful man in the world, but I can’t—I can’t make it work.” Sindar gestured to his flaccid cock, still dangling. “I can’t stop thinking that each we do this, I’m chipping away at my life with you. I would spend the rest of my days celibate and untouched if it meant more time with you.”

Ardor motioned to the doctor. She handed him a silk blindfold. “Will you wear this for me?”

He didn’t have to ask. Sindar would die for him. Sindar tied the blindfold around his head. Being cut off from Ardor’s lovely visage only made his sense of smell more focused. He could distinguish Ardor’s perfume from the gentle smell of freshly washed sheets and the fragrant blooms of the surrounding flowers.

“May I touch you?” Ardor asked.

“Yes,” Sindar said, more miserable than he’d ever been.

He shivered when Ardor’s cool fingertips curved around the back of his neck, drawing him closer. “I want a baby,” Ardor whispered into Sindar’s ear. “And I want it with you. Not him. I’m choosing you. I want you. Show me how you’ll give me one.”

Sindar swallowed as Ardor slid his hand over the back of his, urging him to take his cock in hand. Despite his misgivings, a familiar heat was slowly, steadily rising in him. He would have expected skin contact with the man of his dreams to be electric, but his Flower’s touch was a slow awakening. A comfortable longing washed over him. He no longer felt the nervous excitement of a newlywed. Now, his arousal came with the certainty of familiarity.

Ardor’s breath was achingly warm against the shell of his ear. “I’ve never touched a man here before. I like how it looks when you want me, how hard you grow. May I…?”

“Oh, sweet angels,” Sindar managed, as Ardor’s elegant fingers urged his hand into a slow rhythm along his shaft, up and down, up and down… “Y-you don’t have to—“

“I want to,” Ardor said, sliding his index finger down so it trailed across Sindar’s shaft with each stroke. “I want to know what your body feels like. After you come for me, I want you to help put your seed inside me. Will you do that for me?”

“Oh, fuck,” Sindar gasped, nearly losing his rhythm. He stayed the course, slowly stroking himself, hyper-focused on the warm voice in his ear and the hand pressed lightly against his. He memorized each individual press of Ardor’s fingertips, the weight of the heel of his hand.

Goddess, he would never wash the back of his hand again. He never wanted to forget the press of Ardor’s flesh against his own.

“You make me feel desired,” Ardor continued quietly in his ear. “I enjoy that a lot more than I thought I would. I like how you come for me, and how you shiver in the moments before, barely able to contain yourself. I enjoy this, and I enjoy you. Don’t doubt it.”

Sindar clamped his mouth shut to keep himself from begging. What fool wouldn't find Ardor desirable? He knew the answer, and that name had no place here in this bed or in this moment. Right now, he and Ardor were the only people who existed.

Sindar’s panting grew heavier as he stroked himself to the sound of his Flower’s voice, and Ardor’s fingers trailed down his shaft. Ardor’s touch was curious and exploratory as he surveyed his consort’s manhood, tracing the silken veins and smooth skin. He finally stopped at the engorged head, cradling it in his palm. Ardor stroked the slit with his thumb, smearing precum across the tip, and made a satisfied sound in his throat.

He liked Sindar’s cock. He liked how hard it got. His Flower was pleased.

With that thought, Sindar’s breath hitched as he shuddered and came in his Flower’s hand. Ardor closed his fingers around the head, catching all his king’s release, and Sindar shuddered again. His moan rumbled through his bones. Despite the release, his balls ached, his spent cock still throbbing and ready.

Ardor gently squeezed, drawing the last of the royal seed into his palm, and a shiver went up Sindar’s spine. He almost whimpered when Ardor released him. His Flower moved beneath him, sheets rustling as he drew them aside. Ardor took Sindar’s hand, guiding it down between his legs, but his movements were less sure now.