Page 31 of His King Enslaved

Disquiet settled like a rock in Ardor’s stomach. He had little choice but to sit back and watch as his well-meaning consort fought to bring the Archon’s best spy into Kysan’s palace. He and Jain needed reinforcements, and a Raven was better than nothing. At least she wasn’t sending a Wraith.

“I appreciate that,” he said.

“May I speak freely, Your Eminence?”

Ardor inclined his head again, intrigued.

Lady Ambani drew a breath. “I will be frank. He is absolutely obsessed with you. We are doing everything we can to manage it, but… is there a chance we could reduce the number of ceremonies to twice a week so he can level out a bit? He’s driving me mad.”

She sounded so exasperated Ardor had to hold back a laugh. “Of course.”

“Thank you,” she said, with such clear exhaustion that he truly did laugh then. She smiled and said, “His Majesty intends to follow your lead. He has resisted our advice on this front, but he will certainly listen to you.”

“I understand,” Ardor said, still amused. “Please inform His Majesty I would like to move tomorrow’s ceremony to the end of the week.”

“Happily, Your Eminence,” Ambani said.

This was the longest conversation they’d ever had, but he knew Lady Ambani by reputation. She was a loyalist and a skilled diplomat. She was the only member of the royal staff who had ever spoken frankly to him as an equal. He liked her. And he could certainly benefit from better acquaintance.

“Would you like a cup of tea?” he asked.

Lady Ambani was too skilled a diplomat to show surprise, if indeed she was surprised by this sudden offer. Instead, she smiled and said, “I would love it.”

* * *

THE NEXT FEW days felt different. Strange.

The low warmth in Ardor’s belly persisted. He’d crossed a threshold with his consort. He was in an emotionally precarious place. Perhaps that was why.

His consort stopped visiting the garden, and that was certainly best for both of them, but Ardor periodically looked, hoping to find a glimpse of the royal robes amongst the flowers. The semi-solitude of his bench in the garden was no longer a safe harbor. It felt like waiting now.

As he sat on the examination table, waiting for Jain’s usual verdict, he said, “I feel different. He’s a stranger. I don’t know him. But I want to see him.”

“You keep saying the king is a stranger,” Jain said, preparing a slide. “But is he, Eminence? You’ve seen him nearly every day for weeks now. You’ve spoken often.”

That was true. He might not know his new consort’s true identity, but he knew his body and voice. Their conversations were superficial out of necessity, because Ardor could not fully trust a man he could not name, but they had talked. The search for his consort’s identity was never far from his mind, but he’d allowed himself to be distracted in recent weeks. He had to know who this man was, if only to give himself peace of mind.

“For what it’s worth, as an observer, I find him consistent. He is devoted to you, Eminence. There have been behavioral changes, but he seems to have leveled out. Going forward, I think you can expect—oh!” Jain peered into the microscope. “Yes! Yes!” She turned to him, grabbing his hand in both her gloved ones. “Eminence!”

Could it be? Was this why he’d had such warmth in his belly? He’d assumed it was related to his consort’s persistence and all the surprises, but…

“You’re pregnant!” she said. “That must be the feeling you have!”

“Yes,” he said, momentarily in awe of his own body. His damaged flower could fulfill its purpose after all. Jain had always believed in him, but deep down, he was never certain he could actually get pregnant. Certainly, his mother thought so. All her plans revolved around his eventual failure.

“Oh, Beloved,” she said, brushing his cheek with a gloved finger. “Enjoy this. After all your efforts, you’ll soon have a child. You’ll be such a wonderful father.”

“How certain are you?” He still didn’t quite believe it.

“Eminence, it’s happening. You did it. You are definitely pregnant.”

He hugged her. It was forbidden, but he didn’t care. Neither did she. His champion held him in her powerful arms, and for the first time in an eternity, Ardor felt something like peace. He’d been sent to fail, with the assumption his presumably barren womb would offer a pretext for war, and he’d achieved what the Archon thought impossible.

This pregnancy wasn’t only the creation of a future life. It had the potential to save thousands. It would broker peace, stay his mother’s hand, and forge a historic bond between Kysan and Pavar. Unless…

Unless the child was not recognized as Xandar’s.

He parted from his champion. “I have to know our child will be safe. You can’t hold back any longer. Tell me everything. Who is he?”