Page 33 of His King Enslaved

Sindar. Second son. A “twin” brother.

Flower eggs could not be split, and a Flower could not survive the gestation period of two zygotes with the royal mutation. To have “twins,” Eminence Heavenly required two consorts. Royals were told a Flower imprinted on their first mate and could not breed with anyone else. It was a necessary and prudent lie, and by birthing twins, Eminence Heavenly risked exposing that lie. If such information became public knowledge, the lives of Flowers everywhere would become even more restrictive.

Ardor’s mind was reeling. He had to know why any Flower would do something so risky, and there was only one person who might provide answers. “I must speak to the king,” he told Leya.

“Please, Eminence,” she said. “I beg you. The king has changed, and he is so very fond of you, but his brother is long dead. There was a coup… Speaking his name is forbidden. You must not ask him about it. It will drive a wedge between you. I can’t bear to see it!”

The fear in her voice brought his quest to a halt. She was right. This information was deadly, and Jain was wise to keep it from him. Ardor must tread lightly now. He had no proof, only an insane hunch pieced together from disparate sources. He could not corner the impostor and demand answers, however badly he wanted them.

“You’re right,” he said. “We should leave the past behind us.” He closed the history book with a finality he hoped she’d believe.

After some hours reflecting in his apartment, he was glad he’d made this discovery after conception. It was one thing to breed with an impostor, and quite another to breed with a would-be usurper whose very name was forbidden. Ardor wasn’t sure he would have been able to do it, regardless of the stakes.

The twin—technically, half-brother—was playing a dangerous game, and the fact Jain and the advisers were in on it didn’t lessen that danger. He didn’t care what happened to him. All he cared about now was his baby. If anyone ever found out Xandar wasn’t the father, the baby was in jeopardy.

Ardor touched his flat belly as he gazed out the window of his apartment. The warmth was still there, and it spurred him to take up his pen.

He couldn’t deal with a face-to-face meeting, and no one expected him to have one. Tradition dictated that a Flower and his consort be separated for the duration of the pregnancy, and Jain was likely already making preparations for his move to the paternity suite on the other side of the palace. No one would question reticence on his part.

He wrote:

Your Majesty,

I am pregnant. All is well. I have canceled the upcoming ceremony. Tradition dictates we remain apart during my pregnancy, and I believe this would be best for both of us. I trust you will keep our verbal agreement. In the meantime, I will write to you regarding our child’s progress.

Eminence

Leya watched him nervously. She hadn’t forgotten his utterance of the forbidden name. She would be reluctant to deliver a letter under these circumstances.

“May I confide in you?” he asked. “I have a secret.”

Her expression changed. “Yes, Your Eminence. Of course.”

“I’m pregnant. I want to tell him, and I don’t want to wait until our next ceremony.”

Leya’s eye lit up. “Oh! Oh, praise clever D’ruth! You’re—!” She clapped her hands over her mouth. “You’re pregnant!” she whispered. “What a wonderful secret!”

“Yes,” he said, in a laughing whisper back. “It won’t do for the king to find out last. He’ll be terribly put out. Will you deliver this letter? Discretely, of course.” He showed it to her.

“Oh, yes,” she cried. “Oh, D’ruth smiles on us! After that last ceremony, I just knew!” As soon as the letter was stamped and sealed, she all but flew out of the apartment, happily singing divine hymns under her breath.

There. It was done. He had five months to assess the situation, deal with Raven Hara, and take steps to protect his child. He’d have to bring Hara around somehow. Ardor folded his hands on the table, considering every angle and tool at his disposal until Leya returned, slightly out of breath, and quickly shut the door.

“Your Eminence,” she said. “Forgive me. I tried to explain the period of separation…”

Ardor’s heart simultaneously lifted and sank when a frantic knocking sounded on his door.

Of course, his consort wouldn’t be deterred by a mere letter. The man had no decorum or self-control. Despite Ardor’s rightful annoyance, a small, selfish part of him was relieved. If his consort had simply given up without a fight, it would have hurt his feelings. It made no sense, but even a Pavarian couldn’t be ruled by logic all the time.

“Let him in,” Ardor said, rising.

The moment Leya cracked open the door, his consort pushed it open. “Ardor,” he said. His face was flushed, and he was panting. He’d actually run down the hall to Ardor’s apartment. It was yet another demonstration of why this man, this usurper, was wholly unfit for the office.

Despite this, Ardor’s heart stirred. This man ran as if his life depended on seeing Ardor again. His besottment was unsettlingly strong. It would only make things difficult. Why, then, did Ardor feel the queerest sense of pride? He’d never, in his wildest dreams, expected to stir a consort’s passions like this. This level of obsession was annoying at best, and dangerous at worst.

“You shouldn’t be here,” Ardor said, fighting to smother the strange, illogical feelings coalescing in his stomach.

“Please,” his consort said. “Don’t shut me out. After what we’ve shared—how could you do that? You tell me by letter? You know you can summon me anytime! Don’t I mean anything to you?”