Page 40 of His King Enslaved

“Of course you can. You’re king.”

Ardor said something similar. Sindar still considered himself a forgotten spare, an impostor in king’s clothing. He’d yet to fully embrace the role. Deep down, he hadn’t wanted to. In his mind, he’d inevitably fail.

“My father once told me the secret,” Ambani continued. “Kysan is not a monarchy. It is an oligarchy. Your brother styled himself a true autocrat, like your father, and refused to admit others had influence over his decisions. He was constantly at odds with the court, and this made his job more difficult. The court will not question a change in direction if it benefits them. In fact, I think you will find they are most eager to gloss over inconsistencies if the king leads with honey instead of iron.”

“Honey,” Sindar mused, studying the papers with fresh eyes. “But… won’t they think I’m weak?”

“Not if honey gets favorable results.”

That evening, Sindar awaited his mentor’s verdict on the sweeter side of monarchical rule, enjoying the way Patel’s eyes narrowed and his nose scrunched.

“This is a change in strategy,” Patel said finally.

“I’m the king, Patty. I can do what I want.”

Patel’s scrutiny gradually morphed into intrigue as he continued reading. “This bit here is rather clever. Was this Lady Ambani’s idea?”

“Some of it. If you have any suggestions…”

“Don’t worry,” Patel said briskly, already jotting a few corrections, and Sindar laughed.

They drank and talked a bit more, and when the time seemed right, and enough whiskey flowed through his mentor’s body, Sindar casually asked, “How is my brother?”

“He remains stable.”

“I want to see him.”

His adviser laughed. “Not a chance. You’ve gotten a taste now, and you’ll do anything to keep it.”

“Governance is every bit as sour as I thought it would be. He can have it.”

Patel lowered his glass. “You know I’m talking about that Flower.”

“It’s like you said. Distance has cleared my head. I’m no longer besotted.” As Patel considered this, Sindar added, “I have a right to see what state my brother is in. I want to see him with my own eyes. What guarantees do I have that he’s even being treated properly?”

Patel’s consideration abruptly vanished. He leaned forward. “Who raised you, boy? You can’t play me. Before, you weren’t ruthless enough to kill your own family, even when your life was on the line. But now... you’d kill him twice over to protect Ardor, I wager. You’d hate yourself for it, but you’d do it. The answer is no.”

“I’m not besotted!” Sindar insisted for the millionth time.

“No,” Patel said. “What you feel for him is far more dangerous.”

THE LETTER

ARDOR’S BODY HAD always been forbidden, a thing shrouded in secrets. He knew a great deal about Flower anatomy, more than any human doctor in fact, but understanding how the gestational womb expanded to accommodate the protective egg sac, and why the flower’s petals withdrew inward to block the entrance to the birthing canal and shelter and protect the developing zygote, did little to dispel the mystery. Jain reassured him often. Flowers were designed to birth children quickly and efficiently. Many a human woman envied the speed with which the gestational womb opened and delivered its prize.

Still, Ardor was uneasy. Between the baby in his belly, and the acolyte, champion, and spy constantly hovering on all sides, Ardor had never had so many people so close. He’d also never felt lonelier. Fortunately, Sindar’s letters kept him sane.

His mate was now his friend. A dear one, whose support was quickly becoming indispensable. Ardor knew it was unwise to get so close to the impostor king, but the more Sindar poured his heart out on the page, the more Ardor was drawn to him.

For all his flaws, Sindar was a sincerely sweet man. His letters were professional, but this did nothing to hide his adoration. He was still infatuated with his Flower, and these days, his Flower did not mind so much.

Ardor smiled to himself as he reread their most recent correspondence, but his warmth faded when Raven Hara silently glided into the room. A chill still ran through him whenever the spy came near, though she’d done nothing to warrant it. It was as though his body knew something he did not.

Hara casually parted the curtains, glancing outside. “Another love letter arrived,” she said.

“Is that what you’ve been telling my mother?”

“I told her you were in control of the situation, and I have faith in you.” She held out the envelope. It wasn’t sealed or stamped, which was unusual.