Page 43 of His King Enslaved

That afternoon, after many false starts, Ardor wrote the most difficult letter he’d ever penned.

Will you visit me in the gardens this evening?

UNDERSTANDING

SINDAR WAS IN agony. He hunched miserably at the head of the meeting table, his mind a tortured jumble, as his advisers bickered over whatever it was they’d called this meeting for.

One time. One time he did not lock away the ridiculous, horny notes he’d penned late at night, and before he knew it, the letter was delivered right to Ardor’s door.

I want to kiss your cock.

He wanted to do a lot more than kiss it, but that was beside the point. He’d taken to writing his most perverse thoughts in Pavarian to prevent snooping, which only made it worse. If Ardor read that letter, he wouldn’t just know how inappropriately horny his consort was. He’d also know how monumentally stupid Sindar was with languages.

Sindar would have to burn all the horny letters and desist being a pervert immediately. Writing love letters was a sorely needed outlet, but it was too risky. If Ardor knew he was still a deranged, lovesick fool, he’d probably refuse to see him outside the ceremonies.

A messenger briskly knocked and entered. The couriers had been instructed to deliver any correspondence from the Flower immediately, no matter what the king was doing. Patty and Bani ignored her completely, not sparing a second to stop arguing.

Sindar took the letter, opened it, and sat up straight. “Adjourned!”

His advisers didn’t hear him at first and kept bickering.

Forget them. They could sort this rubbish without him. He was king, damn it, and he had more important matters to deal with. Sindar sprang from his chair and walked as quickly as possible to his apartments, his guards hurrying to keep pace. He threw open the door and clapped loudly, startling the maids cleaning the room, and announced: “Make me beautiful right this instant! Powder me, pluck me, do whatever it is you people do!”

When a confused Ambani arrived to see what was wrong with the king, Sindar’s staff was bustling about him, undressing him and dressing him and powdering him and spraying him with various concoctions.

“Your Majesty,” she said, clearly baffled by the chaos. “What is happening?”

Sindar waved the letter at her, and she maneuvered through the throng to take it. Sindar peered into a hand mirror, scrutinizing himself from every angle. “Here,” Sindar said, gesturing to his cheek. His maid obediently applied powdered blush where indicated. “You, there!” he cried, pointing to a man with jackets draped over his arms who was attempting to escape. The servant in question froze and quickly bowed to his king. “This isn’t sexy enough!” He wrestled out of his jacket before a maid could finish smoothing it. “Get me another!”

“Your Majesty,” Ambani insisted. “It’s only a casual meeting. Please, calm yourself.”

Sindar would calm down when Ardor was in his arms and completely amenable to staying there. “Bring me perfume! I must be fragrant!” he howled, and three servants descended upon him at once, each spritzing their wrist and offering it for the Lord of the Ruby Throne to sniff.

Ambani crossed her arms and patiently endured. When the dust settled, the king of Kysan stood bedecked in finery and makeup, his lips painted, his eyes lined and lashes curled, like a young prince attending his first betrothal dinner.

Sindar put his hands on his hips. “How do you like that?” he said, raising his chin as he scrutinized his reflection. “Would you do me, Bani?”

Ambani cleared her throat. “No. I would not ‘do’ you, Your Majesty.”

“But I’m beautiful now, right?”

“If you want to know the truth, you’re most fetching when you’re riding, because that’s when you’re most confident. Right now, you’re a hot mess.”

“Ah,” Sindar said. “But I’m a fashionable hot mess, aren’t I?”

“Yes,” Ambani sighed, choosing surrender. “You are a fashionable hot mess, Your Majesty.”

“Well, then,” he said. “I’m off.”

It took some willpower to keep from skipping to the garden. Somehow, Sindar managed a regal pace as hopeful thoughts eagerly buzzed in his skull. He hadn’t seen his Flower in months. He’d only caught a few glimpses from afar.

I ache to kiss your cock.

Had Ardor seen the letter after all? Had it been too bold? If Ardor had called a meeting to chastise him, he’d gladly take it. He’d take anything.

Sindar removed his shoes, his mind still cartwheeling in all directions, and went to Ardor’s usual garden nook. He passed lush azaleas and bursts of purple fountain grass and found his Beloved waiting.

Ardor’s long, silver hair was drawn back in a messy bun, and his navy robes were perfectly pressed. His hand rested on the swell of his stomach.