Page 46 of His King Enslaved

“You’ll tell me where he is, then?”

“I will deliver your message.”

Sindar narrowed his eyes. “You still don’t trust me. Unbelievable.”

“I do trust you. You can’t know where he is, because the information might be extracted from you by force.”

Sindar frowned. “Do you think someone knows about the switch?”

“The story about the accident and the concussion held. Everyone bought it, and a behavioral change following a head injury is certainly a common enough occurrence. But many of your allies, especially those in the court, prefer this version of the king. If they realize the old one is still alive, they’ll try to get rid of him. And we need him alive. You’ve got a baby on the way and there’s too much at stake. I want insurance.”

Sindar leaned back in his chair. “You’re not even protecting him anymore. You’re protecting us. Picking favorites. For shame, Patty.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” his mentor said brusquely. “Favoritism has nothing to do with it. I do what’s best for the kingdom. I serve Kysan.”

“Tell me the truth. Is there any chance he’ll wake up?”

Patel sipped his whiskey.

“Patty,” Sindar groaned. “Why are you like this? Just tell me!”

“He’s not waking up,” Patel said. “The doctor told me as much, and I believe her. I haven’t seen him so much as twitch.” He shook his head. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think he was dead. Now, all I see is a mean-spirited husk of a man who had the cleverness and education the role demanded, but never the temperament. Never the heart.” Patel shook his head. “I have to wonder if… No. No one could have foreseen this. Fate served us well this time, and I’m grateful. I stopped thinking of him as king some time ago.”

Sindar was tempted to ask when. He only recently began thinking of himself as king. As he processed this, a sense of calm fell over him. He trusted Patty. Xandar was out of the picture for good. He’d never hurt Ardor or their babies. He’d never do whatever horrible things he’d done to Ambani ever again.

His heart still ached from Ardor’s rejection, but strangely, even that was a good thing. It meant Ardor felt secure enough to be honest to his face. Ardor trusted him enough to speak frankly and directly, rather than send the message through intermediaries or avoid him. They’d come a long way, hadn’t they? As long as Ardor was safe and happy, that was the most important thing.

When Sindar finally lifted his eyes, his mentor was watching him. Patel lifted his glass. “Long live the king?” he asked.

In that moment, everything coalesced. It became official. Sindar of Kysan was king.

“Long live the king,” Sindar echoed, and they clinked glasses and drank.

ARRIVAL

ALL THE READING and study in the world could not prepare Ardor for actual childbirth. It was supposed to be simple, and for most Flowers it probably was, but Ardor was not most Flowers. The moment his womb rippled with the first contraction, signaling the beginning of the process, everything went off the rails.

His bloom would not open. Jain was calm and reassuring, but he could not unsee the discretely prepared tray of surgical tools. He’d known this was a possibility. He’d given Jain permission to cut the baby out of him, but now, feeling that impossible pressure as his body struggled to birth his first child, the prospect of going under the knife was terrifyingly real.

Ardor struggled to focus as contractions shuddered through his body. His gown was drenched in sweat, his hair matted against his neck. The pain was relentless. And his bloom… it could not open. Would not open.

He smothered a gasp as the womb contracted again, attempting to expel the baby’s egg sac. If his bloom didn’t open soon, he’d have to make a choice. Ardor wasn’t ready to die. He didn’t want to die. He wanted to hold her, to feed her, and Sindar… He wanted to see Sindar again.

Ardor’s back arched in pain, and Leya gripped his hand tightly in her gloved one. His breath hissed between his teeth. As much as he longed for his consort’s presence, he couldn’t bear for Sindar to see him like this. He’d see just how broken his flower was. And if Jain took up the knife—

No, it was too cruel. He would not ask his consort to watch as his body was cut open. If he died, Sindar would be all their daughter had. What if he blamed her for his Flower’s death? No. No, no. He had to weather this alone. He must.

“Breathe, Eminence,” Leya whispered. Her eyes were shining, but she held back her tears. “You are doing so well…” She held a goddess chain in her other hand, moving her fingers from one bead to the other in silent prayer. The chain of Ruth was inscribed with ancient symbols: the twisted double-helix, the serpent and staff, the orb surrounded by rings. They were holy symbols to her, and scientific ones to him. He took little comfort in science now that he stood at the brink of life and death.

Ardor couldn’t bear to see his friend suffer. He asked Leya to fetch tea, knowing by the time she returned it would likely be over. She bowed and hurried away.

“Eminence,” Raven Hara said softly, crouching beside him. “I will make it quick. You will feel no pain.”

Ardor stared at her. Pain was dulling his faculties. What was she talking about? Jain would handle the procedure. The bloom could not be anesthetized. He would feel everything…

Oh.

Oh, his mother’s arm was long indeed. He might have laughed if he weren’t in so much pain. Hara was no Raven. How had they missed it?