Arrival #2
Sindar’s stomach churned, bile tickling at the back of his throat. “What you’re asking is grotesque. After what he did to my friends, my allies... And for you to ask! You watched him take Shashi’s head right in front of me! Patty, you of all people…”
Patel went down on one knee. “Your Highness, I am begging you. Please. If you won’t do it for the people, do it for me. When Xandar wakes, he will know you can be trusted, and you will finally be safe. If he doesn’t wake up, you will have the throne.”
“As a puppet! Everything I do will be credited to Xandar! It will be like I died after all!”
Patel clasped his hands together. “Please.”
Gazing into the beseeching eyes of the man who’d practically raised him was like falling into a hole. Patel had given him time and attention when everyone else wrote him off as a second-rate spare. Could he really say no to this man after everything that happened?
Sindar never expected to sit atop the ruby throne. He’d put it out of his thoughts, for his own sanity, but the desire never left him. He wanted that throne. He’d wanted it his whole miserable life, and he’d always rued the sixty seconds that kept him from it.
Now, he’d been granted an impossible chance. He’d be a fool not to take it. There was only one answer he could give.
“Fine,” he said. “But you owe me, Patty. Big time.”
* * *
THE FIRST ORDER of business was getting rid of the allegedly terrible beard.
Patel carefully shaved Sindar’s face, and each pass of the razor sheared away another layer of the life he’d made for himself as a skilled but otherwise unremarkable horseman in a backwater town.
Sindar wiped the shaving cream off his face when it was done, and Patel patted a bit of the grime back onto his cheeks so they wouldn’t be so conspicuously clean compared to the rest of him.
“The moment you step out of this office, you must follow my instructions to the letter,” Patel said.
And what instructions they were. No more riding, no more gambling, no more whoring, and no more coca.
Sindar must rise early, take meals alone in his apartment, and give the appearance of working late into the evening.
His encounters with staff should be brisk and formal, and he should keep all interactions to a minimum.
It begged the question: what was even the point of being king, if it meant living in these miserable conditions?
“If the situation on the border is as bad as you claim, would anyone really blame the king for taking up a bit of dust?”
“You won’t be sitting on that throne long if your enemies realize you routinely indulge in a stimulant that cannot be easily checked for poison,” Patel said crisply. “Besides, I need you sober.”
“Very well. When can I see him?” Sindar asked, keeping his tone casual and innocent.
Evidently, he failed. Patel glared at him. “Absolutely not.”
“Why not?”
“Because it’s my luck you’ll actually manage to kill him this time, and if you argued it was in self-defense, I’d have to agree with you. He’s in a secure location, and he will remain there until he recovers.” Patel’s eyes roved over Sindar’s face. Clearly, he was having second thoughts.
“You still don’t think I’m fit to rule,” Sindar said.
“Your brother was groomed for the role. He has years of experience, he forged powerful diplomatic alliances, and he is utterly ruthless. Meanwhile, you still cannot keep your nose out of a dust box. You’ve done nothing to prove you can govern, and you possess no skill or ability that suggests otherwise. Your only claim is your bloodline.”
“But I have you, don’t I? You’d set me straight, Patty.”
“Don’t call me that in public.”
Sindar sighed. “Of course not.”
“Show me you can do this. Pretend you are Xandar, and you met me in the hall and wished to speak to me.”
Sindar channeled the learned superiority of the royal in his natural habitat and said coolly, “Lord Patel, a moment,” in the borderline-dismissive tone his brother had so often used with him.
Patel nodded slowly. “Straighten your shoulders a bit… yes. Look down your nose. Good.” He crossed his arms, gazing up at the kingdom’s wayward spare. “Goddess, the likeness truly is uncanny. You should pass for now.”
“We’re probably not completely identical, you know. Freckles and whatnot. How will we convince his intimates?”
“Xandar has no intimates.”
“No friends? No girls?”
Patel did not answer.
“Well, I have a girl back at the border, and I’m accustomed to certain leisures,” Sindar said. He had three, actually, but he didn’t want to push his luck. “When will you send for her?”
“I won’t. Get a new one.” Patel paused and added, “Actually, no. We’ll vet someone for you. We’ll discuss your preferences tomorrow. For now, focus on passing as Xandar. Bera will be dispatched to the border—”
“The eastern border, where everyone is dying?” Sindar asked sharply. “Is that how loyalty is rewarded around here?”
“What would you have me do? Stab him myself?” Patel asked irritably.
“He’s the only person on the outside who knows you’re alive.
I have to do something with him. Now be quiet and pay attention.
We need to get our story straight. For the past few days, Xandar stayed in his apartment recovering from a minor illness.
He grew restless and slipped out to go for an evening ride—”
Sindar snorted. “Xandar can’t ride for shit.”
“And now, neither can you. Stop interrupting. You’ll go straight to his apartment and stay there until I arrive for the morning briefing. If you meet anyone, say you went riding, but keep conversation to a minimum.”
“Simple enough.”
“Nothing about this is simple,” Patel muttered. He opened the office door and gestured for Sindar to follow. They walked the winding servant halls, past the kitchens and onto the dormitories, and parted ways at the wing leading to the royal apartments, leaving Sindar to finish the journey alone.
Sindar walked once-familiar halls as if he were in a foreign land.
Had there always been so much bloody gold everywhere?
During his years as a nobody exiled to nowhere he’d grown unaccustomed to the ruling family’s decorative excesses.
The royal residence was bedecked with so many embellishments and ornaments that he had to bite his tongue. This place was ridiculous.
It hadn’t always seemed that way, though. Once, these ornate halls felt natural to him. Earned by virtue of birth. Something he was owed.
He hesitated in front of the king’s apartment. When it was his father’s, it had been strictly off-limits. Even now, entering without permission felt wrong. Like trespassing.
As he contemplated crossing that forbidden threshold, a gentle floral scent filled his nose. Sindar turned at the sound of gently clinking metal, and before him stood a vision of such loveliness his breath was stolen away.
A man stood at the entrance to the apartment next door, his elegant hand lingering on the handle.
Equally elegant golden bracelets dangled from his wrists.
He was willowy and graceful, his white face partly obscured by long platinum hair that shone like silver.
His brown eyes were wary, his mouth a neutral bow.
Elegant eyebrows, elegant hands, elegant everything...
Sindar had never seen such an exotic and lovely creature before.
A petite older woman with a shaved head peeked out from behind him. She wore an acolyte’s robes and was missing an eye. Acolytes only served the goddess and her kind. That meant…
This man must be a Flower, a descendant of the goddess D’ruth. Flowers were impervious to the curse and ensured the continuation of royal bloodlines.
Sindar had never met one before, and now he understood what the fuss was all about.
Flowers were truly as incredible as they said.
Sweet angels, this man was gorgeous. The devil of it was, Sindar wasn’t even interested in men.
Or at least he hadn’t been until now. The Flower’s scent teased at his nose, sending heat and warmth down his body all the way to his toes.
“Your Majesty,” the Flower said, bowing slightly. His voice was deliciously deep, with the barest hint of a Pavarian accent.
Good Goddess, he was more than lovely. He was heavenly.
Sindar’s tongue was thick and dumb in his mouth.
His mouth was watering. His cock was trying to do things.
He ached for something he had no words to describe.
What the hell was happening to him? He blurted, “I went riding,” and immediately wanted to slap himself.
The man’s slender brow raised the barest fraction, and even this was lovely; Sindar’s knees threatened to give out entirely.
He couldn’t stop staring at the gentle curve of the man’s mouth, the elegant line of his neck, the silver curtain of hair begging to be parted so he could better see the beautiful face beneath it. His cock pulsed.
Desperate to escape before he made a complete fool of himself in front of such an extraordinary creature, Sindar yelled, “Good night, then!” and marched into the king’s apartment. Once safely inside with the door closed, he sank into a chair.
He’d been “king” for less than an hour. Little surprise he’d already bungled it.