Duty #3
Ardor’s heart constricted, but his face betrayed nothing. “Your Majesty,” he said, moving to rise, and the king held out a hand to stop him.
“Please, don’t get up. I’m sorry to disturb you. You seem comfortable here.”
Ardor slowly sat, trying to keep his puzzlement off his face. Again, the king spoke in that new, soft voice. And since when did Xandar care about his comfort?
“I wanted to apologize for my performance at the ceremony,” Xandar said. “I, uh... should have had more decorum.”
“I found it refreshing,” Ardor said. He’d steeled himself for humiliation, knowing he’d be forced to show his ugly bloom to the entire court. Having his consort shudder and come without touching him was an unexpected gift, to be sure.
Xandar cleared his throat. “I would like to have a private ceremony tomorrow. If it pleases you.”
Whatever change had occurred, it was likely temporary.
As stressful as public ceremonies were, having witnesses was far preferable to being abused behind closed doors.
“I’d prefer a ceremony in the garden.” Ardor couldn’t stop searching the king’s face.
It seemed so familiar, yet so different. Was he losing his mind?
“If that’s what you prefer, consider it done.”
The seemingly genuine respect and politeness in his tone filled Ardor with unease, but he’d be a fool not to take advantage of this change in goodwill. “I also prefer it when you don’t touch me. I can inseminate myself, as demonstrated.”
“Of course,” the king said quickly. “I won’t touch you without permission. I promise.”
Ardor assessed his consort with even more care now. It was as if another man wore Xandar’s skin. Perhaps he was finally taking good advice, but this transformation seemed much more than that. “I also prefer no curfew.”
Surprise momentarily flickered in the king’s eyes. “Then you shall not have one.” His tone was disapproving. Again, Ardor was puzzled. Hadn’t the curfew been on Xandar’s orders?
The strangeness of it all made him bold. “Am I finally trustworthy, Your Majesty? Your cock has taken a new liking to me, but nothing else has changed between us. Do you normally use that instrument to determine matters of national security?”
The king’s jaw dropped slightly, but he quickly closed it and said, “We need to produce heirs, and I’ll do whatever it takes to make that happen. Tell me what you want, and consider it done. But as for trust... I think it is I who must earn your trust.”
Ardor almost asked, “Who are you?” His confusion must have shown plainly on his face, because the king immediately straightened and added, “I’m a man of my word. I’ll uphold my end of the contract, and you’ll uphold yours.”
Ah. It was an act, and to the man’s credit, he had it half right. The superior tilt of his head; the sharpness in tone. But he did not have the bearing of a man who is always right and knows it. There was a softness to him, an eagerness to please.
Ardor’s agile mind swiftly rifled through the evidence: the behavioral changes, the new tics, the changed sperm count, their strange encounter in the hallway...
This man was not Xandar of Kysan.
As soon as the thought passed Ardor’s mind, he wondered if the stress of being sent to an enemy kingdom and positioned to fail had finally driven him mad. What an insane notion. Of course, this was Xandar. Who else could he be? And yet...
I’m not who you think I am.
Ardor trusted his intuition. It kept him alive this long. This man was not Xandar. Somehow, as incredible as it seemed, he’d been replaced.
“Your Majesty!” Lord Patel hurried up to them. He bowed fully to Ardor. “Your Eminence. Forgive my intrusion.”
The clever little man always showed him courtesy, and Ardor returned it automatically, inclining his head. “Lord Patel, your presence is never an imposition.”
“Your Majesty, we must discuss the matter of the trade agreement,” Patel said. “If you please.”
“Don’t you and Bani have that taken care of?”
Ardor noted the odd familiarity in his consort’s tone as Patel quickly said, “Lady Ambani and I require your signature on several items, Your Majesty. If you please.”
His consort’s cheek twitched. “Ah. I see. I bid you leave, Eminence.”
“I bid you well, Your Majesty,” Ardor replied. He watched as Patel hurried the consort away, his guards obediently following.
It is I who must earn your trust. It was an acknowledgment of wrongdoing, and one Ardor longed to hear, but from the lips of another man.
The king had been replaced, and his closest adviser was in on it.
The motive was clear enough. Kysan desperately needed heirs, and Xandar wasn’t providing them.
But how had they done it? Some nations espoused “magic,” but Kysan was not one of them.
Their technology and surgical techniques lagged behind their neighbors, and even Pavar’s finest cosmetic surgeons couldn’t craft a likeness that uncanny.
If Xandar wasn’t wearing the king’s clothes, attending the king’s meetings, and lying in the king’s ceremonial bed... then where was he?