Sacrifice #4
Ardor paused, considering his words. “I understand the Kysanians refer to the royal mutation as a curse. I’ll try to explain it in those terms. Because of the curse, your sperm destroys human eggs during the insemination process.
That’s why royals cannot produce offspring with other humans.
Royals can procreate with Flowers because we were genetically engineered to withstand the curse, so to speak.
Our eggs survive the insemination process at the cost of cellular breakdown of the surrogate body.
My body.” On seeing Sindar’s expression, he added, “Don’t they teach that at the royal academy? ”
Sindar wouldn’t know. He’d skipped half his lessons. “I’ll be killing you. Every time you get pregnant… Good goddess, I’ll be killing you.”
Ardor paused. He hadn’t expected that reaction. Why the devil not? It was horrifying! “Only in the strictest technical sense. Don’t think of the process that way. We were engineered for this work. Flowers are designed to—”
“Stop,” Sindar breathed. His hands were shaking. “Stop! You weren’t designed, you’re not engineered, you’re a man!”
Silence descended, and for a moment, there was only the hum of the bees.
“I didn’t mean to upset you,” Ardor said finally. “This is a fact of life for me, and I’m not distressed by it. It’s simply the way things are. This is new information for you, so I understand how it could be shocking. I should have been more sensitive.”
“Good goddess, you never have to apologize or… or do anything! You’re never obligated to do anything on my account!
” Sindar covered his face with his hands for a moment, gathering his thoughts.
The current contract stipulated ten children, with a two-month waiting period between each.
According to the notes, Xandar pushed for it.
Demanded it. He’d asked for Ardor’s death, and they’d given it to him.
As Sindar did the math, his stomach curdled.
Under those terms, Ardor would die within six years, assuming he made it that far.
That contract was a death sentence, and his bastard brother had made it that way on purpose.
He’d pushed for breeding terms far more aggressive than what the Pavarians originally offered, and made concessions to do so.
Oh, Sindar was going to kill Xandar when he found him. What sort of monster negotiated a consort’s swift death? Why in heaven would the Archon hand over Pavar’s Flower, her own child, on those terms?
Meanwhile, Ardor was calm and composed. It was as he’d said.
This was simply a fact of life for him. The gentle curve in his brow, the only outward sign of concern, was not even for himself.
It was for the miserable, ignorant consort wallowing at his feet.
Sindar had never despised his own ignorance as he did now.
“I’ll give you whatever you want,” Sindar said, his voice thick. “One child, three children... Tell me how many, and I’ll amend the contract. I’ll do anything you ask.”
“What if I ask for eleven, and shorten the waiting period to one month?”
Sweat beaded on Sindar’s forehead. He wiped his brow. “Please don’t. Don’t toy with me. I can’t bear it.”
“It’s a serious question. You keep saying you’ll give me anything I want. If I ask you for something that upsets or displeases you, will you still grant it?”
If Sindar had been in bed, he would have pulled a sheet over his head, just as he did when he was a child and wanted to block out the world.
He didn’t understand this world. He didn’t understand Ardor’s position.
What if Ardor asked for an earlier grave?
He’d give his Flower anything in his power, but not that. Surely not that. “Please, I don’t...”
Ardor rose from his seat. Sindar’s heart clenched at the soft tinkling of his consort’s golden bracelets. A sound that normally gave him joy now plunged him into despair. How much longer would he hear that sound? He’d taken for granted Ardor would be with him… well. Forever.
But why? His own mother had perished so young. Why had he assumed Ardor would be different? Was he truly so stupid, naive, and self-absorbed that he’d never once considered the impact childbirth might have on his mate’s body?
When Ardor’s elegant bare feet stopped before Sindar, he slowly looked up, his distress tinged with shame.
He should have known these things. He would have known if he’d tried.
If he’d cared. If he’d been anything but a spoiled, entitled princeling who was angry even more of the world hadn’t been handed to him on a platter.
He’d know about important things like this if he hadn’t given up and accepted there was no point in bettering himself or even trying.
“Your Majesty,” Ardor said gently. “I know you mean well, and your heart is in the right place, but good intentions are not enough. You need to know the answer to that question, for both our sakes.”
“I’m sorry,” Sindar said, the words a strained whisper.
“I don’t need your pity or sympathy. All I ask is that you only promise what you’re prepared to give. Do you understand?”
It was too much. Standing here, knowing what he now knew, was too much. This kind, wonderful man was expected to fulfill his duty and die. It was wrong. It was obscene. It was so heart-wrenchingly ugly.
Sindar’s gentle heart could not accept it. Swiftly, wordlessly, he rose and walked away.