Trust #2
Was the man as obedient as Ardor hoped? It was time to find out. “You said you’d give me anything. I want to amend the contract. I want six children. Five human children, and one Flower. I expect to space the human children two years apart.”
“Six. Will that…” His consort frowned, doing the math. “That’s too many. It’s too risky.”
“It doesn’t matter.”
“It does matter,” his consort said, his voice sharpening for the first time, and Ardor’s heart fluttered, surprised by the strength in his tone.
“I want my children to know you. I won’t—” Something flickered in his expression, something important, but it was gone too swiftly for Ardor to decipher.
“I want them to have happy childhoods. Nothing is more devastating than the loss of a parent.”
Ardor had the authority to disagree. He’d had mixed feelings about his father’s death, and a lingering sense of guilt, but there had also been relief.
He would never have to please his father again.
His father’s expectations were no longer a chain draped around his neck, tightening with each passing day.
“I can survive six children,” Ardor said. Technically, that was true. But in his case, survival required a lot of things to go right, and so far, many things had gone wrong.
“Why must you have five human children?” His consort’s tone had sharpened again. “We don’t need that many. We only need two.”
“For stability. There must be more than…” What was the word the Kysanians used for royal children other than the designated heir? “In a hereditary monarchy, it is safer if there are at least four… Forgive me, what is the word for children other than the heir?”
“Spare,” his consort said, with a note of bitterness. “We call them spares.”
Things were different in Pavar. The Archon would choose the strongest child to succeed her, and the rest of her children would be assigned positions of responsibility according to their interests and abilities.
Birth order was irrelevant. But in a hereditary monarchy like Kysan, birth order was everything.
It was the difference between absolute power and a guarantee of children versus being lost to obscurity.
“If there are only one or two spares, the children will be at odds, and it will be unhealthy for Kysan. My studies suggest I should have at least five human children, to account for any political upheavals and ensure the family has a healthy dynamic.”
His consort looked him in the eye. “Two human children. No more.”
Ardor’s mouth dropped. “You’re not in a position to negotiate!”
“I am, you need my swimmers to make it happen!”
“Two children aren’t enough,” Ardor insisted. “If one dies, or they turn against each other… No. Civil war is a very probable outcome. I’m not putting my people through that.”
“Well, I’m not putting my Flower in an early grave! I spent all last night doing the wretched math, and I’m not budging. Six children is absolutely out of the question.”
“Five,” Ardor shot back.
“Four,” his consort said. “If you’re here to watch them grow up, you can teach them what’s really important. They’ll be like you. They’ll want to honor you, and they’ll do what’s right.”
Ardor gazed at him for a long, steady moment.
The set of his consort’s shoulders was firm, his spine straight, his tone even.
For the first time, Ardor saw a man who could lead his people to prosperity.
This man could govern fairly. The skill would not come easily, but the capacity for leadership was in there somewhere, waiting to be unearthed.
“Four children,” Ardor said. “The human children will be spaced two years apart to limit competition, and I want full control of the Flower’s upbringing and the final say in their marriage contract.”
“Two years apart.” His consort paused, measuring his words, and Ardor waited for his counteroffer.
Haggling over the waiting period was quite common.
Technically, a Flower could be forced to produce children every five months with no waiting period, but it took a great toll on the body.
Most contracts stipulated one child per year to allow for some recovery.
“Two years,” his consort repeated, clearly working something out in his head. “Based on what I read, that seems short. Will that be enough time for you to fully recover?”
Ardor blinked, surprised by the question, and answered without thinking. “Technically, three years is optimal.”
“Great,” his consort said promptly. “Three it is. We have a deal. Four children, three years apart, and I get to see them every day. It was a pleasure negotiating with you, Eminence.”