Time
AFTER THE CEREMONY, Ardor was in shock. He didn’t fight it. He lay on his bed, staring at the ceiling, and replayed the scene again and again in his mind, latching onto the most powerful details.
His consort shivering with excitement and arousal, so eager he could barely keep his wits about him. His thick, calloused finger sliding into the sacred place between Ardor’s legs, keeping his bloom open. The low, rhythmic panting of a man so utterly besotted he might actually have a cardiac event.
His orderly mind quickly quantified and rationalized his feelings.
His longing was natural and expected. That wasn’t the problem.
The problem was his consort would never fit.
As it was, two fingers strained the bloom’s opening to its brink, and he had to concentrate to keep it from closing before he could thoroughly inseminate himself.
Damn it, he just wanted a baby! Why did this have to be so complicated? Why did it have to be so hard?
Ardor drew a frustrated breath.
Everything was changed now. It was done. They’d touched now, and they couldn’t go back to the way things were. This way was better, despite being emotionally overwhelming. Jain was right. It was easier with his consort’s touch, and with this man, he could bear to be touched. Wanted to be.
His desire made the experience no less exhausting. He’d spent the entire ceremony terrified his consort would feel his bloom or see it and know the truth: he was broken.
When Ardor finally gathered himself, he went to the bath. He kneeled as Leya poured sacred water over him. Afterward, she murmured a fertility prayer as she brushed out his silvery hair.
He was fully dressed, with Leya preparing tea to calm his nerves, when a knock at the door surprised them both. Inexplicably, his heart quickened, but it was only the king’s adviser.
The Lady Ambani bowed deeply and did not cross the threshold. “Your Eminence. I have a message from the king.”
His consort seemed to have no interest in letters, which was a pity, because Ardor greatly preferred written communication at times like these. That way, he could take his time and let it all sink in without another person standing ready, awaiting an immediate reply.
“Please sit,” he said, gesturing to the chair across from him.
Most of the staff refused to sit in his presence, but the Lady bowed again and accepted his invitation.
“Your Eminence, I would like to preface his message with one of my own. The king is very fond of you. He wants to help you however he can, but through no fault of his own, he has met resistance. Having observed your previous encounters some months ago, I find he is a wholly changed man. He is utterly devoted to your comfort and safety, and he sincerely wishes to amend your marriage contract.”
This was not the conversation Ardor expected. He tilted his head, waiting. The trick, which worked so well on his acolyte handlers, worked just as well here.
Lady Ambani quickly continued. “We cannot change the contract now. But I want to assure you that Kysan intends to honor the king’s verbal agreement and will not enforce the previous terms we agreed to.
I know this is disappointing, but as a gesture of goodwill, I am pleased to say Champion Hara will join us within the week. ”
Disquiet settled like a rock in Ardor’s stomach. He had little choice but to sit back and watch as his well-meaning consort fought to bring the Archon’s best spy into Kysan’s palace. He and Jain needed reinforcements, and a Raven was better than nothing. At least she wasn’t sending a Wraith.
“I appreciate that,” he said.
“May I speak freely, Your Eminence?”
Ardor inclined his head again, intrigued.
Lady Ambani drew a breath. “I will be frank. He is absolutely obsessed with you. We are doing everything we can to manage it, but… is there a chance we could reduce the number of ceremonies to twice a week so he can level out a bit? He’s driving me mad.”
She sounded so exasperated Ardor had to hold back a laugh. “Of course.”
“Thank you,” she said, with such clear exhaustion that he truly did laugh then. She smiled and said, “His Majesty intends to follow your lead. He has resisted our advice on this front, but he will certainly listen to you.”
“I understand,” Ardor said, still amused. “Please inform His Majesty I would like to move tomorrow’s ceremony to the end of the week.”
“Happily, Your Eminence,” Ambani said.
This was the longest conversation they’d ever had, but he knew Lady Ambani by reputation. She was a loyalist and a skilled diplomat. She was the only member of the royal staff who had ever spoken frankly to him as an equal. He liked her. And he could certainly benefit from better acquaintance.
“Would you like a cup of tea?” he asked.
Lady Ambani was too skilled a diplomat to show surprise, if indeed she was surprised by this sudden offer. Instead, she smiled and said, “I would love it.”
* * *
THE NEXT FEW days felt different. Strange.
The low warmth in Ardor’s belly persisted. He’d crossed a threshold with his consort. He was in an emotionally precarious place. Perhaps that was why.
His consort stopped visiting the garden, and that was certainly best for both of them, but Ardor periodically looked, hoping to find a glimpse of the royal robes amongst the flowers. The semi-solitude of his bench in the garden was no longer a safe harbor. It felt like waiting now.
As he sat on the examination table, waiting for Jain’s usual verdict, he said, “I feel different. He’s a stranger. I don’t know him. But I want to see him.”
“You keep saying the king is a stranger,” Jain said, preparing a slide. “But is he, Eminence? You’ve seen him nearly every day for weeks now. You’ve spoken often.”
That was true. He might not know his new consort’s true identity, but he knew his body and voice.
Their conversations were superficial out of necessity, because Ardor could not fully trust a man he could not name, but they had talked.
The search for his consort’s identity was never far from his mind, but he’d allowed himself to be distracted in recent weeks.
He had to know who this man was, if only to give himself peace of mind.
“For what it’s worth, as an observer, I find him consistent.
He is devoted to you, Eminence. There have been behavioral changes, but he seems to have leveled out.
Going forward, I think you can expect—oh!
” Jain peered into the microscope. “Yes! Yes!” She turned to him, grabbing his hand in both her gloved ones. “Eminence!”
Could it be? Was this why he’d had such warmth in his belly? He’d assumed it was related to his consort’s persistence and all the surprises, but…
“You’re pregnant!” she said. “That must be the feeling you have!”
“Yes,” he said, momentarily in awe of his own body. His damaged flower could fulfill its purpose after all. Jain had always believed in him, but deep down, he was never certain he could actually get pregnant. Certainly, his mother thought so. All her plans revolved around his eventual failure.
“Oh, Beloved,” she said, brushing his cheek with a gloved finger. “Enjoy this. After all your efforts, you’ll soon have a child. You’ll be such a wonderful father.”
“How certain are you?” He still didn’t quite believe it.
“Eminence, it’s happening. You did it. You are definitely pregnant.”
He hugged her. It was forbidden, but he didn’t care.
Neither did she. His champion held him in her powerful arms, and for the first time in an eternity, Ardor felt something like peace.
He’d been sent to fail, with the assumption his presumably barren womb would offer a pretext for war, and he’d achieved what the Archon thought impossible.
This pregnancy wasn’t only the creation of a future life. It had the potential to save thousands. It would broker peace, stay his mother’s hand, and forge a historic bond between Kysan and Pavar. Unless…
Unless the child was not recognized as Xandar’s.
He parted from his champion. “I have to know our child will be safe. You can’t hold back any longer. Tell me everything. Who is he?”
Jain’s smile faded. “Beloved, I will protect you and your children to my dying breath. Never doubt that.”
“I don’t doubt that, and I have accepted and enjoy him as my consort, but I need to know who he is. No more secrets.”
“No one loves you more than I do.”
“That’s not an answer!”
“It is the only answer I can give. Hara will be here soon. Please, Beloved. It’s too dangerous. She cannot know, and what you don’t know will protect you. Continue to enjoy him. Everything will work out.”
“Who exactly are you protecting me from?” he asked, annoyed. But as soon as the question left his lips, he knew.
His mother. The Archon bartered a barren Flower to a tyrant king, knowing it was only a matter of time before the dam broke.
One way or another, she would find an excuse for the war she craved.
If the Archon ever realized Ardor was pregnant because they’d switched Xandar out with a fertile mate, she’d be livid.
It wasn’t his fault, but that didn’t matter.
His bloom wasn’t his fault, and they blamed him for that, too.
Mere proximity to the problem was enough for the Archon to once again assign irrational blame to her least-loved and most disappointing child.
Even now, he felt the sting of their last conversation. He’d been summoned to the rotunda and made to walk the long hall and stare up at his mother’s iron perch and the silvered ravens etched into the wall behind her.
“You have one job, Ardor,” she said, her voice echoing off walls covered with heavy banners. At the Archon’s right hung the banner of the Wraith, and at the left, that of the Raven, because the assassins and spies were the castes she held closest. “Do you know what it is?”