Understanding
SINDAR WAS IN agony. He hunched miserably at the head of the meeting table, his mind a tortured jumble, as his advisers bickered over whatever it was they’d called this meeting for.
One time. One time he did not lock away the ridiculous, horny notes he’d penned late at night, and before he knew it, the letter was delivered right to Ardor’s door.
I want to kiss your cock.
He wanted to do a lot more than kiss it, but that was beside the point.
He’d taken to writing his most perverse thoughts in Pavarian to prevent snooping, which only made it worse.
If Ardor read that letter, he wouldn’t just know how inappropriately horny his consort was.
He’d also know how monumentally stupid Sindar was with languages.
Sindar would have to burn all the horny letters and desist being a pervert immediately. Writing love letters was a sorely needed outlet, but it was too risky. If Ardor knew he was still a deranged, lovesick fool, he’d probably refuse to see him outside the ceremonies.
A messenger briskly knocked and entered. The couriers had been instructed to deliver any correspondence from the Flower immediately, no matter what the king was doing. Patty and Bani ignored her completely, not sparing a second to stop arguing.
Sindar took the letter, opened it, and sat up straight. “Adjourned!”
His advisers didn’t hear him at first and kept bickering.
Forget them. They could sort this rubbish without him.
He was king, damn it, and he had more important matters to deal with.
Sindar sprang from his chair and walked as quickly as possible to his apartments, his guards hurrying to keep pace.
He threw open the door and clapped loudly, startling the maids cleaning the room, and announced: “Make me beautiful right this instant! Powder me, pluck me, do whatever it is you people do!”
When a confused Ambani arrived to see what was wrong with the king, Sindar’s staff was bustling about him, undressing him and dressing him and powdering him and spraying him with various concoctions.
“Your Majesty,” she said, clearly baffled by the chaos. “What is happening?”
Sindar waved the letter at her, and she maneuvered through the throng to take it.
Sindar peered into a hand mirror, scrutinizing himself from every angle.
“Here,” Sindar said, gesturing to his cheek.
His maid obediently applied powdered blush where indicated.
“You, there!” he cried, pointing to a man with jackets draped over his arms who was attempting to escape.
The servant in question froze and quickly bowed to his king.
“This isn’t sexy enough!” He wrestled out of his jacket before a maid could finish smoothing it. “Get me another!”
“Your Majesty,” Ambani insisted. “It’s only a casual meeting. Please, calm yourself.”
Sindar would calm down when Ardor was in his arms and completely amenable to staying there. “Bring me perfume! I must be fragrant!” he howled, and three servants descended upon him at once, each spritzing their wrist and offering it for the Lord of the Ruby Throne to sniff.
Ambani crossed her arms and patiently endured. When the dust settled, the king of Kysan stood bedecked in finery and makeup, his lips painted, his eyes lined and lashes curled, like a young prince attending his first betrothal dinner.
Sindar put his hands on his hips. “How do you like that?” he said, raising his chin as he scrutinized his reflection. “Would you do me, Bani?”
Ambani cleared her throat. “No. I would not ‘do’ you, Your Majesty.”
“But I’m beautiful now, right?”
“If you want to know the truth, you’re most fetching when you’re riding, because that’s when you’re most confident. Right now, you’re a hot mess.”
“Ah,” Sindar said. “But I’m a fashionable hot mess, aren’t I?”
“Yes,” Ambani sighed, choosing surrender. “You are a fashionable hot mess, Your Majesty.”
“Well, then,” he said. “I’m off.”
It took some willpower to keep from skipping to the garden. Somehow, Sindar managed a regal pace as hopeful thoughts eagerly buzzed in his skull. He hadn’t seen his Flower in months. He’d only caught a few glimpses from afar.
I ache to kiss your cock.
Had Ardor seen the letter after all? Had it been too bold? If Ardor had called a meeting to chastise him, he’d gladly take it. He’d take anything.
Sindar removed his shoes, his mind still cartwheeling in all directions, and went to Ardor’s usual garden nook. He passed lush azaleas and bursts of purple fountain grass and found his Beloved waiting.
Ardor’s long, silver hair was drawn back in a messy bun, and his navy robes were perfectly pressed. His hand rested on the swell of his stomach.
Sindar went to his knees. His legs were no longer capable of holding him up. Any pretense of dignity went out the window. He crawled across the dewy grass, his palms and knees damp, dropping his head as near to Ardor’s feet as he dared.
Oh, to touch those slender feet!
Ardor sighed. “Your Majesty,” he said. “I see you are right where I left you.” He did not sound displeased.
Sindar lifted his head. “I nearly died,” he said plaintively. “I dream about you every night.”
“So you said. Your letters are beautiful.”
“I’m glad you think so. What, ah, part of the last one did you fancy?”
Ardor’s expression was unreadable. “May I show you something?”
Sindar rose and followed him deeper into the garden. It was heaven walking alongside his Beloved. Ardor’s fragrance was less overwhelming now, but faint, familiar notes of spice and fruit teased the nose. His silver hair shone in the light. Pregnancy suited him. He was magnificent.
Ardor stopped in front of a cluster of lilies. “Your Majesty,” he began.
“Please. Call me anything but that.”
Ardor didn’t seem to hear him. He was staring at the flowers. “I need to tell you something,” he said finally. “I don’t know how, so I’m going to show you and hope you understand.” There was a slight tremor in his sonorous, deep voice.
Ardor was upset.
The realization steeled Sindar’s spine, and he shoved all his hopes and longings down deep. This was not the time for childish infatuation. Whatever this was about, it was important enough for Ardor to tell him in person. Ardor needed something from him.
“People often compare Flowers to lilies,” Ardor continued.
“It helps visualize how we differ from humans.” He stepped lightly into the flower bed, and the slender green leaves parted as he reached out to a particular bloom.
The flower had not fully formed. The bud was partly closed, with two of the petals unfurled, and it was mottled with white and red variegations.
“If Flowers are like lilies, then I am like this one. What I’m saying is… my flower is different.”
Sindar considered the plant. He’d read Flowers possessed an ovule which was ringed with “petals,” or labia that produced lubrication and pheromones.
The petals could form into a phallus to retrieve a female consort’s egg, or they could open and lie flat, providing male consorts seminal access into the muscular birthing channel.
The easiest way to inseminate was by penile penetration, but Ardor manually inseminated with his fingers.
Sindar had wondered about this at first, but concluded Ardor was imprinted by Xandar and his bloom would not open for anyone else.
They said Flowers were monogamous in that respect, and once biologically bound to their consort they would not bloom for another.
Ardor suspected he was an impostor early on, and this was probably why.
“You say your flower is different,” Sindar said, still studying the lily. “I assumed you were imprinted by, ah, my other side, and that was why you manually inseminated.”
Ardor blinked. “You know about imprinting?”
Of course, he would be surprised. Until recently, Sindar had been woefully ignorant of anything that wasn’t horses. “Well, I don’t understand entirely, but I made it my business to try.”
Ardor’s expression shifted. “Do you… know what we’re supposed to look like?”
A few sterile diagrams in the medical textbook had given him the gist of it, but that was not what Ardor was asking him. Ardor’s Kysanian, normally clear and certain, was hesitant now, as though he was seeking words he did not have.
“What do you mean?” Sindar asked in Pavarian. Or at least, he hoped that was what he asked.
Ardor blinked, surprised once again, and said. “I am…” followed by a word Sindar didn’t understand. Sindar stumbled over the word, asking Ardor to repeat it, and his flower said, “I’m sorry, but I’m broken.”
Now it was Sindar’s turn to blink. What the devil was he talking about? Ardor, misinterpreting his confused look, repeated himself, but Sindar cut him off. “That is not possible. You are my Ardor. You are perfect.”
Ardor glanced aside, not meeting his eyes. “I need you to understand that I’m not like other Flowers,” he said curtly. “He thought I was denying him on purpose, but I’m not. My body does not work the same as the others, and it isn’t something that can be fixed. It’s how I am. It cannot be changed.”
Sindar’s mind slowly pivoted from what to why. “Why are you telling me this now? Is it because of the letter? Because I—“
“I’m damaged, and my flower doesn’t bloom,” Ardor said, crossing his arms over his belly. “We’ll never be able to consummate. Do you understand?”
Arguments leaped to Sindar’s tongue, where they promptly died.
This was the old Ardor, the wary Ardor who believed his consort was Xandar.
This Ardor was afraid and put up walls to protect himself.
“I understand,” Sindar said. “You were given that letter by accident, and I’m sorry.
You’ve been put in an unfair position. I don’t expect anything from you, and you’re under no obligation to reciprocate my feelings. I hope you understand that.”
Ardor turned, his eyes flashing. “Why would you write such things if you don’t care about reciprocation?”