Fatherhood
ARDOR HAD GROWN quite adept at balancing a book in one hand and a curious, hungry infant in the other.
The children of Flowers did not nurse long.
Soon, Mindeh would eat soft foods and mashed fruit, and Ardor’s breasts would subside.
His chest would flatten, and he would no longer be swollen with milk.
Leya called it a magic trick. He supposed it was.
The human body could not recall breast tissue as his did.
At most, he might have stretch marks, like his father.
Ruth, ever the pragmatist, considered non-maternal breast tissue largely unnecessary.
Flowers only developed full breasts when hungry babies needed to be fed.
Mindeh finished suckling and was now content to play with her father’s long hair. Ardor gently wiped her lower lip and tucked himself away. She was a comfortable weight in the crook of his arm, so he kept her there, snuggled against his side as he read.
Eminence Heavenly’s plan was in motion now.
Ardor did not fully understand it, lacking the information sealed away in the Holy Libraries in Amar, but he knew this much: the Kysanian royal line had ended.
Mindeh was royal by consensus, but not by blood.
Xandar was officially the last royal, assuming he was still alive.
Eminence Heavenly had successfully forced the royal mutation into a recessive state, but she’d sacrificed decades of her life to do so.
She likely wasn’t the first Flower to conduct such experiments.
Unfortunately, the ancient zeal for eugenics refused to be thwarted, and Xandar was rendered functionally impotent.
Had Eminence Heavenly known that would happen? Was that why she’d had the foresight to make sure a second child, a common child, would give the appearance of continuity to maintain political stability? He had so many questions. Not for the first time, he wished he could speak to her.
She wasn’t the only one he wanted to speak to.
Ardor longed to tell his consort the truth.
Sindar of Kysan wasn’t a royal, and his sperm wasn’t inherently dangerous.
What they shared in the breeding bed caused no harm.
But it was a deadly secret, one that could destabilize a nation and lead to the destruction of his family.
Ardor struggled to determine when the time would be right, or if it would ever be right.
Mindeh tugged on the lock of Ardor’s silky hair, shaking it in her tiny fist. She stared at it. Then she put it in her mouth.
“Oh!” Leya squeaked. “Oh, no…”
“Mindeh,” he said with a laugh, and she immediately nuzzled close at the familiar sound of her papa’s deep voice. He sang to her, and she was nearly asleep when Sindar’s voice reached their part of the garden. The king always carved time out of his ridiculously busy schedule to play with his child.
Mindeh perked up immediately. Dada was here. Dada was fun.
“You’re ready to play, are you?” Ardor asked. She was already looking about for her second father. He gave her a noisy kiss and passed her into Leya’s eager hands.
“Come now, Your Highness,” she said. “I will take you to him at once.”
Ardor longed to go with her. To pass through the sea of flowers and green and set eyes on Sindar once more. But he was sure his heart would burst.
Sindar had seen something no man should ever see. He couldn’t unsee it. And despite the love and affection in the king’s letters, the risk of rejection, however slight, was too much for Ardor to bear. He’d never been so happy, and he was terrified of losing this feeling.
This was why Flowers kept their consorts at a distance after birth. He’d do himself no favors by bucking tradition. He must rely on letters to sustain him. Better to keep his distance and pretend nothing had changed between them for a while longer.
* * *
MINDEH’S LARGE brOWN eyes focused steadfastly on her father’s grinning face.
Sindar slowly lowered the blanket over his head. He waited a few seconds, then abruptly pulled it away. “Boo!”
Mindeh screeched with delight at the clever magic trick and grabbed his nose in her sticky little paw.
“You are lucky, Your Highness,” he said somberly. “Your dada is the kindest, most intelligent, most graceful man in the kingdom, and your papa is the silliest. You truly have it all.”
Mindeh blew a contented spit bubble. She was old enough to bring along to meetings, but Patel put a stop to that after the leaky diaper incident.
She was a crawler now, and fiendishly fast, and she’d been granted free rein of the garden after many assurances that there was nothing poisonous or thorny within grabbing distance.
When Sindar asked how much Ardor crafted their daughter, the answer that came back surprised him.
According to Ardor, he had not influenced her development at all.
Left between the lines was how much influence a Flower truly had over a developing zygote.
The Flowers had many closely guarded secrets, and for Ardor’s sake, he shouldn’t pry.
Mindeh was, of course, perfect. A Flower’s genes were allegedly recessive, yielding to the traits of the royal they bred with, but every time a serious look graced her chubby face, Sindar saw Ardor there, and he was glad for it.
She had Ardor’s glorious brown, wide-set eyes, right down to the limbal rings, along with Sindar’s warm brown face, curly hair, and aquiline nose.
As they played, Sindar occasionally caught a hint of his beloved.
Even here, amongst all the competing scents of the garden, Ardor’s perfume tickled at his nose.
He was no doubt in his customary reading nook.
Sindar longed to part the flowers and go there, but Ardor was adamant that they only interact through letters.
Thus commanded, Sindar had no choice but to pour himself into his pen each night and wait until the breeding ceremonies resumed and they made their second child.
Soon. Thank Goddess. Two years was a devilishly long time to go without setting eyes on his beloved.
Mindeh pulled herself upright on his shoulders and seized a fistful of her father’s equally curly hair. “Da,” she said, patting his head. “Dadadadada…”
“I shouldn’t be surprised you’re already missing your dada,” he said, gently poking her belly and making her giggle. “I miss him too.”