The Doctor
AS ALWAYS, JAIN waited until nightfall to attend her patient.
She slipped silently into the secret quarantine room beneath the clinic, dutifully locking the door behind her. There was no sense in getting sloppy now. Down the stairs she went, and through a second locked door, which she also secured behind her.
Xandar of Kysan was exactly as she’d left him. He stared at her from his bed, his expression flat. In the early months, he’d been vitriolic, but as time passed, he grew more docile and distant. These days, he was a lamb.
Poisoning the king’s food, convincing everyone he was in a coma, and ensuring he would be entrusted to her care alone was the simple part.
Keeping Xandar alive and safely sedated all these years was the hard part, and it was a lot of work, but it was earned.
A consort’s misbehavior must never go unpunished, and the king of Kysan had certainly misbehaved.
Jain went through their customary routine, bathing and turning him, stretching his joints and muscles, ensuring his feeding tube was clear, brushing his teeth, inserting a fresh urine catheter, and placing a clean bedpan beneath him.
She brushed his hair and shaved his face, and then she checked his vitals. All was well.
In the beginning, she’d kept him alive for the sake of harvesting his sperm, unsure if it was even possible.
Thankfully, she’d never needed to find out.
Enough time had passed now that Xandar was all but forgotten by her fellow conspirators.
Lord Patel’s visits gradually decreased from daily to weekly to monthly over the years.
, and if she told him Xandar died of natural causes, he wouldn’t suspect foul play.
Maybe she should finally kill Xandar and put him out of his misery. As long as she kept him alive, there was always a risk Patel or Ambani might realize the king was in a chemically induced state and had never been comatose at all.
But no. She might need Xandar one day. Her loyalty to her Flower extended to his consort, now. Xandar could still protect Sindar’s life. Best to keep him alive a bit longer.
“In the old days, they castrated any consort who raised a hand against a Flower. Did you know that?” she asked him sweetly, as she prepared his usual sedative. Of course he did. She reminded him at least once a week. But as usual, Xandar simply stared at her, dead-eyed.
In the beginning, he struggled and fought whenever he was conscious.
He cursed her through the feeding tube and refused to apologize for his abhorrent behavior.
After a few months, he changed his tune.
When he was lucid, he begged and pleaded, and muffled apologies flowed easily.
Then he stopped begging for release and started begging to die.
Now, it seemed he’d accepted his fate. He stayed silent and readily accepted the mild hallucinogens she administered to keep boredom at bay.
It was a massive improvement, honestly. He was so much more pleasant like this.
What did Xandar see during those stretches of psychedelic lucidity? Did he live in a fantasy world where he was still king, or did he dream of another life entirely?
“Are you ready to go to sleep?” she asked, to see what he’d do.
His nod was barely perceptible.
“Do you like to sleep?”
Again, the barest nod. Interesting. But it made sense. He’d long given up on escape. The hallucinations, and sleep itself, were his only escape now.
“I sometimes think I give you too many drugs. Maybe we should take a break.”
A shiver, close to a head shake. She studied him, watching as tears slowly gathered in his eyes.
“Oh, there, there, now,” she said. “If you insist, Your Majesty. I am your humble servant. I won’t deprive you.
” She administered the drug, and as Xandar of Kysan closed his eyes, something like gratitude descended on his features.
He’d been a wretched man and a ruthless king, but he was truly an angel of a patient.