The King(202)

Wrath stayed on the edge of that bed forever as she nursed against his wrist. Then he helped her to the shower, got her dried off, and put her between the sheets.

“I’m just going to rest a little,” she said, already drifting off as the shutters started to rise for the night.

“However long you want.”

A son. A son.

“I’m going to go hit the desk,” he said—before stopping himself.

Funny, that was what he’d told her every night after First Meal, their joking way of acknowledging he was gonna go put his crown on and deal with shit.

“I’m so glad,” she said in a sleepy voice.

Funny … right now? All that King stuff didn’t seem like a burden anymore.

In fact, as he grabbed onto George’s halter, it felt shockingly easy to go down the stairs and head for his study. And as he went into the room, he found the desk, walked around its carved corners … and paused before sitting in his father’s chair.

It was with a sense of awe that he slowly lowered his weight. The throne creaked as it always did—and he wondered, as his father had sat in it, had it done the same? He didn’t remember that detail from his youth and wished his memory was better.

Instead of calling for Saxton to come in, or checking email through his voice-activated computer, he frowned and tried to pull as many recollections out of the past as he could. They were hazy, the ones he did recall—because of his faulty eyes.

God, he’d never really thought of his wife’s human side one way or the other—but he hoped like hell that the new DNA she was bringing to the table went to work on his defect. It would be so great if his son was born with good eyesight.

But if the young wasn’t?

Then he himself had blazed the trail, and he would be there to support his son. Being blind wasn’t great—but it didn’t mean you had to miss out in life.

Shiiiiiiit, to think he’d been willing to sacrifice a child just because he was scared he or she might have a defect. Stupid. So stupid. And really fucking lame of him.

Thank Christ destiny had known better—

“My lord,” Fritz said.

“Come on in!” Dayum, he was really cheerful—time to dial that down, if only so he didn’t annoy himself.

“One of the workmen wishes for an audience.”

Ah, yes. And for a moment, he reverted to his default to push things away, but then he got to his feet. “I’ll come down—no.”

With conscious thought, he sat back in the throne. “Send him up—escort him, though, will you? And get some brothers to help.”

He wasn’t ready to trust anyone but the people in his household.

“Right away,” the butler said. “My pleasure!”

Looked like he wasn’t the only one with his happy-happy-joy-joy on.

He glanced down to the floor. “I don’t know what I’m doing here, George.”

The supportive chuff he got in return was exactly the vote of confidence he needed. Fuck the glymera, for real.

A little later, Vishous’s sharp voice cut into the room. “I got your visitor, true?”

“Send him in.”

There was some shuffling and suddenly, the scents in the room changed—so overwhelmingly, Wrath recoiled.

He’d never known such … gratitude? Was that what it was? Reverence? It was a bouquet born of deep emotions, that was for sure.

“The foreman’s bowing before your desk, my brother,” V said. “His hat’s off.”

The fact that the foreman was crying was something Vishous judiciously left off the report.

Wrath got to his feet and went around. Before he could say anything, though, a stream of words fell from the humble male’s mouth.

“I know it’s you. I know it could only be you.” The male’s voice choked. “I cannot repay you—how did you know?”

Wrath shrugged. “I just figured your daughter probably needed a better wheelchair. And a couple of ramps.”

“And the van. That van … how did you…”

“I’m guessing money’s a little tight—although you take care of your family just fine. And as for the why, you’re helping me here, I wanted to help you there.”

“My second shellan, she cannot express her thanks enough. Nor can I. But we offer you this. As an unworthy tribute to Your Highness.”

Wrath frowned, a sudden slice from the past coming back to him.

And it made him blink hard.

He could remember people doing this with his father, offering the King tokens of thanks.

“I am honored,” he said gruffly as he put his hands out.

What was laid across his palms was smooth, soft. “What is it?”

There was an awkward pause. As if the foreman didn’t understand.