The King(104)

He was more than enough for her.
And anytime she thought he wasn’t? She was going to go back and sit in front of that desk … and put herself deep in her hellren’s shitkickers for a mile or two.
She didn’t want to let her father down and she hadn’t even met him. For Wrath, being King was the only way to honor his—and not wanting to subject the next generation to the throne?
It was the only way to protect the children he would never have.
The Rolling Stones were right. Sometimes, you didn’t get what you wanted. But if you had all you needed?
Life was good.

TWENTY-EIGHT
“Your cousin is getting mated.”
As Saxton was led through the doors of his father’s study, that was the greeting he received.
Here we go, he thought. And next time they talked, no doubt it was going to be about said cousin having a perfectly healthy baby boy who was going to grow up normal. Guess this was his birthday “gift”—a report on some relation living the right sort of life, with subtitles that he was a shame to the bloodline and a great waste of DNA for his father.
Actually, the happy little updates had started up soon after his father had learned that he was gay, and he remembered every single statement, arranging them like ugly figurines on the mantel of his mind. His absolute, bar-none favorite? The newsflash a couple of months ago about a gay male who had gone out with another gay male of the species, and ended up beaten in an alley by a group of humans.
His father had had no idea he was talking about his own son on that one.
The hate crime had been the capper on his first date with Blay, and he had nearly died from the injuries: There had been no going for medical help—Havers, the only physician in the race, was a devoted traditionalist, and was in the practice of turning away known homosexuals from treatment. And going to a human doctor had been a no-go. Yes, there were twenty-four-hour clinics open in the city, but it had taken all the energy he’d had left to drag himself home—and he’d been too ashamed to call anyone for help.
But Blay had shown up—and everything had changed for them.
For a while, at least.
“Did you hear what I said,” his father demanded.
“How wonderful for him—which cousin is it?”
“Enoch’s son. It was arranged. The families are going to have an eventing weekend to celebrate.”
“At their estate here or in South Carolina?”
“Here. It is time for the race to reestablish proper traditions in Caldwell. Without tradition, we are nothing.”
Read: You are worthless unless you get with the program.
Although naturally his father would couch the directive in much more scholarly terms.
Saxton frowned as he finally looked at the male. Sitting behind his desk, Tyhm had always been thin, an Ichabod Crane figure in suits that hung like funeral draping from his bony shoulders. Compared to their last visit, he appeared to have lost weight, his sharp features holding up his facial skin like supports under a pitched tent.
Saxton didn’t look anything like his sire, that dark hair and those dark eyes, that pale skin and lanky body not what the genetic lottery had dealt him. Instead, his mother and he had been pea-and-pod in disposition and decoration, fair and gray eyed with a healthy glow to their skin.
His father had often remarked on how similar he was to his mahmen—and looking back on it, he wasn’t sure that had been a compliment.
“So what are you doing for work,” his father muttered as he drummed his fingers on the leather blotter.
Over the male’s head, the portrait of his own father loomed with identical disapproval.
As Saxton was pegged with two sets of narrowed eyes, there was an almost irresistible urge to answer that question honestly: Saxton was, in fact, First Counsel to the King. And even in these times, when regard for the monarchy was at an all-time low, that was still impressive.
Especially to someone who revered the law like his father.
But no, Saxton thought. He was going to keep that to himself.
“I’m where I was,” he murmured.
“Trusts and estates is rather a complicated field. I was surprised you chose it. Who are some of your more recent clients?”
“You know I can’t divulge that information.”
His father brushed that aside. “It would not be anyone I know, surely.”
“No. Probably not.” Saxton tried to smile a little. “And you?”
That demeanor changed instantly, the subtle distaste ebbing out and being replaced by a mask that had all the revelatory quality of a slab of slate. “There are always things to command my attention.”
“Of course.”
As both of them continued speaking in a volley, the conversation remained stilted and irrelevant, and Saxton passed the time by putting his hand in his pocket and fitting his iPhone to his palm. He had planned his departure, and wondered when he could take his cue.