“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.
And that was the moment when Wrath knew he’d come to a crossroads. Oddly, he thought of his son.
Shifting the slight weight to one hand, he reached up …
… and removed his wraparounds.
“I’m blind,” he told the commoner. “I cannot see. That’s how I knew what would matter to you and your family. I’ve got some experience making accommodations in this world.”
The gasp was loud.
Wrath smiled a little. “Yeah, that Blind King title isn’t just gossip. It’s the God’s honest—and I am not ashamed of it.”
Holy Shit … until he said the words, he hadn’t realized how inferior he’d felt. How much he had kept hidden. How many apologies he had offered because of something that he had no control over. But that time was past.
Sighted or not, he had an example to set in this world—and he was goddamned if he wasn’t going to live up to it.
“So please,” he told the clearly astonished commoner. “Describe to me the gift that you pay me honor with.”
There was a very long pause. And the foreman wasn’t the only one who was surprised. V was emanating twelve kinds of OMG as he smoked like a frickin’ chimney over in the corner.
The foreman cleared his throat. “It is—um, my mate, she weaves fabric in the traditional way from the Old Country. She sells it within the race for solace banners and clothing. This is … it is her finest weave, one that she did years ago and has not had the heart to sell. It took her a year to complete it—” The male’s voice cracked. “She said she knows now why she could not let it go. She says to tell you she knows now, she was saving it in tribute for you.”
Wrath put the wraparounds aside and ran his hands back and forth over the cloth. “I’ve never felt anything this fine—it’s like satin. What color is it?”
“Red.”
“My favorite color.” Wrath paused. And then decided, Fuck it. “I’m having a son.”
Cue the second gasp.
“Yeah, my love and I … we got lucky.” Abruptly, the reality of his son not being the heir to the throne hit—and there was a sadness. There truly was—but also a kind of relief. “I will use this to receive him in. When he is born.”
Annnnnnnnnnnnnd that would be a third gasp.
“No, he’s not the heir to the throne,” Wrath said. “My wife is part human. So he cannot sit where I do—and that’s all right.”
His son would make his own way. He was … free.
And as Wrath spoke his truth, without apology or explanation, as he cloaked himself in the vestments of honesty, as he said the words he had kept hidden without realizing he had done so …
He realized he, too, was finally free—and that his parents, if they had had a chance to look over his shoulder, would have approved of him.
Just the way he was.
SIXTY-SIX
The Caldwell Galleria Mall was open until ten o’clock at night.
As Xcor materialized in a hidden corner of its vast chain of parking lots, he then strode past the lines of parked cars, his long strides eating up the distance to an entrance that had some giant red sign over a multitude of doors.
He had no idea what he was doing here. About to walk around humans. With a purpose that, had one of his soldiers put such forth, he would never have let them get over it.
Pushing in through the glass portals, he frowned. Female clothes abounded on the left and the right, all manner of cheery colors—that made him think fondly of unleashing a flamethrower to put his retinas out of their misery.
Up ahead, there was section after section of glass cases with sparkling oddities in them, scarves hanging from racks, and mirrors—goddamn, there were mirrors everywhere.