Page 77 of The Pleasure Contract

I open my mouth to say something – anything. I don’t even know what those words were going to be – and I’ll never know, because the king simply says, “Come, Az. I wish to talk to you in private for a time.”

And with that, the palace staff whisks away both of our untouched meals, and our chairs are already being pulled out for us.

A quick glance at Lois shows her animatedly talking to Glex – who actually seems to be listening intently.

She is doing well, then, and does not need my help.

It seems I have no excuse but to follow my father’s departure from the room.

* * *

I’m led to a part of the palace I’ve never seen before. The scale is much less grand, the furnishings are sagging a little, and the items displayed don’t appear to be aesthetically curated in any way.

It takes me far too long to realize that I’ve followed my father into his own personal chambers.

He sits in one high-backed, overstuffed armchair in front of a roaring fireplace, gesturing to a mirroring chair for me to take.

I nod my head, but take the opportunity to walk around the room, absorbing all the paintings, holographic portraits, and artifacts my father chooses to display here – the one place where he can just be ‘Zeelix’, and not ‘King Zeelix’. I do not think I have ever met the former.

There are bottles of bright red sand and shells of turquoise blue – items from his home principality, the Great Sands. Holographic images of his siblings playfighting. Some broken bits of crockery – their jagged edges apparently holding enough memories for my father to display them on a shelf.

“I keep her here, right by my chair,” he interrupts my inspection, holding up a small, silver frame.

I step closer, my eyes squinting in the dim. Staring back at me with a faint smile is a painted portrait of my mother, wearing her bells and a knowing look. Stroking a gentle finger down the static image, I look up to ask, “No holo portrait?”

“No,” he says, shaking his head and taking the small painting back. “There is one of her in the Hall of Brides beside the Palace Temple, but no. It-…” he pauses and takes a deep breath. “It is too much for in here. I fear I might start hearing those bells tinkling if I did.”

We are both quiet for a moment, and I decide to take the seat I’d been offered.

“I still have her Permission, but-”

Instantly, I stand up again. “Yeah, no. I do not want to hear any of that.”

“Sit down, Az,” he chuckles, apparently completely unaware of how close I’d be to yaking up my guts if he starts talking about using my mother’s Permission. “I’m trying to tell you I don’t use it.” Oh, thank The Four. “And even if I did, it wouldn’t be for that,” he continues. “It would just be to sit with her. To talk to her… to apologize to her.”

I sit back down.

My father has never talked like this before.

“Are you dying or something?” I say, joking. For as long as I’ve known this male, he’s never acted even minutely like this in my presence.

Instead of laughing, my father looks at me and offers a weak smile. “It won’t be soon. The physicians say I have about four or five seasons left in me.”

My mind goes as blank as a sunless sky.

I do not know what to say to that.

Instead of a great wave of pure sadness that you might expect about hearing of a parent nearing death, I am instead hit by a wall of confusion. Confusion because there is vindication mixed with the sadness, sprinkled with relief, and then wrapped in a blanket of numbness.

On top of all of that, I feel shame because perhaps I should be feeling nothing but sadness.

But the truth is, I do not know the vulnerable male in front of me. I have never met him before in my life. All I know is the king who killed my mother.

“That is…” I do not know how to end that sentence.

My father scoffs. “It is alright if you are not upset by this news, son.”

I tense my jaw.