Lyrion's Gift [Elven Conceptions 1] (Siren Publishing Ménage Amour ManLove) by Jade Astor Page B

no need of armor at the moment, Father. We are not at war. You should wear the soft robes I had sewn for you. You would be far more comfortable.”
    “Robes…yes. I remember the robes you brought me.” Pausing, King Polidamis tilted his head as if to examine the ceiling. “Fine-threaded robes, embroidered with gold. Your mother brought such robes with her, you know, as part of her bride chest. Lord Behx, your grandfather, had them specially made for her before she left his castle in the north.”
    “Yes, Father.” Talek felt his chest constrict. He knew what would come next. “So you have told me.”
    “The most beautiful robes…for the most beautiful woman. That she was, as everyone knew. But she belonged only to me.”
    Suddenly, the old man’s eyes clouded over and filled with tears. He staggered back a step as though he were about to fall. Talek moved closer, extending his hands to catch him if need be.
    “Where is she, Talek? Where is your mother? I must speak to her at once. You must present your friend to her. I think she would like him. She always did enjoy the patter of diplomats, especially those who could teach her songs from foreign lands.” His mood shifting again, Polidamis fixed Lyrion with a piercing stare. “Do you sing, young one? Know you any interesting ballads—say, of monsters or evil sorcerers?”
    “I expect I could recall a few,” Lyrion said carefully.
    The king’s wrinkled cheeks relaxed in a smile. “You must teach them to my wife, then. She enjoys an evening of ballads best of any entertainment. The more fantastic and exciting, the better. At dinner tonight, you must sit near each other. Talek, tell your cooks to prepare a tray of sweetened toadstools. Those are also your mother’s favorites.”
    “I shall, Father,” Talek promised sadly.
    “Go, then! What are you waiting for? Toadstools must soak for many hours to be soft enough for your mother to eat. The servants must go and gather them immediately. Choose them from the east garden, where they grow thickest and the stems are juiciest.”
    “Yes, Father, straightaway.”
    A discreet wave of his hand brought back the servant, who placed an arm around the old man’s armored shoulder and guided him into the next room.
    “He will ramble on for quite some time now,” Talek explained as he and Lyrion turned to go as well. “In a way, ’tis best for him not to see me. He cannot help thinking of my mother when he does. Yet it makes him happy to believe her alive, if only for a few moments—how could I deny him that?”
    “You must not,” Lyrion said without hesitation. “He enjoys your visits, I am sure.”
    “Do you think so?”
    “Of course. For him, a few minutes of happiness, even based on a false premise, may dispel many hours of gloom.”
    “Indeed. I never thought of that.” After leaving the king’s apartments, they strolled out on the castle battlements. Talek paced along the stone walkway in the same state of agitation and sorrow that possessed him whenever he had to spend time with his father. Lyrion walked alongside him, no doubt still thunderstruck by all he had witnessed.
    “How did the king end up in such an unfortunate state?” he asked at length.
    “As you can probably guess, I was born to him rather late in life. My mother—a female, as I told you—was much younger than he, though everyone old enough to remember tells me they loved each other most madly. When I was but an infant, a fever took her from him. Each year after that, he lost more and more of his wits until, I suppose, there were simply none left.”
    “That is the truest sort of love, perhaps. I never imagined it would be possible with a female, but I suppose for some men, it is. We should not judge the way others choose to give their affections, I suppose. Everyone has his own reasons and tastes.”
    “Quite so.” Talek smiled at the innocent comment. Even now, he knew there were many in the palace who did not approve of his