Page 5 of Garden of Poisoned Delights

Izzy slowed to a halt like a clockwork figurine, mechanical and precise. He didn’t turn around, just stayed in place, quiet and still, and Adrien recalled the way he would shift into that same stance while dueling against Sabre. They’d reached the knife’s edge, the two of them, when a word from Adrien made Izzy react as though he were facing a sword on the field, and despite Adrien’s frustration bubbling to the surface, it made a part of him ache to see it.

“You could have told me,” Adrien said to Izzy’s back. “Not everything, I know even my father doesn’t know everything, but you could send a note, a missive. You could send Sabre to my door at night to tell me you’re overworked and could use your husband brewing you a cup of tea in your office. Am I to assume that absolutely every act you do is in my service, without being told?”

“Yes,” Isiodore said, in a level tone, “because it is.”

“Oh, and that won’t lead to resentment,” Adrien snapped. Isiodore turned around, dominance flaring around Adrien like a flame, and Adrien grabbed the chair next to him to keep himself steady as he slowly got to his knees.

“I’m only kneeling because Starian culture trains us a certain way and you know what your eyes do to me, but rest assured that I can sass you from the rug as easily as I can and will sass you from the throne.”

“Brat,” Izzy said, and there was a touch of fondness there, at least.

“Yes. But also, service submissive, and husband. You can’t devote yourself utterly to me every moment of the day. You’re my father’s left hand, not mine—not mine,” he added, raising his voice as Izzy opened his mouth to object. “Between us, you are my husband first.”

“And as your husband, it is my duty to?—”

“As your husband, I should know when you’re overworking yourself on my behalf,” Adrien said, well aware that he was poking at Izzy’s dominance by interrupting him in a way that no amount of teasing or ring twirling would manage. “So I can make you tea the way you like it, and lay out your clothes, and work out that knot of tension between your shoulder blades that makes you move like that—yes, like that, with your neck.”

“And who is causing the tension, Adrien?”

“Right now, me. And you. Both of us. Marriage is a collaborative effort.”

Izzy’s smile was wry. “And we’re collaboratively giving me back pain.”

“Apparently. This isn’t just about me, it’s about you, and what I can do for you—as your husband, Izzy, who wants you to sleep properly and at least tell me why you can’t stop to breathe. A little transparency is what I need.”

“I don’t think that’s all you need,” Izzy said, and Adrien tilted his head back to show off his collar, realized he didn’t have it on, cursed, and fumbled in his back pocket. When he pulled out the collar to put it on again, Izzy raised his brows.

“I’m a brat,” Adrien said, “but I’m still a submissive. And I’m still displeased with you.”

“Yes, you’ve made that displeasure known.” Izzy took a step toward him, “by nearly derailing your council and giving me more work to do.”

“When I’m king, that work becomes a hobby,” Adrien said, and Izzy stopped in his tracks, “like men who keep models of their holdings or gain an interest in poker.”

“Spycraft isn’t the same as playing with models.”

“It will be when Sabre becomes the left hand of the king,” Adrien said, and he could see the thoughts warring in Izzy’s mind. This wasn’t going to be something he let go of easily, but Adrien had to make it clear that he would. “You’ll be father to my children one day, you know. I want to ensure that you’re not an absent one.”

Izzy went still again, but not, Adrien thought, out of tension and displeasure. A flicker of understanding crossed his face. He hadn’t been particularly active in Adrien’s early life, but anyone in the court could have seen that Adrien was a lonely child. It had hurt, to crave the kind of affection he saw between Sabre and his father, only to be met with distant, cold formality. Regardless of his father’s reasons, the wounds were still there. He’d be damned if he let his own children feel as though there were a wall between them and their fathers.

Carefully, Izzy nodded. Good. “You still haven’t apologized for making a mess of the council,” he said.

Adrien tossed his messy hair over his shoulder. “No. I haven’t. But I suppose,” he added, knowing this, at least, would help Izzy out of his mood, “I might, if you made me.”

* * *

It settled his dominance somewhat, to see Adrien wearing his collar. And it hurt his pride, though only a little, when he realized Adrien was right.

Maybe not right in the way he’d chosen to express himself, but Isiodore should be used to that by now. His hurt feelings, Isiodore understood too. It wasn’t as if he didn’t miss Adrien when he was away, or holed up in his office thinking, just one more hour, he’s asleep anyway, then it will be done and I can go home to him.

But it would never be done, would it, the work he did? There would always be a threat in the dark, and it was his job to ferret it out, neutralize it, to keep Adrien safe.

No, not his job, not when Adrien was king. Then it would be Sabre’s job. Sabre was likely convinced the reason he wouldn’t involve him was because he didn’t trust him, that part of him thought Sabre knew more about his mother than he ever said, that he didn’t think Sabre deserved to stand at Adrien’s left while he stood at his right.

Isiodore was a man of decisiveness, in thought and deed both, and he reached out and tipped Adrien’s face up to his. “I shall see to you, your royal brattiness. But first, you’re right. I have been acting as your left hand as well as your father’s, and that isn’t fair. There is a reason my position is never held by a lover or a spouse, and that reason is exactly why you are so cross with me.”

Adrien smiled, slowly, and looked far too smug. “I know.”

“Mm,” Isiodore said, shaking his head. He slipped his fingers into Adrien’s mouth, sighing audibly in pleasure as Adrien immediately started to suck on them. “In the next week or two, I shall be working a fair bit, but I promise I shall be home by dinnertime. How’s that?”

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