Page 152 of Born for Silk

Yes. I nod over and over and over. “Yes. Yes. Yes, but only if you get up now. You have to get up. I need my king.”

His gaze rolls to my swollen belly, his hand slips from my cheek to the mound, and he presses his palm to it, cradling his unborn child. “He is going to do great things.”

“And you’re going to watch him do them.”

“Rome...” Tuscany’s voice spills from behind me moments before she kneels on the old abbey grounds, her shoulder touching mine.

His glassy, fractured blue eyes pan to her. “My sweet sister.” He rasps as the doctor stabs a tube into his upper ribcage. A hiss escapes the puncture hole. “Do you forgive me?”

“Please, please.” I sob, choking on my tears. “Stop talking like this.”

“I never blamed you, Rome.” Her voice cracks down the centre. I look at her as sorrowful streams course down her smooth, tanned cheeks. “Not for a second. Please just keep breathing. You were made for this world, remember? Indestructible.”

My eyes sting, pools clouding my vision of him as he reaches for my face again. I help him, holding his big, cool palm to my wet cheek.

He isn’t warm.

But he is always warm…

“I got to love you and be loved by you.” His eyes are glossy and dazed as if he is staring into a brilliant fire when he is merely staring at me. “If The Crust is a place, little creature. It is where I spend my days making you smile.”

My heart breaks, and I crumble to his chest. Not just hearing his words— But feeling them.

“Ready.” The doctor’s voice is directed over my head. “We need to get him into the tank now and to the Trade-tower. No one else. Just Sire. We need all the space for medical personnel. You understand, my queen?”

No. A bit more time.

When three men slide Rome onto a stretcher, his hand slides from me, its absence mournful. I stumble to my feet to catch his expression, but his eyes… His eyes.

They are closed.

They carry him to the tank, and my entire body trembles. My eyes believe the scene now, finally caught up with my brutal reality.

And I wonder if this is some kind of message from The Cradle. For breaking my vows. For wanting more than is offered. For jealousy and trying to change the order of things. For asking questions, loving and being loved. And for envisioning first-lights with a baby in a cot beside our bed.

Is this punishment…

Then Tuscany puts her arm around me, and Ana stops on my other side. We stand as a Collective, watching the tank drive away with our king inside.

Chapter Seventeen

Rome

Closing my eyes in the square of the old-world abbey, only to open them in the highest tech laboratory in The Cradle, is quite the fucking contrast.

Access to this underground centre beneath the Trade-tower requires a biometric scan, but doctors continue to crowd inside to view their king’s latest additions. No—enhancements. Aster called them enhancements, so that is what they are.

As I stare at my reflection, bare chest and dark pants, it dawns on me that I appear more like my father, Turin of The Strait, than ever before. Huge. Broad across the chest, carved and marred; long arms and massive hands that have felt death. Titanium plate in my left shoulder. Magnesium alloy in my shin.

Bullets as trophies.

This is what a king looks like.

At least, that is what I always believed.

Eyes scale my form. Watch each large breath. My new lung has the doctors nodding approvingly. The success of it is mainly due to its biocompatibility—Xin De genus approved.

This laboratory is spacious yet utilitarian. The walls leading to the centre are painted dark grey, and the corridor lights are dim—a warren of ambiguity. However, inside the research areas, the overhead beams spot even the dust.

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