Flushing, Jamil pushed the thought away. He wasn’t responsible for his dreams. He refused to feel guilty about his dreams.
“Your Highness?”
Jamil flinched at the sound of the AI’s voice. “Yes, Omer?”
“The Queen is asking you to join her at the Eipent’tak Genetic Center, Your Highness.”
Jamil’s heart jumped into his throat. He had to force himself to move. “I’ll be there momentarily.”
His thoughts racing, he found the nearest t-chamber.
The few moments it took for the transport to arrive at his destination seemed like the longest in his life.
Finally, he was walking through the green corridors of the Eipent’tak Genetic Center. Barely aware of people bowing to him, Jamil strode in the direction he could vaguely sense his mother, thanks to the familial bond that they shared.
He found her as she was leaving Doctor Tuvok’s office.
“Thank you, Doctor,” she was saying, smiling genially at the distinguished older man Jamil recognized as one of the most famous geneticists on the planet.
Tuvok bowed slightly. “You don’t have to thank me, Your Majesty. I live to serve you and your family.” Noticing Jamil, he bowed to him, too. “Your Highness.” Something flickered in his eyes. He seemed to hesitate before saying, “I believe Her Majesty will tell you the details, so all I can offer is my congratulations.”
Jamil’s stomach clenched. “Thank you,” he said with numb lips.
“Oh, darling,” Queen Janesh said quietly, taking one look at his face. She took his arm and gently led him away. “I know that’s not how you imagined this, but this is good news, my son.”
“News,” Jamil said faintly as the Queen led them into the gestation room.
There were rows upon rows of gestation cubes—or artificial wombs, as people called them. But Jamil’s gaze didn’t wander.
He knew where to look, where to walk. He felt the very faint echo of the baby’s mind, still tiny and uncertain, but unmistakably familiar.
He stopped in front of the gestation cube and stared at what looked like a bundle of cells in it.
He felt his mother’s hand on his shoulder. She squeezed it.
“You are going to have a daughter,” she said softly.
Jamil felt like something lodged into his throat, something thick and painful. He forced himself to tear his gaze away from the rapidly growing cells. His fingers were unsteady as he touched the datapad on the gestation cube. Most of the stuff about the embryo was too technical for him to understand. All he could understand was that the embryo was healthy and well developed—and that its biological parents were Prince Jamil’ngh’veighli of the Third Grand Clan and Prince-Consort Mehmer’ver’veighli.
“Does Doctor Tuvok know?” Jamil said, finally finding his voice.
“Yes, but he is sworn to silence,” the Queen said.
“Who?” Jamil whispered.
His mother squeezed his shoulder again. “The donor is a healthy young man. That’s all you need to know, Jamil. Think of this child as yours and Mehmer’s.”
“Who, Mother?” Jamil said.
He could feel his mother’s discomfort through their familial bond. “His name is Serdn Vewyr. He’s twenty-nine. He’s married with two healthy children. He’s an engineer, with above average intelligence. He also looks a little like Mehmer—not that it matters much, since the child was genetically engineered to inherit your physical appearance, mostly. Obviously Serdn Vewyr wasn’t told what childless family would use his generous donation.”
Jamil nodded faintly, staring at the embryo.
At his daughter.
“I already arranged the transfer of the gestation cube to the palace,” his mother said, as efficient as ever, even though there was something like uncertainly in the air around her.
“Thank you,” Jamil said, breaking the somewhat awkward silence. “For everything.”
He felt her relief, nearly overwhelming in its strength. “Of course, my darling,” she said softly, giving him a telepathic hug.
Her mental touch was warm and loving, but Jamil almost flinched, his mind instinctively shying away from the contact. His telepathic core felt like a raw wound these days and even the gentle touch of his mother’s mind seemed too much—wrong.
“You need to move on, love,” the Queen said, probably interpreting the state of his mind as his grief for Mehmer. “You’ve been given a wonderful chance to be happy. This child is a gift. I know you wanted Mehmer’s children, but as far as everyone is concerned, she’s yours and Mehmer’s. Her other biological father doesn’t matter.”
Jamil didn’t look at his mother. Couldn’t. He wasn’t sure his face wouldn’t betray him.
Because his mother couldn’t be more wrong. This tiny life in the gestation cube, this baby… it wasn’t Mehmer’s or Serdn Vewyr’s. Jamil didn’t know how Rohan had managed to trick Doctor Tuvok, but he had. Jamil couldn’t explain how he knew it, why he was so confident that Rohan had kept his word.
Or rather, he tried not to think about it—about the fact that something about this baby felt right. Something about this tiny life soothed the dull ache of his weakening bond to Rohan, not enough to make it stop aching, but enough to anchor it a little.
Jamil pressed his hand against the gestation cube and murmured, “Hi there.” His voice cracked slightly, but he smiled.
His mother was right about one thing: this child was a gift.
The last gift her other father had given him.
Chapter 14
Five months later
Jamil was smiling a little as he opened the door to the gestation chamber—he couldn’t wait to see his daughter—and he froze in surprise upon seeing his brother seated in front of the gestation cube.
“What are you doing here?”
“Just came to say hi to my favorite niece,” Seyn said, turning to smile at him.
Jamil snorted and sat down next to him. “She’s your only niece,” he said, lightly touching the thick walls of the womb with his fingers. “Good morning. How is my beautiful girl today?”
The baby didn’t react outwardly, the womb’s walls too thick for her to hear him, but Jamil could feel her, faintly, and her emotions shifted into the feelings of contentment and security. They already shared a rudimentary familial bond. It was weak, but it was there and it was getting stronger every day as her brain and telepathic abilities developed. Despite being just five-months-old, she was already as developed as a seven-month-old fetus. That was the advantage of artificial gestation compared to a natural pregnancy that lasted ten Calluvian months: the early stages of gestation were accelerated. His daughter was already three months away from birth, and she was already a tiny person—a tiny person who already knew loss.
Jamil looked at her wistfully, wondering how acutely his daughter could feel the absence of her other parent. Calluvian children were all born with rudimentary telepathic bonds to their parents. If she could already feel Jamil, she could likely already feel that there was nothing but silence at the other end of her bond to her other parent. Sometimes he thought he could feel her confusion, her sadness.
Catching Seyn’s curious eyes on him, Jamil schooled his features into a neutral expression, wondering what his brother had seen. “Sometimes I wonder if she feels lonely in there.” He chuckled, running his hand through his hair. Gods, he hated lying, hated pretending in front of his own family, but Seyn had no idea that the baby wasn’t Mehmer’s. No one besides the Queen could know that. It wasn’t that Jamil didn’t trust Seyn, but… Jamil wasn’t blind to his brother’s faults. Seyn was a good kid, but he was the baby of the family: spoiled, sharp-tongued, and a bit self-centered. He also had quite a temper on him. Jamil didn’t trust him not to blurt it out unthinkingly, in the middle of some argument, in the earshot of strangers. One thoughtless word, one rumor, was all it would take to destroy his daughter’s future. Bastards could rule, but it was a shameful brand Jamil’s daughter would never be able to erase. No. He could lie to Seyn. He would play the role Seyn expected from him.
Besides, the role of a grieving bondmate who was looking at the child of a man he had lost wasn’t exactly hard to play.
Jamil felt his lips curl into a mirthless smile. His chest felt tight, his stomach turning. “I know it’s ridiculous. We all were born that way, and we turned out fine.” His voice sounded off, strained even to his own ears. He wondered if Seyn would notice.
