Page 5 of Trickster King

“Did you call her a witch?”

“Absolutely. A harpy, too. Then I demanded she could deal with the old bitch of a queen the entirety of this pregnancy and the next—and the next!”

“How many children are we having?” I asked, giving up on my attempt to keep my amusement to myself. I shook my head and kissed her cheek. “Never you mind that question. The answer is however many you want. I’m a wise husband and learned this after we had Adam.”

“One or two more. Maybe three. Three to spite that witch would be nice.”

My wife, pregnant with two food-thieving tyrants, wanted three more after a set of twins? Calling my pregnant wife crazy would not go over well, and at a loss of what to say, I kept quiet and stole a proper kiss.

“You’d be okay with three more after the twins, right?” my wife asked, her quiet voice full of worry.

“I will make it clear to the royal physicians there will be no birth control issued in our household, and I will be most displeased if a hysterectomy becomes a necessity.”

My wife sighed. “They won’t listen to us if they think my mother’s cancer will show up.”

“We’ll cross that bridge if and only if it happens. Until then, you’re fine, our children are fine, and you’re regularly checked. If it makes you feel better, I’ll deal with yearly checks, too.”

Unbeknownst to her, I already dealt with the yearly checks; it wasn’t fair for her to undergo scrutiny without me also undergoing the same scrutiny. The royal physicians hated my back almost as much as I did. They also hated my lungs, which liked flirting with disaster at every opportunity.

Maybe if I’d stop lounging on the ground with Eddie and my prized bulls that I wasn’t supposed to visit nearly as often as I did, I’d stop catching fungal infections.

The last I’d checked, Randy had been talking to some earthweavers to see if it was possible to purge the bull pastures of the spores so I’d stop breathing them in and getting damned infections.

Fortunately for me, Randy caught the symptoms of the infections before I did, resulting in some mild discomfort my wife rarely noticed.

The nausea would pass as would the waves of tingling and numbness in my hands. Those worried everyone; if my episodes lasted more than an hour and happened more than twice in a single day, I’d have a date with the nearest hospital to figure out which antifungal to try next.

I’d already gone through three different ones trying to find one that didn’t present a health hazard due to the side effects.

“Yearly checks for what?” my wife demanded, and her tone took on a rather unpleasant edge.

“Fungal infections,” the head of my detail muttered from the doorway.

“Again?” Jessica wailed. “Pat, were you cuddling with those bulls again?”

“I absolutely was cuddling with those bulls again.” I laughed and hugged her tighter. “Ignore Randy. I was more thinking a full health exam to check for anything that might potentially go wrong.”

“Including fungal infections,” Randy said, and he joined my wife in using his take-no-prisoners tone.

“How bad is the infection this time?”

“It’s so minor Randy only noticed because Randy is a worry wart.”

“He was a little wheezy after a ride, so I had him checked. We caught it early, he’s responding well to his medications, and he should be off the antifungal in a week if his lungs check out. I’ve been informed stress is a factor, which compromised his immune system. I did not want to worry you, but as I’ve been informed stress is a factor, I feel now is an appropriate time to notify you of the situation.”

Randy wanted something, and I couldn’t tell what. While I enjoyed holding my wife, I turned my head enough to eye my RPS agent.

He smirked at me.

“You’re saying he needs a vacation.”

Randy gave my wife his undivided attention. “Yes, Your Majesty. One that does not involve sedatives and an unexpected trip across the kingdom.”

I grinned at that. “You will not hear me argue about that. I don’t want to be sedated or taken on any unplanned trips. However, if I were to be sedated and taken on an unplanned trip, I could be talked into cooperating if I can go camping or on a trail ride. Chocolate Cupcake would like to go on a trail ride. It’s been three weeks. She’s sad.”

It’d been three damned weeks since I’d ridden any horse. The side effects of my medications might result in a dangerous fall.

My wife laughed, eased out of my hold, and kissed my cheek. “I’m banned from riding, but if you want to plan a picnic for us where I can take a leisurely walk while you give Chocolate Cupcake some exercise on a trail, I won’t protest the interruption to our schedule.”

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