14. Eleven

At the conclusion of the feast, I accompanied Ruith to a small stone chamber in the baths for yet another ritual cleansing, this one more literal in nature.

When we arrived at the shallow pool with its milky waters, there was a trio of young elves in simple black garments, their heads and faces covered by black hoods. I could no more tell them apart than I could identify shadows in the dark.

Next to laundry, bathing Ruith was the one slave task I had despised more than any other. And yet, as I was forced to stand back and watch them bathe him, I couldn't help but be envious of them. Outside of sex and battle, the elves were miserly with their physical contact. Bathing was the one time they permitted slaves to touch them. Not just permitted it, but required it.

I remembered vividly the way my soapy hands once glided over his skin. I knew too well how many scars were on his muscled chest. Even with his back to me, I could count them in my mind's eye. I knew which bones ached when the weather turned foul and how to best work the tension out of his sword hand when it got stiff. I knew these things because I had been his slave and I was not given a choice but to learn them. Ruith commanded. I obeyed. The nature of our relationship was easy with clearly defined roles.

Now, things were different. I was free, but still bound in service by a promise. We were equals, but only so long as we were allies. I desired his company and his council above all others, and yet I could not help but argue with him when I sought it. My fingers burned constantly with the need to feel his skin beneath them, but whether it was to caress or kill him, I still could not say.

The masked elves reached to wash Ruith's long, black hair, and I clenched my jaw until it ached. It was one thing to watch them put their hands all over his body. I knew his body. But his hair? I'd only ever touched it a handful of times, and each time, Ruith acted as if we had committed some grievous sin. Yet here were these elves who did not even have the courage to show their faces and they were permitted to touch him as they liked, anywhere they liked?

Ruith turned his head for the first time, looking straight at me before he raised a hand. The masked elves bowed at his silent command.

I frowned, watching them scurry toward the exit like mice caught in the larder at breakfast time. "Is that allowed?"

Ruith sighed and waded to the far side of the pool, where several small tins had been laid out. "There are rituals and there are rituals . They will record in the history books that King Ruith sent the seventh sons away during the ritual bath, but in a hundred years, no one will remember it. That detail will never be as important as the hunt, his rulings, or the civil war that framed his rule. Nobody remembers the bath."

I crossed my arms and glared at Ruith. "And the way you touched me under the table at dinner? With your wife right there beside us? I suppose nobody will remember that either."

Ruith lifted a tin of fragrant oil, sniffing it. "No one has to know what we do unless you plan to tell them. Besides, Taelyn is well aware of our arrangement and is happy to step aside. We have an understanding."

"I doubt she'd approve if she knew what you were doing to me under the table at dinner, Ruith." I swallowed hard, heat rushing to my face as I remembered the exquisite torture of Ruith's fingers wrapped around me while I fought to maintain my composure. The way I'd bitten my lip bloody to keep from crying out as ecstasy crashed into me.

I turned away from Ruith, unable to watch him bathe any longer. The sight of his glistening skin, the way the water ran over the planes of his body, it was too much to bear. I paced the stone chamber, my boots echoing against the damp floor with each agitated step.

"Elindir." Ruith's voice was low and commanding, a king summoning his subject. "Come here."

I paused, my back still to him, every muscle in my body tensed like a bowstring drawn taut. I closed my eyes, inhaling deeply through my nose. The scent of the fragrant oils permeated the humid air, a heady blend of sandalwood and spice that made my head swim. Slowly, I turned to face him.

Ruith stood waist-deep in the pool, his dark hair slicked back from his angular face. Water droplets clung to his bronzed skin like dew. His eyes locked onto mine with an intensity that stole the breath from my lungs.

"I said, come here." His words were softer this time, but no less commanding.

As if pulled by an invisible thread, I found myself moving toward him, each step a battle between desire and defiance.

"Do you know why I sent the seventh sons away?" Ruith asked when I was closer.

My gaze caught on a droplet gliding down the side of his neck. "Why?"

Ruith moved through the water with predatory grace until he stood before me at the edge of the pool. "Because of what comes next," he said, voice low and rumbling. "Because it would be considered arrogant for a king to bestow braids upon himself. If I am to be king, someone else must braid my hair every morning from now until my death. But it is…an intimate act for a warrior to allow someone else to touch his hair. Only those closest to him are given the privilege."

"Perhaps that is an honor you should bestow upon your wife, then." I tried to force a bitter edge into my voice, but I was too distracted looking at him.

Ruith reached out, his fingers brushing against my wrist in a feather-light caress that sent a shiver racing up my spine. "Taelyn may be my wife, but you are the one I choose, Elindir. The one I trust above all others."

I stared at him, my pulse thundering in my ears. I wanted to pull away, to put distance between us before I did something foolish. But I was frozen in place. "Why me? After everything..."

"Because you know me better than anyone," Ruith said gently. "You have seen me at my worst and at my most vulnerable. You alone understand the burdens I bear." Water sloshed as he lifted a jade comb out of the water, holding it out to me. "Attend me once more?"

The words sent a shiver down my spine. How often had he issued that command when I was his slave? And how eagerly had I rushed to do it? Except now, I was no slave, and I was not being forced to touch him against my will. I wanted this. I had dreamed of it.

I nodded, not trusting my voice. It would betray me with a quiver. I quickly put the folded clothes aside, and I retrieved the offered comb.

Ruith turned his back to me and sank down until the water lapped at his hips, baring his hair and back to me.

With a deep breath to steady my nerves, I carefully ran the comb through his hair.

I took my time, savoring the silken texture of his hair between my fingers as I combed through it, working out every tangle with careful, deliberate strokes. Ruith's hair flowed through my hands like beautiful black water, rippling with each pass of the comb.

The baths were utterly silent save for the water lapping at damp stone, the whisper of the comb through his hair, and the softness of our breath in the steamy air. Sweat beaded on my brow but I paid it no mind. It was a small price to pay to be given such a privilege as to care for a warrior king.

Ruith sighed, a low, contented rumble deep in his chest as he leaned back into my fingers. The broad, muscled planes of his back and shoulders gleamed in the dim light, the scars of countless battles standing out in silvery reliefs. I had the sudden, wild urge to trace each one with my tongue, to map the landscape of his body and commit it to memory.

Instead, I focused on his hair, carefully separating it into sections.

"How many braids?" I asked quietly, though I'd already stared at his hair for so long, I knew the answer already.

"Seven."

My fingers brushed the nape of his neck and he shivered, gooseflesh rising on his damp skin. Something deep inside me preened, knowing that I could have such an effect on a powerful elf like Ruith.

I separated Ruith's hair into seven smaller sections, carefully combing each one until it was smooth and tangle-free. Then I began to weave the strands together, my fingers moving deftly as I braided his hair.

"Tell me how you earned them," I said quietly as I worked, needing to fill the charged silence between us.

Ruith hummed thoughtfully. "That would take too long."

"Then tell me of the one you're most proud of."

He was quiet for a long moment. "It was my first solo campaign," he said at last. "We had decided to raid along the Savarran coast that year, at the Summer Isles."

I nodded, continuing to work his hair into even plaits. "I know the place."

"We sailed for the small island of Izar," Ruith continued. "I had a band of seventy warriors, many of them untested. We had expected the Summer Isles to be easy prey, you see. It was a common choice for new warriors to bloody their swords there. But this year, the Savarran priests had hired a band of mercenaries to defend the island. A thousand of them. We were badly outnumbered and facing certain death."

"Why didn't you just sail away? Find somewhere else to raid?"

He chuckled lightly. "Looking back, that is exactly what we should have done. But I was a boy with a sword, and I wanted everyone to believe my balls were made of steel. So rather than retreat as I should have done—as I had been instructed to do by my father—I slipped into the mercenary camp under the cover of darkness and met with the mercenary leader. I told him I had a hundred longboats waiting to come ashore and if he wanted me to spare his men from slaughter, he would fight me one-on-one."

"That wasn't very honorable of you."

Ruith tipped his head back to smirk at me. "Honor doesn't win near as many battles as deception."

I agreed with a shrug. "What happened then?"

"He didn't believe me, of course, so we haggled for some time about who would kill whom and how. Eventually, we struck an accord. I would fight him at a place of his choosing and if he impressed me with his skill, I would sail away and the elves would never come to Izar again."

My fingers stilled. "You agreed?"

"Why wouldn't I?" he said with a shrug. "I didn't think it was possible for a human to impress me, and even if he did, he would be dead. How would he know whether I kept my word or not?" He sighed and closed his eyes. "We met at the agreed upon place and fought to the death. He was good for a human, but not good enough to save his life. Still, he fought well enough to impress me."

"But you raided Izar anyway," I said, disappointment coloring my tone.

Ruith shook his head. "I kept my word. There have been no elven raids on Izar since that day."

I went back to braiding his hair. "Why?" I asked. "You said so yourself. He was dead. What did it matter if you kept your promise? He'd never know."

"I'd know," Ruith said quietly. "A king is only as strong as his greatest weakness, so he must choose his weaknesses carefully. I did not want treachery to be one of mine. I am many things, Elindir, but I never make a promise I don't intend to keep."

I finished putting the last braid in his hair and scooted back from the pool. "Your braids are finished."

"So they are," he said, sounding strangely disappointed. He tipped his head back to look at me, eyes dark. "Will you not join me in the water? All this talk of blood and battles and your hands in my hair have me feeling rather lonely in here."

"And interrupt your kingship purification rituals?" I scoffed and went to retrieve a towel for him. "I wouldn't dream of putting you in such a compromising position, King Ruith."

I turned my back to Ruith, giving him privacy to finish his bath. The air felt thick and heavy, weighted with unspoken words and barely restrained desires. I closed my eyes, fighting to control the tremor in my hands as I gripped the towel. The soft fabric was a poor substitute for the silken strands of Ruith's hair.

The gentle splashing of water reached my ears, and I knew Ruith was rising from the pool. I kept my eyes fixed resolutely ahead, even as droplets pattered on the stone floor, marking his approach. The heat of his body seared my back as he came to stand behind me, close enough to touch, but still maddeningly out of reach.

"Elindir." My name was a dark rumble in his chest. A command and a plea.

I inhaled shakily, the scent of sandalwood and something uniquely Ruith filling my nose. Slowly, I turned to face him, my heart a wild drum beat against my ribs.

Ruith stood before me, rivulets of water tracing paths down his bronzed skin. His hair hung in damp braids, the ones I had so carefully woven.

"The towel," he murmured, holding out a hand.

Mutely, I passed it to him.

I watched, transfixed, as Ruith slowly began to dry himself. He moved with a warrior's efficient grace, the towel gliding over his skin, catching stray droplets. My gaze tracked its progress, lingering on the flex of his muscles, the scars that mapped a lifetime of battles onto his flesh.

Each deliberate pass of the towel felt like a taunt, a sensual provocation that set my blood to simmering. Ruith's eyes never left mine, holding me captive.

I turned away, busying my trembling hands with the jars and tins on the edge of the pool. The pungent scent of myrrh, frankincense, and cinnamon stung my nostrils, but it could not overpower the dark spice of Ruith's scent.

"Attend me."

The words, spoken in a low rasp, shattered the charged silence. A shudder worked its way down my spine at the unmistakable command in Ruith's tone. Slowly, I pivoted to face him once more.

Ruith stood before me, the damp towel slung low around his hips. Beads of moisture still clung to his skin, glistening in the dim light of the baths.

I swallowed hard, my throat suddenly dry. "As my king commands."

I retrieved Ruith's fresh clothing, laying each piece out with deliberate care. The fabric was exquisitely soft beneath my fingers, dyed a rich black that seemed to absorb the light.

I approached him slowly, every step a battle between desire and restraint. The air felt thick and heavy, laden with unspoken words and barely leashed tensions.

Ruith stood perfectly still as I dressed him, only the rise and fall of his chest betraying that he was more than a finely carved statue. I worked in silence, my fingers brushing his skin with each pass. Each fleeting touch was both a blessing and a torment. I kept my eyes lowered, not daring to meet Ruith's eyes, hoping he wouldn't see the hunger written plainly on my face.

When it was done, I retreated a step, hands folded behind my back. "Will there be anything else, your grace?" There was a time those words had been a shackle, binding me to him in servitude. Now, they felt too much like a goodbye neither of us wanted.

Ruith's hand cupped my chin, tilting my face up, forcing me to look at him.

Slowly, achingly slowly, he leaned in. My heart stuttered as his lips brushed against mine. This was no rough, claiming kiss like the ones we'd shared in the heat of passion. It was soft, almost reverent. The kind of kiss shared between lovers who knew each other's bodies as intimately as their own.

Ruith's lips moved over mine with a gentleness that made my knees weak. I sighed into the kiss, my eyes fluttering closed as I surrendered to the moment. One hand slid around to cradle the back of my neck while the other settled at my waist, drawing me closer.

I melted against him, fitting myself to the hard planes of his body like I was made to be there. My hands fisted in the fabric of his tunic, holding on as if he was the only thing keeping me tethered to the earth.

When Ruith finally broke the kiss, we were both breathing hard. He rested his forehead against mine, our noses brushing. For a long moment, we simply stood there, sharing breath, lost in the intimacy of the moment.

"I must go," Ruith murmured at last, his voice a low, regretful rasp. "There are meditations I am bound to complete before the hunt at dawn."

Slowly, reluctantly, he drew back. His hands fell away from me and I felt their absence like a physical ache. I watched him closely, searching for any sign that he felt as wrecked by our encounter as I did. But Ruith's expression was carefully neutral, giving nothing away. Only the slight tick in his jaw and the smoldering heat in his eyes hinted at the emotions beneath his composed surface.

"Of course," I said, hating how unsteady my voice sounded. I took a step back, needing to put some distance between us before I did something foolish like beg him to stay. "I won't keep you from your duties."

For a heartbeat, I thought he might reach for me again, propriety be damned. But he merely inclined his head, a stiff, formal gesture. "I will see you in the morning for the hunt. Sleep well, my prince."

With that, he turned on his heel and strode out of the baths.