13. Ten

"I'll take my bath before my meal," Ruith announced to the room rather than speaking directly to us. That seemed to be how all elves gave orders to their slaves. It was even more degrading than being insulted directly.

Senna gripped me by the arm roughly and yanked me out of the tent, marching me to a large cauldron over the cookfire. There was a series of them all set up in a row, all being tended by child slaves with large ladles. Steam rose from the cauldrons into the cool morning. He showed me how to get the yoke over my shoulders, which was how I was supposed to transport buckets of near boiling water back to Ruith's tent for his bath. How I was supposed to do that without getting burned, maintaining my balance, and quick enough not to let the water cool, he neglected to say. It was a good thing I had a strong back.

"Pet," someone spat as the line moved.

I shifted to glance around, but no one owned the insult that had been thrown at me.

Someone else whispered, "Elf whore."

This time, when I turned, the speaker, a middle-aged man with a yoke of his own, narrowed his eyes and spat on me.

"Next!"

The man behind me shoved me forward. "Keep the line moving, pet. Masters won't be happy if we take too long."

The boy at the cauldron hastily ladled steaming water into my buckets, not caring when he splashed some of it on my arm. I winced. The boy smirked and did it again, this time on purpose, making me jerk away. It was a wonder I didn't spill both buckets all over myself.

I staggered back to Senna, the yoke heavy on my shoulders. He was chatting with another slave overseer in Qetish. I hesitated, wondering just how many languages he spoke. Savarran, Trintian, Elvish and now Qetish? Where did a slave learn so many languages?

He turned to me, his face sour. "Well? You do know how to wash, yes?"

I tried to nod, but it was difficult with the collar and the yoke.

"Then take the buckets back and help the mirza with his bath! I'll give you further instruction later."

I huffed and wished my hands were free enough to offer him a rude gesture. It'd likely get me beaten and tossed back in the cage, but it would be worth it to see him turn bright red. Maybe he'd pull a muscle while beating me with the rod. Maybe he'd have a heart attack and fall over dead.

And maybe pigs would fly backwards in the king's livery on Summer's Eve.

I dragged the heavy, steaming buckets all the way back to Ruith's tent. He was once again at his writing desk, but this time, he was carefully braiding his hair. He paused when I came in, fingers halfway through putting in one of the braids. The look on his face was that of a child caught playing with something they shouldn't. It didn't suit him.

I poured the water into the large wooden tub, wondering how someone of Ruith's size and shape would fit into such a thing. It was round, roughly three feet in diameter, deep enough that it would only come up, perhaps, to his knees. Not deep enough for a proper bath. Not like the deep pools of water in the lower parts of the palace where I had often taken my lovers to seduce them. It had always been the perfect play: get them all sweaty and covered in sawdust in the training yard, then take all that beautiful muscle and wash it down in the baths. I had never seen it backfire, but then who would refuse a prince?

The tub was as full as I could get it without it overflowing. I put the yoke down near the door and stepped back to wait for Senna to come give me my next set of instructions.

Instead, it was Ruith who gave me the order. He stood, his braids still unfinished, and shoved his arm in front of my face. "Undress me."

At first, I thought it was another one of his games. He seemed to want to see how far he could push me, knowing I had little recourse. But there was no smile on his lips, no hint of amusement. Just the bored expectation that I, a slave, would do as I was told.

Was it really so difficult to do himself?

The tunic he wore was simple enough. Thin, white laces had been tied at the cuffs to gather them, and there were more laces near the collar that remained undone. What they were for, I couldn't guess. Elven clothing was so foreign and strange to me. I tugged on one of the laces roughly, but that only seemed to tangle them. They had to be undone carefully, which took more time than I wanted to invest. The longer I stood there with him, the heavier the air in the tent became. I was more aware of his eyes on me, the weight of his gaze on my fingers as I worked. For some reason, my mind drifted back to the night before and the feel of his fingers dragging down my back. I had expected calloused fingertips, but they hadn't been. His hands had been soft and warm, the touch less unpleasant than I wanted to recall.

He was taller than me, so lifting the shirt over his head was no easy task. It required me to step in close. So close, I could feel the heat radiating from his body. He was wearing nothing underneath. I don't know why I was surprised to find scars. He was a warrior, after all, and warriors fought. Maybe, then, it was the sheer number of them streaking across his torso like stripes on a tiger.

Shock alone was almost enough to keep me from reacting to a body I might have otherwise found appealing. Aside from their barbarian culture, strange tongue, and pointed ears, elves didn't seem so different from humans, at least without their shirts on. He was built like many of the guardsmen, the well-honed body of a soldier with strong shoulders, a defined chest, and thick arms. His skin was the shade of warm bronze, except for where there were scars, which were always lighter, jagged lines. Some of them were hidden behind a thick dusting of hair across his chest that grew darker below the navel.

In Ostovan, the fashion had always been for men to oil and shave most of their body hair, and it had been driving me mad that I couldn't, especially since it was growing itchy in some places. Elves, though, seemed to favor letting theirs grow in. I had never thought I would be so fascinated to see it that I would stare.

"The pants too," Ruith said and crossed his arms. "At this rate, we'll be here all day."

I flushed hot, but not with embarrassment. I would never give him that satisfaction. As a guardsman, I was no stranger to nudity. His was simply another male body, though finely made. So what if there was a little extra body hair? So what if I had to kneel and put myself exactly at eye level with his cock to help him get his pants off? It wasn't so impressive. Ieduin was right about one thing: if you've seen a dozen pricks, you've seen them all. Once you're familiar with the proportions of men, there wasn't much that could surprise you. But then, Ruith was not a man. He was an elf, and they were all together very different…sometimes. I had seen dozens of elves fucking already, and there was nothing surprising or particularly noteworthy on this one, either.

His clothing removed, Ruith stepped into the tub I'd filled and stood there. I wasn't sure what he expected of me until he sighed and pointed out a small silver tray at the desk, which held a metal pitcher, several glass bottles of oil with copper lids, and a soft cloth.

My already heated face warmed even more when I realized I was being instructed to wash him. My tongue felt thick in my mouth, the flavor strangely sweet. I brought the tray over and tried to focus on the sting of needles in my neck. How many times had others done this for me? I had servants back in Ostovan, but they weren't usually the ones doing this sort of work. This was intimate work, a task between lovers. All the bodies I had washed before wound up in my bed, and that association was difficult to push away.

My fingers trembled as I opened the stoppers one by one, searching for the soap. When I found it, I very nearly dropped it in the water. Ruith gave an airy snort, an amused sound. My face burned even hotter.

It was a simple task, washing another man—elf. Whatever. It was my brain that was making it more difficult than it had to be. Other than Nessir's lips around my cock the night before and Ruith's fingers on my back, when was the last time someone had touched me without causing me pain? It was natural to feel my body responding. Expected even, all things considered. Still, I forced my mind to other things. I focused on the scars, the way water beaded on his skin. His attention seemed elsewhere until I moved to his back. Then, calmly, almost distractedly, he reached to pull his hair over his shoulder. It moved like fine silk, the deepest black. How did he keep it so perfect? So…elegant. The softness of it shouldn't have belonged on such a hardened and scarred body, but it did.

I reached to touch it.

Ruith caught my hand by the wrist and squeezed tight, the force nearly enough to break bone. Cold eyes glared at me. Murderous eyes. It was the first time he made sense. I knew then why kings offered half their kingdoms to the elves just to make them go away. Fear coiled tight like the collar around my throat and threatened to choke me.

We stared at each other, not breathing.

"Ruith?" A voice outside. One of his commanders.

Ruith released me and turned away. "That will be all. Wait for me outside."

I don't know why being sent away left me feeling hollow.