The Prince's Pet (7 page)

Once more I felt exposed and
vulnerable, as my chest pressed against the edge of the tub, my breasts
squeezed together and pushed up at the neckline of my dress. I was very aware
of him watching me - and to my shame and embarrassment, my nipples began to
harden.
It is only the cold marble causing it
, I told myself, and tried
to ignore it.

I lathered his hair, working the
thick soap through with my fingers and massaging it into his scalp. He leaned
back, and began to relax.

I could feel the tension
draining away from him, his shoulders dropping slightly and his jaw
un-clenching as I worked. In turn, I began to calm down. The silence was
comfortable, and I concentrated on my work.

I soaped his hair for as long as
I reasonably could, then rinsed it well. It took a long time for me to untangle
his hair using only my fingers. While his eyes were still closed I reached for
the next jar. Using a small cloth I began to wash his body, starting at his
neck and trying to steel myself for the rest.

“I never asked your name.” He
said suddenly, as I scrubbed his arm, watching the soap lather up on his skin.

“Eveline, my Lord.” I answered
dutifully.

“Eveline.” He repeated slowly,
as though tasting the word. My name sounded foreign on his tongue. He paused
for a moment. “How long have you been a slave?”

I shrugged. Why did that matter
to him? “I... do not know, my Lord. Only since I was taken from my village. A
few weeks ago.”

“How many masters have you had?”

I stopped, bemused. “None, my
Lord. I was sold by the raiders, and no sooner had a merchant bought me than he
sold me to Ellys.” I remembered to keep washing then, reaching out to bring his
hand out of the water and hold it so I could sponge the underside of his arm.

“Really?” He sounded surprised,
and it looked like he was thinking to himself for a moment. He looked away as
he asked, as though the topic made him uncomfortable. “The raiders... did
they... treat you cruelly?”

I furrowed my brow. Was he
asking if I’d been violated by the brutes? “They beat me bloody, Lord. That is
all. They wanted little to do with the Thessian women.”

“That is good.”

“Well... I could have done
without the beating.” The sarcastic words were out before I could stop them. I
held my breath - but his mouth only twitched as though trying to smile.

“What did you do to earn it?” He
asked.

“I tried to fight, to resist
them when they put us in the wagon.”

“Then they were only reminding
you of your place. Although I would not have been so brutal.”

I thought of his promise to use
a whip on me next time I disobeyed. “Oh?”

“Yes. An honorable man will
never draw the blood of a slave.”

"What does it matter, if a
slave is just property?" I heard the bitter tone of my own voice, and I
bit my lip. I really had to learn to control my mouth. Why was I determined to
test him, so soon after being punished?

But he only sighed wearily.
"I do not destroy my valuable possessions either. And a slave is still a
person. I understand the need for discipline, but I despise those who are
unnecessarily cruel."

Resolved to hold my tongue now,
I chose to say nothing.

I ran the cloth over his neck
and collarbone, then down lower, making wide slow circles with the soapy water.
I couldn't help admiring his well defined chest, his taut muscles and strong
arms. He practiced with the sword every day to cultivate that physique, and
looked every bit the warrior. I wondered what it was like to watch him in action.

I signaled for him to sit
forward and poured water over his back. I soaped his back with my hand then
scrubbed with the cloth. The slow rhythmic action continued to calm me, and he
seemed in a better mood. Somewhere in the middle I found the courage to speak
again, choosing a benign subject.

“My Lord, may I ask you
something?”

“Hmm?” It was a noncommittal
grunt.

“How do you speak my language so
well? You are almost natural at it.”

Some of his tension come back,
his back straightening almost imperceptibly. “I knew someone when I was a
child, who was from your country. My father’s slave.”

I nodded, saying nothing.

“She was kind to me." He
continued."And a friend to my mother the queen. It's common for royalty to
keep personal slaves, you see, and the king’s wife has no authority to object.
But with my family, there was never any jealousy between them.”

I met his eyes, and he was
looking back at me, a wry smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “After my
mother died,” he said, “I was glad of her presence for my father’s sake. And
despite constant urging, he wouldn’t take another wife. Not up until his
slave's death years later. I was sure he loved her.”

I wondered if speaking of it
made him sad. But I was amazed that he was talking openly, and even relaxing in
my presence. He seemed so different to the stern intimidating man that had
punished me earlier. How could he change so quickly between both? Which was his
real nature?

“A lovely story, my Lord.” I
murmured. “What were their names?”

“My mother was Queen Aishe.” He
smiled wryly. “A formidable woman, but kind and well-loved. I don’t remember
her very well. She died when I was quite young. The slave was Ysobel.”

And after her death, I supposed,
had come Indari. A chance to make more sons for the king - to safeguard his
inheritance. But it hadn’t worked out that way. I knew he had sisters, but
there had been no more potential heirs.

“In our land, our names have
meaning.” I said. “Ysobel means 'promise', I believe.”

“Oh?” And now a genuine smile
touched his lips. “I didn't know that.” He shifted to look at me. “What does
your name mean?”

The way he looked at me – his
eyes shining with mirth and warmth – sent a hot wave through my body. I watched
my hands as I wrung out the cloth in the warm water. “It means... life.”

He smiled again, and I felt the
blush creep back.

I busied myself with the cloth
again, but I was quickly running out of safe places to wash.
Just get it
over with,
I told myself. What was I so afraid of? Aside from my master,
that is...
and he wants me to bathe him, so that is what I'll have to do.

I experimentally dipped the
cloth under the waterline, softly scrubbing his stomach. He relaxed back,
letting his head rest back on the edge and sinking a little lower in the water.
It was still warm, and I was hot and felt sticky with steam, moisture beading
on my face. As I blindly stroked his skin with the sponge he turned his head to
look at me.

"You have no reason to be
afraid." He said. "I may be strict, but I am not cruel.” There was
sincerity in his dark eyes.

I sat back on my heels, stilling
my hand on his stomach. I swallowed hard. He was being sincere with me, and I
wanted to do the same in return. "It's only... I am a virgin, my
Lord." I admitted. My face burned furiously, and I used my free hand to
push hair from my eyes.

I felt his stomach tense and
move under my hand, and he blinked in surprise. "How many years are
you?" He asked.

"Nineteen."

He looked away with a sigh, then
furrowed his brow. "In our land, you would have been married years
ago."

I stared blankly at the water.
"Aye, my Prince. In mine, too. It just never happened."

"Why not? You are not...
well, you are very beautiful."

I couldn't help a slight smile.
He sounded almost awkward. "Thank you, my Lord." I didn't answer the
question, because I didn't entirely know the answer.

"I am glad you told
me." He moved, causing the water to slosh, and I felt him take the cloth
from my hand. He put his hand over mine where it rested on his stomach under
the water, and leaned slightly toward me. "You belong to me now." He
said, closing his hand to capture my own. "And my plans for you have not
changed. But I will not rush, and I will not give you more than you can
handle."

I raised my eyes to his, and
this time made an effort to hold his gaze.

"Do you understand?"

"I think so, my Lord."

Indeed, a sense of relief washed
over me. If he spoke truly, and if I did my best to please him and avoid his
wrath, perhaps we could get along. Some of the fear I had been holding onto for
so long left me, then, and I felt a profound weight lift from my shoulders.

"But you must not be afraid
to touch me." He said. "There is nothing unnatural or shameful about
our bodies." And his hand moved mine lower.

I gasped as I felt the thick
hair under my fingertips. Then lower, his rigid member. He was looking at me,
but I was watching the water as I let him move my hand, concentrating on what I
felt. His skin was hot, and soft - and yet firm. As he held my hand against him
I could feel him grow harder, and twitch under my fingers.

"There is nothing wrong or
frightening about this." He said, and I noticed the way his voice had
grown low and husky. "It is my body's natural reaction to your
touch."

"Yes, my Lord," I
breathed. Hesitantly, I explored his skin, and as I began to move, he took his
hand away, resting his arm back on the edge of the tub. I let my fingers wander
along the length of him, curious, and then lower. I felt the base of his shaft,
and the soft sac beneath. Gently, I closed my fingers around it, feeling the
firm stones within.

He moved, shifting his weight.
"You must be gentle there." He said with a soft chuckle.

I took my hand away, alarmed.
"I am sorry. Did I hurt you?"

"No." He laughed
again. "Quite the opposite."

I wrung my fingers together
anxiously.

"It would please me if you
felt free to touch me any time we are alone."

"Aye, my Lord."

"Very well. Let's finish
this bath. The water grows cold."

The tension evaporated. I washed
his feet, relieved. When he got out of the tub, I took the clean towels and
dried his skin.

It was easier to look at him
now, since I had been touching him only a moment before. I allowed myself to
admire his statuesque body: his strong limbs, broad shoulders and his firm
behind. His member stood proudly, still aroused, and I didn't shy from the
sight.

As I dried it, giving the area
equal attention to the rest of him, He made a sharp intake of breath. He made a
small sound and smiled, not hiding his pleasure, and I felt an obscure thrill
to see the reaction he had to my touch. And as he'd said, it was not
frightening.

He smiled at me, standing
completely naked, his hair still wet and shining. "Go and warm my
bed." He said. Seeing me stiffen slightly, he sighed and looked at me
earnestly. "Just get undressed and get in the bed. Keep it warm for
me." Then he moved closer, looking down at me and staring directly into my
eyes. "I will not be hurting you tonight."

"Yes, my Prince." I
bowed my head.

––––––––

I
t might have been only minutes
but time dragged and it felt like hours. I lay restlessly between the Prince's
luxurious sheets, waiting for him to come to his bed.

The mattress was so soft – even
more comfortable than I'd imagined, and certainly softer than I'd ever slept
on. The quilts were light and yet warm. The whole arrangement was determined to
lull me to sleep, and yet I was wide awake, wound tighter than a bow-string.

My whole body was alert. I
fidgeted endlessly. My nipples were still hard and sensitive, and the warmth
and wetness between my legs hadn't ceased since the bathing ritual.

I remembered times at home when
I'd woken from dreams feeling this way. In the dark of my own room I would
sleepily explore my own body, running my hands over my breasts and imagining a
lover. Now the anonymous figure had been replaced with Prince Issander's body,
with all its planes and hard muscles. His large, warm hands, his smooth warm
skin and deep eyes.

I couldn't help but feel shame.
He was my master - my captor. I was his property. I should not be feeling such
things. I should
hate
him for doing this to me. Or at the least, I
shouldn't go to his bed willingly!

I will not hurt you tonight,
he
had said. He had no obligation to make such a promise. I was his slave, and he
could do whatever he wanted. I believed him - and still... if he wasn't going
to take me tonight, I wondered what else he had planned. But was I afraid, or
merely eager to find out?

When he entered the room, a
vague dark shape in the dim light, I pretended sleep. He snuffed the lanterns.
I felt his weight move the mattress, and he pulled the covers over himself.

I was laying curled in on
myself, facing away from him – naked, as per his command. I could sense him
looking over at me.

He rolled to face me, then moved
close, settling next to me. I could smell his clean smell, and feel the heat of
his skin. He reached out, and touched my hair, and my heart resumed its
thudding.

For the longest time he ran his
fingers through my hair, idly untangling its waves. He stroked my head and
hair, caressing me slowly. At first it felt odd - almost like I was being
petted like a cat. But slowly I found my eyes closing, my eyelids growing
heavy. My tension melted away as my Master ran his hands over me.

His hand wandered over my
shoulder, down my arm to the elbow. Back to my hair. Tracing long strokes over
my body. My hands were tucked under my chin, shielding my body, so his hand
dropped down to brush over my hip and thigh.

I opened my eyes at his touch
there, roused from my near-sleep. But he just continued stroking me, from my
shoulder to the curve of my hip. His fingers left a shivery, tingling sensation
in their wake, and I shifted my thighs together restlessly.