The Bath

Mikhail had not expected her to agree so readily. The uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach was spreading throughout his body. He recognized what it was. It was the same feeling he often got before something went drastically wrong on the battlefield.

"Turn around," she ordered.

He turned to face the door at her command, though every part of his mind and body warned him that she was not to be trusted.

"How often must I speak not to give you a reason to turn around?" she asked.

Her voice echoed in the large room, but he could tell she'd already made her way to the other side of the tub where the shelves were.

"Only when I ask you to answer me," he repeated.

She made no reply, but a moment later, he heard the soft thump of heavy fabric hitting the floor, and he swallowed thickly.

The gentle lap of the water against the side of the marbled tub suggested that she had entered the bath.

He tried not to think about it. He tried not to imagine what was directly behind him.

"Mmmmm..." The Princess sighed. "I think this is the warmest I've felt since I crossed the border. Is it always so unbearably cold here?"

"Not always, no," he replied.

He could smell the soap now. The only bar he'd been able to find came from his own toiletry supply, and it smelled of pine and musk. It was a very masculine scent. He imagined her lathering the bar between her hands and then massaging her neck and running her own soapy hands down her bare chest and had to stifle a groan before it reached his lips.

After the messenger left their tent, he'd changed her ripped clothes himself and been surprised by how little skin Vezdan undergarments actually covered. There had been a small white band tied around her chest, through which one could see the outline of her--

"What does it mean to be a prisoner of the Emperor if I'm not to be kept in a cell?" she asked, splashing water forcefully against her skin.

"You are free to move about this house as you will, but you will be closely watched by servants. If you were to leave Bludston Hall, it would have to be under escort," he answered.

"Isn't that true for all women in Unaria?" she asked with a sharp edge to her tone.

"For the wives and daughters of men of status, it is certainly similar," he admitted.

"And for how long am I to be considered a prisoner?" she demanded.

"That is for our Emperor to decide," he muttered.

"Right. For the Emperor to decide. I must remain alive and a prisoner until it is determined that you are tired of me and that I am not carrying your child. So, I ask you, Prince Mikhail, who I hope will tire of me quickly, how long will it be?"

When he did not answer her, she chuckled softly to herself.

"Of course, I might already be carrying your bastard according to what I heard today," she whispered.

She left the unasked question to hang in the humid air.

"I'm going under to wet my hair. If I don't answer you for a moment, don't turn around!" she snapped.

Stars of Torobirk, this was more difficult than he had imagined! The Princess of Vezda had for long been a beautiful painting displayed in the carefully guarded hall of his dim and miserable memories. It was her whom he envisioned when bored, when injured, when desperate, or alone in the depths of night.

He could recall every detail of the day when the strap of her undergarment slipped unnoticed down her bare arm as she leaned across the table to point at a map. He'd imagined reaching across the table, sliding his finger under the light strap, and moving it slowly up her arm and over her shoulder--trailing his other fingers gently behind the strap so that it raised gooseflesh, and then lingering there against the small of her shoulder. He imagined she would look up at him with those wide blue-green eyes and smile shyly.

But what was that fantasy to the real Princess of Vezda, naked and scrubbing her wet body with soap that smelled of his own scent directly behind him?

Mikhail pressed his lips together and shook his head as if to clear it.

Of course, he knew that the real Princess was much different than the one of his imagining. The real Princess wouldn't gaze naively up at him with a shy smile at his touch. She would probably bite his hand, call him a scum-sucking demon, and threaten to kill him while he slept.

"Princess?" he called over his shoulder.

How long had it been? Was she attempting something? Was she trying to drown herself?

"Princess!" he called again, raising his voice.

The water splashed violently as she surfaced with a gasp.

"Don't turn around!" she demanded. "It was barely a moment!"

She slapped the water as if angry.

"Why did you say that to the Emperor-- that you... that you had me in your bed? Was it your plan to make up such a lie all along, to break the treaty and bring me here?" she demanded.

"No," he replied.

"I don't believe you," she informed him.

He didn't answer her, and the water moved violently in the tub, splashing over the sides.

"Princess?" he asked.

"Did you actually do that?" she asked, her voice lower now.

"Did I do what?" he mumbled.

"Did you take advantage of me when I was poisoned? Did you rape me when I was unconscious?" she asked.

He should say that he had. She would never know, and he couldn't trust that she wouldn't tell the wrong person. If the Emperor ever learned that he had been deceived by his brother...

"No," he admitted.

"Then why would you lie? If not to break the treaty and keep me as a prisoner of the Empire, then why would you insist that you had?"

"The Emperor would have brought you into his harem if I hadn't," he confessed.

"What does that matter to you-- his servant, his dog, his right hand? You'd do anything for him, wouldn't you?"

Anything but that, he thought, but did not say the words aloud.

She stirred the water and sighed again.

"I know what you want... what you both want. Even in Vezda, we know of your curse. It should have ended with your father, the old man. He found a way around it, didn't he? It took him more than a lifetime, but he found the dark ones that hide in the mountains and made a deal to have his heirs. And now you and your brother have to pay the price for what your father bought. The dark ones always come to collect their debt in the end. If you think a daughter of Eosin will undo the curse and save you from your fate, you are wrong. You should have both learned as much from Queen Ora," she taunted him.

Mikhail silently pressed his lips together again. She was not completely mistaken in her guess. There was some truth to the words she spoke, and certainly about what the Emperor wanted, but she knew none of the details. She knew nothing of the prophecy or of what Queen Ora had done to protect her. She should never know.

He had missed his chance to smuggle her out of Unaria and deliver her to allies in Frem, but if he could find a way to keep her alive and out of the hands of the Emperor for perhaps a year, then he would again have a chance to send her to safety.

She had been silent too long.

"Princess?" he prodded.

"Yes, yes. I'm alive and well, Prince Mikhail," she grumbled. "This is not an arrangement I find to my liking. When did you say that the servants will come?"

"Tomorrow," he answered.

"Is this house entirely abandoned then? Is there really no other person under this roof tonight who might stand in your stead? I believe I would prefer anyone's company to your own!"

"There is... Ilya," he admitted, "and the cook, who is presently engaged in other duties. I ask that you tolerate this only for--"

"And what about while I sleep? Who will watch me then, to make sure that I don't throw myself out of a window, or whatever else you might imagine I'd do?" she seethed.

Mikhail swallowed again. Of course, he would do it. She knew before she asked. Though the Princess was unaware, they had already spent several nights together.

All the way from Hirkovist to Torobirk, he'd carried her lifeless body pressed tightly against his own to keep her warm while they rode. At night, during the few hours of rest he'd allowed himself, he'd rolled her in a blanket, and held her small form in his arms, waking every few minutes to check that she was breathing and that no part of her was exposed to the cold, for her body made no heat of its own. When she whimpered in pain, he'd allowed himself the luxury of stroking her hair or cheek and had even whispered in her ear.

He told Ilya and himself that he had done these things only to keep her warm and to ensure that she survived, but he knew deep down that his true motive was greed. His hands, which had ached to touch her for so long, slaked themselves running over her hair and cheek, and even when rolled in a thick blanket, that small, soft body pressed against his own quieted the ravenous demands of his desire.

And it still had not been enough. It was like giving salt water to a man dying of thirst, for it was only her body. The girl herself had escaped him in her unconscious state. His desire was so gluttonous that it wanted all of her-- her eyes upon him, her lips, and tongue, her will and her desire-- he wanted all of it, all of her.

It would be a torturous thing to sit and watch her sleep, knowing that he could not touch her now.

"Princess?" he rasped. His throat had gone dry again and his voice was coarse.

"Still alive," she snipped. "I'm going under to rinse my hair. Don't you dare turn around if I don't answer you at the first call!"

The water once again violently slapped the sides of the tub from her quick and forceful movement. Prince Mikhail allowed himself a small smile. He'd been waiting for this... the misdirect.

The princess was really quite intelligent. She'd used the conversation to ascertain that there were only three of them in Bludston Manor. She'd gone under the water the first time with a forceful and quick movement that sounded very similar to the movement she had just made. Most people would not catch the difference. He was not most people.

His ears were very sharp, sharp enough to catch the light patter of water dripping onto the floor. She must have gotten out of the tub earlier and sat on the edge to dry herself-- and he had missed that. She had kicked the water with her legs to make that sound, and now the water was dripping from her bare legs as she silently stalked towards him.

She was going to attack him from behind. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. The smell of fresh pine and musk gave away her movements almost as well as the barely audible drip of water. When she was little, she had struggled to hold her breath for long. Back then, she could not move quietly, and the intent to hurt or kill was not in her. He was relieved to learn that she had improved her abilities.

"Princess?" he called; his tone completely neutral. He wondered if it would startle her or hasten her movements in panic at the thought that he would soon turn around. There were no heavy objects which she could lift to strike him with, which meant that she somehow must have procured something both sharp and small enough to hide in her clothing. It wouldn't be a blade or a knife. Would she know enough to go for the neck? She was so close now.

He tensed and waited for her to strike.