“Your bath is ready, my lord.”
Lyo opened his eyes and blinked. The feeble light coming through the window barely showed the slave girl’s face as she stood before his bed, but it still sent a stabbing pain through his skull. With a moan, he rolled over and buried his face in the pillows once more.
“Please my lord.” The slave girl’s voice wavered.
He raised his head, at the cost of great effort, and frowned. “’Tis not full day break,” he growled.
The slave stared fixedly at the floor. “Your father wishes to see you.”
Lyo yawned and rubbed his head. The stabbing pain eased a bit, but not completely—the party last night had lasted until the early hours, with lots of music, wine, and dancing. And speaking of dancing, where had that slinky belly dancer he’d ended up with last night gone off to? Groaning, he rolled over and looked. The bed was empty. No naked woman sprawled on the satin covers. By the Snake God’s eyes, she must have been a hallucination.
“Please, my lord.” The slave held his robe out towards him. Her hands trembled. “Your father will be angry if you do not appear before him by next gong. It’s about your forthcoming engagement to Princess Falla. I’ve run your bath and prepared a plate of sweet fruit.”
“You’re crumpling my fine robe.” Lyo reached out and snatched it out of her hands. The movement caused his head to throb. He glared at the girl and said, “What is your name? I’ve yet to see you around here.”
“Diamina,” she said, stepping back out of his reach.
Lyo sat up and put the robe on his shoulders. He looked at the girl. “Why do you fear me? Have I ever been known to hit a slave?”
“I don’t know, my lord. I’m new.”
“Well, hear me now. I have never lost my temper or hit a slave. But if you displease me, I will send you to work in the mines.” He’d never done that before, but he’d rarely been wakened so early and never with such a blinding headache.
Her eyes flickered to his face, then down to the floor again. “Yes my lord,” she said.
Lyo wished she’d look at him again. Her eyes had been so dark they were like pools of ink, yet they had sparkled as if hiding the stars from the night sky in their depths. He shook his head, annoyed at his fancy, and winced. His headache reminded him again that he’d partaken of far too much wine.
As crown prince, he rarely got the occasion to partake in festivities. Since the last war he worked hard every day. Even though his father still ruled, he had been wounded and couldn’t take care of the kingdom. Lyo never regretted taking over his father’s job at such a young age—he’d been only a lad and his father and his advisors had guided him—but last night he’d left his many duties and forgotten his responsibilities for a while. It had seemed like such a good idea at the time.
He sat up, stretched and scratched his head, then tossed his silky robe over his shoulders. A bath sounded like just the thing. And perhaps he could convince that little mouse of a slave girl to scrub his back for him. He leered at the thought. “Come girl, follow me,” he said haughtily.
In the bathing chamber, he selected a small vial of scented oil and poured it into the hot water. Immediately, fresh lavender perfumed the air. The strong scent helped clear his head, and he inhaled deeply, stepping carefully into the marble tub. Once in the tub and standing in the waist deep water, he turned and saw the girl silhouetted in the doorway, her eyes cast down modestly. “Come here and wash me,” he commanded.
She looked up, a startled glint in her eyes. “Oh no, my lord! Your father simply asked me to run your bath and make sure you were in the throne room on time.”
“If I’m not cleaned, I won’t be on time,” he said, wheedling.
“Diamina, I am not asking you. I am ordering you. Come here and wash me.” He held out a sponge, backing up towards the steps and turning his back on her.
She took the sponge and dabbed at his shoulder.
“Harder,” he said.
She rubbed harder, and then moved to his other shoulder. She washed his back, carefully staying in the middle.
He sighed in annoyance and stood, splashing water over the floor and the slave girl. She squeaked and darted backwards. “Wash my leg,” he said, putting his foot on the top step.
She edged forward and wiped his lower leg with the sponge.
“Higher!” he snapped.
Her face crimson, she knelt on the top step and ran the sponge over his knee and onto his thigh. Neither spoke. Water splashed softly as she washed him, and the dim light of the bathing chamber soothed him. Only one lantern flickered, and it cast an orange glow on the white marble floor and delicately carved pink stone walls. After a while his headache started to ebb and his muscles loosened. He closed his eyes, enjoying the sponge’s soft caress as the slave girl washed his legs, slowly rubbing downwards to his calf then upwards to his thigh. His cock stirred and began to throb in rhythm to her strokes.
The sponge splashed again in the warm water, and the slave girl drew the wet sponge slowly over his hip, and then hesitated. He opened his eyes, looked down at the slave girl kneeling on the step, and saw her staring at his cock. As he watched, a drop of water ran down her temple and along her jaw-line, pulling his gaze along with it as it hung for a second on her chin, then dropped onto her tunic.
The sight of the curvaceous young woman, her tunic damp from the bath water and her face flushed, sent a stab of longing to Lyo’s sex. It stiffened, and he encouraged it, leaning forward a bit and staring at the girls full breasts. Her nipples could be plainly seen through the wet fabric. His penis was now fully erect, pointing at the ceiling. He wanted her to touch his cock, run her fingers over it and hold it in her hand. He swallowed hard. How long had it been since a woman had excited him as much?
“Wash my cock, Diamina,” said Lyo.