For the first time in two months, I wasn't in pain when I woke up.

No stiff shoulders, no aching back. No tightness in my neck that twinged every time I turned my head. I stretched my arms high over my head, yawning, and bumped into something.

Someone.

The King was still there.

He slept peacefully, half his face pressed into the pillow. His bare feet were tucked up close to him, his arms curled loosely around his torso as if to protect himself.

I chuckled. How I longed to sweep away those curls from before his eyes, to lose my fingers in his soft locks.

I kept my hands at my sides, afraid he would wilt beneath my touch like one of the flowers in his garden.

And like a flower, he needed light, not my darkness.

No matter how much I enjoyed the tarts or the daybed or even sleeping beside him, I knew in my heart I shouldn't be there.

I belonged back in the bowels of the castle with Geoff and Coopers and all the other rats.

I leaned over and pressed a small kiss to the top of Philip's head, a kiss goodbye. Then I turned away and forced myself to think of other things. The stables. I was late for work.

Hours late, by the look of the sun.

My boots lay on the ground where I'd left them last night. I laced them up in silence and stood, thankful when my steps made no sound on the polished floor.

The room was bright with sunlight streaming through the glass balcony doors. Above me, the high ceiling gleamed with intricate designs of gold.

So much gold in one room. The chandelier, the cabinet drawer knobs, the crisp frame of the mirror. I caught sight of my reflection and frowned.

Take something.

The thought came suddenly. I chewed on the inside of my cheek and glanced around.

Never in my life might I have such an opportunity again. A sleeping king, no guards in sight. Steal one tiny trinket in this sea of treasure and I'd be set for a year.

Upon the mantle stood five little figures, each a different beast. One had whiskers, a long body, and a rope-like tail that curled behind it. Another was short and stout, crouching forward on its knuckles. The last figure caught my eye. An elephant, with wide ears and a thick, proud trunk raised in the air.

I recognized it from the explorers' catalogue my brother Ronan kept. My mother never approved - the only book she thought fit to keep in our house was the Holy Bible. But the catalogue was family history. It had been passed down over the generations from old Giles Murray, who traveled with a team of surveyors to the jungles of Africa.

As the years passed, and our family's standing slowly decreased to make room for all the bright new names in London, we were left the same as any other peasants on the outskirts of the city.

My fingers fit around the elephant figure.

Bet none of them roaches downstairs know what an elephant is.

I had just lifted it off the mantle when the tall chamber doors flung open, as forcefully and dramatically as if Jesus Christ himself was making an entrance.

I leapt back. The figure wobbled but stayed in place.

Into the room poured a group of middle-aged men, some holding slips of parchment and feather quills. One man carried a china pitcher and a stack of folded linen cloths.

At the front of the pack was the Lord Chamberlain.

I prayed the marble floor would swallow me up.

As usual, God ignored me.

The Lord Chamberlain shouldered past me while the others looked me over with narrow eyes and wrinkled noses, as if they'd smelled something bad. "Hello." I gave them a pained smile. "I was just on my way out."

Beauregard halted beside the daybed, both hands crossed behind his back, and bowed before the King. "Blessed morn, sire," he said.

The others echoed him. "Blessed morn."

Philip lifted his head weakly and murmured to himself, still half asleep.

"The day is wasting away, Your Majesty," the Lord Chamberlain clucked as the man with the china pitcher poured water into a dish. "I have already laid out your full schedule." He drew a cloth from the stack and dipped it in the water, then leaned over and began harshly wiping the King's face.

"Mmgh-" Philip pushed him away.

I inched backward toward the door, only to be jostled abruptly by two servants entering the room. Lower class servants, I gathered, from their faded tunics and wigless heads.

One carried a large bowl with a floral pattern and bronze rim.

"Something the matter with your bed, sire?" Beauregard asked while the King stretched. "Did you not take to the new sheets?"

"Oh, I-" Philip's eyes flitted across the room and landed abruptly on me. I grimaced. "I... I simply fell asleep here," he said. "I was up... reading and my drowsiness got the better of me."

The Lord Chamberlain scanned the daybed as if looking for a discarded book. Eyes narrowed suspiciously, he helped the King to stand while beckoning the servants to approach.

The one with the bowl held it out before the King while the other bent low and grasped a handful of his nightshirt.

"Y'Majesty," he mumbled, eyes cast down as he hitched the nightshirt up to the King's belly.

I gasped in shock. The other men stood silently, as if they'd witnessed this a thousand times.

With tired eyes, Philip reached down and began urinating into the bowl.

"Your Majesty." One of the men emerged from the group and bowed. "I am but a humble Baron, Sir Peter Sterling, sire. My service to His Majesty's Army has granted me lands in the north. These lands were pillaged and burned while I was away serving my duty. I beg of you, sire, only a small loan to begin repair of my livelihood."

Philip yawned. "Granted."

"Oh, thank you, sire!" Sterling fell to his knees and slavishly kissed the King's free hand. "You have blessed my family."

Feeling slightly ill, I reached for the door.

"Wait," a voice called before I could turn the knob. "Search the boy."

I froze. A thundering of heels sounded and two men grasped my arms, wrenching me from the door.

"Oi!" I shouted as their fingernails bit into my skin. "I didn't steal anything!"

"Pardon me if I don't take your word for it," one of the men spat.

The Lord Chamberlain made his way over with a lazy grin while I struggled, a fly in the center of his web. The two men patted down my vest and dug their fingers inside the pockets.

"Well, well, well." He clasped his hands together. "If it isn't the gardener. What a lovely surprise."

"Get them off me, you bastard," I snarled.

His forehead wrinkled like the underside of a wet foot. "I beg your pardon?"

"I said get them off me."

The man who'd spoken before shoved me aside. "He hasn't got anything."

I faced Beauregard, meeting his smoldering gaze. I took a slow breath and adjusted my vest. "You should start showing me more respect," I whispered. "I'm a guest of the King, you're just here to collect his piss."

"Out!" The Lord Chamberlain lunged forward and gripped me by the collar of my dirty undershirt. "Get out!" With a deranged growl he flung me through the doorway.

I landed hard on my arse and slid into the hallway, flinching as the heavy doors slammed shut behind me. I lay there for a moment in stunned silence, panting, then painfully propped myself up, my legs splayed out before me.

I locked eyes with the tall footman.

He was a different man than the one last night, but dressed in the same uniform.

I smiled nervously. "Blessed morn?"

He did not reply.

Ah, for Chrissakes. Look at yourself. I'd been tossed out like rubbish into the streets. I couldn't really blame them. I would toss me out too.

I made no move to get up, just sat on the floor, sulking in my wretched state.

It beat shoveling horse shit into a wheelbarrow in the August heat.

After a while, the door clicked open and the King appeared, now in slippers, Beauregard and three others trailing him like hounds behind their master.

Immediately, I perked up. I was a hound too, after all, hoping to be thrown a bone.

"Beauregard, I do fancy a bath in the spring before breakfast," Philip murmured. His hand fit in the crook of the Lord Chamberlain's elbow. "Oh, and if Charles could bring those crumpets with the jam and little squares of butter..."

I stood quickly as they approached and leaned back, my arms crossed over my chest. "So, same time tonight?" I asked with a grin.

The King looked up, as if just remembering I existed. "Oh, Mr Murray. I'm afraid I will be otherwise engaged. We are hosting a grand ball for our guests from France."

"Oh." I swallowed thickly. "Of course."

Beauregard smiled, already gently tugging on the King's arm.

"However-" Philip lowered his eyes. "We are headed to the bathhouse. You are welcome to come."

"Your Majesty." The Lord Chamberlain's brow furrowed. "He is not respectable company. A lowborn and a... a thief, if given the chance."

My blood ran cold. "I'm not a thief," I whispered. Involuntarily, my hands tucked behind me, as if shielding themselves from being chopped off.

"It is only the bathhouse," Philip reasoned. "No one shall even see him. Besides-" He looked back at me. "I fear he needs a wash more than anyone."

I didn't deny it.

"No," Beauregard snapped. "You must end this... this... odd infatuation at once. I will have this boy escorted where he belongs and you will not see him, you will not converse with him, you will not invite him to vital meetings with our allies! Do you not see how disastrous-"

"Enough! I'm King now, I can keep whatever company I wish!" Philip wrenched his arm away theatrically and ran up to me, almost knocking me down a second time. "Coming, Mr Murray?"

"Uh..." I looked back and forth between him and Beauregard. The Lord Chamberlain was giving me a death stare. "Definitely coming."

"Good." He laced his arm through mine.

Just like that, we were headed down the hall and Beauregard was left behind, muttering under his breath.

"I must say, I enjoyed that," Philip whispered when we were far enough away.

"What? Using me to rebel against your prick of a father figure?"

He paused atop the staircase, his lips pressed together. "Yes. You don't mind, do you?"

I considered for a moment. "Not if I get a free bath out of it. Lead the way, King."

🦢•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧.˚ *•̩̩͙ 🦢. •̩̩͙*˚⁺‧.˚ *•̩̩͙ 🦢

The royal bathhouse was one of the small buildings inside the castle walls, on the other side of the garden. There was a cluster of buildings by the main entrance: the slaughterhouse, where Geoff worked, the pantries and butteries, the stable. Those were for the castle laborers to access.

The bathhouse was far away, so that no dirty peasant would ever have an excuse to wander into it.

Unless, of course, he was arm in arm with the King.

We were joined by two servants and three courtiers, Gentlemen of the Chamber. Their position was beneath Beauregard's, mostly being to swarm around the King like flies and attend to his personal needs.

He seemed annoyed by their presence, but said nothing as they advanced to open the bathhouse doors.

The air grew cooler as we walked down the steps. Small, oval shelves were carved out along the wall and occupied by burning candles. The ceiling above us provided its own light, through high stained glass windows.

It smelled nice down there.

Potted plants were placed in each corner, some stocky and low to the ground and others tall with long, leafy fronds that acted like curtains to the narrow hallways.

In the center of the room was a square pool, cut into the earth and lined with flat stones to keep dirt from seeping into the clear water.

A sharp contrast to the kitchen tubs and that filthy sponge.

"You may refresh yourself here," the King said when I hesitated. "I shall be in the spring if you need anything."

I looked up, tearing myself from my thoughts. My head was starting to spin again, like the time in the stable when he told me I could call him Philip. I was overwhelmed. It was too much to take in.

"Are you- are you sure?" I mumbled. "I wouldn't want to... infect it..."

He snickered and I chewed my lip in embarrassment. "Do not fear. New water is added every morning. The hot spring replenishes itself naturally, and it's always warm, even in the winter. This bath is spring water left to cool."

"Oh." I didn't quite understand it, but the pool looked nice. Too nice for me to deserve.

"Well..." He paused, shifting his weight to the other foot. "Enjoy."

I felt I should have said something, perhaps thank you, but stayed silent. The King turned and was followed down the hall by his men.

The second they were gone, I practically tore the laces off my boots and stripped all my clothes, leaving them in a dirty heap on the floor. Giddy excitement bubbled inside me as I clambered into the pool and kicked off from one side.

It reminded me of the lake back home, of swimming in the summer. For a moment, my worries disappeared. I giggled and splashed around, watching the candlelight flicker on the ripples I made. I felt free.

I felt rich.

My eyes danced across the score of soaps along the wall. Scented soap, unscented soap, oily soap, soap in a rough block shape that sat in a dish. With a shrug, I scooped it out, dipped it in the water, and set about scrubbing ages of grime off my skin.

I washed my limbs, my body, my ears. I dunked my head under and lathered up my scalp with some of the liquid soap. I saved my feet for last, grimacing at the cracked calluses on my heels and crooked yellow toenails.

The water was a sickly gray by the time I was done, and my whole body smelled like a bouquet of flowers.

I got out of the pool and shook myself like a dog, seeing no towel to dry off with. I didn't move to dress in my old clothes. That would make me as filthy as I was before. Instead, reluctantly, I found myself drifting down the hallway the King had gone.

The cool air turned moist and heavy as I entered the room. The hot spring was in the center, lined with stone like the water in the main room. Three wide steps led down into the steaming pool.

Amidst the fog, I could see the two servants kneeling on the floor, sleeves rolled up to their elbows, rubbing circles of bubbly soap on the King. His pale shoulders and upper chest were flushed pink from the warm water, his curls dark and slick against his scalp.

"I'm done," I called, feeling the need to announce my presence.

They looked up in unison.

I wasn't embarrassed to be naked. I was embarrassed to be standing there like an idiot while they stared at me.

"Uh- Do you want me to-" I gestured back down the hallway. "I didn't know what-"

"It's alright." Philip smiled softly like he was trying to hold back a laugh. "I was about to get out as well."

The servants stood and helped him up the steps, one immediately heading to the side of the room to retrieve a fluffy white towel. I frowned. No one had gotten me a towel.

I wiped the humidity from my brow. "Mother of God, it's hot."

"The heat is purifying," Philip said as one of the servants patted him down. "It drives fever from the body and sin from the soul."

I kept my mouth shut.

One of the Gentlemen appeared in the doorway, carrying two folded red robes in his arms. The other servant stepped forward and took one from the stack.

"Your Majesty." He held it open for the King to put on.

"That one's for you," Philip said as I stood motionlessly.

"Oh!" I turned and grabbed the robe from the nobleman, who scowled at me. "Goddamn, would you look at that." I inspected the robe, turning the thick material around in my hands.

"I presume you shall want new clothes," the King said. "Beauregard can find you something from the grooms' wardrobe."

A wave of guilt seeped through me as I thought of my stack of discarded garments. Was it terrible of me to bask in my newfound fortune while my brothers still bathed in the lake, still ate whatever food they could trade for or scavenge?

"Can I keep the vest?" I murmured, my voice small. "My mother made it for me."

Philip smiled as he approached, and I wondered if he was thinking how stupid I was, how pathetic.

He only laid a hand on my arm and looked up at me, his eyes soft. "Yes, you can keep the vest."

Unwittingly, I smiled back.