Page 68 of The Concubine King
“Your Divinity, I really don’t think that’s a good idea,” Dessin pleaded as Ethyr walked unconcerned through the corridors.“Storms are dangerous.And you’ll get soaked, listen to how hard the rain is falling.It’s best to stay indoors, where it’s safe and dry…”
But Dessin did nothing to stop or slow him.Ethyr walked straight out into the rain, letting it batter him soaking wet in seconds.After endless dry, sunny days, feeling the sheets of rain hit him like soft rocks was exhilarating.A tendril of lightning split the roiling gray clouds and a deafening crack of thunder rumbled the mountain itself, shaking it beneath his feet.For the first time in months, he felt alive.
“Your Divinity,” Poyut called worriedly from the temple entrance.He turned to her and his grin stopped whatever her next words were.
“Poyut!”he shouted back, spreading his arms.The crash of rain drowned out a lot of sound.“Are we sure the wild gods are dead?”He raised his arms and spun around, laughing.
“Ethyr!”she tried again desperately.She sounded so exasperated that he gave in and jogged back into the temple.Dessin and Poyut stepped back, looking at him helplessly.
Soaked hair clung to his face and the silk clothing stuck flush to his skin.Water trickled off him in streams, drenching the hard floor.
“You’re going to get sick,” Poyut sighed.
He pouted.“You’re no fun.”
“I’ll get a drying cloth,” Dessin said, and hurried off.
Ethyr met Poyut’s examination with a smile.He knew he looked bedraggled and ridiculous, but that in itself was a gift.Everyone was so concerned with his appearance all the time, mocking it or admiring it or dictating it.He’d forgotten he didn’t have to look pristine and perfect at all times.
Poyut took the cloth from Dessin when he returned and rubbed Ethyr’s hair dry, then draped it over him, holding his shoulders and looking him up and down.She bit her lips together but it didn’t hide her smile.
“It’s dangerous to stand at the top of a mountain during a lightning storm,” she told him.“And now you’re shivering.”
Ethyr hugged his arms.The thin, slippery silk did nothing to keep his body heat in, and in the drafty shade of the temple it felt more chilly than warm for once.“It’s fine,” he told her, pulling the cloth tighter around himself.“We’re leaving soon, aren’t we?”
“In an hour.”
So Dessin got him another cloth and he spent the rest of the lesson wrapped up and drying off.The storm subsided to light rain, and when the carriage brought him back to the palace, he commanded a hot bath from the first servant he saw.
There were two attendants standing in the room as usual, ready to set upon him and scrub every orifice as soon as he stepped into the water.Ethyr faced them, sucking in a deep breath to steel himself.Ordering people around was quite different from making a statement and following through on it, and it wasn’t something he much liked doing in the first place.But he had already tried, several times by then,askingthem to leave, and it never worked.
“Get out,” he demanded sharply.
They glanced at each other uncertainly, but didn’t move.Ethyr summoned every ounce of confidence he had within him, remembering Lyrian’s words.
“I gave you an order,” he said, voice unwavering despite the tremor in his chest.“Leave.Now.”
To his immense surprise—and relief—they dipped into bows and scurried out.
He sank into the heated water with a sigh, submerging up to his chin.Being alone in the steamy room without his hair and skin being scrubbed to death was quite nice.
He was king.Whatever small glimmer of hope he had that it was all a temporary nightmare and he’d be returned home soon had to be set aside.If he wanted to survive, he’d have to accept the situation.He knew he couldn’t disobey Yorith, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t get what he wanted.He reminded himself of Lyrian’s words: the gods had put him here.Everyone else was here to serve him.
He put on the warm robe the attendants had left behind and let the two guards outside the bath follow him all the way down to the kitchens.He had never done more than glance inside, but he stepped past the entrance now and was gratified when all the work drifted to a stop as his presence was noticed.
“In the future,” he told the room, “I want dark bread with my meals.”
A woman, who Ethyr could only imagine was the head cook, stepped forward with a slight bow.“Are you sure, Your Divinity?That bread is peasant f—”
“I’m sure,” Ethyr cut her off.“And I want barley porridge with my breakfast.I assume you have the skills to make it?”
She was quiet for a moment.“Of course, Your Divinity,” she acquiesced, voice tight.
“Good.I expect this to be implemented by tomorrow.”
She dipped her head a little lower.Ethyr, satisfied, left them to their work and returned to the hall, facing down the guards.
“Take me to the palace library,” he ordered.If he was going to have an entourage, he might as well make use of them and their knowledge of the place.
