Page 12 of The Concubine King
He was king.
Yorith was already walking up the path, hands tucked into his sleeves.Ethyr followed after him, Poyut close behind.The line of guards closed around them and kept them in their own bubble as they made their way to a waiting carriage that looked much the same as the one from before.The civilians weren’t intimidated at all by the guards, pressing as close as possible and jostling each other to try and get a better look at their new king, so that the surrounding guards were constantly holding and pushing them away.They didn’t try to keep their voices low and Ethyr couldn’t help hearing what slipped through the clamor.
“He’s a peasant!”
“He’s stunning.”
“Why do the gods want a dirty village rat?”
“I’d bed him too if I had the chance.”
He pressed his hands over his ears and stared at the swishing hem of the priest’s robe as they climbed the perfect stones of the street.
He could breathe again when he dropped into the carriage, surprised at how happy he was to be in it.To be somewhere familiar and closed off.It may have even been the exact same one, as its interior was no different at all.With a lurch, it started up the mountain.
He stared moon-eyed out of the lattice, unable to help himself.Everything he saw was more unbelievable than the last.They passed other grand carriages, stalls selling silk fabric and gold jewelry, statues of gods at every corner, enormous artificial ponds that spat water up into the air, sections of land that held no buildings nor farmland, but opulent gardens without a vegetable or herb in sight and people wandering through them like they had not a care in the world.
And the people: they wore not just expensive clothing but belts made of ivory and pearls, necklaces and bracelets and armbands of gold and jewels, shoes of silk or leather sandals wrapped up the legs with silk straps.Ethyr didn’t stop gawking until the buildings were left behind and manicured greenery filled the sides of the street.Then they reached the palace and he gawked more.
It was not the round building at the top of the mountain, but it was equally staggering to behold.It was the same color as the other buildings they had passed.Yorith said its walls were made of several different materials, but didn’t elaborate beyond that.Ethyr had to strain his neck back to see the top, its flat roof decorated around the edges with carved vines and leaves and animals.Surrounding the palace were more manicured gardens, though they didn’t have the seats and roofed structures like those they had passed in the city.
He wasn’t given much time to take it all in.As soon as he stepped from the carriage, two attendants whisked him through the front door, up a staircase, around a corner, and into a room hazy with steam.Through the haze, he could make out tiny, smooth stones coating the walls and floor, with a pond of milky water in the middle.The entire room had the same scent as the pitcher water on the boat, floral and delicate.
His tunic was yanked over his head and pulled off before he could comprehend what was happening.He recoiled and held on to his undershirt as the man in front of him tried to pull that off, too.It was the attendant from the boat, whose name Ethyr had learned was Gionan.
“What are you doing?!”
“Your garments are filthy, Divine Ethyr, you’ll never be clean with them on.”
“Well I can undress myself, you know!”
The man stepped back.“Very well, Your Divinity, please do so.”
He started to, then paused and looked between the man and the two women there.“Are you… just going to stand there?”
“No, we will be washing you.”
Ethyr’s lip curled.“I can wash myself.”
“We must make sure you are well and thoroughly cleaned.”
“So I can’t even be trusted to wash myself now?I’m not a baby.”
“Of course not, Divine Ethyr, but palace standards are a bit higher than where you’re from.”
Ethyr bristled, but he bit down his offense and, after another glance at the attendants, awkwardly slipped his undershirt off and sat on the hard floor to untie his boots as quickly as possible.He bathed with others all the time, but they were usually naked too, or at least not intently staring at him.Having three clothed people watching and waiting for him raised his hair.It would have flushed his face if it wasn’t already warm from the steam.He slipped into the pond with eager relief, letting the milky water obscure his body.
There was a raised ledge circling the sides, keeping his shoulders above water but allowing his feet to dangle freely.He was barely seated before the assault began.His arms were lifted and scrubbed, his head held still while his hair was doused in water and lathered in soap.His shoulders and back were sponged down, his face and ears rubbed vigorously with a cloth, and even his fingers were scoured, getting every bit of dirt from under his cuticles and nails.
“Will you step out of the water please, Divine Ethyr?”Gionan asked.Ethyr stood, only too happy for the torture to be over and to be clothed again.But instead of being offered a drying cloth or undershirt, the women set to work cleaning his feet and calves and the man drove a cloth between his asscheeks with bold determination.Ethyr jumped away from him, almost knocking over a woman and slipping on the smooth floor.
“Be careful, Your Divinity,” he said, stressed.“What’s wrong?”
Ethyr huffed in disbelief.“Don’t shove your fingers up my ass!”
Gionan recoiled, blinking at him as though trying to decide whether to be offended or confused.“I am only trying to clean you, Divine Ethyr.”
“That doesn’t need to be cleaned!”
