The city of Broven wasn’t nearly as ostentatious as Crevia, where Dara had spent most of his life, but it had a quieter charm to it. Fewer defences, fewer people, but more farmland and waggy tailed stray dogs roaming the streets.

They followed a road through the centre of the city lined with excited peasants who had come to watch the prince’s arrival, up a hill and through the gates of a palace. Like most of the cities the Perisian Empire now ruled over, this used to be a kingdom of its own, with its own royalty, but now a small group of lords controlled its day to day running while the Perisian king served as the ultimate authority. Prince Maric was here to represent his father.

There was a whole crowd of people waiting to greet the prince, some of them servants who quietly and efficiently got to work helping the prince’s men get their horses and belongings in order and others nobles who wanted to be the first to show the prince their respects. It was Raedon who came to get Dara from the wagon.

Raedon led the way inside the palace, expertly weaving them past busy servants and up a wide central staircase. They turned off down a quieter side hall and Raedon’s eyes flicked over to Dara. “Never could figure out who all this pomp and fluff was for. Nobody ever seems to have fun at the parties rich people throw.”

“Ah—no, sir?” Dara offered.

Raedon let out a quiet scoff. “You don’t have to do all that proper behaviour shit Brayan taught you with me. I won’t tell.”

“Oh,” Dara said, but he still kept his eyes aimed where Brayan had taught him. “Well, sir, I—I think it probably isn’t about having fun, is it?”

“Hm,” Raedon said, but he sounded like he agreed. He stopped in front of a door, pulled a key from his pocket, and unlocked it. He stepped back and held out his hand, indicating for Dara to go in ahead of him.

These were clearly the royal quarters. A spacious interior filled with intricately woven rugs, a huge bed covered in more cushions than anyone could ever need, and a large wooden tub full of steaming water waiting at the far end of the room. Hopefully that meant that the prince would be here soon. He wouldn’t want to take a cold bath.

Dara had expected Raedon to leave, but instead he shut the door and leant back against it. “So, what’s your idea of fun?”

Dara was taken off guard by the question. Raedon hadn’t shown a hint of interest in getting to know him up until now. Was this some sort of a proposition? “Ah—I don’t know, sir.”

“You’ve never had fun before?”

“I have fun serving the prince, sir.”

Raedon was silent, and when Dara dared a glance at his face, he was giving him an odd look. Suddenly, realisation came over his features. “I’m not coming onto you.”

Dara dropped his gaze again. “I—ah. Sorry, sir. That’s good.”

“I’ve always liked archery, myself. Brayan’s been helping me train. I only got a place in the prince’s guard because of my brother, Mathers. He has training as a field doctor. I keep busy doing all of the odd jobs, but I want to be really useful in my own right, you know?”

“Yes, sir. It’s important to feel useful.”

“Right. So if you weren’t a slave, if you could do whatever job you wanted, what would you do?”

“Uh…” Dara was fairly sure there was something going on here, but he couldn’t decipher what it was. “I would probably want to do something with horses, sir.”

“Hm. Horses. Okay.” An awkward silence stretched between them, and then Brayan abruptly pushed away from the door. “Wait here for Maric. He should be up soon.”

“Okay…?” Dara said as Raedon shut the door behind him on the way out. It was only after he was gone that Dara’s anxiety abated enough for him to remember his hunger and he realised that probably would have been a good opportunity to ask for some food. Oh well.

Dara went and flopped down on the plush bed and stretched his arms out. He had convinced himself that sleeping on his little bed in the barracks hadn’t really bothered him since it wasn’t like it could give him a sore back like it did for others, but comfort was about more than avoiding pain. He had missed having nice things.

The door opened and Dara pushed himself up onto his elbows as the prince entered the room, followed closely by two servant women.

The older of the two women fixed a critical gaze on Dara and walked towards him with determination. “Get off of there. You’re filthy.”

He really wasn’t. Perfectly clean, no, but filthy? Not at all. He complied after only a moment’s hesitation, though. He wasn’t actually sure where he stood with servants. When he had been a healer, they had been far below him, but he wasn’t sure being the prince’s bed slave put him above anyone.

“There’s going to be a banquet in my honour tonight,” the prince said as he approached the tub on the other side of the room and sampled its temperature with his hand. “We’ll both need to get cleaned up so that we’re presentable.”

Dara walked over to join the prince next to the tub. “I’m going with you, your highness?”

“Of course.” The prince turned to face the younger of the two women as she began unbuttoning his shirt. “We don’t want to waste all of the hard work Brayan put into training you by keeping you hidden away, do we?”

When the other servant entered Dara’s personal space he took a reflexive step away. She gave him an annoyed look as she moved towards him again and he realised she was going for the buttons on his shirt. He twisted and started undoing them himself.

The prince laughed. “Dara, let the woman do her job.”

Dara bit down on the inside of his cheek and dropped his hands to his side. He could undress himself. If this was what the prince wanted him to do, though, it was a silly thing to make a fuss over.

“Do you think I’m well trained enough now to attend such a prestigious event at your side, your highness?” Dara asked to distract himself as the servant removed and set aside his shirt. “I don’t want to cause any problems for you.”

“You’ll be fine,” the prince said as the servant finished stripping him of his underclothes. “All you should need to do is nothing, more or less.”

Dara swallowed and kept his eyes fixed on the far wall as the servant tugged his pants off. “Will I be with you the entire time, your highness?”

“Yes, of course.” The servant woman had brought over a bucket of water and a washcloth, and the prince raised his arm so that she could clean under his armpit. “Is there something you’re worried about, Dara?”

“I—No, your highness.” Dara was naked now as well, and he pressed his lips together to avoid cringing as a washcloth made contact with his skin. “I’m sorry. I’m being annoying.”

“No, no, it’s fine. You’re my slave, Dara. You don’t need to worry about anything. Nobody else is allowed to give you orders or touch you.”

Dara sent a sharp look in the direction of the servant wiping his body down before he could think better of it and the prince laughed.

“Without my permission,” the prince clarified. “Just relax and enjoy having someone take care of you for once.”

Dara bit down on the inside of his cheek until he tasted blood and did his best to distance himself from the situation.

Back when Dara had still been useful, he’d had a servant, an older woman much like the one washing him now, whose job it was to take care of him in similar ways. He hadn’t minded it then. He had used it as an opportunity to get all the thoughts out of his head, rambling away to a woman who had little to say in return but who was good at making listening sounds.

The prince was standing in the tub now, and with some encouragement from the servant, Dara climbed in as well. She retrieved a clean washcloth, lathered it up, and began giving him a more thorough wash down.

After the incident at Davidston there had been a period of time when Dara had been useless but nobody was sure he would remain that way, so he’d temporarily retained the luxuries afforded to a healer, including the woman whose job it was to wash him. Only now he no longer wanted her to. He remembered throwing a tearful fit, curling up, and refusing to move when she’d tried to undress him.

These days, he had more control. At least he’d thought he had until the cleaning process ventured further down his body and the servant brushed against somewhere a bit too personal. Dara took an abrupt step backwards, out of her reach.

For a moment Dara just breathed. His head was down, but everyone was still and he knew all eyes were on him.

“Dara?” the prince inquired.

Dara hesitated. He knew he should step back forward, let the servant keep washing him. It was what a good slave would do. Instead he found himself crouching down in the water and wrapping his arms around his knees. He couldn’t do it. If she touched him again, he was going to panic. He didn’t know what would happen then, but he was sure it would be even more embarrassing than what he was currently doing.

There was movement around Dara, and then a washcloth was draped over his shoulder.

“Why don’t you finish washing yourself?” the prince offered.

“You had better do a thorough job of it, and don’t think you’re getting out of me cleaning your fingernails after you’re done,” the servant woman added.

Dara nodded and got to work washing himself. His throat felt too tight to form words.

He wondered if the prince was reconsidering bringing him with him to the banquet. All he’d had to do in this situation was nothing as well, and he hadn’t been able to manage it without making a spectacle of himself.

After a few minutes, the prince sat down next to Dara in the water. “Here. Lay back and wet your hair.”

Dara complied. When he came back up, the prince was ready with soap to rub through his hair.

Dara leant his head back and let out a long breath as the prince’s fingers massaged his scalp. The prince continued rubbing the soap in far longer than necessary, slowly drawing Dara in closer, until finally Dara was pressed against him, eyes shut, breathing slow and steady.

“Okay, dunk your hair and rinse it out,” the prince instructed, his voice barely above a whisper.

Dara did as he was told, and when he was done he leant his cheek against the prince’s shoulder. The prince wrapped an arm around him and planted a gentle kiss on the top of his head.

Dara felt like he might cry. He had expected the prince to be annoyed with him, but here he was being soft and affectionate. Going along with him had been little more than a matter of survival at first, but now… now Dara wasn’t sure. There was a fire beginning to burn inside of him that he hadn’t felt in a very long time.

“Your highness, the time…” the older servant prompted.

The prince sighed and offered Dara a hand as he stood. “We’d best get prettied up for the banquet.”

Dara was allowed to dry and dress himself after that, but they weren’t done messing with him. As promised, the servant gave his fingernails a thorough cleaning. She also trimmed his hair and then rubbed some oil through it. The prince received the same treatment, along with a shave, which Dara didn’t need. The Eth weren’t big growers of facial hair.

Dara would be wearing one of his uniforms to the banquet, but the prince was dressing up for the occasion. His whole outfit was blue fabric with silver buttons and threading, and as a final touch before they left he set a thin, golden crown atop his head. For the first time, he truly looked like royalty. The reminder of just who Dara had been cosying up to was more than a little intimidating.