There was only one reason I was waffling, though—that big stack of muscle sitting in my backyard, covered in scars and ink, needing help protecting his kingdom. I wanted to provide that help, but I didn’t know if I’d be able to resist giving him the rest of me as well.
17
Hannon and I got Nyfain into the little wooden washing shed on the side of the house, an outdoor facility close to the water pump. Within, a smoldering fire heated a cast-iron pot—we called it “the bucket”—filled with water. The floor was made of wooden slats set over gravel, providing some drainage. We rallied the fire in the morning, took turns washing up, and then let the coals die until the next morning. At this point in the day, they were glowing embers, and the water wouldn’t be more than warmish.
We stopped in the doorway, and I paused for Nyfain to make a disgusted sound or comment. Despite the kingdom’s fall from grace, he was still a prince. He lived in a castle with indoor facilities. Even my lonely tower had a washroom with a nice tub.
Instead, he put his hand against the frame and said, “I’ll need that chair.”
“Of course.” Hannon ducked away, leaving us standing there in silence for a moment.
“I know you’re used to finer things,” I started lamely. “This is what we use, though.”
“A kingdom is only as good as the poorest person,” he murmured. “My mother used to tell me that. I’d never understood the gravity of it until now.”
I stiffened defensively. “We don’t have much, but we have enough. Before the curse, I remember happiness and smiles. Neighbors helping each other and monthly communal dinners. We didn’t have bad lives—we just didn’t have fancy tubs or towers to put our side-piece abductees in. Even now, we all pull together as much as we can. Some people are the worst, but they help out. We don’t let anyone go hungry. Your kingdom could do a lot worse than to be fashioned after our community.”
“You’re exactly right. I apologize for how that came across. I meant no disrespect, but I think your village was neglected by the crown. Your people were left to their own devices while still having to pay the tax. You didn’t get your coppers’ worth. Failure to properly take care of one’s people creates a black mark on the kingdom, that’s all. You should’ve had more.”
“Here you go.” Hannon wedged himself in with the chair and set it on the wooden slats. He ducked down to work the fire, but I waved him away.
“I think our guest would benefit more from a cold bath.”
Hannon stoked the fire anyway before testing the water. To Nyfain, he said, “It’s warm enough. If you’d rather wait for me to build up the fire—”
“Not at all,” Nyfain interjected. “Finley thinks this is fine, and so it must be fine.”
The flat look Hannon gave me said he knew this was a continuation of our game, and he was not amused. He did not like any hint of tomfoolery where healing was concerned. Still, he excused himself and shut the door behind us. Nyfain “locked” the door with the little wooden peg that fit into intersecting round circles.
I rolled my eyes. “Like I said, dream on, your highness.”
“You haven’t told Hannon who I am.” He grimaced as I struggled to help him into the chair. “Why?”
“What would a prince be doing in a place like this?”
“Resting. Healing. Allowing a fiery little tart to save his life.”
“Tart, is it?” I dipped my fingertips in the water before splashing it in his face.
His grin dissolved into chuckles.
“It would make them uncomfortable having the actual prince in our home.”
The smile slipped off his face. “They’d be uncomfortable with what I’ve become.”
I huffed out a joyless laugh before grabbing the waist of his sweats and tugging. He labored to lift so I could drag them off his legs. His semihard cock twitched against his leg, and I ignored my sudden urge to wrap my fingers around its girth.
“How could they have any opinion about what you’ve become when they have zero idea of what you used to be?” I said, draping the sweats over the rack against the wall by the door. “All nobles could be inked up and full of scars for all they know. Battle-hardened, basically. But as you yourself have frequently reminded me, there are very clear social differences between someone of your station and someone of ours. I just…I just don’t want to hear how lucky I am to feel the condescending glow of the prince’s attentions. To hear how lucky we are to have been graced with your presence. Not to mention one of the kids might tell someone, and we don’t need the village knowing.”