Free The King's Pleasure by Kitty Thomas Page B

She allowed her fingers to trail over a cold, damp algae growing on the stone wall. She’d catch her death here.
    Abigail curled into a ball on the dirt floor. She shivered in the draft without clothing or blankets, her own body the only thing she could try to derive warmth from. Somehow, in spite of the conditions, she drifted into an exhausted sleep.
    She jumped suddenly at the feel of strong hands on her back. Warm water sluiced down, causing pain as it flowed over tender flesh. Her eyes drifted open as memories slowly seeped through the fog of her awareness. She twisted her body, expecting to discover the king tending to her wounds, but it was a dungeon guard.
    “Why...?”
    “I’m just following orders,” the stranger said, drying her with a clean towel. He worked quickly and carefully as he applied bandages to her back.
    She tried unsuccessfully not to cry. How stupid to think it was the king. Why would the king ever lower himself to entering the dungeon? The idea that he would sit in this filth and actually clean and dress her wounds was wishful thinking of the highest order. She had to let that life go, no matter how difficult it was.
    When the guard finished tending to her, he gathered the supplies and started to leave. He paused at the door. “I’ve brought you food and blankets, just over there in the corner.” He pointed.
    She hadn’t noticed them in the dim lighting. “Thank you.” The food was only bread and water, but at least it was fresh on both counts. She’d had worse.
    A few days passed like this, and Abigail sank further into hopelessness. The only small reprieve was when a guard came—a different one each time—to change her bandages and bathe her. Each time, she closed her eyes and imagined it was the king.
    Why couldn’t he have just executed her? Keeping her in a dark little cell forever was heartless. There was no life or hope to look forward to. No hope of freedom or ever seeing Niall again.
    She startled when heavy footsteps moved toward her, expecting another guard. But it was the king who unlocked the door and stepped inside. Instinctively she moved toward him, kneeling at his feet, her cheek resting against his boot. She didn’t know why he’d come, but she had to be close to him.
    “Well, Abby, are you ready to admit it now?”
    She wanted to tell him anything he wanted to hear, but she couldn’t bring herself to say the lie that would free her. Her honor was all she had left. “I have nothing to admit, Master.”
    He sighed. “This is your final chance. You can go quietly now to live with your family, or you can stay in the dungeon for the rest of your life. I won’t offer you any more opportunities. Surely you’ve had time to think this through.”
    “My answer is still the same.” She wouldn’t admit defeat now. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of pretending she’d ever been anything but his loyal slave. If she was to die down here, then she would. If he was too stubborn to admit he was wrong, then her death would be on his hands.
    “Very well, if that’s your answer.”
    “It is.”
    She expected him to turn and leave her there to rot, but he scooped her up and carried her, wrapped in the dirty blankets, back upstairs. He deposited her gently on the tile of his bathroom and turned on the water for the bath. He was silent as he began to drop the rose petals and pour in the fragrant oils.
    “Go. Shower the dirt off,” he said, pointing as if time had rewound itself and it was their first night together. Only this time, bizarrely, she didn’t fear him or what he might do to her, even though he’d given her plenty of valid reasons to.
    She went to the shower. The wounds on her back were still tender, though they’d closed now and were healing. She’d been healthy enough at the time of the whipping that her body had mended itself even on the lower quality food in her cell.
    She breathed in the scent of the delicate lavender and oat soap as she scrubbed