Page 10 of The King has Fallen

I frowned as our eyes locked.

“Time for a bath,” I taunted her. Her chin dropped, and at first I thought she was just glaring at me… but then she started scrambling for the gag, but it was as if her hands didn’t work properly—she batted at herself, jerking and pulling at the leather strap that had tangled with her wet hair, unable to get it loose.

I growled and reached for her again—she wasn’t supposed to take out the gag!—but then her head snapped up as I leaned over her and she grabbed me, shaking my arms, her chest heaving, but her eyes beginning to roll back…

Which was when it occurred to me that she still hadn’t breathed.

4. Caged

~ MELEK ~

With a muttered curse, as she began to slump forward, flailing, I grabbed for those leather ties and tried to yank them loose—but between twisting them with her hair when I was leading her through the camp, and the fact that both her hair and the thin leather were now wet, it was all hopelessly tangled.

Pulling a dagger from my belt, I shoved her head down. “Don’t move, I need to cut it out.”

Then I slid the blade under the strap and sliced it cleanly—along with a strand or two of her hair—then let go and stepped back as she spat the gag out, coughed, then sucked in a massive, wheezing breath.

“What the fuck?” I asked her bluntly. “You can’t breathe through your nose?”

She was still panting, still gripping the side of the trough like it was a lifeline, but she shook her head.

“Not… not when my nose and throat are full of w-water… you fuckingpsycho!”she rasped.

I grunted. “Well, it’s clear that you can breathe now, harpie,” I shot back, then reached down to agitate the water, splash it over her head and shoulders, and grabbed a bar of saddle soap that had been left on the fence, rubbing it over her clothes and hair.

“What the—what thehellare you doing?!” she shrieked, slapping at my hands and trying to twist away, but her movements were restricted by the narrow trough, and my grip on her shoulder keeping her seat firmly in the bottom of it.

“I’m getting you clean as the King ordered,” I muttered. “Take a breath.” It was the only warning I gave her before dunking her backwards into the water again, like I was baptizing her.

She gasped, went under, arms flailing, then came back up spluttering and spitting like a cat.

“This isn’t a bath!” she hissed.

“It’s as close as you’re going to get,” I retorted, scrubbing her hair and the front of her shirt, ignoring the warm softness of her body underneath that thin leather because she was a fuckingFetch,and she had a shriek like a banshee.

Then I held out the bar of soap to her. “Now, do you want me to do your ass and legs for you, or will you do it yourself like a good little girl?”

I couldn’t resist the taunt, and chortled when she snatched the soap out of my hand and began scrubbing at her clothes under the water.

“This isn’t a bath because I’m still clothed,” she snapped, but didn’t stop scrubbing.

“You’re welcome to remove them if you wish,” I offered sweetly. She glared up at me and I stared indifferently back. “Be grateful I didn’t give you to the soldiers to bathe. Most of them haven’t touched a woman in weeks. There would have been nothing left of you an hour from now.”

She scowled, but continued to wash as best she could while still fully clothed and in the narrow trough.

I stayed close, but straightened, folding my arms and watching over her grimly until the trough was full of lather and Fetch dirt, and she placed the bar of soap on the fence with a shaking hand, then turned slowly to look at me again.

“I think… I mean, that’s it.”

“Very good.”

I yanked her up by the back of her shirt and she yelped as half the sudsy trough water came with her. She was still stumbling, trying to find her feet, when I lifted her again and plonked her into the next one to rinse her.

She made a strangled yelp but had the presence of mind to suck in a breath this time as I dunked her again, holding her under for a second or two, before pulling her up and out.

Her eyes were squeezed tightly shut and she spluttered, gasping, gripping my wrists, but she didn’t struggle, wisely focusing on preparing for the next dunking.

I grinned and pulled her out of that trough as well, setting her on her feet and grabbing her wrists again, and her hair, steering her through the camp, lifting her back to her feet when she stumbled.

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