Mud-Splattered and Barely Standing
With their bodies plastered in thick mud, the two finally succeeded in luring the elephant. The creature, having rolled and played freely in the mud without a care, now eagerly munched on the offered fruits and happily followed them along.
Arkin walked in silence. He tried to keep a step ahead of Nefetia, just enough to maintain some distance.
With every step, mud left its mark. The filthy paste from the sole of his sandals clung to his toes, then squelched and dripped free several times in succession.
Right now, in this very moment, Arkin felt genuine gratitude toward the elephant he had just speared through the mud. If only he could, he would give the beast a hundred medals.
When Nefetia rose first, her wet body was laid bare beneath the sunlight. That utterly thin, ridiculously short tunic—his one and only salvation—threatened to choke him. He had to bury his half-hard state deeper still, yet he could not rise for a long time.
Had he not been born in Solinar, had he not undergone the brutal spiritual training in the forest, he might have met a far worse fate long ago.
To calm the fire still raging through his body, Arkin clung to the most pitiful, wretched thoughts. He tried to conjure the most horrifying images. Then, suddenly, he recalled himself standing in the very center of his mother’s palace square in exactly this state.
A huge, thick, thickly veined shaft jutting upward like it would pierce the sky. And resting lightly upon its tip, the hem of that same thin, short tunic….
The moment he pictured the faces of the elders seated in the front row, his blood froze. But it was already too late.
‘In the world! He has no shame!’
‘Truly disgraceful!’
Elder Owen of the Arrowwood Tribe hurled a stone in fury, shouting, “We cannot allow such a weakling to rule Solinar!” His rage incited the crowd.
Arkin stood there, desperately trying to conceal his unrelenting arousal, receiving jeers and insults from all sides.
“Arkin has no right to be king!”
“How can a man who cannot keep his chastity possibly govern a nation!”
Stones and rotten fruit rained down upon him. People spat at him with contempt and condemnation. Even Magnus glared and sighed….
“Hah.”
A dull sigh escaped Arkin’s lips. Where did he think he was going to go, I wonder….
The heat in his lower body had finally subsided, but his mind was far more tangled than before.
Nefetia’s persistent yet somehow clumsy touch—far too stubborn to be dismissed as mere idle curiosity—had completely blown his remaining sense of reason out the window. Those eyes that kept asking, “Don’t you feel anything?”—the way she kept touching him all over, unable to give up.
Arkin glanced sideways at the mud-covered Nefetia walking a little apart. Both of them were a mess. Why, he wondered. Even though they should not be laughing, he found himself smiling.
The limit of his imagined escapades was nothing more than the level he had reached moments ago. Since dawn he had walked along the coast with Nefetia alone, their bodies brushing a few times, and the unexpected mud incident had added a few extra variables—yet he dared not think of anything beyond that.
But now that she had deliberately set out to touch him, a cold fear gripped his heart.
It was no longer possible. This was dangerous. He had already embraced her against his will and lost control, yet the moment her hands began moving freely across his body, terror filled him.
In the end, Nefetia… had not yet given up on their Hetasept bond. She had realized that it was wrong to force her way into his life with, “Come live with me in my palace,” but she still seemed intent on confirming their destined connection.
However, to Arkin, it now appeared that he no longer needed to confirm anything at all.
The most dangerous thing of all was Arkin Seilir’s own impulses.
***
“You have worked hard, truly. But….”
The steward, who had come running to meet them, scanned the two of them from head to toe.
“With your current state, returning to the quarters would be difficult. You should wash first.”
Nefetia and Arkin exchanged glances. In the mud of the forest they had not noticed, but under the bright light they both looked utterly disheveled. The mud was drying, the skin pulling tight, the hair stiffening.
“Where do we wash? What about clothes?”
Nefetia asked.
“See that building over there? It’s where our servants use it, so it’s humble, but the water is clean. You can wash there if you wish. It’s inconvenient, but we’ll send people to fetch new clothes. The kitchen is close, so hot water can be prepared quickly.”
“But since it’s training period, we should do it ourselves….”
“Ah, it’s troublesome. Just stay put. I’ll explain to Priest Seneca. This is acceptable, I assure you.”
The steward waved his hands in panic.
“Very well. We should hurry.”
Arkin answered with relief and quickly.
The steward instructed a young servant to guide them to the bathhouse and, still feeling guilty about the morning, bowed deeply and vanished in a hurry.
However, the “bathhouse” they were led to was no more than a single stall hut that looked as if it might collapse at any moment. From the outside, it was clear that a few old planks had been roughly arranged. The real problem was inside. Creaking. As soon as they pushed open the door that screamed like a dying animal, neither Arkin nor Nefetia spoke for a long time. Was this even a bathhouse? It looked exactly like a pen for animals….
“So… that’s….”
Arkin looked at the cheerful girl standing there. He could not bring himself to speak, but he barely raised a finger and pointed at the huge wooden barrel placed dead center among the planks.
“Why is there only one of those?”
“Your Highness, really. You two are not going to enter it together.”
The girl answered in a clear, youthful voice. She hurried to push something in the corner. She unrolled a large cloth reinforced with leather, then hung it on the two poles on either side. It formed a surprisingly decent partition. But….
“So we’ll draw water from here and bathe, Arkin on the right, me on the left?”
Nefetia seemed to know her way around such situations, but she did not. She looked at Arkin and the girl alternately, clearly uncomfortable with the arrangement.
At that moment the back door burst open and three servants carrying water buckets on their heads rushed in. They poured the steaming hot water into the large barrels in turns, gave a light bow, and left the bathhouse as if they had done this a thousand times.
Hot water was ready, yet the two had no idea how to bathe together. Arkin shrugged and took one step back.
“I’ll wait outside. You wash first, Nefetia. When you’re done, I’ll take my turn.”
“Eek.”
This time the girl’s face twisted. What? Surprised by the gazes of the prince and princess, the girl raised her eyebrows as if to say, “What nonsense are you talking about?”
“To be honest, since you two are highborn, we servants get to see plenty. Your uncle and aunt who cleaned the elephant dung have been waiting in a line, reeking of that horrible smell!”
Arkin shut his mouth, utterly ashamed. The girl’s face had gone from cheerful to twisted; there was no other way.
“Fine, whatever. Then….”
“Fine, no choice! We have to wash first.”
Deciding, Nefetia disappeared behind the curtain. Arkin, still unable to bring himself to move, stood hesitantly waiting for the girl to leave.
“Here are the sponges and soap. They’re expensive, so we’re careful with them, but the steward said we could give them to you two as Your Highness and Her Highness.”
The girl grumbled while placing a woven basket. She tossed it onto the edge of the wretched partition and told them to divide it themselves. Arkin’s mouth was about to protest that they had been given these things and two baskets would have been better, but he swallowed the words.
“Take this. Here, Your Highness.”
A slender arm poked out from the other side of the curtain. Arkin, standing stiffly, jumped in surprise and slowly moved away from the partition. The cloth hung at a slight angle, the leather edge drooping downward. Nefetia’s bare foot and calf were visible beneath it. The girl accepted Nefetia’s clothes and sandals without a second thought and stared straight at Arkin.
“…Please.”
“Huh?”
Arkin’s eyes widened in confusion. Creak. The sound came. The slender arm and shoulder of the girl drawing water from the barrel flashed into view. And something… a soft, fleshy bulge briefly rose and vanished….
Swish….
The prince, eyes wide and face frozen pale, could not even breathe. His side was suddenly poked by a finger.
“Your Highness, I have to wash these clothes and sandals as well. Please take them off.”
Take them off here? Arkin stared blankly at the girl, but from the other side of the curtain came the sound of Nefetia’s soft laughter.
“If you’re that uncomfortable, just hand them over to me. I’ll give them to the girl.”
Arkin, unable to decide either way, nodded. The girl glanced at him as if to say, “What an odd person,” then crossed to the other side of the curtain. Arkin, feeling strangely guilty, slowly began to undress. Without a single thread remaining, he gathered his tunic, undergarments, and wet leather sandals and carefully extended his arms over the curtain.
“Her…e.”
The prince of Solinar was tall. The curtain between them was absurdly low, and Nefetia was much shorter than him. When the hand that barely covered her chest, face flushed with embarrassment, reached out to accept her own clothes, every piece of common sense he had learned in Solinar crumbled to dust, and his soul slipped away.
What was this? Was he the only one strange?
Did Nefetia… know something?
The girl accepted the clothes and sandals and left. The door closed with a soft thud. In a daze, Arkin finally regained some composure. He stretched his arm with effort, pulled the basket closer, and picked up a piece of soap. He would absolutely, absolutely not look over the curtain. He would not see the black hair dripping down to her shoulders, the round shoulders, or the places hidden by one arm. What could it be? Arkin knew nothing.