Shale burst out laughing. I grinned at him until his laughter subsided. And then my belly rumbled.
“Very well,” he said. “Bath, breakfast, then back to bed.”
“I can work with that.” I paused, then asked, “What about the garden?”
“The garden looks better than it has in years. It can wait. I cannot.”
My grin returned. “All right then. Bath, breakfast, then bed.”
“And by bath, I mean you will bathe me,” Shale added.
I lifted my brows. He lifted his in challenge.
I snorted. “As my King commands.”
Then I fetched the cloth, got it soapy, and said, “Give me your foot.”
“My foot?”
“Yeah, I'm starting from the bottom and working my way up.”
A rumble came from the King. If he'd been a cat, I would have called it a purr. Then his leg lifted out of the water, the royal foot presenting itself for washing. I took it, propped his ankle on my knee, and started scrubbing.
“That feels good,” Shale murmured.
“Don't get used to this,” I warned him. “This isn't happening every time we bathe.”
He cracked open an eye to glare at me.
“I'm serious,” I said.
He opened the other eye.
“Fine,” I muttered.
As he closed his eyes—smugly—I stuck my tongue out at him.
“Don't stick your tongue out at me, Sebastian.”
“I didn't.”
“I saw you.”
“No, you didn't. Your eyes were closed.”
“I sensed your tongue.”
I snorted and pushed his foot into the water. “Other foot.”
He lifted his other foot onto my knee. “You're such a child.”
“And you're fucking me. So what does that make you?”
Shale laughed. “You are childish, not literally a child.”
“Good distinction.”
He dropped his foot, then spread his legs. “I believe you said you were working upward.”
