The basement was not the imprisonment that Melridge imagined it to be. Then again, had it been just a basement, perhaps she would have been right. But it was not just a basement. As they descended, they were met by a litany of shining bottles. Volsten didn't know what was in them, but if he were a betting man (and he was), he would place many crowns on wine. They gave the basement a warmness, despite his distaste for the stuff within. He didn't imagine he would get the same feeling from the depths of the tower.

The Tenraki woman led them between the two wooden shelves, stopping occasionally to be sure that they followed. He knew not why. It was a straightforward trip. One could see the door of their destined room as soon as they left the final step, and the path there was a line.

At the door, the maid reached into her pocket and pulled free a wide metal ring with multiple keys attached. She singled out the most barbaric of them. It made an audible noise as it inserted into the door.

She twisted it. The key was as upright as ever. She jiggled it. The key was as stuck as before. She pulled it free, rubbed it on her apron, then inserted it again. The cycle continued.

"I'm so sorry," she said. "It's an old door."

"May I try, then?" Volsten offered.

She looked unsure but held it for him to take. Their hands brushed; she withdrew quickly.

Interesting, Volsten thought. He stepped forward, slipping from Maren's grasp, and put the key into the hole. It slid in easily enough, but moving it was a different beast. Still, where she struggled to turn it, he forced it, and the lock gave.

"A little roughness is needed at times," he told the maid. With a flick, he tossed her the key.

The door creaked with disuse, as if it forgot how to open without yelling. It swung open to reveal a room that was in no way terrible. A bed lined the far wall, and closer to the door, there was a dresser with a cloudy mirror and unlit candles. A wooden chair sat in front. Those were all the furnishings the room held, but it was clean enough. He'd seen far worse places in his travels.

A bit dank, but it'll do, he thought as they stepped deeper into its midst.

A creak signalled that the door was closing.

"Just a moment," he said.

The door stopped. The maid's head poked through it. "Yes, sir?"

"Would you mind asking Sir Richard about a bath? The lady and I are soaked in sweat, and we'll have this room smelling quite strongly after a while."

She nodded. "I will."

The door closed. After a moment, there were the tell-tale sounds of the maid fumbling with the lock.

Is she trying to lock me in? He prayed that she failed.

The bed turned out to be a flattened sack filled with straw. Horrid to sleep on, but good enough for sitting, which he did.

He leaned against the wall as Maren slowly circled back and forth. While it was a mere inconvenience to him, it must have been a terrible thing to her. A room so bare was unthinkable to the well-off.

"You needn't stay here, my lady," he said. "A prisoner you are not."

Her pacing stopped. She looked at him with a flash of anger in her eyes.

Volsten was taken aback by the aggressiveness in her face. "Of course, only if you want to. But you heard the door. There will be no free leaving of this room."

She stepped a few more times, before coming to sit next to him. Her eyes were strange, framed oddly by the curls of her hair. She placed a hand on his thigh. "Why would I leave you?"

This may well be a problem, he thought, examining the slender hand on his trousers.

*

The maid, whose name Volsten learned to be Mian, returned not long after with news of a bath. Along with it she brought fresh clothes for the both of them.

Volsten had observed no brothers or sisters, so he had to assume that the clothes belonged to Sir Richard and his daughter. Which meant, much like Dolent's clothes, they would be a tight fit. Not to mention that Sir Richard dressed much like a glorified butler. Fashion was the least of Volsten's worries, but he wasn't fond of the look. He knew not what Melridge wore outside of her armor, but it would probably be of ill fit for a true lady.

There was an attempt by Mian to lure Maren away for a separate bath. When Maren did nothing else than stare at her, Mian retreated, and Volsten guessed it was for advice. She returned with Karpila, who bounded into the room with a spring in her step.

"Believe me," she had said, "I understand how you feel. But it's improper for a lady to bathe with a man outside of marriage. Inera says so. No matter how"-she gave him a once-over with her eyes-"tempting it is."

Maren had been a quiet, thin statue before, but the sight of Karpila turned her demeanor downright frightening. "You should leave," she told her.

Under that awful stare, Karpila was quick to obey.

Mian was none too comfortable either, but it was her orders to lead them to the bath, and like all good maids, she was beholden to it. She led them up and out of the basement, then up the grand stairs that led to the manor's higher halls.

Eventually they reached a door that was ever so different from the others. It was here that Mian stopped them. She took hold of the handle, but before opening it, she looked to Maren. "Please, my lady," she pleaded. "You may bathe now or later, but please do so alone. It's...it's not right!"

Maren was a statue again. Mian's face grew more desperate with every passing second. She finally gave him her attention. "Sir, tell her you will bathe alone!"

"I will tell her no such thing," he said. "If she feels more comfortable bathing with me, why deny her that? What she's been through would put anyone out of sorts."

"But-"

"I am a knight, Mian. Same as your master." He placed a hand on her shoulder. Her face reddened. "You needn't fear that anything will happen to her."

Mian seemed unconvinced as she opened the door. After he and Maren stepped through, she lingered. "Inera watches us all!" she said, slamming the door in a huff.

The bathroom was a wonderful place, white and fragrant. The tub itself was a large porcelain thing, perhaps thrice as wide as Volsten, and more than long enough for him to lay straight in. A vanity table sat along the wall; resting on it were various linen cloths and soaps. They laid their change of clothes there.

Volsten walked over to the tub. The water was clear, and he could feel the heat rising from it.

He wasted no time in disrobing. Boots first, undergarments last. The prospect of a warm bath was so enticing that he all but forgot about Maren. She was as silent as a mute mouse.

Not that it mattered to him. His body was one of his most prized possessions. Over a decade of rigorous training for days on end had honed it to the point that every muscle was in contrast with the skin that bound it.

As he turned to face Maren, there was no shame to be had. "My manners are rusty after so long a time trapped in the guild. Of course, you may enter first."

Maren's hands held fast over her heart; her eyes held fast over him. To his surprise, she disrobed right then and there, quickly shedding the drab gown the guild had given her. Apparently, they had saw fit to give her no more than underwear. Her breasts sat uncovered as she pulled the clothing up and over.

Lovely things, Volsten thought. Though, they weren't visible for long. She was quick to bring an arm over them as the other cleared away the rest of her attire.

Free at last, and with both arms put to use hiding her more sensitive areas, she walked over to the tub. It was then that he went to the vanity table and grabbed what was needed: two cloths, two soaps. Clearly, she was in no hurry to be seen, and the process of bringing one leg up to enter the tub would've rendered it impossible to avoid.

He waited until the small splash of her body dropping within to join. Opposite her, he climbed in, fully of aware of the sight he was presenting, and the attention it garnered.

The water was warmer than he expected, but not unpleasant. He eased into its steaming surface until he settled within. He sighed a wonderful sigh, his head back, elbows resting on what he could feel of the tub behind him.

Once the overwhelming wave of relaxation passed, he offered cloth and soap to the blushing lady before him. She took them with a shaky hand, careful to not reveal herself.

Volsten was content to wash himself. A wonderful feeling that was. It was rare enough to bathe while traversing the kingdom. Rarer still to sit in a tub so finely made, with water clear and as finely scented as this.

He'd just put rag to stomach when something touched his foot. He looked up to see Maren, who had yet to begin.

"Are you troubled?" he asked. He knew the answer already.

"I..." she started. Volsten waited. He would offer no idea to her, no nudge to any place or frame of mind. "I was wondering if you could help me...help me wash, that is."

There it is, he thought. "Are you sure?"

Her answer was to slosh through the water until she kneeled before him, the tips of her breasts just inside the water. "You can use my cloth and soap," she said. "Or...or you can use your hands. I'm fine with either."

Volsten stared at the noble woman before him. In truth, he had no intention of fucking her. To him, it was far too soon after that night in her home. And, even with her considerably pleasant body before him, he still had not the slightest desire to do so.

But her face was needing, longing. Far be it from him to deny her happiness after such a tragic event.

He cut to the heart of desire to leave no room for interpretation. "Which would you prefer? Cloth gives a more thorough clean, but a hand..." he brought his up from the water, curling the fingers ever so much. Maren's unflinching gaze seemed a mark of approval. "Well, let's say that it offers a more intimate experience. Capable of reaching places that a piece of cloth is ill-suited for."

"The hand!" Maren blurted out. "Goddess knows..."

Yes, the goddess knew. He could imagine the virginal deity shaking her head now. "Very well. Sit here." Beneath the steaming water, he pat his thigh, and Maren wasted no time taking her seat. He'd not yet reached arousal, but the soft flesh of Maren's backside was a strong jolt.

Truly, she was a pretty woman. Her body teetered more on thin than other women, such as Vora, but beauty came in many different forms.

Volsten took the soap that she had left floating in the water. He lathered both hands with it, then set it aside to float again.

He began with her stomach. The first touch caused Maren to release a heavy breath. Round and round the flatness of it he went, leaving circles of white foam around her small navel. It was a simple touch, but the brown tips of her breasts let him know that it was effective.

A temptation rose in him to catch one within his fingers, but he resisted.

For now. That would come later. He continued with her stomach, and eventually made his way to her sides. Both hands were in use here, sliding over her curves, such as there were. A lifetime of hilt holding had roughened his hands, but that was an advantage when skilled in the use of them. Her eyes were closed, lips parted. His guess was that she would protest no time soon.

From there, he worked to other places. Her took each arm in turn, from fingertip to shoulder, and then went about her neck. Only when he made it to her chest did he stop to look at her.

"Are some places forbidden?" he asked coyly.

Maren opened her eyes for the first time since he began. It took her a while to answer, but her eyes were lustful when she did: "No."

Volsten gave a slow nod and a wicked smile. His hands slid first between her breasts, then onto them. It was a pleasing change of sensation to go from the softness of them to the hardness of their tips. He looked into the young lady's sighing face as he toyed with them. A delicate pinch, a gentle pull; each one elicited an exhale from her agape lips.

He was so preoccupied with teasing her that he didn't notice the arm moving within the water. Its action was hidden by suds.

She touches herself, he thought, like a scholar finding a new phenomenon. Maren didn't have the look of a woman who would do such things. Perhaps she wasn't, and the newness of it all overwhelmed her to the point that it was inevitable.

Either way, he would assist. "Maren," he spoke gently, rousing her from her erotic stupor. "I would love for you to rest your head upon my shoulder. I have yet to touch your back, and I intend to be thorough, if nothing else."

She questioned nothing. The water sloshed loudly as she came closer and leaned forward. Her gleaming wet backside stuck into air, amusingly white in the bathroom's radiance. Her curls tickled his ear as her arms wrapped around him.

Her upper back received the first touch. His wet hands worked along her shoulder blades, and creeped ever downward, feeling every inch, until they reached her bottom.

She shifted a little. He lingered here, marveling in the smoothness of it. He squeezed and prodded, then traced the divide with his fingers. She sighed. He brushed against the hole hidden between. Her breath caught.

I should get on with it, he thought.

A few more teases between her backside made her arch. He left the softness of it all to dabble between her legs. Not to the mouth of her desire. No, not yet. He traced along the inside of her willowy thighs, giving her time to accept what came next. His path became longer each time until, eventually, he was upon her lower lips.

Her arms squeezed him tighter. "Ah!"

He chuckled. His fingers ran along the outer parts of them and their crevices. There was experience here, trial and error from a long list of lovers. Maren would reap their benefits without knowing it.

A finger came down and towards her stomach, only stopping when it found the hard nerve of her pleasure. Her body tensed, as if a bolt of lightning had struck her.

He worked at it, circling and rubbing with all the care he could give. Her body moved and twisted against him, and what he could call her first moan escaped into the bath. Satisfied with her response, he returned to the swollen lips. He tugged a few times before finding her entrance.

He tested it with his index finger. It met resistance, but more importantly, a slickness that was unmistakable. He dipped his hand into the clearest water he could fine, washing away as much soap as he could.

He returned and pushed with his middle finger. Maren's body moved towards him, away from the finger, but he continued until he overcame the resistance. She sucked in air, but after a moment, her moans echoed.

She was tight, incredibly so. The one finger would do, or else he risked making her uncomfortable. But it seemed enough; she was moving, matching his rhythm, giving him enticing music to encourage his continued good behavior. And, for a moment, he considered what it would be like to enter her in earnest. To stretch her as he had done the peasant girl not all that long ago.

That was the beast within talking. He would not venture it.

One of her arms had a mind of its own. As he fed her lust, it reached down his body and to his stomach, where it felt at the hardened, lined muscles.

Volsten grunted. Do as you please. If she reached further, she would find that his arousal was not nearly as great as hers.

She felt on, and his other hand came round to assist. It slid down the flat of her stomach until it found her hard pleasure again, and worked away.

Maren was not long for this. Her breathing became quick. He arched his finger within the tight, slick confines of her pussy, the pad of his finger stroking against the top of it.

An unladylike grunt escaped her as her walls pressed tightly against his finger. She bucked her slim hips, and he had to use an arm to control her, else she would crush his manhood under the might of her climax.

She shook for a while, and Volsten worried that he'd broken her for a moment. She settled into a stupor of sorts, eyes half-closed, soaped-up body resting across his lap.

He thought she would sleep, but soon she returned to awareness. She smiled at him. It was the first genuine smile he'd seen since before that night. Too recent to be nostalgic, but enjoyable.

"I knew it, Sir Volsten," she said. "I knew I loved you. You were all I could think about, all I could see when I was at the guild. I thought of no one as much as I thought of you holding me. I have family in the countryside. Aunts and uncles and cousins-they mean less than nothing next to you. I want to be with you until..." she trailed away, content to stare at him in silence.

It was a distressing thing to look into Maren's wild, curl-framed eyes. Despite it all, he returned a half-smile. "We should finish bathing. I do think we've been here long enough."

He had no intention of being with this lady for any meaningful amount of time. She was no different from the many other women that had grown attached to him. He told himself that, but none had this strong a look in their eyes. What in the world would he do with this one?