Still feeling tired, Crow ambled carelessly down the long corridor after Hunter and Preston. For a while, none of them said anything to each other. The two attendants were soft-spoken by nature, and the thief was still focusing on shaking off the last of his weariness. He let his gaze wander over the people they passed, most of whom were guards that studied him with clenched jaws. It was obvious that the knights hated him just as much as before, but they seemed to be restraining themselves more today than usual. He wondered why until he remembered what his father had told him the night before. Now that he was officially the king’s ward, it appeared the guards had to show him more respect. His lip quirked upward in an amused smirk at the thought.

After a while of following the servants, Crow began to grow more curious to find out where they were taking him. They had entered a part of the castle that was unfamiliar to him. It wasn’t as lavishly decorated as the hallways that contained rooms of riches and wealth that would have drawn his eye. There were less guards as well, but more noblemen who also wore white linen garments. All of them were followed by their own personal attendants, which meant—to the thief’s best guess—that they were rather high-ranking men.

“So,” he finally spoke up, too curious to keep waiting any longer. “Where are we going, exactly?”

“The bathhouse,” Preston answered, slowing his pace slightly to fall in step beside the thief.

“Bathhouse?” Crow repeated with distaste. “I’ve already bathed recently. I don’t need another one.”

The attendant tilted his head slightly and looked him over, “When?”

“Last month.”

“You need another bath.”

Crow rolled his eyes, although he chose not to push the matter. He didn’t dislike being clean, but he also didn’t feel like he needed to wash again just yet. In the outer villages, people would normally bathe two or three times a year. Anything more than that was considered unnecessary. He didn’t see any reason why he should have to bathe after just one month. But, of course, it was less painful to just go along with the attendants’ wishes so long as they didn’t ask him to do anything too outlandish, so he kept his mouth shut.

Eventually, they arrived at a room at the end of the hall. It was a bit small—not much larger than his bed chamber—with a steaming pool of water that took up most of the space in the center. A few other noblemen were already inside, reclining about in various states of undress while their servants washed and tended to them. Crow lingered by the doorway as he took in the peculiar sight. When he pictured “bath,” this was not what came to mind.

“Go on,” Hunter encouraged him, noticing his hesitation. “I’ll hold onto your clothes for you while you bathe.”

Crow glanced at him and then back at the water, where some of the other nobles had taken notice of him and seemed to rush their own baths to get out of the pool before he stepped in. They probably didn’t like the idea of sharing bathwater with a peasant. “Fine,” he agreed after a moment. He knew was going to have to do it eventually, so he supposed he might as well just get it over with now. Slipping out of his shirt and pants, the thief handed off the clothing to Hunter and walked up to the edge of the pool. Preston followed closely behind him as usual.

Crow stood beside the water for a moment, watching the steam that rose off the surface with interest. It looked hot, but the other men clearly weren’t in any pain, so he supposed the temperature must have been tolerable enough. Deciding to find out for himself, he tentatively eased himself into the pool. As the water enveloped his body, his eyes widened slightly. As he’d expected, it was quite warm, but it was far from unpleasant. The heat was relaxing, and it soothed his tense muscles. It was much nicer than the icy rivers he had used to bathe in the past.

“I think I’m starting to understand why nobles wash themselves so often,” he sighed, closing his eyes as he sank up to his neck in the warm water. However, the moment didn’t last long. He stiffened as he felt someone touch his back and craned his neck to see that Preston had taken the liberty to start working on his shoulders with a cloth.

“I can do this by myself too,” Crow growled, snatching the rag from the attendant’s hand. As he pulled it away, he realized the fabric had a light scent to it. Curious, he lifted it to his nose. “What’s this?”

At his question, the boy bit his lip as if to keep from laughing, “That’s soap.”

Crow reddened slightly. He wasn’t embarrassed about the fact that he hadn’t used soap before—no one in the outer villages could afford such a luxury—but the servant’s response made him feel a bit bashful. Not wanting to dwell on it, he turned away from the attendant and proceeded to wash himself without replying.

Preston wasn’t as quick to drop it.

“You really are a peasant, huh?” he mused, rocking back on his heels at the edge of the pool now that his job had been taken over.

“That’s what I told you before,” Crow muttered, gingerly scrubbing the middle of his torso with the cloth. Though his wound had healed for the most part, the new skin over his scar was still sensitive to the touch, so he worked on it tenderly. To his relief, the attendant let the matter of his origin finally drop, and he finished bathing in silence. When he was finished, he climbed back out of the water—reluctantly, since he enjoyed the way the heat felt on his body—and was handed a towel by Hunter.

Once he was dry, he dressed himself again and followed the two attendants as they led him off to whatever was next on their list of preparations, leaving the bathhouse behind.