Royal Sentence (Steamy Historical)

Chapter 6: Reflexion

Sabine lay on her side, exhausted. She had told the courtier everything she could, everything he would have needed to capture her friends, had his men departed a couple of hours ago. As it was they would arrive too late, and knowing it brought a little light into her otherwise gloomy situation.

Her captor had left a while ago to give his orders, and take his notes to whomever he reported to. Left unattended, the fire had gone down, and the residual chill permeating the walls had crept in, worsened by a draft that made short work of her thin blanket. It had been a harsh winter, and despite it being mid-May, the thick layers of stone had not yet warmed up. The combination of tiredness and immobility had Sabine shivering, preventing her from getting some much needed rest.

She curled tighter on herself, trying to preserve her body heat, and nearly jumped out of her skin when the door banged open.

She expected the courtier but it was just his page, carrying a loaded tray covered in white linen. His burden tilted dangerously as he kicked the heavy pane closed, but he somehow avoided the coming disaster and landed it on the desk in one piece.

He lifted the fabric, bowed to Sabine, and then pointed at the large bowl of soup, roast chicken, goat cheese, and loaf of bread. "Monsieur le Comte thought you might be hungry, Madame. He sends you this light collation. I can fetch you something else if it is not to your liking."

Sabine rubbed her eyes, wondering if she was dreaming. Why would the courtier care about her tastes? Prisoners weren't usually offered a choice of food, if fed at all. Was it his way to apologize? Whatever his motives, she had no reason to refuse. She had not eaten since the previous day, and her stomach, although well used to fasting, growled at the enticing smell.

She still took her time answering. Perhaps there was an opportunity there. The page was young, no older than fourteen, smaller than her and light framed. If she could convince him to free her, she might be able to overpower him.

Summoning her most innocent voice and charming smile, she cooed: "How very gallant of him! Thank you, this is perfect. Did you choose these yourself?"

The boy had been slicing the bread. He put down the knife, cheeks flushed from the compliment. "I did, Madame. I would have added fruits or jam, but I couldn't find any."

She nodded her understanding. "In this season and in a military camp, it would be nay short of an impossible feat to achieve. You've brought me a feast. Would you mind untying me so that I can sit at the table?" She paused, shivered ostensibly, and hugged herself, her eyes widening. "It would be so much more comfortable than this cold floor..."

The page tilted his head and frowned, vaguely offended. "I might be young, but I am not stupid," he grumbled, lowering the tray within her reach. "I have served Monsieur le Comte for a year now, and the first thing he taught me was not to take sweet talk at face value."

His lips stretched into a near perfect replica of his master's crooked grin. "I have seen many a haughty woman leave his chamber crestfallen and far more humble than she entered. Not that it applies to you, Madame," he quickly added, "you are much lovelier than them..." Reddening further, he turned around and poked the embers.

Sabine sighed and tore into the meat, pondering what the courtier might have done to these ladies. Could he have treated them as badly as her? The idea, albeit ludicrous, was vaguely comforting. If he did this to all women, could it just be the usual way of men? And if it was, perhaps he didn't mean to humiliate her?

She wiped her greasy fingers on the towel and stared at the bowl of soup. The tray was devoid of cutlery, not even a spoon. They really didn't trust her. She gave a forlorn glance at the knife, abandoned by the page on the desk, out of her reach. If only she could get out of this belt... But it wasn't meant to happen. Yet.

Disappointed and still hungry, Sabine raised the bowl to her lips and took a cautious sip. It was a thick mix of carrots and neeps and herbs, a simple yet savory recipe. Her movements were clumsy, the mere weight of the wooden recipient a strain on her tired limbs, and she struggled not to spill its contents. More of her strength had been drained than she was willing to admit; she was in no condition to fight or run when she could barely sit. There would be no escape until she had rested.

Leaning back, Sabine finished her meal. The page had restocked the chimney, and the combined warmth of the flames and food soon chased the chills away, driving her increasingly drowsy. She yawned in her sleeve and pushed the tray aside.

The boy sprang to her help, taking the leftovers to the desk and returning with a bowl of water, a cake of soap, and a fresh linen towel, to wash her greasy fingers.

"Thanks yooou..." Sabine yawned again, her eyelids drooping irresistibly. She slid down to her side, failing to notice the cushion being slipped under her head, or the blanket draped over her curled up body. She was already asleep.