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I remembered he’d seen Revlis on the day of his flogging.

“No,” I said. “A pure coincidence.”

“How old is your horse?”

“She’s eleven. I got her about seven years ago. I wasn’t that great of a rider back then, so Father advised me to go with the most mild-tempered mare. And she was it. I still prefer her over any other.”

He raised my foot a little. Cupping the heel in one hand, he applied firm, even pressure to my sole with his thumb. It felt wonderful. The tension from being trapped in a stiff boot drained from my foot with the relaxation spreading through the rest of my body.

“And your dog?” Salas asked. “Ria, the puppy.”

I noted he remembered her name.

“Ria is a daughter of Father’s lap dogs. He has a pack of hunting hounds like most men do. But he also has a pair of lap dogs—two little furry creatures he’s quite fond of.”

“I thought those were Queen Anna’s dogs. She has a portrait painted of her with the two of them, hasn’t she? I saw a copy of it in a store window once.”

He set my right foot back onto his lap and started working on the left one.

“Right,” I agreed. “They’re hers.” Owning lapdogs was not considered manly. Officially, Ria’s parents belonged to the queen, though the king was the one who doted on them. “Father is just... um, in charge of their training since he knows so much about dogs because of his hounds.”

“It looks like that little one needs some more training.” Salas smiled into his beard.

“She does.” I liked how fondly he spoke of Ria, even as she’d mostly been a pest the day he met her. “Did you ever have a dog?”

“Yes, a very long time ago,” he said quickly, then set both my feet down. “Time for your tea, Princess. Where can I wash my hands?”

“The bathroom is right there, behind the pillars to the left.” I gestured in that direction.

I appreciated how he’d used small talk about my pets to put me at ease. But it didn’t escape me how persistently he avoided any conversation about himself.

As Salas headed to the bathroom, I remembered the tub with the freaking rose petals. I scrambled to my freshly massaged feet and dashed after him.

“Wait.”

But he had already entered my bathroom that was finished in pale pink marble with antique bronze fixtures and stained-glass mosaics on the walls.

“Nice,” he drawled appreciatively, sweeping the room with a wide glance before pausing it on the tub. “And what is this for?”

“The maids did it,” I fired off, like a five-year old blaming her siblings for a mischief.

“How thoughtful of them.” He approached the sink, turned on the faucet and scooped the silky soap paste from the open jar to wash his hands.

He was clearly impressed by the opulence of my rooms but didn’t seem overwhelmed as could’ve been expected from someone who’d never been to a fine home before.

“A bath is a great idea,” he said, rinsing the soap from his hands. He then dipped a hand into the tub. “It’s nice and warm still, just what you need after the ride on a hot day.” He wipedhis hand on the end of his robe. “Come, Princess, I’ll help you bathe.”

“Me?”

He tilted his head. “You are the only princess here, aren’t you?”

His smile was kind, letting me know he wasn’t mocking, just trying to lighten the mood. While I searched for an answer, he struck a match, then walked around the tub, lighting the candles around it.

“I don’t need help,” I said.

He completed the circle around the tub, with all candles now lit, then stopped in front of me.

“Not even with washing your hair?” He lifted a hand to a loose strand on the side of my face, then gently placed it behind my ear.