Eat the Poor

XVII

In the silky sheets of his four-poster bed, Philip arranged the set of wooden chess pieces while I stood barefoot by the balcony, my boots in one hand and my vest slung over my arm.

We were alone, still wearing the robes from the bathhouse. I wondered what new clothes they would give me. More than anything, I was glad to be rid of those filthy, damp socks.

Philip flipped over onto his stomach and patted the space beside him. "Come. We can play while we wait for breakfast."

I glanced over, biting back a grin. "Thought I wasn't allowed in the sacred royal bed."

"You are not allowed to sleep. You may sit. Besides, you were caked in five layers of dirt last night. Did you really expect me to just let you crawl in?"

"You crawled in with me," I muttered, taking a seat anyway.

"That was a... mistake." He looked down at the chess board. "An impulsive act of drunken fear. It will not happen again."

"I never said I minded."

He toyed with one of the wooden pieces. His hair was dry now, his curls back to their usual fluffy state. The robe extended just past his knees, and behind him, his ankles were crossed and swaying slowly in the air.

I took a long look at his calves, which were currently on display. I still wasn't sure what was so great about calves anyway. A calf alone was about as arousing as an elbow. An entire leg, on the other hand, might be more inviting.

I adjusted my position so that one bony knee would poke out.

"The objective is to advance your pieces across the board and capture mine," Philip explained. "Each piece moves differently and obeys a different set of rules."

"I like the horse one," I said.

"That is your knight," he told me. "A vital part of your army. Guard it closely."

My gaze swept over the board, landing on a tall, sleek piece with the shape of a cross upon its crown. "Can I move the king?"

"Not yet." He smiled. "Only a pawn or a knight to begin."

I selected one of the two knights and placed it in the center of the board.

His brow furrowed. "No... that's not-"

Before I could tell him what a waste of time this was, Charles walked in with a wide silver tray stacked high with plates of steaming food. "Breakfast, Your Majesty," he announced.

There were muffins, bowls of fruit, scones, hard-boiled eggs, thin slices of meat, and in the center, a china teapot. My stomach rumbled.

Charles dabbed his brow with a white handkerchief before leaning forward to pour tea from the pot into a small cup. The butler was a rotund man, with a bloated face and ruddy cheeks. He cleared his throat and looked at me. "Tea or wine, sir?"

"Um..." I looked to Philip for guidance.

The King lifted his teacup from its saucer and took a small sip. "A pitcher of water for Mr Murray, please, Charles," he said.

"Right away, sire." The butler bowed.

Philip leaned closer once he was gone. "My apologies, I forgot. I shall have Charles offer it from now on."

From now on. I wondered if that meant I would be joining him for breakfast again. I wanted so desperately to ask, but I was scared to push my luck.

It wasn't every day a hall boy with a wage of two pence a year dined with a king.

Hesitantly, I watched him prepare a smaller plate with a sample of everything. Five strawberries, two eggs cut in half, four strips of ham, and two thick, crescent-shaped pastries.