Eat the Poor

XVIII

"Bloody Christ, fucking cocksucker-"

Damning my bootlace, I stood and blindly fumbled my way along the wall. Every step sent a wave of grating pain up my leg. It was my ankle again. That old sprain from the day in the field that had finally started to go away.

I grit my teeth and wrenched open the door, expecting Charles or even Beauregard himself, but saw the King instead, now fully dressed in his day clothes.

My heartbeat picked up. He looked adorable, with his little white stockings and red heels and cloak tied in a wide looping bow like a Christmas present.

"I'm sorry," I mumbled. "I was putting on my boots-"

"Charles said you'd be here," he interrupted. His voice was high. Shaky. Fragile.

"What's wrong?" I asked.

Philip wedged himself between me and the door frame, half his face obscured by the darkness of the room. Outside, the guards posted along the hall stared straight ahead, forbidden to meet his gaze. "I just-" he breathed. "I missed being with you."

I stepped closer, biting through the pain in my ankle with a foxy grin. "Don't you have a very busy day planned?" I teased.

He swallowed and shook his head fast. "I have a Council meeting. After that I just... sort of sit there and sign things."

"Do you read the things you sign?" I asked.

He blushed sheepishly. "Sometimes."

Realizing my opportunity, I leaned one shoulder against the door frame and crossed my ankles, subtly cornering him. "Perhaps that would be a good time to mention the taxes."

His back pressed against the wall. "Taxes?" he repeated.

"Yes, taxes." I tried to keep my tone casual, keep the bitter crack of Oh, you know, the ones that lock my family in such abject poverty we can barely afford to eat? at bay. "Simply a whisper that the taxes might see some relief and..." I curled my finger around a lock of his hair. "You shall find yourself very popular among your new people."

"Oh..." His eyes lit up for a brief second. "I'd like that."

"Good." I caressed his cheek, his smile warm against my palm. "So today, at the Council meeting, you'll issue a new edict to reduce military funding."

His brow pinched. "But my father-"

"Philip, your father's dead," I said. His eyes widened. "You don't have to follow in his footsteps. You can make your own choices now."

"I'm so nervous," he mumbled. "What if I start talking and forget what to say?"

I grinned. I thought about Geoff, down in the servants' quarters with his bowl of slop and kitchen tub bath, still thinking he was better than me. I was probably doing more for the country than his talk of Aristotle and Rome ever would.

"Hmm." I considered slowly and smiled. His amber eyes stayed locked on mine. "Imagine them all naked. Your nerves will disappear."

His cheeks turned scarlet. "That would make me more nervous."

I brushed his cheek with the back of two fingers, making him giggle and lean into my touch. "You didn't seem to mind giving the Gentlemen a show."

"They're just servants," he pouted.

"What about me?" I squeezed his waist and pulled us further into the shadows, further from view. "Am I just a servant?"

He reached up, fingers threading together at the nape of my neck, locking me in place. "No."