Urmas Madal hadn't changed at all, or so it had seemed, for as long as Rahela had been living in Yahsin's Imperial Castle. He still lived on the workshop's second floor. His wife and children still worked to support his career.
Rahela had ordered some autumn appropriate soap some time ago, and now she wanted to visit this soaper to claim the product. A golden brown soap with a spicy fragrance would've been a fine gift for the Emperor.
Rahela was mildly surprised to find that tall jester, Leran, sitting in a chair in the workshop's ground floor and asking a somewhat busy Urmas Madal all sorts of questions.
"It's like magic," the Jester said with a dreamy tone, holding his own chin with an arm on the table. "Ash and water makes such a terrifying substance, but it's so incredibly useful."
Once Rahela and her entourage were close enough, they stopped, and Rahela asked the soaper, "Is the Jester interfering with your work, Madal?"
Cutting a block of soap by hand, not looking up from this task, Urmas Madal replied, "No Your Majesty. He's merely offered his chatter."
"Have you accepted his chatter?" Rahela asked as she watched Leran suddenly lean his chair back on two legs and rock it back and forth. She imagined he might purposely fall backwards.
"For now, My Lady." The soaper said as he paused with his cutting and put his blade to one side. "Are you here for your order?"
With a small nod, Rahela confirmed. Then she waited as one of the soaper's assistants ran off to find the soap. Meanwhile, Leran still kept himself back, just barely holding himself from falling, and so childishly blithe about it. "Madal," he suddenly said, "I want to order soap from you. Are you expensive?"
"Very expensive," the soaper answered as he patiently waited beside his partially cut soap. "You couldn't afford me."
His uncaring expression unchanging, Leran said, "Ah well. Do you think Her Majesty would mind telling what sort of soap she's ordered? I'm curious."
"It's a soap for His Majesty," Rahela told the tall man, "otherwise you need not know."
"Ah." To Rahela's surprise, the Jester set his chair back down on all four legs, although it was done so very loudly. "You're still missing a lady-in-waiting."
"That's none of your concern, Jester," she reminded him.
Shrugging, Jester Leran said, "Your Majesty is right and just."
The assistant returned soon, and in his arms there was a lovely wooden box with autumn leaves and delicate rivers lacquered on the lid and sides. Once that pretty lid was flipped open, Rahela saw reddish brown bars with uneven, thin stripes of a gold colored mica. The fragrance was quite heady.
Rahlea wasn't certain when the Jester had gotten so close to her, especially since she hadn't even heard his chair scrape against the floor. She nearly jumped when she heard his voice just above her. "Ah! That's a manly set. His Majesty has a thoughtful wife."
Her colorful eyes widening, Rahela stepped away from him just as her female bodyguard took a step closer to her. Then that young Empress said, "Do you have a request for me to hear?"
The Jester shook his head, his dark hair swinging about. "No, My Lady, but I am wondering if I should be more curious with soap ingredients, particularly the lye. Might I ask Your Majesty a question?"
Taking and closing the box of soap from the assistant, Rahela replied, "I'll hear your question."
"Have you ever considered collecting a jar of lye? You are the sort to collect such dangerous things, or that's what I've been told." He smiled then. Something about that smile was tilted, although Rahela could have sworn on her life that it was at a normal angle. Why did she think it was tilted? Was it more of a feeling than a truth?
"Not at this time," Rahela said as she started walking away, her group following her. "Continue with your innocent life, Jester."
***
As intense as the rarest and most beautiful gemstones, yet terribly exhausted, the Empress Consort's eyes seemed to focus on nothing. Her head was pointed down, as if the sweetly dusted water was interesting, but those lovely eyes gave the truth away. She didn't care for the bath water at that time. She had barely cared for her meal. Most of it had either been untouched or slid about with a utensil.
Irakly put his elbow a bit past the edge of the pool as he watched a braided loop slowly escape the wrapping on her head. He wondered how long until it would slip and fall, smacking her shoulder. "Rahela. You'll fall asleep soon."
Her jaw tightened only for a second or more, and she made a short hum in her throat.
Irakly reached out to tap under her chin with a fingertip, slightly moving her head up for only another second. "We'll leave the water. You've been reading and riding far too much. That mule of yours might be having nightmares."
Irakly imagined that Rahela wanted to say, "I hope that's not true." What happened was less interesting. Rahela closed her eyes for a moment and sighed.
He took her arm and helped her climb out of the pool. Then, enjoying the light bacon aroma, he helped her dry off and dried himself while she sat on a stool and kept her arms wrapped about herself.
He performed similar actions with clothing, and they were soon both dressed, except for their wrapped hair. That was taken care of quickly because Irakly amused himself with his wife's lovely hair very soon, letting the air comb through it as well as his literal bone comb. His hair was much simpler to deal with.
With their hair free, yet still damp, the couple left the bathing chamber and went off to the bedchamber. The chamberboys were still obedient. They were nowhere in the area, knowing that they were certainly not meant to be there at that time.
Once Rahela was on her side of the bed, she essentially collapsed. She wasn't always this way, but this certainly wasn't the first time. His wife refused to be idle for long. Her mind must always be occupied, at least until her body refused to allow it.
Irakly knelt down near her and ran his fingers through one of Rahela's locks. Her breath deepened quickly. Her light silk gown moved with it.
Then he lied down with her.
Even when the world finally darkened again, he was there, in and out of sleep, looking at his wife when he was out. He managed to be awake when that little woman finally stirred and sat up, rubbing her eyes with a lazy hand. Irakly sat up too, and he smiled down at her sleepy and nearly confused expression. "Good evening. Have you recuperated?"
Rahela groaned something about water. Irakly told her to wait a moment so he could find a tray with a jug and cups. He returned to her soon and handed her one of those cups. She drank her water, and he set it all aside. Then, surprising her, he hugged her up and into his lap. Her hands slapped onto his chest, and she whined deep in her throat.
"Ah, Little Bacon, you're warm and tender, a fine nest for a child to grow." He slid his hand up her back, his fingers pressing through her hair again. Then he left her back to put some of that hair to his lips for a tight kiss.
There was a mumbling and a sigh, and Rahela rubbed her cheek on his clothes as if she wanted to scrape something off, although Irakly wanted to compare it to a cat's nuzzling. She then reached up to pry his arms off, which he didn't mind.
Rubbing one of her eyes again, the woman softly told him, "I hope to have a full nest before you leave."
She shuffled a bit away and laid down on her back. She even moved her hair out from under herself and threw it above her head, giving a flame-like shape to the pretty mass. The bridge of Irakly's nose wrinkled. "Your voice has turned cold. Will you have more lies for me?"
Her head turned to one side, and he watched the shadows darken her pretty cheek. "I've never intended to lie to Your Majesty."
"Yet you do lie on occasion," Irakly said as he crawled over to one side of her and then got up to his knees. "Whenever I demand the warmth from your belly," here, he let his fingertips graze the fabric over her abdomen, "there are times when you pretend it's not there, that you only receive me because of your societal and political needs." His hand curved, his fingernails danced around. "You're human, Little Bacon, but you pretend that isn't so."
He saw movement, a tiny flex in that belly.
"My Lord," she murmured almost sadly, "Have I not been a loyal and just wife? Please don't taunt me."
"Ah, pitiable." His fingers moved to one of the woman's sides, where they plucked and tugged on a sneaky bit of lacing. "I can't see your eyes, but I imagine they're quite furious."
He saw the fingers of one of her hands flex sharply. "I don't understand," she said.
"Even when your body is meek, even when your control your hands," he had some of her gown open here, "even when you turn your face away from me, there's still danger in your eyes. As beautiful as a poisonous frog from a tropical forest."
He was working on the laces on her other side when she asked, "Have you compared me to a frog?"
"A very lovely frog that one shouldn't eat." Irakly had the gown loosened, and he reached up to pull and gather her collar down, even more than that, for her upper arms and bosom soon weren't covered by that gown. The plain chemise was there instead, a thin boundary hiding the creamy skin. "Very charming as well. Now, my Little Darling, what dreadful thoughts are mixing in your mind?"
"I have no answer, My Lord."
He'd expected that.
Irakly used his hands to support his weight as he leaned over the woman, and his lips slid and pressed onto her throat. He felt the muscles twitch, even felt a little swallow, as if the she'd nervously taken some saliva down. He whispered into this soft flesh, "A beautiful little deceiver. How can one not be drawn to such an interesting woman?"
