Story of the Day: The Washing of Feet

 The Washing of Feet

As Lamir was either taking his small meal of fig leaves and tea at this time or delighting in Hinnia’s perfection, Ladrei thought it advisable to enter first and announce their call. He did show a presentiment for interrupting his highness during the more comforting portion of the evening, and while he was used to see Lamir in rapturous bliss- as much as his austere character could express- Ladrei had held some remorse for the disturbance, though Hinnia was ordered never to cease their session unless Lamir should demand it. He had almost expect to find his prince in the midst of tasting his succulent attendant, but upon entering the main room of the royal chambers, he discovered a very different style of enjoyment.

                There, sitting in his chair by the balcony was Prince Lamir, and sitting at his side was Hinnia. His feet were soaking in a basin of steam water, and she was resting on her knees with a clean cloth in her hand, dipping the end into the water and abrading it along her master’s shins to wipe away any sand that yet clung to him from his training in the yard that afternoon. She raised her features momentarily to him to gauge his delecation of her motions, and from his calm sternness she derived that he enjoyed it excessively. She smiled at him in a wistful and reverential manner, incurring a tapered gaze of fondness and a touch on the cheek from the back of his hand. She triumphed in his quiet affection, blushed and recollected herself, and continued washing her master’s feet. She observed him from the corner of her eye, noting that his gaze was never away from her. The exuberance of being under the constant scrutiny of so powerful and attentive a creature made her heart flutter, and even more gratifying was the sensation of his fingers stroking her long black curls.

                Here was Lamir’s quiet pleasure: the tranquility and exultation of doting on the woman at his side, paying her looks of profound consideration in secret, browsing her silken hair with his hand and delighting in the suppleness and colour of her complexion. This was his evening glory: basking in her delicate touch. She was all perfection, and he had only to admire her and revel in the notion of her being his every evening when the sagacity of the sages at the assembly had done with him. The glow of her cheek, the softness of her eyes, her beauty, her attention, her obedience, and her tolerance was all his rapturous comfort. He would ravish her to convey how pleased he was with her, but having her hand continually brush over his feet and leg was a remarkable regale.

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