Underneath it all.

"You'll need to undress," one of the women ordered from behind Tic, distracting him from his awe of the luxurious marble chamber. He felt his face burn for a moment, and cast his eyes down to the white floor as a towel was placed in his hands. He glanced unwillingly, helplessly, around the chamber, to the waiting eyes and pressing time, and proceeded to shed his garments.

Wrapping the towel around a thin waist, he stepped forward and sank his feet into the readily filling bath. The warm water was lavished over him and his thoughts, relaxing his body with an unpleasantly pleasant feeling. Soft drips and splashes echoed silently through the white marble chamber, while a vague mist coated the air. The three women passed about him stoically and silently, pouring out small basins of steaming water into his foaming bath. Finding comfort through staid silence, Tic gave out a soft sigh, and gave into his stifling thoughts.

And what was his captor doing? Suddenly treating him so sweetly, so urbanely...? It confused and surprised him, only to worsen his timorous conditions. He'd seen Larkin's anger; felt it too. He knew the man could have him killed at so much as a whisper, or a swift piercing of the neck. And so why should Larkin waste his energy on kindness -- on Tic? Was there something he was trying to hide? Something hidden underneath a guise of clemency? Tic couldn't help but feel suspicious. "Never trust what you do not know," Larkin had said. And Tic couldn't agree more with his words.
"What's your name, boy?" a sudden voice inquired.
"What?" Tic gasped, yanked out of his thoughts.
"Your name," another voice smiled.
"Tic," he replied quickly, lowering his head. He felt the smiles of the women around him, and shifted uncomfortably.
"You know, I think he likes you," a voice sounded behind him.
"W-who..?" Tic stuttered softly, barely audible.
"Who do you think?" Tic gasped as he felt a sudden downpour of water upon his hair; he was blinded by the sodden bangs that lay across his eyes. He felt his face redden as hushed laughter fell across the room. Bringing a hand to his forehead, he wiped the wet hair from his view.
"Ohh, do you see his eyes?" one of them whispered.
"Nothing compared to Larkin's," another rebuked. The three chuckled.
A few more minutes of silence passed. Sufficiently cleansed, Tic rose from the bath, towel at his waist.

One of the servants handed him a bundle of new, untouched clothes. They were a clean, white color that were sure to make him presentable. He pulled them on hastily, thoroughly uncomfortable with the leering eyes. The women then took to his hair and flattening out the wrinkles of his new garments, touching him gently with skilled hands. After the servants put everything in their places, they took his arm, and began leading him out. For a fleeting moment, he grasped the idea of escape -- which quickly diminished as the guard at the door followed them on their way.