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Scheherazade and the King Ch. 02

By: millenialfox



Disclaimer: I'm sorry this chapter is a little shorter than the first. I will try to make sure Chapter 3 is longer. Thank you to all those readers who have commented and voted.




Shariyar's amber eyes opened with the first rays of the rising sun. The first thing he noticed was that the girl was not in his arms.

The king shot up in bed and glanced agitatedly around the room. The girl was nowhere to be seen. Shariyar threw off the covers and wrapped himself in his robe as he began to search the chamber. She was not in the bathing room, she had not found her way into the queen's quarters... Shariyar was about to storm out into the corridor and question his guards when he realised he had not checked the balcony.

Shariyar walked out onto the balcony, nervous for a moment that the girl had jumped. Instead he found her curled up in a corner, wrapped in the towel he had given her the night before.

"Wake up, gypsy," Shariyar said gruffly.

Scheherazade's eyes fluttered open and she looked around dazedly.

"Do you not remember making the decision to sleep out here?" Shariyar asked, his brow furrowing.

The girl grimaced as she pulled herself to her feet. Her head was pounding from dehydration and she swayed slightly as she stood before the king.

"May I have some water?" She asked, her voice hoarse.

"Answer me first."

"I just wanted to be beneath the stars," she murmured.

"You won't eat off the ground but given the choice between the floor and a bed, you'd choose the former," Shariyar taunted disdainfully. "You're a foolish girl."

He turned on his heel and walked inside, gesturing to a bottle on the table. Scheherazade poured herself a glass of water and sat down at the table, downing three glasses in quick succession as Shariyar dressed for the day.

When the king was fully clothed he turned his attention back on the girl: "You had a nightmare last night."

Scheherazade swallowed and turned her wide eyes away from Shariyar.

"Do you remember?"

The girl shook her head, staring pointedly at her knees.

"Fine," Shariyar muttered. 

"I don't," Scheherazade said staunchly.

"Was it me?" Shariyar asked, pulling Scheherazade to her feet roughly. "Huh? Were you dreaming about me?"

"You wish," Scheherazade whispered angrily. "You could never live up to the man in my nightmares."

"Watch me try," Shariyar scowled.

"Why would you want to?" Scheherazade asked, her eyes blazing. "He was a monster. He deserved his death a thousand times over."

"I am well on my way to deserving the same," Shariyar said. His voice was thick with anger but, just before he turned away, Scheherazade could have sworn she saw sadness gleaming in his dark eyes.

"You will remain here," the king said as he walked to the door. "I will be back tonight."

Shariyar did not look back at the girl as he slammed the door shut behind him. He left his guards so they could watch over her and so that he could be alone with his thoughts.

The king walked through the palace slowly, eventually making his way to the inner courtyard. The gardens were still wrapped in morning's dewy embrace, and the heady perfume of dark blossoms filled the air.

Shariyar breathed in deeply, hoping that the fresh air would help clear his head. He did not know what to think: Not only had he let the girl live, but he had fallen asleep with her in his arms. He had not held a woman like that since his wife.

"Fool," he muttered, unsure as to whether he was addressing himself or the gypsy.

He wandered down the cobbled paths aimlessly until he found himself at the gnarled old tree he and Jafar used to climb as boys. It was the only one tall enough to give them a glimpse of the city that lay beyond the palace walls. He ran a hand over the knotted bark and was close to becoming lost in his memories when he heard footsteps.

Shariyar was the last person Jafar expected - or wanted - to see as he rounded the corner to his favourite place in the courtyard. He started when he saw the king standing beneath the old tree.

"Good morning, your highness," Jafar said, confusion evident in his voice.

"Do you remember this tree, Jafar?" Shariyar asked, staring up at the twisting branches above his head. "We used to pretend it was the mast of a sailing ship or the tower of the enemy's keep."

"I remember it well," Jafar said cautiously. The vizier studied his friend carefully, trying to figure out what could possibly have prompted him to venture here. And alone... the king's guards were nowhere in sight.

"I was never meant to marry Nasrin," Shariyar said suddenly, breaking Jafar's concentration. "Do you remember that, Jafar?"

The vizier's eyes narrowed but he nodded as the memories returned suddenly. He had not thought about the betrothal in years. Certainly it seemed a lifetime ago that Shariyar's father announced to the young prince that he was to be engaged to the princess of a powerful but tiny kingdom over the ocean.

"I can't even remember what her name was," the king said.

"It was an age ago," Jafar whispered.

"What?"

"It was an age ago," he said again. "I can't remember either."

"It was so strange to think of getting married," Shariyar reminisced.

Even the concept of a betrothal had seemed very strange to the two young men. Shariyar and Jafar had both assumed that the future King of kings would have the right to choose his own bride. For Shariyar to be engaged and to a girl years younger than him... well, the whole thing had seemed preposterous. 

"Your father didn't even tell you," Jafar said. "Remember? If we hadn't have been trying to sneak into the harem, we never would have overheard him planning away your future."

"Didn't stop us from getting into the harem though, did it?" Shariyar chuckled slightly.

"I don't think wild dogs could have kept us from stealing a glance at those women," Jafar said. He could not help but smile at Shariyar's laughter. No matter what his friend had done, it warmed Jafar's heart to see him happy. Even if just for a moment.

"What ever happened to the princess, I wonder?" Shariyar mused.

"I don't know," Jafar said. "We were too young to care."

"Not to mention it was not long after that that my father passed," Shariyar said. "If I cared at all about the betrothal, I cared even less after that."

Jafar nodded solemnly, remembering how grief had struck at his friend like a sickness. It took over his life, consuming his every waking minute for years until, finally, Nasrin entered his life and reintroduced happiness to the king's countenance. That was another reason why her betrayal had shaken the very foundations of his sanity - she had been the one to pull him from the depths. Without her, there was nothing to keep him from sinking back into that dark place and staying there.

"Perhaps that was when my bad luck with women began," Shariyar chuckled darkly, finally turning his back to the old tree.

Jafar cleared his throat but did not comment.

"What appointments do I have this morning?" Shariyar asked, motioning for Jafar to follow him back to the palace.

"Um, this morning you have a military strategy meeting with your generals," Jafar said, quickly catching up with the king. The list of Shariyar's meetings for the day ran on until the pair stepped back inside the castle.

"A full day then," Shariyar said wearily after Jafar finished. "We'd best get started."

"Before we begin," Jafar said slowly, "where is Scheherazade?"

Shariyar stopped in his tracks and rounded on the vizier: "She is not your concern."

"I just want to know if she is still alive," Jafar said.

The king said nothing, simply reached into his pocket and pulled out the ivory charm Jafar had given the girl.

"Why did you give this to the gypsy?" He asked, dropping the charm in Jafar's outstretched hand.

"I wanted to," he said.

"You wanted a piece of flotsam to have the charm you carved for your mother?" Shariyar asked. 

"Can you not see that she is something special?" Jafar countered exasperatingly.

"She is no more beautiful than any whore you'd find at a brothel," the king said dismissively. "She is a mouthy little slave girl who needs to be reminded of her place. And that is what I intend to do."

"Then she is still alive?" Jafar asked, hope creeping into his voice.

"For now," the king murmured, his eyes simmering. "But you'd do best not to mention her again."

Jafar inhaled deeply but nodded, bowing his head as Shariyar turned. He followed the king through the palace, his heart racing with the knowledge that the girl had survived, not one, but two nights.

Perhaps Shariyar would not kill her after all.

++++++

When Shariyar was gone, Scheherazade climbed back into the bed, pulling the sheets around herself and staring around the room.

She fell asleep for another hour or so. When she woke again there was no sign that any servants had come. She should have known better than to expect Shariyar to remember the clothes he had promised her.

Scheherazade climbed out of bed and wrapped Shariyar's robe around herself, shivering at the memories its scent evoked. She rolled her shoulders and walked over to the table. She plucked a handful of dried dates from the bowl and sat down, tucking her legs up on her chair as she nibbled at the sweet fruit.

Scheherazade waited patiently for hours, but no servants appeared. 

Finally she pulled the door open and found herself face-to-face with two of Shariyar's armed guards.

"I need something to wear," she said, looking from one helmeted face to the other. "Please? The king said the servants would bring me something."

The guards looked at each other and then one pulled the door shut. Scheherazade gasped angrily in surprise but, just as she turned her back, the doors opened again to let Jafar in.

"Jafar!" The girl exclaimed, wrapping him in an embrace.

"Scheherazade, are you all right?" Jafar asked, his face in her neck.

The girl pulled away and shrugged, hugging the robe tighter around her body.

"Did he hurt you?"

"Not compared to how I used to be treated," she replied.

"I don't have much time," Jafar said apologetically. "And Shariyar can't know I was here."

"I understand," she murmured.

"What did he do to you?" Jafar whispered, running his hands down her arms.

The girl shrugged, refusing to look him in the eye.

"Scheherazade, please," Jafar said.

"You must understand, since I can remember I have been a slave,"she responded. "This is what fate has chosen for me."

"That does not mean that you have to resign yourself to this," the vizier said angrily. "I could have saved you!"

"If you had then you would be dead right now," she reminded him. "Instead we both have our lives."

"What kind of life is this?" He asked.

She smiled sadly: "Mine."

The girl took a step back so she was out of Jafar's reach: "He promised me clothes."

Jafar cleared his throat and nodded.

"I will have something brought for you," he said as he walked towards the doors.

"Please do not be angry with me, Jafar," Scheherazade whispered.

Jafar stopped in his tracks and turned to face the girl. The look in her eyes melted his heart - the thought of him being upset with her seemed to sting her even more sharply than Shariyar's whip.

"I am not angry with you," he said earnestly, walking back to catch her up in his arms. "How could I be angry with you? You saved my life."

The vizier hugged Scheherazade tightly, savouring the touch of her skin, before pulling away reluctantly.

"I must go," he said. "But I will make sure you are clothed. It is the least I can do."

"Thank you," the girl said.

She felt empty when the vizier closed the doors behind him. She had nothing to do now but wait for someone to bring her a dress, and then for Shariyar to tear it off her.

++++++

Night had long fallen by the time Shariyar returned to his chambers. He pushed open the doors wearily.

The girl was out on the balcony, leaning over the railing with her face raised to the stars. She did not turn around when she heard his footsteps.

He joined her on the balcony and looked up at the sky.

"Nasrin used to love coming out here to watch the stars find their places in the sky," he said softly. "She knew all the constellations."

"What did she do to you?" Scheherazade asked softly.

"She betrayed me for another man," he said, trying to keep all emotion from his responses. "After years and years of marriage, she tried to kill me in my sleep. But I overpowered her and the knife meant for my throat found hers instead."

"I am sorry," the girl whispered.

Shariyar turned to look at the girl and noticed suddenly that she was wearing a servant's shift. Scheherazade looked out of place in the plain dress - her long limbs were far too graceful to be clothed only in rough cotton.

"Where did you get that dress?" He asked.

"Abbas brought it up for me," she replied, smoothing out the wrinkles.

"Abbas?" The king asked sharply.

"He's one of your servants," Scheherazade answered, raising her eyebrows at him.

"Oh, yes, of course," Shariyar muttered, looking away from the girl.

"You don't know your own servants' names?" She asked.

"Why should I?" Shariyar snapped.

There was silence for a moment as Scheherazade looked away from the king's burning gaze.

"Come inside," Shariyar muttered, turning on his heel.

Scheherazade followed the king inside, wondering at how quickly the man's mood shifted.

Shariyar suddenly rounded on the girl, his amber eyes gleaming.

"Servants' garb suits you," he said mockingly. "But those charms in your hair do not."

Scheherazade's eyes widened and her hands went instinctively to her locks: "What?"

"Take them out," Shariyar said darkly.

"No, Shariyar," she said plaintively, "they are my only possessions."

"A couple shells and beads?" He asked scornfully.

"I-I've had them ever since I can remember," she said pleadingly. "They are my only clues to who I might have been."

"You think I give a shit?" Shariyar asked contemptuously. "Why would anyone care who you were? You're nothing and you always have been."

A tear dripped down Scheherazade's cheek and she lowered her eyes.

"Take them out," the king said slowly, pronouncing each word carefully.

"If I do, may I keep them?" She asked.

"Maybe," he said, a dark smile lingering on his lips. "But if you refuse to take them out, then know that I will cut them from your hair and you will never see them again."

The girl nodded and went to sit down at the table, tears falling softly as she undid the braids holding the trinkets in her hair. One by one she placed each semiprecious stone, polished shell, clay bead, and carved charm on the table. When she was finished, there was a colourful line of momentos laid out neatly before her.

Shariyar walked over to the table and swept the keepsakes into his hand.

"What are you going to do with them?" Scheherazade asked, rising to follow him. "Please let me keep them at least."

"I will make sure they are somewhere very safe, gypsy," the king said grimly. "Now sit back down at the table and keep that relentless mouth of yours shut."

Scheherazade watched helplessly as Shariyar stormed out of the room, his fist full of the only things she had ever called her own.

As the guards pulled the doors shut, the girl sunk to her knees and cried into her palms. Her tattoos tingled furiously as the tears streamed down her cheeks. Never could Scheherazade have imagined that something so little being taken away from her could hurt so much... She had lost so much more in her life. 

"Why me?" She whispered between sobs to the empty room. "Why am I always so hated? What did I do?"

She was still crying when Shariyar re-entered the room, his hands empty. The king shook his head down at her and grabbed a fistful of her hair, wrenching her to her feet.

"You're crying more than when I beat you," he growled low. "Do you really think it matters who you were? You're a worthless little shit and you always have been."

Scheherazade cried out in anger and swung a fist at Shariyar, catching him on his jaw. He reeled with the force of the blow, letting go of her hair as he stumbled backwards.

The girl ran towards the doors and pulled them open, dashing out before the guards had a chance to react.

"After her!" Shariyar roared at the guards, who had already sprung into action. "Bring her back!"

Scheherazade could hear the men's booted feet behind her as she sped through the palace. She raced down the marble staircase, trying desperately to remember where the entrance to the stables was.

But the guards knew the palace better than the backs of their hands, soon two had split off from the group to race through the servants' passages and emerge ahead of the girl.

Scheherazade cried out as she saw the pair emerge from a hidden door in front of her. She immediately turned to race in the other direction, but the remaining guards had caught up with her. She was trapped in the gilded hallway with nowhere left to run.

"Come on!" She screamed at the guards, her eyes alight.

The guards surrounded her hesitantly. Scheherazade's tear stained face was contorted in rage, her hands open but tense - as if she was just waiting to scratch out the eyes of the first man that tried to grab her. Finally, the two guards closest to her suddenly lunged at her arms.

Scheherazade let loose an angry cry as she fought to tear herself from the men's grasps. They dragged her, kicking and screaming and pushing and pulling, all the way back to Shariyar's chambers.

When they got to the open doors, the king was waiting. Scheherazade glared at the king but did not cease her struggle, in fact, she twisted and writhed all the more fiercely.

"Take her to the dungeon, tie her up," he snarled. "Don't bother to be gentle with the bitch either."

The guards pulled the struggling girl down the hallway and through the hidden door to the dungeons. One of the men hoisted her over his shoulder, pinning her legs under one arm so that she could not kick him as they wound down the narrow stairs. Her fists were no match to his armour but she aimed a couple well-timed elbows to the exposed section of the back of his neck.

When the guards finally strung her up, the guard she had elbowed rounded on her.

"If I thought my master would grant it, I would ask his permission to discipline you myself," he snarled.

Shariyar's voice suddenly filled the room: "You have my permission, soldier."

The man's lips curled into a grim smile: "Thank you, my king."

Scheherazade's eyes blazed as the soldier stepped back from her. He winked at her and then swung a punch directly into her stomach.

The girl cried out in pain and her knees gave way beneath her. Shariyar's eyes filled with a lustful fire as she choked down desperate breaths.

"That will be all," Shariyar said, dismissing the soldiers with a wave of his hand.

Scheherazade struggled to regain her breath as the men filed out of the room.

"I think he wanted to do more to you than what I let him," Shariyar said, circling the girl slowly.

He ran his hand across different parts of Scheherazade's body as he walked, his fingers lingering on her thigh, her forearm, her neck, her waist, her ass, her breasts...

"I could have let him do more," he whispered darkly. "I could have let him fuck you. I could have let them all fuck you."

Scheherazade slowly returned to her feet.

"Would you like that?" Shariyar asked, returning to stand before her. "Would you enjoy them grabbing at you?"

The girl inhaled deeply, her lips trembling.

Shariyar laughed quietly to himself as he placed his hands on the collar of her dress and slowly began to tear it in two. Scheherazade's breasts rose and fell sharply as they were exposed.


Scheherazade and the King Ch. 02



The king knelt down as he pulled her dress apart, brushing his nose and lips against her body as it was revealed. He smiled as the dress fell apart and his face was before Scheherazade's sex. The girl tried to close her legs but Shariyar forced them apart and began to kiss the insides of her thighs.

Scheherazade closed her eyes and tried to keep her lips from trembling. She could feel Shariyar's breath on her sex, feel his lips brushing against her... Then his tongue was whispering against the folds of her skin.

"Please," she breathed. "Stop."

Shariyar looked up at her but he did not stop.

"Stop," she begged. "Please don't do this."

The king pulled away and stared up at her. He licked his lips mockingly: "But you're so wet, little gypsy, do you really want me to stop?"

Scheherazade glared down at Shariyar.

"Yes," she managed through gritted teeth.

"Because you want me to give you something else?" He asked. Shariyar toyed at the entrance to her sex with his fingers.

"No, please stop," she said.

Shariyar ignored her and began to push his finger inside her, marvelling once again at the tightness of her pussy. He groaned as he remembered how it felt to fuck her... His balls grew heavier at the thought and his hardness was almost painful.

The king withdrew his finger suddenly and stood up sharply. He licked and bit at Scheherazade's breasts as he fumbled with his pants.

When his cock was free, he raised his face to meet Scheherazade's and held her gaze. Her eyes widened as he slowly slid his cock inside her but she did not look away.

Shariyar moaned and closed his eyes as he drove deep inside the girl.

"Fuck you are tight," he growled. "You can feel every inch of me, can't you?"

The girl gritted her teeth and closed her eyes as he began to thrust in and out of her.

"You've never had a cock this big inside you, have you?" Shariyar murmured breathily, his fingernails digging sharply into her hips. "Have you? Huh? Have you, you fucking whore?"

"No," Scheherazade managed finally.

Shariyar laughed under his breath as he continued to fuck her, his strokes gaining speed as he came closer and closer to climax.

He stopped suddenly and grabbed her thighs, lifting her legs off the ground so that he could penetrate her even deeper. The girl cried out as he shoved the full length of his cock inside her.

"Oh fuck yes," he moaned, beginning to pump in and out of her again. "Tell me how it feels, gypsy. Tell me."

"So deep," she whimpered. "It hurts."

"You're going to be so sore, you won't be able to run away again," he groaned. "You'll be lucky if you can walk tomorrow."

Tears spilled from Scheherazade's eyes as her lashes fluttered open. She glanced down for a split second and saw Shariyar's cock sliding in and out of her. She choked back a sob and clamped her eyes shut again.

"You don't like seeing my cock going in and out of you?" Shariyar asked, fucking her harder.

"Please stop," she gasped. "You're hurting me."

"Don't worry," he sneered, "you'll be used to my size soon enough."

Shariyar chuckled to himself again and looked down, watching with satisfaction as the length of his dick disappeared inside the girl.

"I'm going to fill your tight little cunt with my cum," he murmured lustily. "Are you ready for it? You ready for my seed to fill you?"

"No, no, please," Scheherazade cried out, her voice breaking.

"Here it comes," Shariyar panted. "Oh, fuck, I'm cumming. Take it, take it all you fucking slut."

Shariyar shuddered as he emptied his cum inside the girl. He was breathing heavily as he pulled out and let go of Scheherazade's legs. The girl hung from her binds, tears trickling down her face, and cum leaking down her thighs.

The king cleared his throat and pulled his trousers back on.

"Are you going to be obedient if I bring you back to my chambers?" He asked, fastening his trousers.

The girl did not respond.

"I asked you a question," Shariyar said, lifting her chin.

Scheherazade's trembling lips curled into an angry snarl.

"I'll take that as a "no"," Shariyar snapped, letting her chin fall. "Fine, stay down here in the dark with the rats. It's where you belong anyway."

The king turned on his heel and walked back up the stairs, taking the only remaining torch with him and leaving the girl in darkness.

Scheherazade's tattoos burned her skin as she struggled to hold back her tears.

"Please, give me strength," she whispered into the darkness.

++++++

Jafar stole through the darkened hallways of the palace in silence. No matter how hard Shariyar tried to keep his movements secret, the servants always seemed to know where he was and what he had been doing. Jafar had only needed to spend ten minutes in the kitchens to find out that the king had disappeared into the dungeons with the girl again but that she had not come out.

He walked quietly down the hallway, scanning the shadows in case Shariyar had left any of his guards to watch the dungeon door. He had not.

The vizier picked the lock with ease - the childhood pranks he and Shariyar had pulled off had left him with some useful skills - and gently closed the door behind him.

The darkness was complete. Not a single ray of light penetrated into these dark recesses of the palace. Jafar repressed a shudder and rummaged in his bag for the flint he would need to light one of the torches. Within moments the oil-soaked cloth caught a spark, giving Jafar the light he needed to make his way safely down the narrow staircase.

"Scheherazade?" The vizier whispered as he finally reached the bottom of the stairs.

"Jafar?" The girl replied hopefully. She had been strung up just as before: Her wrists wrenched high above her head, her toes barely touching the floor. The ripped remains of her dress were strewn on the ground around her.

"Yes, it's me," he replied, placing the torch in one of the many metal holders that dotted the rough clay walls.

"You shouldn't be here," she whispered. "If Shariyar finds out..."

"He won't," Jafar said, placing his bag on the ground. He walked over to the girl and cradled her face gently, kissing her softly on her forehead before reaching up to untie her wrists.

The exhausted girl collapsed to the floor as soon as Jafar loosed her wrists.

"Scheherazade!" Jafar cried, sinking to his knees in front of her. "I'm sorry! Are you alright?"

"Yes, yes, I'm fine," she said, her tone apologetic. "I'm just tired."

"Don't be sorry," he whispered, pulling off his coat and wrapping it around her shoulders. "I'm the one who should be sorry."

The girl clutched the coat around herself and shook her head: "I'm fine, I really am."

Jafar looked at the girl with heartbreak in his eyes. He was the one who had put her in this situation, but she was the one lying to protect him.

The pair knelt in silence for a moment.

"I brought you some food," Jafar said finally. "And water."

"Thank you," Scheherazade whispered.

Jafar rooted through his bag, pulling out a leather flask of water and some meat and bread wrapped in cloth.

He watched as the girl ate, guilt churning in his gut. The girl had no reason to be atoning for his sins and yet, here she was, naked in a dungeon, feeding off smuggled scraps.

"Scheherazade," he said suddenly, breaking the silence, "where are you from?"

"I don't know," she said between mouthfuls. "I can't remember anything before a few years ago."

"Do you know how old you are?"

The girl shook her head as she swallowed the last of the bread: "But I think I'm older than I look."

Jafar held out the flask to her. The girl gulped it down within a few moments.

"Why can't you remember?"

Scheherazade closed the flask and handed it back to Jafar before answering.

"I had an, um - " she paused for a moment, fidgeting restlessly with the cloth as she tried to find her words.

"Accident," she said finally. "When I came to, I couldn't remember anything and I couldn't speak. From things I heard my master say, I knew I had not always been a slave but all my memories start from when I was. He sold me, my new masters abandoned me in the desert and that's where a Daarkan lady found me. She took me in and brought me back to health but I never regained my memories."

"Where were you headed when your ship foundered?" Jafar asked.

"I had not yet decided," she admitted. "But the Daarkan lady was something of a mystic. She told me that I had to leave if I was to find out who I was. She said I needn't worry about planning where to go, that Fate would lead me. But she said I would endure more suffering before I found my way home."

"And you went anyway?" He asked incredulously.

"Wouldn't you?" She replied.

"Who was your master?" Jafar asked, ignoring her question.

"The only thing you need to know about him is that he's dead," she said icily. "I do not speak his name."

"But I might be able to help you find out where you're from," Jafar said. "Tell me his name."

"He took many slaves," she said. "You will not be able to figure out which one of his many conquests my captivity resulted from."

"But you speak our language," Jafar pressed, "surely that will narrow it down."

"I speak six languages," Scheherazade said wearily. "I do not know which one is my native tongue."

"Six?" Jafar repeated.

"At least," the girl shrugged. "There might be more. Just last year someone spoke Greek to me and, to both our surprise, I responded."

Jafar shook his head in wonder: "You are a mystery, Scheherazade."

The girl sighed and glanced sadly around the room: "You should tie me back up and leave."

"No," Jafar said. "At least get some sleep first."

Scheherazade nodded reluctantly and curled up against the wall beside Jafar. He pulled her into his chest and held her close, listening as her breathing slowed in sleep.

The vizier tried to keep his own eyes open but, after a while, he was deep in sleep as well.

++++++++

"Well, well, well, isn't this a surprise..."

Jafar's eyes shot open at the sound of Shariyar's dark voice. He moved slightly, causing Scheherazade to moan out loud in her sleep.

Shariyar's upper lip curled as Jafar glared up at him defiantly.

"What are you doing with my whore?" Shariyar asked.

Scheherazade's eyes fluttered open and she started in Jafar's arms when her eyes lit on Shariyar.

"Oh good, she knows her name," the king taunted.

Shariyar reached down and grabbed Scheherazade's upper arm, pulling her violently to her feet.

"Shariyar, this has gone too far," Jafar said, leaping to his feet.

"I told you that she was none of your concern," Shariyar snapped. "I fucking told you to stay away from her."

"You need help, Shariyar," Jafar seethed. "You are sick."

"Guards!" Shariyar roared.

Six armed men came running down the stairs, their weapons drawn.

"Arrest this man for treason," Shariyar ordered. "I will see him hanged before sunset."

"No!" Scheherazade cried, trying to pull away from the king and reach Jafar. "Please, Shariyar, don't!"

Suddenly there were two guards flanking Jafar. They gripped his arms roughly and refused to let him struggle away.

"No, please! Please!" The girl screamed. Her voice was thick with sadness and anger. 

"Keep it up and I will make sure you are there to watch him die," Shariyar snarled, his fingers digging into Scheherazade's arm.

"He won't do it, Scheherazade," Jafar said, his glare fixed on Shariyar.

"Yes I will," Shariyar said simply. "She knows I will."

"Please, Shariyar, kill me instead," Scheherazade begged.

"No," the king snapped. "You have already saved his life once."

"But he's your friend, your advisor," she cried. "And you would value his life over that of a whore?"

Shariyar snatched a sword from one of the guard's fingers and held it against Scheherazade's throat.

"Say it again," he commanded breathlessly. "Tell me what you are."

"I'm a whore," she said measuredly. Her eyes held his, unflinching.

"What kind of whore?"

"A worthless whore."

"Whose worthless whore are you?"

"Yours," Scheherazade said through gritted teeth.

Shariyar lowered the sword and nodded at the guards flanking Jafar. They did not move from the vizier's sides but they let his arms go.

"Fine. Jafar will not die today," he said. "But you will be punished in his stead. And Jafar will choose what form that punishment will take."

Jafar's eyes flashed angrily as they lit upon the king.

"Either she will stand out in the stocks for a week, naked, for the entire kingdom to see, or she will service each and every one of my guards, or she will get fifty lashes," Shariyar said. "Your choice, Jafar."

"I will not choose," Jafar said. "She has done nothing wrong."

"You will choose or she will endure all three!" Shariyar roared.

Jafar caught Scheherazade's azure eyes and she gazed at him with such understanding and heartfelt emotion that he could not bear to see her humiliated or degraded.

"The whip," he said, his proud shoulders slumping in defeat.

"I was hoping to see her covered in my soldiers' cum but I suppose she could use with a good lashing," Shariyar smiled darkly. "And you will get to strike the first blow, Jafar."

"No," Jafar said heatedly. "That I will not do."

"If you don't, she will get ten more lashes," Shariyar said, his eyes sparking.

Jafar cursed as the guards strung Scheherazade up by her wrists.

"Don't do this," the vizier begged. "Please don't do this."

"Shut up, Jafar," Shariyar growled. "If you had stayed away from the girl we wouldn't be here."

Jafar hung his head and walked slowly to stand in front of Scheherazade. He reached out to gently cradle her face in his hands.

"He's right," he whispered, pressing his forehead against hers. "This is all my fault."

"No," Scheherazade murmured. "Don't say that."

"I can't do it," he said. "I can't hurt you."

"Yes you can, and you must," she breathed through quivering lips. "Please just do it."

Shariyar pulled Jafar away from the girl and handed him the barbed whip. Then Shariyar went to stand in front of Scheherazade, gripping her chin tightly between his fingers. Her eyes burned with fierce anger but he smirked at her trembling lips.

"Didn't I tell you you'd come to know fear?" He asked mockingly. "Now, Jafar."

The vizier pulled the whip back and let it fly against the girl's skin. She screamed and clamped her eyes shut.

Shariyar smiled ruefully at the girl's pained expression: "Again. Harder."

He made Jafar deliver the first ten lashes before taking over. Jafar was immediately before the girl, gently stroking her face and whispering apologies and sweet words of encouragement in her ear as Shariyar delivered blow after menacing blow. The barbs tore through her skin and blood dripped down her ass and thighs. By the time Shariyar delivered the last blow, Scheherazade was out of tears and out of screams. She hung in the restraints lifelessly, her eyes barely open and her lips bleeding from where she had bitten them raw.

Shariyar threw the whip down and pushed Jafar away. He slapped Scheherazade's cheek and her eyes fluttered open slowly.

"Can you hear me?"

The girl nodded slightly.

"You are no longer allowed to speak with Jafar, look at him, or touch him," he said. "Do you under-stand?"

The girl nodded and then let her head fall.

"And you," Shariyar said, turning on his heel to face Jafar, "you will not go near her again."

Jafar's eyes blazed: "She needs to be seen by a doctor."

"She is not your concern," Shariyar snapped, his chest inches from Jafar's. "How many times do I have to tell you?"

"She'll die if she doesn't," Jafar said staunchly.

"So she dies," Shariyar shrugged, turning away from the vizier. "She said she would for you."

"I am going to summon Hazim," Jafar said. "Allow him to treat her."

"Fine," Shariyar said, his upper lip curling. "Call him. But get out."

"Fine," Jafar snarled. He cast one last look at the girl and then stalked up the stairs.

A few minutes later, Hazim appeared, the old man's face was grim. Shariyar nodded towards the girl and then left. The guards would allow no one else into the dungeon.

Hazim gently undid the straps holding Scheherazade aloft. He gripped her tightly to keep her from falling and gently laid her on the ground.

"I'm sorry, my dear," Hazim said. "So sorry."

Scheherazade just moaned. 

"Please, child, if you can, lie on your stomach."

The girl whimpered as she rolled onto her stomach. Dr. Hazim cleaned her wounds and bandaged them as best he could. He gently pulled Scheherazade into his arms so that he could wind the bandages around her torso. The girl's thin frame shook as he worked and even when he lay her back on the floor, her limbs still quivered.

"Scheherazade," he said, spreading his cloak on the ground for her to lie on, "roll onto my cloak. You shouldn't have to lie in the dirt."

"He'll just take it away," she said.

"I will tell him not to."

"If he listened to anyone but the voices in his head then we wouldn't be in this situation," she said, a hint of bitterness tainting her melodic voice.

The doctor sighed but picked his cloak back up off the floor. He rummaged around in his medicine chest for something to ease the girl's pain.

"Tell him it's not his fault," the girl whispered.

Hazim returned to her side, medicine in hand.

"Who, dear?" The doctor asked as he helped her sit up to take a pain killer.

"Jafar," she murmured hoarsely. "Remind him that I chose this path. I chose this."

"My child," Dr. Hazim said softly, "the only person who deserves this treatment is the one doling it out to you."

"Shariyar has suffered. Anger and sorrow can twist a man's soul."

"Do not pity him," the doctor said firmly. "He stopped being worthy of our pity a long time ago."

"Will you tell Jafar what I said?"

"I will," Hazim said, offering the girl a kind smile.

Scheherazade smiled weakly back and then closed her eyes. Hazim waited until she was asleep before draping his cloak over her body. 

He collected his things as quietly as he could and ascended the stairs. When he knocked on the door, the guards pulled it open to reveal Shariyar pacing the hall restlessly.

He stopped when he heard the door shut and turned to the doctor.

"Well?" He snapped.

"Well what?" Hazim asked.

"Will she live?"

"No," the doctor said flatly.

The colour drained slightly from Shariyar's face but his expression remained neutral.

"Not if you continue to treat her like this," Hazim continued, pretending not to have noticed the fear that crept suddenly into his king's eyes or the way his skin had blanched at the thought of Scheherazade being gone.

"Then she is alive?"

"For now," Hazim said grimly. "But it is clear that you mean to kill her. And one day, perhaps very soon, you will get your wish at last."

Shariyar sneered at the doctor but did not dismiss him.

"You will treat her, Hazim," Shariyar ordered. "How long do you need?"

"You cannot be serious!" The doctor exclaimed incredulously. "You want me to heal her just so you can do it all over again, don't you?"

"How long do you need?" Shariyar repeated. "And remember, doctor, that you have a duty to her under your oaths and a duty to me as your king."

Hazim closed his eyes and shook his head. He had known Shariyar from when he was just a child. How he had become the creature that stood before him now, bloodlust flickering in his eyes, was hard to comprehend.

"I never thought I would see you like this, Shariyar," he murmured. "You were such a happy boy."

Shariyar's eyes flamed: "You have two days."

"Two days?" He cried. "She cannot be healed in two days!"

"How long do you need?" Shariyar asked for the third time, annunciating each word carefully, dangerously.




Scheherazade and the King Ch. 02



"Two weeks at the least."

"You may have five days," Shariyar said sharply. "She is not to leave the medical quarters or have contact with anyone other than yourself and your nurses. If Jafar attempts to come near her, you will report him to me."

Hazim glowered but nodded.

The king instructed one of his guards to stay and carry the girl to the infirmary before turning on his heel, his cloak billowing out behind him as he stalked off through the palace.

++++++++

Scheherazade's eyes fluttered open and, for a moment, she wondered whether she was in heaven. The sunlight was so bright, the room she was in so white, and every part of her body seemed bathed in a healing warmth... And then her wandering eyes found Hazim's face.

The doctor smiled warmly down at her: "Good morning, Scheherazade."

The girl murmured in response.

"Here, have some water," Hazim said, gently lifting her head so that she could drink from the cup he pressed to her lips.

Scheherazade gulped down the water greedily, draining the glass in seconds.

"Thank you," she whispered hoarsely.

"Shhh, rest your voice," Hazim admonished gently.

Scheherazade sighed deeply and nodded, thanking Hazim with a wordless smile after he refilled the glass with more water and brought it for her.





"Scheherazade?" the doctor asked hesitantly after she finished drinking. "I have some questions for you."

"All right," the girl breathed. Even though her throat felt raw from screaming, Scheherazade was determined to answer all the doctor's questions.

"Don't speak, just nod or shake your head," he said with a sympathetic smile. "I just want to learn more about you."

Scheherazade nodded, thankful that she would not have to strain her voice any further.

"You told me that your tattoos were part of a Daarken ritual," Hazim said. 

The girl nodded, her gaze sombre.

"I have only ever read about this ritual," the doctor said. "And, like most others in my profession, I only ever thought it to be a myth."

Scheherazade shook her head vigorously.

"I know, I know," Hazim said earnestly. "I believe you, my dear."

Reassured, the girl sighed.

"But I can't even imagine what you must have endured for you to require that level of healing."

Scheherazade looked away, her bright eyes overcome with a shadow that seemed to come from inside.

"Do you know who hurt you?" Hazim asked gently.

The girl nodded but did not turn her face back towards the old man.

"Do you know how you came to be in his power?"

Scheherazade shook her head.

"Do you know who you are?"

Another shake of her tousled, blonde head. 

"Do you want to know?"

Scheherazade's azure eyes met his suddenly. The question in them was clear: Do you know?

"I do not know who you are," Hazim said apologetically, his heart heavy as Scheherazade hung her head in disappointment.

"But," he continued, "I might be able to help you find out."

The girl looked up at him again, her deep blue eyes filled with hope.

"I have friends and contacts across the globe," he said. "If you let me transcribe your tattoos and sketch your likeness, perhaps someone in my circle will know who you are."

Grateful tears filled Scheherazade's eyes and she nodded, reaching out a hand for Hazim to hold. She squeezed his hand and then lay back in bed, lifting her arms above the sheets so that the doctor could see her tattoos while she slept. Then the exhausted girl closed her azure eyes and drifted back into slumber.

++++++++

Hazim shot out of his seat at the booted footsteps he heard approaching his infirmary. The old man glowered at the door as it was opened wide for the King of kings.

"What are you doing here?" He growled at Shariyar. "You promised my five days to heal her. She has barely had a day's rest."

"And five days you shall have," the king snarled in response, his temper rising to meet Hazim's.

The doctor exhaled sharply as he sat back down at his desk: "What do you want then, Your Highness?"

Shariyar's nostrils flared at the blatant mockery in the Hazim's tone but he managed to keep his rage in check.

"I am here for a story," he said.

"Her voice is hoarse from screaming, yet you would have her entertain you with stories?" Hazim scowled.

"I can find another use for her if you'd prefer," Shariyar sneered.

"If you so much as lay a finger on her - "

"Hazim!" Shariyar interrupted. "If you wish to keep your life, then I suggest you not finish that sentence."

The doctor snapped his mouth shut angrily.

"Lead me to the girl," he commanded.

Hazim glared at the king as he motioned down the corridor: "She is in the last room on the left."

Shariyar gestured for his guards to remain with Hazim and then stalked down the white-washed hallway. He threw open the curtain to Scheherazade's room and found himself captured immediately in the girl's sapphire stare.

"Hello gypsy," he murmured.

"Shariyar," she muttered.

"I am here for the rest of Qadir's story," he said, sitting down at the edge of her cot.

"So I heard," she said.

Hazim had not been exaggerating when he said the girl's voice was strained from screaming. It almost hurt Shariyar to hear the way her words grated against the back of her throat... Almost.

Shariyar looked at the girl expectantly, waiting for her to pick up where she had left off.

"When you stopped, Mo was in the desert," he offered. "Qadir laughed because his camel, Noor, bit him."

"I know," she said simply.

Shariyar's brow furrowed when she said nothing.

"Well?" He asked agitatedly. "What happened next?"

"I can barely speak," the girl murmured. "I cannot tell you a story with my voice like this."

"I order you to," Shariyar said dangerously.

"Order me all you want," she whispered. "That will not change what I am physically capable of."

"I am being patient with you, gypsy," the king said. "I am giving you five days to recover."

"And I am grateful," she said quietly.

"Then you will finish the fucking story," he growled. "Now!"

"Come back tomorrow," Scheherazade said. "Tomorrow my voice will be rested."

"Tomorrow?" The King asked incredulously.

"Tomorrow," she nodded. "And I promise, you will get your story."



Scheherazade and the King Ch. 03



Disclaimer: Again, sorry about the length of this chapter. I've been trying to make them as long as the first one but I haven't had as much time to write recently as I would like. Thank you again to all those who have voted, commented, and offered constructive criticism. I write for myself but I publish in the hope that others will enjoy reading the story and getting to know the characters. Thank you and I hope you continue to read.




Shariyar was in a foul temper. The girl had given him an order and, even worse, he had obeyed.

"I walked out of that room like a chastised pet dog," he muttered to himself. "My tail between my fucking legs."

He paced the room agitatedly, too caught up in his own anger to even think about food or drink.

"Tomorrow," he snarled. "'Come back tomorrow', she said."

He stopped before the open window and stared out at the starry sky, massaging his forehead with one hand. Tomorrow seemed a very long way away.

Shariyar had not had a restful night since Nasrin woke him with a knife at his throat. The darkness seemed to crowd him, sending his wickedest instincts into a frenzy. He could feel those dark desires struggling against their chains like wild animals, pawing at the ground and howling at the moon, thirsting for freedom.

He scowled and turned his back to the night sky. He needed liquor and a woman. Possibly more than one... he felt a fire growing in the pit of his stomach as he thought about how he had taken Scheherazade the first time. His cock began to harden, straining against his trousers as he remembered how her whole body had quivered when he came inside her.

Shariyar wanted the gypsy's head impaled on his dick right then and there. He wanted the slut to gag on the length of his member and choke on his cum.

But, as much as he wanted the girl, he needed a willing whore tonight. He needed a seasoned slut to ride his cock and drink his cum. Shariyar fastened his cloak around his neck and pulled the hood over his head, obscuring his face in shadow. There was only one place to find the kind of woman he needed - an underground brothel on the outskirts of the city. It was kept secret to all but the most discreet of clientele. And, tonight, for the first time in many months, he would be one of them.

It was easy for Shariyar to sneak out of the palace: He was still as strong and agile as he had been as a younger man, and he knew the buildings and their grounds like the back of his hand. He climbed down the thick, creeping vines that grew outside the queen's bedroom window and disappeared into the unguarded gardens. The tree he and Jafar climbed as children was still the only one tall enough to stretch over the palace walls and he pulled himself up into its branches with a muffled grunt before following them over the rampart. He dropped to his feet outside the wall and then, after a hasty glance to be sure he was alone, took off into the night.

Shariyar slipped through the narrow alleyways of Persepolis like a shadow. The brothel was hidden beneath a decrepit house on the outskirts of the city. Perhaps some wild spirit took pleasure in the sinful den because, no matter how many times the desert threatened to consume it, the sand always seemed to keep at bay. If Shariyar were to be recognised out here, so close to the savage wilderness he had sent so many women to die in, the kingdom would probably never find all the pieces of his body. But the threat of death made the king's visits all the more exciting. Each time something moved in the shadows, Shariyar's stomach leapt and the rush of adrenaline set his heart pounding. The only thing he liked better than the dangerous journey was the reward that awaited him at its end.

By the time Shariyar reached the brothel his cock was struggling against the confines of his trousers once more. He walked into the abandoned house and knelt down a few steps inside, rapping sharply on the floor. A hidden trap door slid open - just wide enough for him to slip a bag of coins through - and then slammed shut again. A few moments passed while the guard counted the money and then the trapdoor slid open, this time wide enough for Shariyar to enter.

The guard nodded at the king as he descended the first few steps of the crooked wooden staircase before shutting the trapdoor and bolting it behind them. Shariyar waited in the darkness as the guard lit a lantern. Suddenly the wick caught and the passageway was illuminated. The guard edged past Shariyar and led him down the steep stairs. Finally the silent pair arrived at a thick wooden door. It opened slowly at a single knock from the guard. A pair of eunuchs nodded respectfully to Shariyar and then led him inside the luxuriant underground brothel.

Shariyar inhaled deeply as he was led through the carpeted corridor, taking in the scents of perfume, opium and incense that wafted through the air. From behind gauzy curtains, naked women sent coy smiles his way, flitting from their beds to gaze lustfully after him. The eunuchs stopped before a room guarded only by a heavy curtain. They held it open for Shariyar and then took their places outside the doorway.

The room was hazy with the musky smoke of burning incense and soft pillows were strewn across the carpeted floor. Shariyar pulled off his clothes, leaving them on the ground where they fell. He no longer had his hood to conceal his identity, but a mask had been laid out on the bed for him to cover his face. The mask was in the shape of a snarling wolf, it's red tongue lolling out from between fanged teeth.

"Fitting," he muttered to himself before slipping the mask over his face.

The eye-holes offered him a more narrow view of the room. He walked away from the bed and settled down in the padded embrace of a large, low chair. Then he waited, his cock standing at half-mast, for the show to begin.

He did not have to wait long. Two girls suddenly peeked in from the doorway. They giggled at each other and entered slowly, giving Shariyar the chance to appraise them.

They were both very beautiful women and Shariyar's dick grew stiffer as his eyes raked over their bodies. One was darker than the other, her raven hair hung straight and long, and her voluptuous breasts were ornamented with mahogany nipples that begged to be bitten. The other's hair rippled down to her shoulders in brown waves, her breasts were smaller than the her friend's and her nipples were small, pink rosebuds. The girls walked to stand in front of Shariyar and then began to touch each other, simpering at him as they rubbed their breasts together.

The king groaned slightly as his cock came to rest against his stomach, precum leaking from its crown and dripping onto his lower abdomen. The girl with the smaller breasts leaned down and took one of her friend's nipples into her mouth - pulling it between her teeth until the second prostitute moaned in delight. Shariyar licked his lips as the girl moved her mouth to the other nipple, suckling and biting at it mercilessly.

The girl with the straight hair then pulled the other girl's face towards hers, engulfing that torturous mouth in a passionate kiss. As their tongues danced, the prostitutes' hands resumed their explorations, running lightly over each other's breasts and asses.

Finally the girls broke their kiss, they glanced at Shariyar's dripping member and then back to each other. They each giggled as they got down on their hands and knees and began crawling towards the king. Shariyar moaned as he felt their lips brushing against his feet and steeled himself from taking his cock in his hands. He gripped the arms of the chair harshly as the girls licked and nibbled and kissed their way up his calves.

He spread his legs wider as the girls reached his thighs, shifting himself lower so that his groin was off the chair. The prostitutes licked his inner thighs, making their way slowly towards his heavy balls and waiting member. One of the girls turned around, positioning her face under his balls. He hissed as she ran her tongue around his ballsack, licking at each of his testicles gently before taking them both into her mouth. 

"Yeah, bitch," he whispered darkly, "lick my balls."

The girl responded enthusiastically, even running her tongue behind his balls, teasing his perineum with her mouth.

The other prostitute straddled her friend, rubbing her pussy against the other girl's stomach as she positioned herself to suck the king's dick. Shariyar closed his eyes and moaned as she began to lick his cock from base to crown, swirling her tongue around its leaking head and lapping up his precum. Then she took the whole thing in her mouth, swallowing every inch of his cock in eager gulps. Her nose brushed against his pelvis as she held his cock in her mouth, her muscles clenching around his dick as it hit the back of her throat.

The king felt pressure mounting in the pit of his stomach but he refused to cum so quickly. He reached out and pulled the girl sucking his cock to her feet by a fistful of her hair.

"Ride my cock, whore," he muttered breathlessly.

The girl smiled at him lustily and straightened her knees. As the other girl continued to lick and suck on Shariyar's balls, she lowered herself onto his dick. She cried out loudly as the king's thick cock filled her and began rocking her hips back and forth. The king moaned as his length moved inside her. He knew her cries of ecstasy were not real, but they did not detract from the feeling of her pussy as his cock slipped inside her.

He grabbed her hips and began to fuck her, moving his hips in time with hers so that each stroke seemed to go deeper and deeper inside her slim frame. The girl licking at his balls dropped her greedy mouth even lower, making Shariyar shudder in pleasure as her tongue darted around his asshole.

"Oh yes, that's it," he groaned, "lick my shithole, you filthy slut."

Sweat glistened on Shariyar's brow, dripping down behind the mask as he rammed into the girl on top of his dick even harder.

"Yes! Yes!" She cried. "Fuck me like the dirty whore I am! Ugh, yes!"

The king growled, loving the prostitute's self-deprecating words at the same time that he knew she was just saying what he wanted to hear.

He stopped suddenly: "Get off," he said.

The girl lifted herself off his member, moaning as it slid out from inside her.

"Get on your knees," he said.

Shariyar stood up and pulled the other girl to her knees so that the two prostitutes were facing each other.

"Kiss each other," he said, stroking his cock as they began to make out. "Can you taste my ass on her mouth, huh?"

The girls tongued each other fiercely, moaning as they licked each other's lips.

Shariyar pressed his dick against their mouths and then slipped it between them so that each one was kissing the side of his cock. He held their heads together as his cock thrust between their mouths. The girls fondled each other's breasts as he used their mouths and Shariyar came closer and closer to coming each time one of them plucked at the other's hardened nipples. 

"I'm going to cum," he moaned suddenly. He pulled the girls apart and they opened their mouths for him. He grabbed his cock and began stroking it furiously, moving it from one girl's mouth to the other until he finally released his load across both of their faces. Jets of thick, white cum streaked the girl's smiling faces. He groaned and wiped the tip of his cock across one of the girl's upper lips and then sank down into the chair again, breathing heavily.

The girl with the straight hair flashed a coy smile at him and then began to lick the cum off the other prostitute's face, moaning each time she swallowed. When her friend's face was clean, the other girl returned the favour, lapping up the streaks of cum that latticed her cheeks. But, instead of swallowing, the girl kissed the other prostitute with her mouth full cum, letting the other girl share the rich liquid. Shariyar's breathing slowly returned to normal as the two whores swapped his cum between their mouths. When they had finally swallowed it all, he dismissed them with a wave of his hand. The girls laughed coyly and turned around, crawling away and out the door on their hands and knees, offering Shariyar a last look at their perfect asses.

The king sighed as the curtain swung closed behind the prostitutes. He took off the mask and breathed in deeply. He was spent but, somehow, not satisfied. He got dressed slowly, trying to figure out what was missing. He thought back to the prostitutes' performance but, as he recalled the girl moaning as she bounced on his cock, the face that came to mind was not hers but Scheherazade's.

Shariyar snarled angrily: Why is that bitch's face invading my every waking moment? He thought to himself.

Why is it her face I see when I make another woman cry out in pleasure?

The king stormed out of the room in a foul temper. The eunuchs trailed behind him silently, making sure he was escorted out of the brothel's main keep. The door shut behind him and Shariyar stalked through the darkness until he came to the stairwell, almost tripping over the first step. He breathed in sharply to keep from cursing at the pain in his shin and cautiously felt his way up the stairs. The guard opened the trapdoor for him as he approached and moonlight flooded the dark passage, giving Shariyar the light he needed to ascend the rest of the way safely. Shariyar climbed out of the trapdoor into the decrepit house, sighing almost sadly as he heard the door slide shut again behind him.

This was the part of the journey he liked least: The long, lonely walk home.

++++++++

Scheherazade seemed to be sleeping peacefully for the first time since she fell into Shariyar's hands. Her slim frame was held softly in the moon's pale embrace and her chest rose and fell gently as she breathed. But the girl's serene countenance was as much of a mask as the one Shariyar was placing on his face at the exact same moment, for it revealed nothing of the restless dreams haunting her.

It is dark where she is. Dark and dank.

Fetid water pools around her, sloshing gently with the rhythmic pitch and yaw of the vessel. Is it dark because there is no light down here in the belly of the beast? Surely some mischievous ray of light could steal its way through the rotting oakum and soaking planks to light up even an inch of the pitchy brig... She cannot see her own hands, even as she holds them inches from her face.

Thunder cracks. The ship dances. She can hear its old wooden bones creaking, feel the timbers shivering. But where is the lightning?

A thousand years pass in the darkness. Or maybe just a day. Rough hands haul her up, up through the cavernous bowels of the creature. Charybdis. That is her name. A snarling siren is lashed to the bow, her open mouth spitting sea-spray each time the vessel heaves to. Red pennants at the mastheads warn that defiance will end in blood. No prisoners taken, no prisoners conceded.

She is above deck. The salty, sultry breeze kisses her cheeks and sends the sails a-shaking. But where is the sun? 

His face looms above her and she can see nothing else.

The roiling sea seems to hiss his name. Is it friends with this wicked ship, or enemies? Perhaps the ocean is afraid of what the Devil might do if she swallows him. Even mighty Death seems to tremble to take this man.

He is just a man, is he not? A man whose skin has been turned to leather under the merciless glare of the sun. A man whose body has been ripped to pieces again and again in battle and restitched each time by his own hand. A man whose eyes are as dark and pitiless as those of a shark, void of emotion, save for when they glow lustily in the thick of the fray. He feels neither cold nor heat, neither sadness nor happiness, neither pleasure nor pain. He takes no real joy in the notoriety his savagery has earned him. He finds no comfort in the riches with which he has furnished his cabin. He is consumed by bloodlust and wanderlust and he spends every waking hour trying to quench his thirst for death and adventure.

He addresses her. Not by name. If he knows it, he has never called her by it.

Those calloused hands wrench her to her feet, dragging her towards his cabin.

More darkness. But only one pair of hands.

His mouth is against her throat. His teeth graze against her neck with each heady breath he takes. All she can smell is him. He stinks of rum and salt and cannon smoke. She clamps her eyes shut as he shudders.

The water is almost black. She stares out at the endless expanse of sea and sky, wondering where in the grey they meet.

There is laughter at her back. That pair of bloodstained hands suddenly shoots out and pushes her over the edge. She tries to scream but no sound comes out of her mouth. The frigid water rises to meet her, swallowing her whole.

The sea stings her eyes and her nose as it drags her mercilessly down into its cold embrace.

And then her eyes open and the sun is blinding. The salt-crusted planks of the deck burn beneath her outstretched limbs. 

There is a victory celebration on the main deck tonight. The musicians are strumming their ouds and pounding on their drums. The crew dances in the moonlight, their shadows leaping like fiends across the ship. They have not even bothered to sweep away the sand that kept their feet from slipping on the deck when it was slick with blood. Someone grabs her from the shadows, forcing her into the middle of the drunken frenzy with the gleaming blade of his cutlass. A hand wraps around her waist as someone pulls her into a dance. The ship whirls around her and the faces of the men blur together. And then, in a sudden moment of clarity, she sees his face. His eyes are narrowed, his upper lip curling in a contemptuous snarl.

He slams the door to his cabin open and she shivers in the corner. His boots leave a trail of bloody footprints across the floor. He sweeps his arms across his desk, sending its contents crashing to the floor. Nautical charts flutter slowly to the ground as he turns around. He leans against the empty desk, panting. He sees her. The anger in his eyes flames brighter.

"The fuck are you looking at?" He growls.

She looks down. He walks towards her slowly, the heels of his boots dragging against the floor.

"I haven't got my money's worth out of you yet, whore," he says. She does not need to look up to know that he is smirking. She can hear it in his voice.

His fingers graze her chin, lifting her face to meet his. The gleam in his dark eyes sets her stomach churning.

"You cost me my greatest victory," he hisses. "I had Mikolas on his knees. And then you went and fucked it all up."

None of what he says makes sense to her. Why can't she remember who she was or what she had done?

"What did you tell him in that letter?" He snarls, his ragged fingernails digging into her face.

She shakes her head as best she can. She cannot remember.

"You're such a stupid cunt," he growls. "Your head so full with grand ideas of virtue and honour and patriotic self-sacrifice..."

He leers down at her. She suddenly realises that she is naked. Bruises cover her arms, her legs are sticky with sweat and semen. His other hand whispers across her breasts and her nipples harden instinctively. 

"Where is your honour now? Huh? Where's your virtue, you cock-hungry whore?" He taunts. "Do you think Mikolas would want you back now? Now that you've had every whole stuffed full with sailor's cum?"

Bitter tears sting her eyes.

"I can just imagine it," he smiles, painting her a vivid picture with his words. "The way he'll recoil from you in disgust when he sees the cum-stained slut you've become."

He holds her down with a heavy hand on her shoulder as he thrusts a finger inside her sex, laughing as she struggles to escape his vicious grip.




Scheherazade and the King Ch. 03



"Until I get what you owe me, you're mine, you filthy whore," he says, slowly fucking her with his fingers.

He leans in towards her, burying his face in her neck: "All. Mine."

Scheherazade shot up in bed, her heart racing in terror at the nightmare she had awoken from. She had dreamt about him. She glanced frantically about the room and then gasped in fear as her eyes adjusted to the darkness. She clamped her hands over her mouth to stifle a scream: There, slumped in the corner of the tiny room, was Shariyar.

She breathed in and out deeply as she stared at the sleeping king, trying to bring her heartbeat back to normal. Shariyar's arms rested on his knees, his head tilted back against the wall. He was bare-chested, wearing nothing put a simple pair of linen trousers.

Scheherazade climbed out of her bed slowly, her wounds still aching. She pulled the top blanket off the bed and knelt down beside Shariyar to drape the sheet over his sleeping form.

The king's eyes fluttered open as she began to lay the blanket over him.

"Scheherazade," he whispered, his voice low and dark.

The girl started at the sound of his voice and dropped the blanket, stepping away from him quickly.

"Sit with me," he said, pulling the blanket off and gesturing to the floor between his legs.

The girl stood, frozen in the moonlight.

"Do it," he said, his tone taking on a hardened edge.

Scheherazade walked back to him and dropped to the floor, her back to him. He looped a gentle hand around her waist and pulled her towards him. He pulled the blanket over both their bodies, wrapping his arms around her and resting his head against hers.

Scheherazade could feel Shariyar's chest rising and falling slowly behind her, each breath warming her neck. She almost dared not breathe lest she woke him again. She was torn between the warmth of his sleeping embrace and the savagery of his waking actions. It was like being cuddled by a tiger. 

Shariyar's muscles twitched in his sleep, each involuntary movement setting Scheherazade's heart racing. Slowly, however, her exhaustion overcame her and she fell into an uneasy sleep.

++++++++

Shariyar's eyes blinked open and he winced at the brilliant sunlight that filled the room. He glanced down at the gypsy: Her head rested against his chest, her sun-kissed hair tumbling down his abdomen.

"Gypsy," he murmured. "Wake up."

The girl stirred at the sound of his voice, moaning at the pain the sudden movement caused her. 

Shariyar's powerful arms hugged her closer and he pressed his lips gently against her neck, trying to ignore the way her body tensed at his touch.

"You owe me a story," he said softly.

Scheherazade nodded and cleared her throat softly before beginning: "As the desert swallowed the echoes of Qadir's laugh, the sand around Noor and Mo began to shake. Qadir's bandits rose up from the sand like the waking dead. Who knows how long they had been hiding in those shallow crypts, waiting underneath their sand-covered shields for their next prey to appear. Mo and Noor suddenly found themselves surrounded by not ten or twenty but forty thieves, their weapons gleaming in the midday sun."

"Their blackavised leader appeared at the head of the most prominent dune, laughing to himself as he slid down from its peak.

"But his laughter stopped suddenly when he saw Mo's face. His yellow eyes hardened as they raked over the young man.

"Noor sensed the change in Qadir's mood and became very agitated, stomping her wide feet in the sand to alert Mo. But her master was as useless as ever.

"'You must be the bandit king I have been sent to find!' He said, looking very pleased with himself. 'See, Noor? We found him right away!'

"'Who are you?' Qadir asked. 'Who sent you?'

"'I am Mo, and this brazen creature is Noor,' he said. 'We were sent to find you by the city council. We have come to offer a ransom and beg you to leave the city alone.'

"Qadir's men looked first at each other and then at their leader before breaking out into raucous laughter. Mo joined in without hesitation, even though he wasn't quite sure of how he had amused them.

"At one gesture from their leader, however, the troop of thieves suddenly stopped laughing.

"'You are a fool, Mo,' Qadir said. 'But you may prove useful yet. You and your camel are coming with us.'

"The forty thieves and their ruthless leader led Mo and Noor through the ever-changing desert. As soon as their feet left a print in the sand, the wind swept it away. There were no landmarks for Noor to remember and Mo was too busy trying to chat with the stony-faced bandits to pay any attention to their surroundings.

"Finally, however, the convoy climbed over a dune and found themselves staring at the half-buried ruins of an ancient building. Qadir led the men and their captives through the slanting building until they reached a great wall, blank except for a carving of a woman. The king of thieves motioned for his men to stay behind. He walked up to the wall and whispered something in the statue's ear. 

"Suddenly the whole building began to shake as the wall opened, revealing a dark passageway. The walls ground closed behind the convoy, leaving them in darkness. No one moved for a moment. And then the walls of the tunnel began to glow, bathing its occupants in a mysterious blue light.

"'Is this magic?' Mo asked, running his fingers along the wall.

"'Don't be stupid,' Qadir scoffed. 'It's fungi.'

"The bandit led the group down through the winding passageways until they finally emerged in a great underground chamber filled wall-to-wall with the thieves' plundered gains.

"Mo's jaw dropped. Noor snorted, trying to seem unimpressed.

"'Welcome to the den of thieves,' Qadir smirked."

"Shh!"

Scheherazade stopped speaking at Shariyar's sudden interruption. She could feel his body tense behind her. 

He moved his arms from around her and pushed her slightly: "Get up," he said sharply.

With some effort, Scheherazade pulled herself to her feet. Shariyar stood up behind her, smoothing his hair with his broad hands.

"What's wrong?" She asked confusedly.

"Nothing," he muttered. "I've just had enough of your stories for now."

He balled the blanket she had given him between his hands, tossing it onto the bed.

But then Scheherazade heard what the king had - footsteps.

Sure enough, Hazim entered the room moments later.

"Shariyar!" The doctor said in shock. "What are you doing here?"

He took in the king's naked torso and his eyes narrowed: "What have you done to her?"

"Nothing," the king snapped. "But it's clear to me now that she is not safe here. Anyone could have snuck in here while you were away."

"Safe?" The doctor asked incredulously. "The only person who has done any harm to her here is you!"

"Watch your tongue, Hazim," Shariyar glowered. "It is my will that she be moved somewhere more secure while you treat her."

The doctor threw his hands in the air in a gesture of defeat.

"She will be moved into the chambers adjoining mine," he said.

"What? Do you plan on making me your queen?" Scheherazade scoffed, sitting down on the edge of her bed.

Shariyar rounded on the girl, his hands balled into fists. Hazim leapt in front of him, guarding the girl from his anger.

"Calm yourself, Shariyar," he said. "I will do as you command."

Shariyar snarled beneath his breath but nodded, turning on his heel to stalk out of the infirmary.

Hazim sighed in relief as the door slammed behind Shariyar. He turned to face Scheherazade and shook his head at the defiance in her eyes.

"Do you enjoy tempting his anger, my child?" He asked in disbelief.

"No," she admitted. "But before you walked in he was listening to my story with his arms wrapped around me. You know, as if he was capable of human emotions other than anger and hatred."

Hazim sighed and motioned for the girl to slide back into the middle of the bed.

"I barely recognise the man he is now," the doctor said sadly, tucking the covers in around Scheherazade. "He has done unforgivable things."

The girl lay in silence as Hazim prepared another herbal remedy for her pain.

"I had a dream last night," she said suddenly.

"Oh?" Hazim asked, turning to bring her the cup of steaming medicine.

"Yes," she said, taking the cup. "Thank you."

"What was it about?" the doctor asked.

"The man who hurt me, he mentioned a name," she said, taking small sips of the potent mixture. "He talked about someone named Mikolas."

"Mikolas?" Hazim repeated thoughtfully. "That is not a name commonly heard in this part of the world, is it?"

Scheherazade shook her head and then downed the last of the medicine, grimacing at the bitter taste.

"I'm sorry," Hazim said, chuckling as he took the cup from the girl. "I don't know why all good medicine must taste so bad."

"It's worth it though," she said, smiling softly as the drink took its effect.

"I will look into that name for you," the doctor said, offering her a reassuring smile as her eyes blinked closed. "You just rest."

Hazim left Scheherazade to sleep and walked slowly back to his office, intending to get back to making copies of the drawings he had made of Scheherazade's tattoos. But he barely had the chance to sit down at his desk when Jafar burst in through the door.

"Hazim! How is she?" He asked earnestly. "Can I see her?"

"How dare you," Hazim glowered, rising to his feet. "Get out of here now."

The vizier's brow furrowed in concern and confusion: "What? What are you talking about?"

"You are the reason this girl is going to be scarred for the rest of her life and yet you have the gall to endanger her again?" Hazim cried. "Shariyar warned you what would happen if you tried to see her again and yet here you are!"

"I didn't mean for him to hurt her," Jafar said, his viridescent eyes wide and imploring.

"You are the reason she is in this mess in the first place," the doctor continued. "You can blame Shariyar and his madness but you have the blood of all those women on your hands as well, Jafar. And had you finally decided to be a man and face your death, perhaps Scheherazade would not be enduring torture."

"You don't mean that," Jafar gasped.

"I meant every word," the doctor growled. "I have a mind to do exactly as Shariyar commanded and report you to him."

The vizier took a step backward: "Hazim, please don't."

"If I don't, it's only because that twisted man might take it out on the wrong person," the old man snapped.

"I just want to know if she's all right," Jafar begged.

"She will be fine as long as you stay away from her," Hazim replied. "Now get out."

++++++++

Shariyar stood before the doors to his wife's chamber and took a deep breath before swinging them wide.

A breeze fluttered in through the open window, sending the gauzy curtains dancing. He almost expected to see Nasrin walking in from the balcony, flowers braided into her long, dark hair.

I wonder when she turned on me? He thought ruefully. How many fake smiles did she throw my way? How many nights did she pretend I was someone else as s-he moaned beneath me?

Shariyar shook the dark thoughts from his head and motioned for a team of servants to follow him inside.

"Clear everything out," he commanded. "Burn it all."

He watched for a few moments as the servants began to cart the heavy wooden furniture out of the room.

"I want this room to be stripped of all its fineries by the time I return from court this evening," he commanded. "And if I find that any of it has made its way outside of these palace walls, not one of you will live long enough to regret it."

The servants paused to bow and then continued their tasks. Shariyar turned on his heel and left the room. But, instead of heading to the throne room, he climbed the winding staircase that led to his father's old observatory. His father had charted the stars from the balcony that wrapped around the circumference of the tower. Just as with Nasrin's room, Shariyar had left it just as he had found it.

Not a scrap of paper had been moved in the time since his father passed. A thick layer of dust coated every inch of the room. Except, that is, for a wooden box that sat on the desk.

Shariyar opened it and stared down at trinkets he had taken from the gypsy. He picked up one of the shells and rolled it between his fingers.

A cowry. He thought to himself. Not surprising. Every man between here and Liguri has probably used these shells to barter with at some point.

The shell told him nothing about the gypsy's origins. The cowry itself probably came from the waters off Africa but it could have travelled thousands of miles and been passed through hundreds of hands. There was no telling where the gypsy came across it. He placed the shell on the table and picked up another charm. This one was a bright blue glass bead decorated with seven sets of circles, each filled with even smaller circles.

An Egyptian eye bead. He thought, examining the opaque glass closely before setting the bead carefully down on the table.

The next keepsake he pulled from the box was also a bead. This one, however, was long and thin. It was orange except for where it had been etched with black and white stripes etched around it.

Carved agate? He wondered. That would have come from Tibet.

Shariyar sighed and dropped the charms back into the box. The gypsy's mementos came from all over the known world. There was no telling which ones, if any, held clues to her past. He ran his fingers through the box, making a mental list of the peoples they represented: the Garamantes, the Yue, the Sabaeans, the Illyrians... There was only one trinket Shariyar could not identify.

He picked up the small silver coin, studying the marks stamped into it. It looked like a seal of some kind. A man's profile was embossed into the coin, and it was surrounded by three dolphins. He had never seen a coin like this before. There was a small hole in the metal and Scheherazade had looped a piece of string through it so she could weave the coin into her hair.

Shariyar placed the coin gently back in the box. He knew it would be useless to question Scheherazade about the coin - the gypsy had made it clear she knew nothing about the trinkets other than the fact that they were hers. He snapped the lid of the box closed and turned away from the desk. 

He rubbed his temples with his fingers, wincing at the memory of Scheherazade's tear-streaked face as if it actually hurt his head to think of it. The gypsy had looked so heartbroken. But that was what he had wanted... To see the same pain that he had experienced after Nasrin's betrayal reflected in her eyes.

He rolled his shoulders, shaking off his weakness. Revenge was his road to salvation, and the gypsy would not be the one to get in his way.

++++++++

Scheherazade followed the guards leading her to Shariyar's chamber glumly. The marble floors were cold on her bare feet and her back throbbed.

Shariyar was waiting for her at the door to the queen's chambers. He pushed the door wide and the guards led her into the dark chamber. The room was empty but for a low bed. Moonlight shone in through the windows, which were securely bolted shut.

"I see you spared no expense," the girl said sarcastically. "What lavish quarters."

"Bite your tongue, gypsy," Shariyar snapped.

The king surveyed the room, seemingly satisfied that it was secure enough for his slave. Then he noticed oil lamp the servants had been left for Scheherazade.

"I don't think I can trust you with this," he said, stooping to pick it up. "You might try to burn this whole place down."

"Oh no, but I'm afraid of the dark," she taunted.

"You're just begging for another beating, aren't you?" He glowered. "Well the only thing you have to fear is the treatment I have in store for you in a few days."

The girl steeled herself from rolling her eyes.

"You're lucky I am a man of my word," he continued. "Had I not promised Hazim five days to treat you, your wounded back would be leaving bloodstains on my bed right now."

"You're sick," she hissed.

"So I've been told," he smirked. "But you are the one in the doctor's care right now. I suggest you rest while you can."

Scheherazade's upper lip curled in a contemptuous but silent snarl as she watched the king follow his guards out of the room, taking the only light source she had with him. The key turned in the lock and she was alone.

But she was not in the dark. Scheherazade smiled to herself as moonlight flooded the room in the absence of the yellow lamplight.

"Not even you can snuff out the moon, oh King of kings," she breathed.

Scheherazade crossed the room and lay down on the bed, staring at the silver-lit ceiling. Although the walls of the chamber were bare, the ceiling had been painted with a beautiful mural. Flowering vines wove in and around each other, creating an intricate geometric pattern. The gold paint glowed in the pale moonlight, illuminating the carefully plotted twists and turns of the foliage. The ropes beneath the mattress creaked softly as she settled under the covers, shivering in spite of the warmth of the chamber.

After all, this was the room that Shariyar's wife had plotted against him from. Had she lain awake at night, staring up at these same flowers while she dreamt of bloody daggers?

Scheherazade sighed in frustration and turned onto her side. She did not want to think about Shariyar a second longer. And yet she had done nothing but lie in bed all day... Pray as she might for sleep to take her, she doubted that it would anytime soon.

But sleep was merciful tonight and, in a few moments, she was dreaming deeply once again.

Her eyes blink open and she is back in that dark cabin. The ship creaks and rolls softly and she knows instinctively that the vessel is riding at anchor. There is no sound of anyone else aboard. She moves to stand but cannot. Ropes bind her wrists behind her back. Chains around her ankles secure her to the wooden floor.

She leans her head against the wall and watches the moon glinting off the waves outside the cabin window. Her eyelids feel so heavy.

The ship pitches violently, stirring her from the ocean's trance. She sees a shadow creeping up the window. It opens. The shadow walks inside.

She is not afraid of the shadow. It is not his shadow, so why should she fear it?

The shadow walks closer. Dark eyes gleam from behind a dark mask. He is a man after all. He is clothed head-to-toe in black. A sword hangs from each hip. Blades spark silver in the moonlight.

"Who are you?" She asks. Her voice is a million miles away.

The dark man does not answer. He kneels before her and cocks his head, those dark eyes appraising her. He reaches out a hand and she notices that his knuckles are tattooed.

"Wandering star," she reads.

His eyes glint and she knows he is smiling behind his mask.

"Yes," he says. His voice is like thunder in the distance. "I'm a lonely, wandering star."

He reaches behind her back and pulls her hands. The bindings fall apart and into dust. He holds her hands before his, running his tattooed fingers over hers.

"And you are wild waves," he says.

"I know that," she says, almost defensively. She knows she is from the sea. "How do you know that? I have never seen you before in my life."

"But I've seen you," he says. "Though I don't yet know where."

The man lets go of her hands. She feels a sudden and sharp loss in her heart when his fingers leave hers. He reaches up and pulls off the mask he is wearing. His angular features are familiar to her. Strands of midnight curl around his face. His eyes are like starlight, glowing fearsomely silver in the shadows.





Scheherazade and the King Ch. 03



"Qadir, your eyes are meant to be gold" she frowns. "And this is my story. You do not belong here."

The man laughs, flashing her a brilliant smile: "I can tell right now that I do," he says, fixing those argent eyes on her once again.

"You will see me again," he says.

"No I won't. He will come back and the ship will leave," she says.

He leans forward and his eyes threaten to consume her: "He is not the master of your fate."

"I know that too," she says, a smile turning her lips.

"I'm not going to try and save you," he says.

"I don't need you to," she replies. "Besides, whenever a man tries to save me, I seem to end up in more trouble."

"Then you definitely don't need me to interfere," he laughs but it is a sad laugh.

She leans in closer and the clouds in his eyes clear.

"But I will see you again, and soon," he says.

His face disappears into the shadows again and the ship rocks at anchor as if he had never tread her well-worn decks.

++++++++

Scheherazade's eyes blinked open and she looked around the room dazedly. Her vision focused as the door to the room opened and Shariyar strode inside.

"Still in bed, gypsy?" He asked. "Well, I guess that is where you belong."

Scheherazade propped herself up slowly.

"If you've come to ask for more of my story, this is not the way to do it," Scheherazade said bitterly.

"Today is day two, gypsy," he said, ignoring her. "You have three more days of rest before your body is at my disposal once again."

"Do you want to hear more about Qadir and Mo or not?" She asked.

"I don't have time for fairytales today," he said. "The king of thieves will have to wait."

"I think I dreamt of Qadir last night," she murmured, more to herself than Shariyar. "He was dressed all in black and he had tattoos on his knuckles."

Shariyar's eyes narrowed: "Tattoos?"

Scheherazade looked up at him and nodded: "They said "wandering star" in Arabic."

The king suddenly went pale, his eyes scanned the room wildly: "Guards! Guards!"

"What's wrong?" She cried.

The guards rushed into the room, swords drawn.

"He was here!" Shariyar roared. "He was here in my fucking palace! In this very room!"

"Who was here?" Scheherazade asked, rising to her feet.

"Check the windows!" He cried, brushing past the girl. "Make sure none of the locks are broken."

The guards sheathed their swords and began to inspect the windows.

"Here!" One of the guards announced. He pushed open one of the windows and it opened easily, the lock hanging uselessly from the frame.

Shariyar's heart fell into his stomach. That was the window he always used to sneak out of the palace. The intruder would have climbed up those very same vines.

"Board up the windows," he commanded, his voice thick with fear. "Cut the vines outside. He must not get back in."

As the guards rushed off to act on Shariyar's commands the king suddenly shouted out for two of them to remain with him.

"The two of you must always be at my sides from now on," he said. "He must never have the opportunity to catch me alone or he will finish what he started."

"Who?" Scheherazade cried impatiently. "Shariyar, it was just a dream."

"No it wasn't!" The king snarled, rounding on the girl. "Those tattoos you describe belong to a very real man."

Shariyar began to pace the room agitatedly, his fingers trembling as he ran them through his hair.

"Fuck!" He yelled, slamming his fist into his palm. "Fuck!"

"I don't understand," Scheherazade said. "Who was here?"

"The man you described is the man who brainwashed my wife into trying to murder me," Shariyar said. "He convinced her to do it so he could steal the throne from me."

Scheherazade sat down on the edge of the bed, watching the king warily as he muttered to himself under his breath.

"He wants to kill me," he mumbled. "He won't rest till he has my head on a stake."

The king turned to Scheherazade, his eyes ablaze: "What did he do? Did he say anything to you?"

"I asked him who he was but he didn't answer," she explained. "Then I saw his tattoos. He said that he was a "lonely, wandering star" and that I was "wild waves"."

She paused, debating whether or not to tell him that Shahzaman had promised to see her again. Shariyar's wild eyes flitted across her face anxiously as he waited for her to continue.

"I don't remember anything after that," she said finally.

Shariyar groaned into his palms.

"I thought it was just a dream," she said.

"More like a nightmare," the king snarled. "That "wandering star" is my banished brother - Shahzaman."



Scheherazade and the King Ch. 04



Disclaimer: Thank you to all those who have sent me feedback and commented on the story thus far, I appreciate your input and support. I apologise for the delay in getting this chapter out and thank you for your patience. 

***** 

Scheherazade hugged her knees to her chest and watched sullenly as the panels of light that stretched out across the floor before her bed were blocked out one by one. The thick pieces of wood let in only the slimmest rays of sunshine, scarcely enough to light the room. 

Once the last window was boarded up, she heard the key in the door. Shariyar walked inside, his eyes darting about the dim room as if he expected Shahzaman to appear out of the shadows. 

Finally satisfied that his brother was not hiding in the room, Shariyar fixed his amber eyes on the girl. 

"He said something else to you," he muttered, stating the question more than asking it. 

"He didn't," she said. "Or, if he did, I can't remember." 

"Don't lie to me gypsy." 

"I thought it was a dream," she said. "He was straight out of a story." 

"One of your stories," Shariyar retorted, his tone accusing. 

"Do you want to hear more of it?" She asked, uncurling her long legs. 

Shariyar's eyes flashed to her pale skin for just a moment before he turned his molten gaze away. 

"No," he growled. 

"But don't you want to know why Qadir looked at Mo so strangely?" 

"Fine," the king said, throwing a hand in the air dismissively. 

"Qadir welcomed Mo to the den of thieves with a smirk -" 

"No," Shariyar interrupted sharply. "I don't want the whole story. Just tell me why the king of thieves would bother to spare the life of a fool." 

"Well," Scheherazade said hesitantly, "they were brothers." 

"Brothers?" Shariyar snorted. "I should have guessed it." 

The girl fiddled with the sheets on the bed. She had not expected Shariyar to demand the twist to the story. 

Suddenly Shariyar rounded on her: "Brothers? So in your story Shahzaman is Qadir and I'm Mo?" 

"No," the young woman said, her restless fingers abandoning their idle work. Her brows furrowed in confusion. 

"You're on thin ice as it is, gypsy," Shariyar growled beneath his breath. "From now on, unless my dick is in your mouth, I suggest you keep it shut." 

"It was just a story," the girl said, incredulity building in her voice. "It wasn't about you!" 

"Did my brother send you here?" Shariyar asked. "Huh? Are you working for him?" 

"You really are insane, aren't you?" Scheherazade cried. "It was just a fucking story!" 

Shariyar's hand flew back and the girl shielded her face with her arms instinctively. But the blow never came. 

The king's hand stopped mere inches from her face, his fingers trembling with the rage he was holding inside. He withdrew his hand and turned his back on the girl. 

"They will call me many things when I am dead," he muttered, "but dishonest is not one of them. I will not lay a hand on you for three more days." 

Scheherazade lowered her arms as Shariyar retreated. 

He threw her a dark glance over his shoulder: "But then you are mine." 

The king stalked out through the doors, slamming them closed behind him so that the two sides met with an almighty crash. 

Scheherazade sucked her teeth angrily and scowled around at the empty room. She heard Shariyar giving more orders outside, his deep voice muffled by the walls. And then there was silence. 

The girl sighed and sat down on the edge of her bed, sinking softly onto her back to gaze up at the maze of flowers on the ceiling. 

"I wonder if boredom or Shariyar will kill me first?" She mused aloud. 

A few hours passed before she heard life in the adjoining room. Scheherazade propped herself up on the bed, waiting anxiously to see who would enter her room. 

She could not help but smile when the doors opened to reveal Hazim. But the weak smile the old man offered her in return filled her heart with dread. 

"Hazim?" She asked as the doors closed behind the doctor. "What's wrong?" 

"I'm worried for you my dear," he said gravely. 

"Shahzaman did not harm me," she assured him. 

"It is not him that I worry about," he said. 

Hazim refused to speak anymore until he had tended to the girl's wounds. He was pleased to see that they were healing well, and much quicker than he had dared hope for. Even with the girl's health improving, however, the doctor was troubled. 

After he had finished his examination, he sat down at the foot of Scheherazade's bed, rubbing his aching temples. 

"It is not Shahzaman that I worry about," he said finally. "I worry what Shariyar will do now that he perceives his brother as a threat again." 

The girl shrugged, her actions portraying more bravery than she felt: "It cannot be much worse than what he has already promised." 

Hazim shuddered and he pulled the girl's hands between his gnarled fingers, holding them firmly. 

"He is more dangerous now than ever before," he warned. "I know your heart must be heavy with the weight of the injustices he has thrown after you but you must try your hardest not to bait his anger right now. He believes his brother instigated Nasrin's treachery. He tortured him within an inch of his life before Shahzaman's allies helped him escape. He will not hesitate to pass down the same fate to anyone he believes to be in league with his brother." 

"But I'm not in league with him," Scheherazade said. "I didn't even know who he was!" 

"I know that," the doctor reassured her, "and no reasonable man would believe anything otherwise, but Shariyar is not a reasonable man anymore." 

The girl nodded, turning her blazing eyes away from the old man so that he could not see how loathe she was to agree to obedience. 

"I believe that Jafar is going to try to see you," Hazim continued, "but you must not speak with him. No matter what he says to you, you must obey Shariyar's orders and not speak to him or look at him. I have warned him not to come, for your sake and his, but may try to see you anyway." 

The doctor squeezed Scheherazade's hands tightly: "You must promise me that you will not disobey Shariyar. If not for your own sake, then for Jafar's." 

The girl bit her lower lip but nodded again: "I promise." 

Hazim sighed and smiled relievedly at the young woman. He knew it hurt her pride to give in to Shariyar's orders, but he feared that the king would hurt her far worse if he discovered her disobedience. 

"If I linger any longer the guards might suspect something," he said, rising to head for the door. 

Scheherazade did not watch as the doors closed again, leaving her alone and in silence once again. She heard the doctor's words echo in her head over and over again, understanding the sense in them but hating what they meant for her. Jafar, after all, had been the only person other than Hazim to show her any kindness. He had saved her. 

Did he? Came a bitter voice in her head. Who did he save me from? A couple fishermen? I would have been better off in their hands than in Shariyar's. Perhaps Hazim was right to blame Jafar - he saw injustice occurring at his friend's hands and did nothing to stop him. 

Hot tears welled as she thought about the vizier. She had thought him so handsome when he had pulled her away from the fishermen, his green eyes filled with sunlight and his skin smooth against hers. He had held her, kissed the tears from her face... and, for the first time, she had wondered whether there could be someone in this world that might love her. 

"Fool," she muttered. 

Jafar did not love her. He thought her beautiful, but that was all. Her heart grew heavy with the realisation that the vizier would not understand why she was ignoring him. 

If he loved me, he wouldn't come. She thought. But he will. He wants to assuage his guilt, and he will get angry when I turn away from him. 

The girl groaned into the palms of her hands and crawled back into the bed, clamping her eyes shut against the world. 

++++++++ 

The day dragged on slowly. Silent servants brought her food and water, the latter of which she gulped down gratefully. Now that the windows were boarded shut, the heat of the room grew oppressive. She sweltered in the dark room, forsaking her bed for the slightly cooler touch of the stone floors. 

She lay sprawled across the hard stone, her eyes fixed on the slim space of light between the door and the floor. She felt as though she were in a daze. She swore she could feel each bead of sweat snaking its way down her body before dropping onto the floor. 

Scheherazade had felt this kind of stifling heat before. Grim thoughts from days spent drifting at sea roiled in her mind, making her limbs heavy with the weight of past pains. 

If me and my memories are left alone much longer, she thought grimly, I'm going to end up as mad as Shariyar. 

Finally she heard footsteps and saw dark shadows flashing across the glimmer of light that shone in under the door. She sat up as the door opened, closing her eyes as the sudden sunlight blinded her. Cool air rushed over her and she laughed under her breath at the freshness of the air. She almost did not care who it was that had entered... 

"Oh my God, Scheherazade, are you all right?" 

But she could not keep her heart from sinking when she recognised the voice as Jafar's. She knew he would not understand. 

"It's a furnace in here," Jafar said, kneeling down beside her. "Have you had any water?" 

Scheherazade turned her head away, refusing to meet his gaze. 

"Are you all right? Do you need water?" He asked again, grabbing her arms and shaking her slightly. "Speak to me!" 

The girl pulled herself away from the vizier and stood up, turning her back to him. 

Jafar rose to his feet slowly, his green eyes imploring. For every step he took towards the girl, she took two to get away. 

"Are you serious, Scheherazade?" He asked. "You're not speaking to me? You won't look at me?" 

The girl said nothing. She bowed her head, her heart aching at the pain in Jafar's voice. 

"You're obeying Shariyar's orders?" He asked, steadily approaching her. 

Scheherazade gave the slightest nod. 

"He's not here," Jafar said. "He won't find out. Talk to me. Just let me hear your voice. Let me hold you." 

She wrapped her arms around herself and shook her head slightly. 

"Are you mad at me? Is that it?" He asked. "I had to hurt you - he made me, Scheherazade!" 

The girl did not move. 

"You know I would never want to hurt you," he said. "Please talk to me." 

Scheherazade remained stoically silent. 

"Don't blame me!" He cried. "This is Shariyar's fault!" 

Jafar caught up with the girl, grabbing her hand and pulling her towards him gently. She struggled against his touch, wrenching herself free as he tried to wrap his arms around her. 

"Stop, Scheherazade, you're going to hurt yourself," he murmured angrily. "Stop fighting me!" 

But she was unrelenting. Jafar watched, the confusion and hurt growing in his eyes, as she twisted and pulled. 

Finally he let her go and she fell backwards onto the bed with a gasp of pain. She moaned and rolled onto her side, blood blossoming onto her dress. She sat up slowly, her back to Jafar. 

He stared at the blood, horror and heartbreak written clearly across his face. 

"Fine," he whispered. "If this is how you want it, then fine." 

She bowed her head, tears filling her eyes. She knew what was coming next. 

"If you'd rather hurt yourself than be near me, then I will not trouble you any more," he said, his voice thick with emotion. 

She dug her fingernails into her skin, trying to distract herself from the pain building in her heart. He was abandoning her to her fate, after everything she had done to protect him. Whatever heartbreak Jafar was feeling, the ache in her chest was ten times that. She wanted to turn around and scream at him, give voice to the betrayal she was experiencing. But that would endanger them both. 

"Do not look to me for help ever again," he said. "I am no longer your ally here and you owe me nothing." 

Silent tears spilled from Scheherazade's azure eyes as Jafar slammed the doors closed behind him. She buried her face in the pillow, letting it muffle her sobs. 

"I did it to save you, you stupid ass," she whispered, her tears staining the fabric. 

++++++++ 

Shariyar entered his chambers with a sigh of relief. It had been a long day, and even his bones felt weary. His empire was vast and it took a great deal of strategy to keep its trade lively, its enemies at bay, and its boundaries secure. 

He threw off his heavy, formal robes and went to sit down at the table with a bottle of wine, when Scheherazade began pounding at the door from the queen's chamber. 

"Shariyar!" Came her muffled voice. "Let me out!" 

He sighed and set the bottle down on the table. 

"Are you going to be good if I do?" He asked, walking towards the doors lazily. 

He laughed to himself when she did not respond and turned the key in the lock. A rush of hot air escaped from the room as he pushed the doors open. 

Scheherazade stumbled out of the room, breathing in deeply the cool air. Her long, blonde locks clung to her skin and her limbs shone with sweat. 

"God, gypsy, do you look a sight," he breathed, taking in the pathetic figure she cut. 

The girl threw him a contemptuous glance as she began to walk towards the balcony. She passed through the gauzy curtains and into the night's embrace, revelling in the sharp chill of the evening air. 

Shariyar poured himself a glass of wine and then followed her out. He noticed then the stain of blood on the back of her dress. He ran his fingers up her spine, causing her to arch her back slightly at his touch. 

"Why were you bleeding, gypsy?" He asked. 

She shrugged her shoulders: "I didn't know I was." 

"You still think I don't know when you're lying?" He scoffed. 

The girl pulled her hair into a loose knot over her head, letting the dripping strands hold themselves in place. 

"My deceitful vizier came to see you, didn't he?" Shariyar asked, swirling his wine in its glass. "And don't lie to me." 

Scheherazade nodded. 

"And did you remember the order I gave you?" He asked, his fingers suddenly around the back of her neck. 

"I did," she muttered. 

"You didn't look at him, speak to him, or touch him?" He asked, his nails digging into her flesh. 

"No, I did not," she replied through gritted teeth. 

"Good girl," he said condescendingly, pulling his hand away. 

"I'm sure he wasn't pleased about that, was he?" The king continued. 

She shook her head slightly. 

"Hmm, now, let me think," he pondered, "what would my cowardly friend have said to you?" 

Scheherazade set her jaw and steeled her heart. She would not show Shariyar her weakness. 

"He blamed you for surrendering to me, didn't he?" He asked. "He wouldn't have apologised for his role in all this." 

Shariyar's fingers were at the small of her back again, tracing slowly around the reddened patch of fabric. 

"You know him well," Scheherazade said curtly. 

"No, I know human nature," he responded harshly. "You can call me crazy all you want, but I am the master of millions and I did not become so by being a fool." 

"Being a fool and being crazy are not the same thing," she rejoined bitterly. "I never accused you of stupidity. Just insanity." 

Shariyar's fingers moved lower and he grabbed her ass, gently kneading her with his fingers. 

She growled and pulled away from him: "Don't touch me." 

"I will touch you whenever and wherever I want," Shariyar sneered. "Your precious Jafar may have abandoned you, but that doesn't make your promise null and void. You are still mine to do with as I please." 

Scheherazade's sapphire eyes glowed fiercely. 

"You need a bath, gypsy," he said, appraising her ragged appearance once again. "Come with me." 

He motioned her after him as he disappeared through the curtains. He set his wine back down and then led her into his bathing chambers. 

Shariyar pulled his own shirt over his head before turning to the girl. She was watching him warily, her arms crossed over her chest. 

"Come here, gypsy," he said, dropping his shirt to the floor. "Let me help you." 

"I don't need your help," she muttered. 

"Don't be foolish," he said. "Your back must hurt, let me help you." 

Scheherazade stepped towards him nervously and unfolded her arms. 

Shariyar's amber eyes held hers as he ran his fingers along the hem of her dress, grazing her thighs. He lifted the dress up slowly, pulling it gently over her head. 

As soon as her arms were free, Scheherazade folded them over her breasts, shielding them from Shariyar's burning gaze. 

The king walked around her and gathered her hair in his hand, brushing the stray strands from her back so that he could look at her wounds. He grimaced slightly at the carnage. It was hard for him to believe that all those scars had come from his own hand. 

He ran a gentle finger along one whip line that stretched the length of her spine. Scheherazade's entire body steeled at his touch and she cried out when he reached a tender spot on her back. 

Shariyar withdrew his hand and let her hair fall. 

"Sorry," he muttered, brushing past her. 

He pulled off his trousers and waded into the water, turning around once he was waist-deep to gesture for her to enter. 

Scheherazade followed him into the water slowly, letting her body adjust to the temperature. When she was finally inside, she waded to the other side of the pool, as far away from Shariyar as she could get. 

Shariyar chuckled to himself as he walked through the water to stand in front of her, his chest inches from hers. He drew handfuls of water over her shoulders, watching as the droplets left glistening paths down her skin. 

"You really are beautiful, you know," he whispered. 

She turned her back to him, straining against the urge she felt inside to slap him across his face. 

"So beautiful," he whispered, burying his face in her hair. 

"Leave me alone," she murmured angrily. 

"You're mine, gypsy," he reminded her darkly. "I give the orders." 

"You know I don't take kindly to those," she said. 

"That's part of your allure," he said, drawing away slightly. "Dip your head back." 

She glanced over her should at him, her eyebrows drawn up. 

"To wet your hair, girl," he said. "Dip your head back." 

She closed her eyes and dropped her head backwards into the water. Shariyar's fingers ran across her scalp and through her hair, teasing the tangles apart gently. 

After a few moments, she raised her head and turned around to face Shariyar: "I don't understand you." 

"You don't have to," he said. "You just have to do as I say." 

Scheherazade sighed in frustration. 

"And right now, I want you to relax," he said, reaching out to trace the curve of her cheek. 

"How can I?" She asked, pulling away. "You're so unpredictable. Next thing I know I might be tied up and begging for my life." 

"Now that's just not true," he said, a hint of mischief in his voice, "you would never beg." 

She scowled at him: "It's like taking a bath with a crocodile." 

"Oh don't worry," he said, flashing her a wicked grin, "you have three more days before you're in danger of me biting you." 

"Is this a joke to you?" She asked incredulously. 

"I like seeing you riled up, gypsy," he said, rolling his shoulders nonchalantly. "You just look so cute when you're angry." 

He grabbed her waist and pulled her around so that her back was to him before wrapping her in a tight embrace. Scheherazade shivered as his lips brushed against her neck. 

"And I've never seen a woman look as pretty when she cries as you do," he murmured. 




Scheherazade and the King Ch. 04



"What if I stopped fighting?" She asked. "Would you get sick of me?" 

"Submission isn't in your nature," he said. "You'd get fed up with the charade far quicker than I would." 

He was right, and she knew it. 

"I like the thought of you as a submissive little whore," he whispered. "Oh the things I would make you do..." 

Scheherazade gasped angrily and tried to wrench herself free but Shariyar's powerful arms held her close. 

"See?" He laughed. 

Scheherazade stopped struggling, resigning herself to the feel of his skin against hers. 

"I want to fuck you so hard, gypsy," he whispered. "These past few days have been painful for me." 

She shuddered at the lust in his voice. She could feel Shariyar's cock growing between her ass cheeks as he ground his hips gently against hers. 

"I've got a big load saved up for you," he murmured. "Where do you want it?" 

"Shut up," she snarled. 

"In your mouth?" He continued, ignoring her. "Or inside your tight little cunt?" 

"I don't want you anywhere near me," she growled, renewing her struggle against his rippling muscles. 

He let her go suddenly, laughing as she fell forward through the water. She spun around angrily, fuming at him. 

Shariyar's eyes fixed on her heaving breasts: "How about all over your tits?" 

Scheherazade clapped her hands over her breasts. Her eyes flashed daggers at the king. 

"You're just going to have to keep fantasising, Shariyar," she snapped. 

"How about you tell me a story to ease my aching cock," he said. "Tell me about the sultan's stubborn slave girl who learned to love the sting of her master's hand across her bare ass." 

"I like to keep my stories at least somewhat realistic," she retorted sarcastically. 

"I don't know," he said mockingly, "you seem like a glutton for punishment to me." 

"Oh yes, just what I need, more scars to compliment my existing set." 

"Not if you're a good little slut and do exactly as master says," he purred. 

"If you think I'm ever going to call you "master", prepare to be disappointed," she bit back. 

Shariyar grabbed her wrist and pulled her sharply towards him. She gasped as she stumbled against his chest. He grabbed her ass with both of his hands, pressing his body against hers. His cock was fully erect and it brushed against her lower belly as he moved against her. 

Scheherazade tried to push him away but the king simply leaned in closer. His cognac eyes raked over her torso, smiling smugly at her erect nipples. 

"You don't have to say a fucking word if you don't want to," he said. "You can just pout those pretty lips of yours and moan in ecstasy." 

"Ecstasy?" She scoffed, holding him at arm's length. "You will not be the man to make me do that." 

Shariyar stopped suddenly, his hands still gripped her ass but they had stopped moving. 

"Do you mean, you've never had an orgasm?" He asked. 

"I know, isn't it strange?" She taunted bitterly. "All those times I've been raped and I've never once taken any pleasure in it." 

Remorse fluttered across Shariyar's countenance for the briefest moment. He had not thought of what he was doing as rape - she was his slave. Legally, he could do whatever he wanted to her. The thrill he got from taking her as forcefully as he could? That was his right as her master. 

But the regret passed as quickly as it had come. 

"If anyone is going to make you cum, gypsy," he said, "it will be me." 

"Not fucking likely," she snarled. 

"Oh, darling, I can promise you," he smiled darkly. "As soon as I get inside you, you're not going to be able to hold in your screams." 

"At least we can agree on something," she said, rolling her eyes. 

"You're going to be on your knees begging for more by the time I'm through with you," he murmured. 

"As you said, I would never beg," she replied, catching him out with his own words. 

"You're not just a pretty face, are you?" He asked, his dark eyes sparking. "Did you give your former master the same tongue lashing you're giving me?" 

Scheherazade's eyes suddenly filled with tears of rage: "Stop it." 

"Should I take that as a "yes"?" He asked, brushing past the warning in her voice. 

"Did you force yourself on Nasrin the way you do me?" She countered. 

Now it was Shariyar's turn to feel anger bubbling in the pit of his stomach. His eyes hardened for a moment before softening again. 

"So, he was your Nasrin?" He asked softly. His hands moved from her ass to rest on her hips. 

"He was much, much worse," she said softly. 

"I can't imagine anything worse than her betrayal," he said. 

"That is because you are not a woman," she replied matter-of-factly. 

"I will not bring him up again," Shariyar said, "so long as you promise to do the same for me." 

Scheherazade's blue eyes considered him for a moment, but then she nodded. 

"You must be hungry," Shariyar said suddenly. "Let us eat." 

The girl nodded, following him out of the pool. She kept her eyes on the ground as he wrapped a towel around his waist. He turned around and smiled softly when he turned around to find her trying to shield her nakedness with her hands. 

"I've seen your body, Scheherazade," he said. "Why bother trying to hide it from me?" 

"Because it's mine," she snapped, "and you have no right to it." 

"A point we will continue to disagree upon," he said, grinning at her lustily. 

Her lips pursed in anger and she glowered at him from behind her golden hair. 

Finally Shariyar relented and brought her a towel, watching as she wrapped it around her lithe body. 

As the king left the room to order for food to be brought, Scheherazade took the opportunity to change back into her dress. She pulled the bloodstained shift over her head, grimacing at how rough the cloth felt in comparison to Shariyar's luxurious towels. 

She emerged from the bathing chamber to find Shariyar already sitting at the table, his plate laden with food. She stood off to the side, waiting for him to invite her to sit down. 

"Gypsy, are we going to go through this every time?" He asked wearily. "Sit the fuck down and eat before I change my mind." 

Scheherazade took her place at the table, piling food onto her plate. 

"Careful, girl," Shariyar said, his own mouth full, "or you're going to get fat." 

"Maybe then you'll stop trying to fuck me every time I move," she said drily. 

Shariyar laughed. It was an honest, heartfelt laugh that rumbled up from his belly, and it caught Scheherazade fully off-guard. 

She stared at the king, her fork poised before her mouth. She had never heard the man actually laugh before. Part of her wondered when the last time he had laughed was. 

The young woman studied him as he laughed: There was something about the way the corners of his eyes crinkled, the way his broad smile stretched across his face, the way the dark gleam in his eyes suddenly disappeared, something that made him seem less of a monster. 

His laughter faded and he caught the way she was looking at him: "What is it?" 

Scheherazade shook her head as if to clear it: "Nothing." 

"Tell me," he pressed, taking a long draught from his wine. 

"Sometimes I forget you're just a man," she whispered. 

Shariyar snorted: "I am much more than that." 

He smiled to himself and then looked at her, his eyes searching for something hidden. 

"Sometimes, I forget you are more than you appear," he said. 

She offered him a heartfelt smile - the first she had ever given him - and said: "Much more than that." 

He leaned back in his chair and yawned: "I am tired, gypsy, finish your meal." 

She swallowed her last bite and put her cutlery down. She glanced over her shoulder at the hot, dark room that awaited her. 

"Are you going to lock me in there again tomorrow?" She asked. 

"That was my plan," he said. 

"It's so hot in there," she said. "Can't you let them open one of the windows? Just one?" 

"And what? Give Shahzaman another opportunity to break in to my palace?" He snapped. "Not a fucking chance." 

Scheherazade sighed disappointedly. 

"But you don't have to sleep in there if you don't want," he said. 

"No thanks, I wouldn't want to get blood on your sheets," she remarked disparagingly. 

"You really are a stubborn little shit, aren't you?" Shariyar scowled. 

"Why? Because I would rather sleep alone in that furnace than next to the man who rapes and beats me?" 

"Maybe if you weren't so obstinate, I wouldn't have to," he rejoined. 

"You like it, Shariyar, admit it," she fumed. "You're a sick bastard and you can't blame that on me." 

"God you're infuriating," Shariyar hissed, rising to his feet. He banged his fist on the door and two servants appeared immediately through it to clear away the dishes. 

As soon as they left, he bolted the door behind them and began putting out the lights, muttering angrily to himself. 

The gypsy watched him for a few moments, holding her breath as she weighed her options. 

"I'll sleep with you if you promise not to lock me in that room tomorrow," she said suddenly, her words tumbling out of her mouth all at once. 

Shariyar turned on his heel and looked at the girl as if she had gone mad: "What did you say?" 

"I said that I will sleep with you if you promise not to lock me in that room again tomorrow," she repeated. 

"You think I want you to sleep with me?" He asked in disbelief. "You think I give a shit where you sleep?" 

"Yes, I do," she said staunchly. "I think you want to have someone in your arms and, at this point, you don't really care who." 

Shariyar snarled under his breath and turned away, continuing to darken the room. 

"It's too hot in that room," she said. "And your chamber is just as secure." 

Shariyar sighed as he extinguished the last lamp. The only light now came from the flame flickering beside his bed. 

"Fine, gypsy," he muttered, "I will not lock you in the queen's chamber tomorrow." 

Scheherazade nodded, triumph sparking briefly in the azure depths of her eyes. 

"But, if you're going to sleep with me," he said, a roguish smile curving his lips, "then you're going to have to take that dress off." 

The girl's eyes narrowed but she stood up and pulled the dress over her head. She held her head high as she walked towards him, trying not to tremble under the molten amber of his gaze. She held out the dress to him and he took it, throwing it over his shoulder without his eyes ever leaving hers. 

"That's better," he smiled, looking her up and down. Her hair fell down across her breasts, her nipples just visible behind the golden curtain. 

He pulled off his towel and let it fall to the floor. He leaned in close to her, drawing her face to his with a gentle hand behind her neck so that he could kiss her. 

Scheherazade closed her eyes and kissed him back, remembering what had happened the last time she had refused to accept his kiss. 

He pulled away from her and stared deeply into her eyes. Whatever he was looking for, he still could not find. 

He climbed into bed and gestured for her to lay beside him. She slipped under the covers and turned her back to him. He did not try to touch her. 

She listened to his breathing grow slower and deeper before letting herself relax and fall into sleep. 

But Shariyar was not asleep. He turned his head and stared at the sleeping girl, the scars on her back illuminated by the flickering light of the candle beside the bed. He reached out and snuffed the light between his fingers, trying to find that tiniest hint of redemption in the sting of the flame. 

++++++++ 

Shariyar woke with the dawning light to find his arms wrapped tightly around the sleeping girl. 

He pulled away gently, trying not to wake her. She looked so beautiful drenched in the rosy light of morning. 

Shariyar ran a finger over her lips. She moaned softly, still fast asleep. The king closed his eyes, his balls tightening as he slipped his finger gently inside her mouth. 

He groaned at the sudden desire that swept over him. He wanted to push his finger deeper inside her mouth and feel that velvety tongue caressing his skin. He wanted to tear the blankets off her, take her rosebud nipples into his mouth and bite and suck on them. He wanted to force himself inside her smooth pussy. He could almost imagine how it would feel to have her cunt clenching tightly around his cock as orgasm after orgasm wracked her body. 

He shuddered at his own thoughts. God he wanted her. His member strained under the blankets as her tongue brushed against his finger once again. He wanted her to lick him from his balls to the crown of his cock. He felt precum dripping slowly onto his belly as he thought about her pretty little mouth wrapped around his dick. 

She stirred in her sleep and her teeth grazed his finger sharply. He hissed at the sudden pain but it just made his member harder. 

He withdrew his finger from her mouth and ran it along her neck, across her collarbone and over her tattoos. He traced the outlines of the foreign words all the way down her arm, then his hand slid onto her hip. 

Scheherazade's eyes fluttered open and she frowned to see the king staring at her so intently. 

"What?" She asked as she sat up, pushing Shariyar's hand off her body. 

"Who gave you those tattoos?" He asked. 

"A Daarkan elder named Eyofe," she replied, rubbing her eyes as she woke up fully. 

"They mar your beauty," he said off-handedly. 

"They restored my beauty," she responded sharply, clasping her hands over the tattoos defensively. "You may dismiss the stories of the Daarkan healers as myth if you wish, but I can tell you they are all true. 

"It's too early in the morning for this, gypsy," Shariyar groaned. "Stop being so damn quarrelsome." 

Scheherazade gave him a withering look and folded her arms with a humph. 

"I was having such wonderful thoughts about you until you started to talk," Shariyar said, clasping his hands behind his head. 

A broad grin stretched across his face: "If you want, you can make my little daydream come true." 

The girl glared at him and climbed out of bed, picking her dress up off the floor and pulling it on. 

"Oh come on, girl," Shariyar moaned, his smile mocking, "get back in bed and put that little mouth to good use." 

"Two more days," she reminded him angrily. 

"Two more days before I can lay a hand on you," he agreed. "But Hazim didn't say anything about the other way around." 

"I am not putting my hands or my mouth on any part of you by choice," she said. 

"It always has to be a battle with you, doesn't it?" He sighed. 

He sat up in bed and stretched his arms over his head, his powerful muscles surging. He stood up and pulled his robe on but did not tie it. He walked towards Scheherazade slowly, his eyes laughing as he watched her struggle to look everywhere - anywhere - but his hardened cock. 

"You did this to me," he said, "you and your delicious curves." 

He wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her into him, grinding his cock against her. 

"Get on your knees and help me get rid of it," he whispered in her ear. 

"You're too lecherous for your own good," she growled, trying to shove the king away from her. 

"I'm insatiable," he agreed. 

"Too fucking bad," she snapped. 

He tangled one of his hands in her hair and pulled her in for a kiss, taking her mouth as forcefully as he could without harming her. When he pulled away from her, she was breathing heavily, her body tense in his grasp. 

"Why can't you just get a couple professional whores to satiate you?" She asked breathlessly. 

"I tried," he said, winding his fingers through her hair. "But when they moaned around my cock, it was your face I saw." 

Scheherazade recoiled but Shariyar held her head in place so the he could plant a string of kisses on her cheek, along her jaw and down her neck. 

"When I made them scream out in pleasure, I saw your face," he whispered, his words hot on her neck. 

Shariyar drew away from the girl and let her go abruptly. Without another word, he proceeded to get dressed for the day. She sat down at the table and watched him dress. Wrapped in rich fabrics and fine leather, he looked every inch the regal monarch. 

"You may stay in my chamber," he said, his hand on the door, ready to push it open. "But you are not to go out on to the balcony until I return, do you understand?" 

The girl nodded. 

"Good," he said. "I will send a servant with a new dress for you to wear." 

"Thank you," she whispered. 

"Ah! Civility from the creature at last!" Shariyar cried mockingly. But then his tone sobered and he replied: "You're welcome." 

Scheherazade watched as he pulled open the door and passed through, leaving her alone again. She stood up and wandered around the room, taking the chance to look through every drawer and box she could find for her mementos, just in case he had brought them back inside the room. 

She slumped back down on the chair - she had found nothing. 

Sighing she sat up and began braiding her hair, pulling the blonde waves into an elaborate plait that she had known instinctively how to do. As she wove her long tresses together, she became progressively lost in her own thoughts. Her fingers worked like a machine and she paid little attention to what they were doing. 

She started when a knock at the door broke her trance. She hastily finished her braid as Hazim walked in through the doors. He smiled to see her out of the dark chamber in which Shariyar had entrapped her. 

"I'm glad our king has had a change of heart," he smiled, sitting down opposite her at the table. 

"I wouldn't call it that," she said, but she smiled back at him happily. 

"Well, no matter," he shrugged, "so long as you're not stuck in that room another day." 

"Do you need to look at my back?" She asked, moving to stand. 

"No, I don't think so," Hazim said, motioning for her to stay seated. "You are just about healed, my dear, but I won't be telling Shariyar that." 

"Thank you," she breathed. 

"You need as much rest as you can get," he said. 

"But will you come anyway to talk with me?" She asked hopefully. 

"Of course!" 

The young woman sighed in relief. The thought of being left alone with no one to talk to but Shariyar was enough to send her into a depression. 

"I have good news for you," the doctor continued. "This morning, I sent out the drawings of you that I made." 

"You did?" She asked, her eyes wide. 

"To every doctor with Daarkan connections that I could think of," he said, looking very pleased with himself. "I reckon we should hear back within a couple weeks, give or take." 

"Thank you!" Scheherazade cried, springing from her chair to wrap her arms around the old man. "Thank you so much!" 

"My dear, it is the very least I could do," he sighed sadly, patting her head gently. 

++++++++ 

Shariyar was in the middle of a council with his agricultural ministers when a shadowy face appeared in the doorway. 

"Councilmen, I will return in a moment," he said, standing to leave the room. 

The ministers bowed as he exited, following the blackavised man down the corridor until they were far enough away to not be heard. 

The man bowed before handing Shariyar a sheath of papers. The king's countenance grew stormy as he saw that each parcel contained a drawing of Scheherazade with a message inked on the back. 

"Hazim sent these?" He asked. 

The spy nodded: "We intercepted them just outside the city." 

Shariyar cursed under his breath and then waved the spy away. He folded the papers under his arm before rejoining the ministers. 

As the old men spoke of wheat and cattle, the king's mind kept drifting back to the contents of the letters. They seemed harmless enough, the doctor wanted to know if anyone else had heard of the Daarkan ritual and had included the picture of Scheherazade's tattoos to illustrate. But he had not just drawn her tattoos. He had drawn her face as well, perfectly capturing every detail of her visage. It made Shariyar wonder whether the doctor was also trying to help the girl discover clues to her past by finding out if any of his colleagues recognised her face. 




Scheherazade and the King Ch. 04



It's stupid. He thought to himself, paying no attention at all to the ministers babbling away. She's nobody. She's a slave girl, a whore... No one will recognise her. 

And yet, doubt nagged at his mind: But what if there is more to her, what if someone does recognise her? 

He shook his head slightly and then resolved not to allow the messages to be sent. He could confront Hazim about it, but better to just let the old man think his letters had gone unanswered. 

Satisfied with his plan of action, Shariyar turned his attention back to the meeting. Somehow, the old men had meandered off-topic and were engaged in heated debate over the best wine regions in the empire. 

Shariyar sighed and clapped his hands, directing the conversation back to the topic of addressing food shortages in the rural North. He rested his head on one hand: This whole kingdom would go to shit if I wasn't here. 

++++++++ 

Shariyar climbed the steps to his wing of the palace wearily, his guards close behind him. The agricultural meetings had gone on far longer than expected. He had eaten nothing all day. 

One of the guards walked ahead to pull open the door of his chamber and hold it for him. He nodded and the guard closed it behind him. 

The girl emerged from the bathing chamber as he entered, drying her hair in a towel. She was wearing a new shift, it was as simple as the last, but at least it was clean. 

"Another long day of pampering yourself in my baths?" He asked, throwing a stack of papers down on the table. 

"What else am I to do?" She shrugged. 

"I don't know, perhaps you could sit in silence and contemplate the word "obedience"," he quipped. 

"Only if you promised to do the same for the word "compassion"," she rejoined. 

"Rulers of empires are not meant to be compassionate," he scoffed. ""Ruthless", "calculating", "powerful", "feared", now those are words used to describe men like me." 

"How about "cruel" and "sadistic"?" She sniped. 

"Yes, those too," he said, sending a devilish grin her way. 

He pulled off his clothes and walked into the adjoining chamber to bathe. 

"Bring me a glass of wine, gypsy," came his voice a few moments later. 

The girl rolled her eyes but walked over to the table where the decanter and glasses sat. She poured him a full glass and was about to walk away when she noticed a familiar face peeking out at her from underneath the stack of papers. She pulled it out and gasped when she recognised her own features. 

The drawings Hazim did! She thought. 

She turned the drawing over and hastily read the message written on the back. 

He must have spies watching the mail, she thought ruefully. 

"Gypsy! What's taking you so damn long?" 

"I'm coming!" She called. 

Scheherazade folded the drawing as quietly as she could and tiptoed into her room, tucking the paper underneath the mattress. Then she dashed silently back to the table and picked up the glass of wine, trying to focus on slowing her breathing and keeping her hands from trembling. 

She knelt down and held it out to him. He took the glass and took a long drink from it, letting the warming liquid pool in his stomach and melt away the cares of the day. 

"You may have a glass if you wish," he said to the girl, setting his wine on the side of the pool. 

"No thank you," she replied despondently. 

"What's the matter with you?" He asked, sinking down into the pool until only his face was above the water. 

"Nothing," she said. She sat down on the edge of the pool, letting her legs hang in the water. 

He raised a dark eyebrow at her, not convinced at all by her answer. 

"It's just that..." She began, thinking quickly. "Well, it's lonely being trapped in here by myself all day." 

"Welcome to my world," Shariyar said sullenly. 

Scheherazade watched him reach for the glass of wine and down the remaining liquid in a single mouthful. Again, she had to remind herself that he was just a man. 

A man who desperately wants a companion in his lonely world to distract him from his own dark thoughts. 

She stirred the water with her feet: "Shariyar?" 

He blinked and looked up at the girl: "Yes?" 

"Would you like another story?" She asked hopefully. Her wide blue eyes were almost imploring. 

Shariyar's lips twitched into the briefest of smiles and then he nodded. 

"But," he said, interrupting her just as she was about to open her mouth, "make it a short one." 

"I'll try," she shrugged. "But, you know, these stories have minds of their own sometimes." 

"Try to keep your characters on a tight leash, gypsy," he said. "I can't be up all night." 

"Busy day tomorrow?" She asked. 

"No," he replied, a teasing grin playing over his face. "I just need to rest up over the next couple of days." 

She looked at him quizzically. He laughed and waded through the water towards her. His hands traced up her calves and his dark eyes gleamed up at her. 

"Because, come day after tomorrow, you and I are going to be having a lot of sleepless nights together."



Scheherazade and the King Ch. 05



Disclaimer: Thank you for everyone's patience while I finished writing my thesis - I'm so sorry you all had to wait so long for this update. Hopefully you'll find this chapter worth the wait. Thank you, also, to those who have written comments and sent me feedback. As per a reader's suggestion, I have tried to work in some Farsi vocabulary and phrases. However, since I don't actually speak the language, I've had to rely on the internet, so I apologise to any fluent speakers if I've used a word or phrase incorrectly (or if the swear words are much more offensive than I thought). Also, I promise you there are no more silly career/school issues standing in the way of Chapter 6. I hope you all enjoy reading this chapter as much as I enjoyed writing it. 

***** 

Scheherazade shot up in bed as Shariyar swung the doors to the queen's chamber wide. 

"Oh dear, did I wake you?" The king asked mockingly. 

"Apparently not," she replied, sinking back down into the covers. "Seems I'm still trapped in this nightmare." 

Shariyar walked towards her slowly, a smile playing about his lips: "So you know what day it is?" 

The girl rolled over and did not answer. 

Shariyar reached out and ran a finger down the folds of her dress, toying with the hem. 

"You won't be needing this anymore," he murmured, pulling the edge of her dress up. 

Lightning flashed in the girl's stormy eyes as she sat up in bed, struggling to hold the hem of her dress down. 

"Come on, gypsy, take it off," he purred, pulling her closer so that his lips brushed against her ear. His hands found their way around and gripped the front of her dress, pulling it sharply up so that her arms were trapped. Shariyar stood up from the bed and pulled at the fabric. Scheherazade tumbled onto the floor with an angry cry before the shift finally came up over her head. She hugged her arms around herself, curling up against the bed frame. 

"Don't be shy, girl," Shariyar said, balling the dress in his hands and throwing it across the room. "I know every inch of you - I own every inch of you. Show me what is mine." 

Scheherazade stood up slowly and let her arms hang at her sides. The fire in the king's eyes smouldered as they combed over her body. He stepped towards her, his clothes brushing against her just enough to make her nipples blossom. He wrapped an arm around her waist to keep her still as he lowered his head and took one of her breasts in his mouth. Scheherazade struggled against him, her fingers digging into his scalp as she tried to push his head away. Shariyar glanced up into her angry eyes and then bit down harshly on her nipple. Scheherazade cried out in surprise and pain, and she let go of Shariyar's hair abruptly. The king laughed and ran his tongue around her swollen nipple one last time before rising to meet her gaze. 

"Kiss me," he commanded. 

The girl pulled her face away from his with a contemptuous snarl, renewing her struggle to escape his grip. Shariyar smiled and let her go suddenly so that she fell backwards against the bed. Scheherazade gasped as she crashed into the bed frame, pain shooting up her spine as she crumpled to the floor. 

"I don't have time to give you what you want this morning," Shariyar said, bending down between the girl's sprawled legs. "But I will be back this afternoon to give that tight little kos of yours the fucking it deserves." 

Scheherazade glared up at him and her full lips shook with each heavy breath she took. 

Shariyar smirked at her defiance and reached out to run his thumb across her bottom lip. 

"You have the most beautiful lips," he murmured. "And they look even redder and fuller after you've sucked my cock." 

Scheherazade's nostrils flared angrily and Shariyar chuckled to himself, his thumb lingering on her lip. 

"Bite me," he whispered suddenly. 

The girl's eyes widened slightly in suspicion and then closed as she gently closed her mouth around his thumb. 

"Harder." 

Her eyes fluttered open and she looked at him warily. To be sure, she wanted to do nothing more than bite him, to make him bleed, even if only a little, but she could not understand what he wanted. 

"Do it," he said, his voice thick with impatience. He could feel her tongue brushing against his finger as she finally acquiesced. Her teeth sank viciously into his flesh and her eyes closed again. 

If she had kept them open, she might have seen the way his eyes closed in pleasure and the way his body tensed at the pain. 

He pulled his thumb from her mouth suddenly. And as she opened her eyes in surprise, he delivered a stinging slap across her cheek. 

"Kesafat e goh!" She cried, clasping a hand over her cheek. "What was that for?" 

Shariyar grabbed her chin and pulled her face sharply towards his, taking her mouth in a searing kiss before she shoved him away. 

"I felt like it," he shrugged, rising to his feet. 

"You are absolutely insane," she growled, pulling herself onto the bed. 

The king ignored her, walking across the room to pick up her dress. He threw the shift over his shoulder and made to leave. 

"Shariyar!" Scheherazade called, springing to her feet. "I need my dress. Hazim is coming to see me one last time." 

He glanced over his shoulder, one hand on the door handle: "No you don't. As I recall, Hazim has also seen every inch of you." 

And with that he closed the door behind him, turning the key in the lock. 

++++++++ 

Scheherazade walked around and around the empty room as she waited for Hazim, running the tips of her fingers gently across the walls as she paced. 

Suddenly her fingers ran across a slightly raised patch of the otherwise perfectly smooth wall. She leaned closer, looking in confusion at the uneven surface. It was nearly impossible to see, it looked so much like the rest of the marbled rock. Scheherazade scraped at the smooth material with her fingernail, watching as it curled away in fine strips. 

It's wax! She realised suddenly. It's been painted to look like the rest of the wall... 

The girl dug at the edge of the wax until she peeled a corner loose, pulling it away from the wall in one smooth, rectangular piece. 

She cradled the wax carefully in one hand while the other explored the slim, rough hole that had been carved out of the wall. Her fingers quickly met with a coarse piece of cloth and she tugged the bundle lose. 

Scheherazade knelt down, placing the strip of wax on the floor so that she could unwrap the burlap. A small dagger fell into her hand, the handle made of raw, unpolished wood. 

The girl dropped the piece of cloth to the floor and held the knife up, examining it in one of the slim rays of light that shone through the barricaded windows. 

"Oh Nasrin, you clever woman," she murmured, fingering the knife's edge cautiously. 

Noises from Shariyar's chamber brought her abruptly back to the present. She stuffed the fabric back inside the hole in the rock and tried as best she could to align the patterns painted across the wax with the ones the ran across the wall despite her trembling fingers. She pressed the wax covering in place and then dashed to the bed, wedging the dagger beneath the mattress. She pulled the sheet from the bed and just managed to wrap it around herself when the door opened. 

Scheherazade breathed a sigh of relief when Hazim walked in, sitting down on the bed heavily. 

"Oh my!" He gasped, rushing to her side as the guards pulled the door shut. "Are you all right?" 

"I'm fine," Scheherazade said, trying to calm her racing heart. "I was just scared that it would be Shariyar and not you." 

"I'm so sorry," the doctor said, his voice heavy with remorse. "If there was anything I could do —" 

"You have already done so much for me," Scheherazade interrupted. 

"And yet it is hardly enough." 

"Well then I must ask you to do something else for me," she said. 

"Anything, my dear!" 

Scheherazade reached beneath the mattress and pulled out the letter she had stolen from Shariyar. 

"He has spies watching the mail," she said, handing it to him. 

The doctor sat down on the bed beside her, shaking his head as he stared down at the drawing. 

"If he finds out you took this —" 

"It will be nothing worse than what he already has in store for me," she said shortly. "But can you send it again? Can you make sure it gets past the city limits without being intercepted?" 

"I will find a way," the old man vowed, tucking the letter inside his medicine bag. 

"Thank you," Scheherazade breathed. 

"But this means... he must have had a reason for not wanting your description circulated," the doctor mused gravely. "Perhaps he knows something of your past he's not letting on." 

"I doubt it," she said, shaking her head sadly. "He would do it out of pure spite." 

"Well, someone out there must know who you are, Scheherazade," the doctor said, rising to his feet with a renewed sense of purpose. "And I will do everything in my power to help you find them." 

Scheherazade smiled gratefully and thanked the old man as he left the room but his words did little to lift her heart. She lay down on the bed, her hand still clutching the sheet closed at her chest, and stared at the patterned ceiling. 

I have a choice now. She reached underneath the mattress and pulled the dagger free. She held it above her, entranced by the glimmers of light that danced upon the knife's edge. 

So... whose throat are you meant for? She wondered darkly. His? Or mine? 

She tucked the dagger beneath the mattress and closed her eyes. 

It was a terrible choice. 

++++++++ 

The morning wore on slowly, the queen's room growing hotter and hotter as midday approached. Scheherazade had long abandoned her modesty to the heat and she lay naked on the floor, fanning herself with her hands. 

Sounds filtered in from Shariyar's chamber and she sat up quickly, the blood rushing to her head as she did. Scheherazade pressed a hand to her forehead, groaning as the room swam before her. 

She heard shouting, the slam of a door, then more yelling. Scheherazade stood up slowly, struggling to maintain her balance as the room slowly came into focus. She pressed her ear against the door, trying to make sense of the cacophony of sounds coming from the king's chamber. 

"Shariyar?" She called out, slamming a fist against the door. "What's happening out there?" 

Suddenly the doors to her chamber were thrown wide, the force of the motion knocking her to the ground. 

Scheherazade scrambled backwards, her eyes wide with confusion as one of the guards rushed in and threw himself against the doors, barring them with his spear. 

He laughed breathlessly and turned to face her, leaning against the doors as he gathered his breath. 

"What's happening?" Scheherazade asked, pulling herself to her feat. "Is it Shahzaman? Are we under attack?" 

The guard ignored her questions and pulled off his helmet, throwing it across the room. She flinched as it clattered across the floor, the ringing metal loud in her ears. 

"No, we're not," he said finally. 

Scheherazade's scarlet cheeks blanched at the sound of the guard's voice. She had not recognised his pale, chiselled features, but she knew his voice in an instant — he was the soldier who had punched her in the dungeons. 

She was suddenly painfully aware of her nudity. She backed away from the man slowly, covering her breasts with her arms: "Then why are you here? What do you want?" 

The guard pushed himself away from the doors, peeling off his armour piece by piece as he walked towards her. 

"I want to know what's so valuable about you that I have to spend my every waking hour guarding you from harm," he said. 

Scheherazade's back met the wall and her eyes flashed angrily at the advancing guard. He was less than three feet from her now. 

But, just as he reached out a hand to grab her, the girl sprang to the side. The soldier growled and lunged after her, catching her by her ankle. She cried out as he brought her crashing to the ground. She tried to struggle from his grip but in the next instant he was straddling her back. He grabbed a fistful of her hair and slammed her forehead into the floor. Scheherazade moaned in agony as darkness clouded her vision. Her eyes blinked open as the guard dragged her across the floor towards the bed. Scheherazade tried to scream, tried to will her useless limbs into action as the soldier tossed her onto the mattress. 

He was on her like a ravenous animal, threatening to devour her with every biting kiss. Scheherazade slowly regained control of her senses but she did not try to buck the guard off her. While his vicious hands roamed her body, she searched silently for the knife hidden under the bed. Her frantic fingers suddenly met with the wooden hilt and she gripped it tightly in her fist. 

She lay unmoving as the soldier pressed himself against her, fumbling to free his cock. Scheherazade waited until he looked down and then, in one fluid and unflinching motion, plunged the dagger into his side. 

The guard howled and rolled off her, clutching at the bleeding wound. Scheherazade leapt from the bed and ran towards the doors, pulling the spear from the handles and rushing outside. She threw the door closed behind her but did not stop to lock it, dashing instead towards the doors leading out of Shariyar's chamber. She tugged at the handles and cried out in angry surprise when they did not open. 

"Help! Please, somebody!" She screamed, pounding her fists against the locked doors. "Help me!" 

She turned around and cried out, ducking as the guard's sword slashed at the door, cutting a notch where her neck had been the instant before. The soldier lurched after her angrily, the knife still buried in his side. Scheherazade ran back towards the queen's chamber, pushing the doors closed behind her and barricading them with the soldier's abandoned spear. 

She backed away from the doors slowly, her chest rising and falling frantically as she listened to the guard throw his weight against them. The spear strained against the force of his efforts and Scheherazade realised that it would not hold for much longer. 

"You're dead, girl!" The soldier roared as he barrelled towards the doors. "When I get in there, you're fucking dead!" 

She pushed the bed towards the doors, straining at the effort it took to move the heavy wooden frame. The bed was only a foot away from the door when the spear finally gave out, snapping in half. Scheherazade cried out and fell backwards as the guard pushed the door open, clambering over the bed and inside the room. 

Blood poured from his side but the man barely seemed to notice. Scheherazade pulled herself to her feet and dashed to the other side of the bed. The guard snarled and threw his sword through the air, the spinning blade missing Scheherazade's head by mere inches. She rushed towards the door but the guard was quicker — he caught her by her hair and wrenched her back inside the room, throwing her to the ground. 

Scheherazade screamed as the guard fell on her, struggling to twist her way out from under him. Her every sense consumed with the pursuit of escape, she barely registered the sounds of Shariyar and his remaining guards crashing into the chamber until two of the soldiers wrestled her attacker off her. 

The girl scrambled to her feet and backed away from the men. For a moment all she could hear was the sound of blood in her ears. But, suddenly, another sound brought her sharply into the present: The steel of Shariyar's sword fairly sung as he pulled it from its sheath. 

She watched in stunned silence as the two guards forced her attacker to his knees, seeing but not understanding what was happening until Shariyar placed his blade against the soldier's neck. He swung the sword upwards and then brought it back down. 

Though it lasted for only a moment, the sound of Shariyar's sword cleaving through the guard's flesh was sickening. 

Scheherazade refused to look away. She watched in resolute horror as the man's head fell from his neck and rolled across the floor, colouring the marble tiles crimson. Scheherazade felt something — whether it was sweat or blood or tears, she wasn't sure — dripping down her face and her legs gave out beneath her. She sunk to her knees, her fingers digging into her thighs as she stared at the corpse. The hilt of the dagger stuck out from his ribs and the soft tapping of blood against marble seemed to resound loudly throughout the silent chamber. A few feet away, the soldier's eyes gazed, wide and unseeing, at her. 

She blinked and looked up at Shariyar, watching him wipe the blood from his sword across his cloak without a moment's hesitation for the rich fabric. He sheathed the weapon and turned his amber eyes to her, wordlessly offering her his hand. 

Shariyar had never seen the girl's eyes so empty of emotion. He saw no rage, no fear, no sadness circling in her azure irises. 

"Are you all right?" He asked her, pulling her towards him. 

Her cheeks were painted with blood, most of it the solder's but some of it her own. Her forehead was already bruising around a gash at her temple. Shariyar caught the girl's hair gently in his fingers and cradled her face against his chest. 

Scheherazade closed her eyes and concentrated on the sound of Shariyar's heart pounding, trying to drown out the echoes of the soldier's death, which seemed to ring in her ears. 

Shariyar pulled away from her slightly, examining her carefully. 

"Your forehead is bruised and you're bleeding a little," he said softly. "Did he hurt you anywhere else?" 

The girl shook her head. 

"Did he —?" He let the question hang unfinished, not wanting to speak the words aloud. 

"No," she whispered. 

Shariyar pulled the cloak from his shoulders and wrapped it around her. She grimaced slightly at the thought of the blood that stained the garment but did not object to the covering. 

"I'm going to pick you up, all right?" Shariyar said. 

Scheherazade nodded and inhaled sharply as the king brought her gently into his arms. She hugged the thick cloak around herself, pressing her face against Shariyar's chest so she did not have to stomach another glance at the gruesome scene. 

"Get this mess cleaned up," Shariyar growled at the guards as he carried the girl out the door. 

The king bore the girl swiftly down the hallway and the stairs, intending to take her to see Hazim, but she stopped him suddenly. 

"Shariyar, please stop," she said, the strength in her voice restored. 

"What's wrong?" He asked, coming to a halt at the bottom of the staircase. 

"I can walk," she said. 

Shariyar hesitated. 

"I want to walk," she said. "Please." 

The king set her down, his powerful hands ready to catch her if she was unsteady on her feet. But Scheherazade's moment of shock had worn off and she was as sure on her feet as ever. 

"I don't need to go to Hazim," she said as they walked down the corridor. 

"Head wounds can be deceptive," Shariyar said. "Many a man I've seen in battle collapse from head injuries sustained days prior. You may think you're all right, but you've been hurt." 

Scheherazade sighed resignedly and let him lead her the rest of the way. 

Hazim had heard of the attack and was ready for her when they arrived, immediately peppering her with questions to check her memory before cleaning her wound. 

The girl winced as he dabbed a warm, damp towel against her forehead and Shariyar grabbed her hand almost instinctively. She glanced up sharply at him and pulled her fingers from his. 

"Well, it's a much smaller cut than I'd thought," Hazim said. "So you'll be spared the pain of stitches, my dear." 

Scheherazade closed her eyes in relief. 




Scheherazade and the King Ch. 05



"She should rest here for a while," Hazim said, turning to Shariyar. "At least for the afternoon so I can monitor her condition." 

"Of course," he said. "That will give the servants time to ready the chambers in the eastern wing." 

"The eastern wing?" Scheherazade asked. 

"Would you prefer to remain in Nasrin's room?" Shariyar asked sharply. 

"No," she mumbled. 

"This is the second time someone has died by my hand in that room," the king said. "I am going to have it walled-off and levelled, just as I should have done months ago." 

Scheherazade fidgeted with the covers in the silence that ensued. 

Hazim cleared his throat and rose to his feet: "Well, I'm going to go get you some water, Scheherazade. You are clearly dehydrated." 

The doctor brushed past Shariyar, leaving him alone with the girl. 

"Do you —," Shariyar's voice was low, as if he were unsure of himself. "Do you want me to stay with you?" 

Scheherazade looked up at the king, her expression cryptic. 

Now why would she want you to stay, huh? He berated himself as he waited for her to answer. But I saved her! Indeed... from the pot right back into the fire. She wants nothing to do with you. 

"Never mind," he muttered, turning to leave. 

"Shariyar," she called out, stopping him in the doorway. 

"What?" He asked gruffly over his shoulder. 

"Thank you," she said. 

He nodded and left her without another word. 

++++++++ 

Shariyar could barely focus on the map laid out before him. Various generals and captains pushed clay figures across the parchment, arguing about the terrain and whose battalions should be stationed where. 

They had been in the middle of discussing strategies of how best to advance north into Dahae territory when Akbar had burst into the room, breathless and panicked, to tell him that Faraz was attacking Scheherazade. 

He had not seen the guard's treachery coming, and that shook him more than anything else. 

The maelstrom of voices in the room grew louder as the men's arguments over strategy became increasingly bitter. Finally Shariyar raised a hand to silence them. 

"Let us adjourn for the evening," he said wearily. "I have had a trying day and cannot give this matter my full attention. We will reconvene in the morning." 

Shariyar rose and his subjects did the same, they bowed as he and his guards filtered from the room. 

They walked through the palace in silence until they reached the doors to the eastern chambers. Shariyar was about to enter the room when he suddenly stopped and turned to address his guards. 

"You lost a friend and colleague today and for that I am sorry," he said gravely. "But, I assure you, Faraz will be buried with the full honour of his rank. Go home, rest. I have no need of your service tonight." 

The men did not protest. After a collective bow, they disappeared down the hallway. 

Shariyar sighed and pushed open the doors to the room. Once, these had been his parents' chambers. After his father's passing, Shariyar had ordered the servants to clear away the minutia of their existence that remained. He had intended the rooms to serve as guest quarters for visiting dignitaries. 

Not that I've had any. He thought sullenly. 

He walked into the room, taking in the low, wood-beamed ceilings and tapestried walls for the first time in years. His father had never been one for polished stone and lofty chambers, he had modelled his quarters to reflect the warmth of the dwellings that had characterised his youth before royalty. 

Shariyar noticed suddenly that the gypsy was nowhere to be seen. His ears pricked as a breath of air stirred the room, carrying whispers of a melody on its wings. He crossed the chamber, pushing open the carved wooden doors that led out into the patio garden. The garden was a indeed a feat of ingenuity: A full storey above the earth, his mother had managed to grow a paradise all of her own. A pond filled with waterlilies sat in the centre of the walled oasis, shaded by the lush foliage of flowering myrtles and fragrant citrus trees. 

He followed the faint sound of music down the narrow slab-stone path that led into the centre of the garden and found Scheherazade seated on the edge of the pond, plucking lazily at the strings of his father's oud beneath the light of hanging lanterns. Her bare feet tapped lightly to an off-beat rhythm inside her head while her fingers deftly coaxed a melancholy song from the ancient instrument. 

Lyrics tumbled from her lips, dark and soulful: "I am captured in the shade, tangled in the net he made..." 

She glanced Shariyar's way then turned her eyes back to the instrument. 

"Ragged claws across the floor. How long have I been drowning for?" 

Shariyar took another step towards her and started when broken glass crunched beneath his boots. He stared down in confusion at the shards of glass, the pool of red... But it was not blood. 

"Gypsy, are you drunk?" He asked, his tone wavering between amusement and anger. 

"I might be," she said, her fingers never breaking from their dance across the oud's strings. 

"Now hush," she admonished. "Let me finish the song: I feel the salt in my veins, feel the teeth on my remains. My blood is weaker than the sea, she courses through what's left of me. And yet I hear his voice as it whispers through the dark. I can feel his fingers around my heart. I sink down, down, down into the blackest of the sea. Down, down, down not even death can set me free." 

She let the last chord hang in the air and then turned her eyes to the king. He could see she was drunk. Her sharp eyes were not focused, they stared at him with half-resolved resentment. 

"What do you think?" She asked. "Too dark and depressing?" 

Shariyar did not answer. He turned his attention to dislodging the shards of glass from his boots. 

"How about this one," she said, strumming the instrument in a livelier tune. "I went down to the shore one day, the prettiest girl did I see. I should have asked her from whence she came before 'would you marry me?' Too-lo-too-la-too-lay, she was a pretty dish! Too-lo-too-la-too-lay, too bad she was half fish!" 

She chuckled to herself as the chords faded and watched as Shariyar tried to kick the larger pieces of glass off the path. 

"Sorry about that," she said, her voice devoid of any real regret. "I've been testing your coping mechanism and, I have to tell you, I don't think wine is a strong enough spirit to banish my demons." 

She dropped to her feet and shoved the oud into Shariyar's chest. He took it without a word, watching dumbfounded as she began to walk down the winding pathway, her bare feet narrowly missing the gleaming splinters of glass. He followed her wordlessly, his gaze hanging on her swinging hips. 

Shariyar followed the girl into the chamber and rested the oud against the wall. Scheherazade pulled two glasses from a cupboard beneath the main table and filled them with wine. 

"Does it help you forget?" She asked. "Or does it just make you feel like this - deeply, passionately, tragically wronged?" 

Shariyar kicked off his boots and pulled his shirt over his head, throwing it to the floor. He walked towards her and ran his fingers up her spine, taking a heady breath as her body arched in response. 

She spun on her heels, holding his wine out for him. 

He drew his hand away to accept the glass and took a long draught. She watched him warily as she took a sip from her own cup. 

"Actually," he said finally, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, "most of the time it makes me want to fuck something." 

Scheherazade stepped back from him. She licked her lips as she looked him over, her eyes lingering on the trail of dark hair that snaked down from his navel, before returning her gaze to meet his. 

"Seems it does not have that effect on me either," she said, her eyes simmering. 

"Bloodshed makes me hungry," he said, running his tongue across his lower lip. "And the sight of you makes me thirsty." 

"Oh yes, I almost forgot you like me best when I'm a bit bruised up," she said bitterly. 

Something like remorse flickered in his fiery eyes as he stared at her. He reached out and gently pushed the hair from her face, revealing the purple marks beneath. His fingers drifted down the curve of her face, lingering on her lower lip. 

"I'm sorry you had to see that," he said, releasing her from his touch. "I should have made you leave the room. I wasn't thinking." 

She shrugged: "I've seen men die before, Shariyar." 

"Ah yes, you've seen Death and you know his face is not like mine," he said, recalling her first story. "Are you sure I did not bear a slight resemblance to him today?" 

"I'm certain," she said. "You're far more handsome." 

Shariyar raised a brow at her: "Was that a complement, gypsy?" 

"Yes, and one you should treasure," she said, pushing past him. "I'm sure it will be the last." 

He followed her back out into the garden, struggling to keep his eyes and hands from the girl's ass as it swayed before him. 

"Be careful of the glass," he said. 

"I know," she snapped with mild annoyance, sidestepping the shattered goblet. 

She sat down on the edge of the pond and dipped her fingers in the water, tracing lazy circles around the lily pads. 

"Do you have pets, Shariyar?" She asked abruptly. 

"No," he said, sitting down beside her. "Nasrin used to keep peacocks. The damn things were always flying up onto the roof and getting in through her window. I'd come in and she'd be reading or sewing, surrounded by a flock of squawking birds." 

She watched as his lips curved in a nostalgic smile. 

"Do you miss her?" She asked quietly. 

He looked at her and nodded, throwing back the rest of his wine. 

"We had a deal, gypsy," he reminded her. "Now that you've asked me a question about Nasrin, I get to ask you one about your former master." 

"One question," she agreed quietly, taking a long drink of wine. 

"Who was he?" 

"Depended which side of his sword you were on," she said. "To his own people he was a hero, to the rest of the world, he was nothing more than a thief and pirate." 

"What was his name?" 

"No," she said, shaking her head. "You only get one question about him." 

"Fine," he said. "But there's something else I want to know: Where did you get that dagger?" 

He was certain he knew the answer and he tried to prepare himself mentally for what she would say. 

"It was hidden in the queen's chamber," she said. 

Shariyar nodded grimly and turned away from the girl. His queen had given herself, not one, but two opportunities to kill him. 

He looked at her suddenly: "But you didn't use it on me?" 

Scheherazade's countenance was stony as she replied: "I only found it this morning." 

"Were you planning to kill me, gypsy?" He growled, his handsome features contorting viciously. 

The girl eyed him almost idly: "I had not made up my mind." 

"Well then perhaps I should be grateful that my guard attacked you," Shariyar snapped bitterly. 

Scheherazade's eyes lit up angrily and she was on her feet in a moment, rounding on the monarch with sudden and uncharacteristic savagery. 

"Believe me, Shariyar," she snarled, slamming a pointed finger into his chest, "if that blade hadn't been for you, it would have been for me." 

Shariyar was taken aback by the girl's sudden strength. He took her in with wide eyes: Her bruised face, her wine-soaked lips, the tempest raging in her eyes. Before she could protest, his hand was on the back of her neck, pulling her forcefully towards him so that he could capture her mouth in a kiss. 

He stood up as he kissed her, holding her against his bare chest with his other hand at the small of her back. Slowly he felt her fists unclench and she dug her nails lightly into his skin, dragging them across his chest as she kissed him back. 

Shariyar bit at her lower lip as he pulled away from her, eliciting a low moan that made his cock stir. 

"I think I like you better drunk, gypsy," he said breathlessly. 

Scheherazade closed her eyes and tried to push him away, her limbs suddenly heavy under their own weight. 

"Let me go, Shariyar," she said. "I don't feel well." 

"Oh you'll feel much better in a few moments," he murmured lustily, drawing her into his arms. He walked with her deeper into the garden until they reached a grassy space beneath an old wisteria that clung to the stone walls with gnarled fingers.  

He set her on her feet and pushed her up against the wall, her back pressing against the creeping branches of the wisteria as he kissed her. 

She tried to hold him at arm's length but she did not have the strength or the energy to struggle against him for long. 

"No, stop," she moaned as his mouth moved to her neck and his hands lifted her dress around her waist. 

"I can't," he breathed, pushing his pants down just far enough to free his throbbing cock. 

Scheherazade clamped her eyes shut as Shariyar wrapped his arms under her thighs, grabbing her ass with both hands and lifting her off the ground. He positioned his member at the opening of her sex and thrust the crown of his cock inside her. He withdrew and Scheherazade's eyes flashed open. He pushed inside her again, giving her a couple more inches of his cock before pulling out again. 

"Do you want it, gypsy?" He asked. "Do you want all of my cock inside you?" 

The girl cried out as he drove the tip of his member inside her again. Shariyar laughed breathlessly as he pulled out once again, his cock dripping with precum as he pressed it against her pussy. 

"Tell me you want it," he said. 

"Let me go," Scheherazade whimpered. 

"Tell me you want it," he repeated, giving her another inch of his dick. 

He needed her to say it. He needed her to say it now. Shariyar's balls were aching they were so heavy with cum. 

"This will all be over soon if you just say it," he murmured. 

She pushed him away weakly, her hands resting against his chest. 

"Just say you want my cock, say you want me," Shariyar pressed. "Say it and it will be over soon." 

The head of his cock brushed against her pussy, leaving a glistening trail of precum across her skin. He pushed himself inside her and then pulled out, repeating the motion again and again. 

"Say it, gypsy," he snarled. "Say it." 

Scheherazade nodded her head and closed her eyes. But that was not good enough. 

Shariyar pushed her harder against the wall and she cried out as a branch snapped against her. 

"Say it," he murmured fiercely. 

The girl looked at him, her eyes wide and unfocused but all the more blue for the tears that swam in them. He glanced down at his cock, its crown teasing the entrance to her sex, and then back up at her. His eyes burned her with desire. 

"I want you," she whispered, her voice barely audible. 

Shariyar growled and thrust the full length of his cock inside her before she even had the chance to finish her sentence. He buried himself so deep inside her that she cried out, her sobs echoing into the night as he pummelled her mercilessly. 

He revelled in every whimpering noise she made, biting at her neck as he forced himself deeper and deeper inside her. 

"Fuck, gypsy," he snarled. "Fuck you're tight." 

Scheherazade moaned and pushed her palm against his face. He laughed and sucked one of her fingers into his mouth, raking his teeth across her skin. She pulled her hand away and slapped him across his face. Shariyar just growled and fucked her harder, his fingers leaving ten perfect bruises on her ass. 

"Go on, gypsy," he said, "fight back." 

She stared into his eyes helplessly, her lips trembling as she moaned. 

"Fight back," he purred mockingly. "Come on, show me what you're made of." 

The tears that filled the girl's eyes trickled forth slowly and Shariyar leaned forward to kiss her tear-stained cheek, savouring the salty taste of her skin. 

"I'm going to cum," he whispered. "Tell me you want it." 

Her eyes flashed angrily and he buried his nails in her flesh. She cried out and pushed against him, the wisteria branches digging into her flesh as she struggled away from him with renewed vigour. 

Shariyar laughed breathlessly and pulled her harshly towards him, impaling her tight pussy on his cock. 

"Say it," he commanded, his voice harsh. 

Scheherazade's eyes snapped into focus for a moment and her nostrils flared angrily at him. 

"Fuck you," she snarled. 

Shariyar leaned forward and kissed her, groaning into her mouth as he came. His teeth grazed her lips as he emptied his balls inside her, the force of his orgasm sending a shiver down his whole body. He pulled away from her, his cock slipping from inside her. 

She waited for him to drop her, but he did not. He kept her pinned against the wall, his abdomen tight as he panted. 

He suddenly smiled up at her smugly. Scheherazade looked down and saw his half-erect cock still pointed at her. But that was not what he was looking at. She groaned in humiliation as his cum dripped from her pussy. 

Shariyar let the girl go, stumbling backwards from exertion. She sunk to her knees, cum leaking onto her thighs. 

"Gypsy," he panted, "I've waited too long to have you again to stop now." 

The king stood over her, his hand around his cock as he coaxed himself easily to another erection. He placed a hand on the back of her head and pulled her face towards his groin. 

Scheherazade looked up at him and saw the stars spinning over his head. 

"Open your mouth," he said, running his cock across her cheeks. 

The girl felt the tip of his cock brush across her lips and she parted them. He filled her mouth immediately with a satisfied groan, pushing his full length inside her mouth until his dick was at the back of her throat. 

Scheherazade clamped her eyes shut, tears spilling down her cheeks as he held her head in place and fucked her throat, choking her with each thrust. She could feel the dark hair that covered his testicles brushing against her chin as he drove inside her. She wanted to bite him, to hear him roar out in pain instead of pleasure, but she had no fight left in her wine-weary limbs. Every inch of her body felt heavy, every muscle slack. 

Shariyar withdrew his cock and wiped it across her face, moaning slightly at the sight of his member trailing saliva and precum across her skin. 

He let go of her head and Scheherazade collapsed backwards, closing her eyes to the swimming world as she tried to catch her breath. 

Shariyar knelt between her legs and ripped her dress down the middle, his broad hands rending the thin fabric with ease. The girl shivered as he pulled the dress apart to expose her breasts, her rosy nipples hardening at the sudden touch of the cool night air. 

The king ran his hands over her body, his palms moulding to every curve and plane as they swept down her torso. He ran his fingers over the marks his guard's attack had left on her pale skin, tracing the thin outline of teethmarks around one of her nipples. 

Did I do that? He wondered. Or did Faraz? 

Shariyar lowered his head and sunk his teeth into her breast right where the marks were, running his tongue over her erect nipple as he did. 

The girl whimpered and clutched fistfuls of grass and sod, digging her hands into the earth as she felt his hardening erection brushing against her lower belly. Shariyar raised his head, his teeth still around her nipple until it slipped from between them. 

He settled between her thighs, pushing his cock against the entrance to her sex. 

"Do you see the effect you have on me?" He asked breathlessly. "You're still wet with my cum and yet I'm ready to fuck you again." 




Scheherazade and the King Ch. 05



Scheherazade choked out a desperate sob and Shariyar silenced her with a hand over her mouth as he forced himself inside her. He watched as the girl's eyes flashed open, the pain of his motions evident in her gaze. 

"I'm sorry," he whispered, groaning as she sunk her teeth into the soft flesh of his palm. "I know you're sore but I just have to have you." 

The girl had finally managed to muster just enough strength to bite him, and yet the sting of her teeth just made him drive harder inside her. 

Shariyar placed a hand on her lower stomach, pressing down on her so that he could feel his own cock moving deep inside her. Her lithe body squeezed tightly around every inch of his member, driving him to the brink of orgasm with each thrust. 

"I'm going to cum all over your face, gypsy," he murmured lustily. "I want to watch you lick my seed off your lips." 

Even though the weight of his body pressed the breath from her lungs, Scheherazade could have sworn his voice came from miles away. 

Finally, Shariyar groaned and pulled out from her. He clambered over her, kneeling over face so that he could empty his semen across her cheeks. 

Scheherazade opened her eyes for the briefest moment and the king was undone. He moaned as thick ropes of cum shot across the girl's face, glistening white against her flushed skin. He shook the last drops of cum onto her lips and then stood up, stepping over her as he pulled his pants up. 

The girl rolled onto her side and curled into herself, clutching the remains of her dress around herself. 

"Come on, girl, get up," Shariyar said. "Let's go inside." 

Scheherazade pushed herself to her knees slowly and tried to stand, but the earth beneath her feet pitched violently and she fell back to the ground. She stared up at the sky, watching the stars circling faster and faster until they became Shahzaman's argent eyes, and then she knew no more. 

++++++++ 

Scheherazade woke up to blinding sunshine. Her eyes blinked open slowly and she winced at the brightness of the morning, her vision adjusting slowly as she sat up in bed. 

Yes, she was in a bed. She glanced around and found it was empty otherwise. 

What room is this? She wondered, struggling to recognise the rich textiles that covered the walls. This isn't Shariyar's chamber... 

She realised then that she was naked and the memories of the day before suddenly flooded her. She felt her heart drop into her stomach. For a few blissful moments, she had hoped those waking memories were nothing more than a terrible dream. But this was not Shariyar's room, and those memories were all too real. 

Her eyes lit on the table across the room and saw it laden with food and water. She stumbled out of bed and walked, in as straight a line as she could manage, to the table. She sat down heavily in the chair, her head pounding. She cradled her forehead in her hands and moaned, now painfully aware of the amount of wine she had consumed the night before. 

She took a sip of water from a waiting cup and suddenly needed to be sick. She stumbled back to the bed and pulled out the chamber pot from underneath, bile rising in her throat. 

Scheherazade felt slightly better afterwards, and she glanced around the room with renewed clarity. She walked back to the table and grabbed a handful of grapes before heading into the adjoining bath chamber. 

She stepped down into the bathing pool and sat on the steps as she ate, hoping the juicy fruits would help her hydrate. When she was finished, she waded deeper into the pool to wash her face and wet her hair. She pushed her dripping hair from her face and ran handfuls of water over her arms. She noticed dirt under her fingernails and stared at her hands in confusion. 

She waded back to the steps and sat down, trying to recall what had happened the night before as she cleaned her fingernails. 

I remember the attack. She thought. Then Hazim led me to this room... and told me not to drink. 

She cringed as she remembered blatantly ignoring the old man's warning. No sooner had the door closed behind him than she'd poured herself a drink. She had been through so much that day that she had wanted nothing more than to forget it all, doctor's orders be damned. 

Then what? Shariyar came, we talked out in the garden... She tried to remember what they had talked about but she could not recall their conversation nor what had happened after. She shifted her weight and realised that her pussy was sore. Her shoulders slumped as she realised what must have happened. She felt so helpless not knowing what had happened to her own body. 

++++++++ 

Shariyar headed back to the eastern chambers to take his lunch, wondering what he would find when he returned. The girl had still been asleep when he left in the morning so he had ordered the servants to bring her food and water. 

He opened the doors to the room and glanced around for the girl. The servants had already cleared the food from the table and made the bed. He poked his head inside the bathing chamber and then, finding it empty, walked out into the garden. 

Scheherazade was sitting on the edge of the pond, just as he had found her the night before. She was wearing the shirt he had abandoned on the floor the night before and she held her ripped dress in her hands. 

"Feeling a little tender today?" He asked, crouching in front of her. "You drank a lot last night." 

"You need to stop ripping my dresses," she murmured, ignoring his question. 

"If you stopped insisting on wearing them, I wouldn't have to," he said, running his hands up her calves. He pushed his hands under the hem of the shirt to caress her thighs. 

"I don't remember you doing it," she said softly. 

Shariyar's brow furrowed slightly: "You don't?" 

"I remember we were talking here," she said, her eyes downcast. "But after that, nothing." 

Some small part of her hoped that Shariyar would be upset to learn that she did not remember, that he had taken advantage of her intoxicated state. One glance into his dark eyes, however, and she knew he was not. 

He pushed his hands further up her thighs: "Would you like me to remind you?" 

She shoved him backwards and threw the ripped dress in his face, stalking towards the bedroom with her hands balled in fists. 

The king laughed and followed her, grabbing one of her wrists and pulling her into his arms. He pinned her hands behind her back and leaned in close to her. 

"You were such a good girl for me," he purred, planting a teasing kiss on the corner of her mouth. 

Scheherazade pulled her head away in anger and looked away from him. 

"You begged for my cock and my cum," he murmured in her ear. "You told me you wanted my seed deep inside you." 

"That's not true." 

"It is," he said. "I fucked you twice and you still wanted more." 

"You're lying," she growled. 

"Am I?" He asked mockingly. "Let's get some liquor in you and see." 

She twisted wildly in his grasp, trying to wrench her wrists free. 

"I want you now, gypsy," Shariyar said darkly, gripping her wrists even more viciously. "And you will go to my bed without a fight." 

"Not a chance," she snarled. 

Shariyar released her wrists suddenly. The moment she was free of his menacing grip, however, the tip of his sword was beneath her chin. 

He pushed her chin upwards with the cold steel of the blade: "Lead the way, girl." 

Scheherazade turned around slowly and walked towards the bedroom, the tip of the king's sword pressing against her back the whole time. 

"Turn around," he said once they were inside. "And get on your knees." 

Scheherazade's sapphire eyes shot daggers at him as she turned around and knelt. 

"Take off that shirt." 

The girl pulled the garment over her head slowly, her hair falling to cover her breasts as she tossed it to the side. 

"Spread your knees wider," he murmured, his balls growing heavy as he watched her obey his order. Her gaze never wavered and the accusations glinting in the dark blue depths of her eyes just made his blood run hotter. 

He undid the fastenings to his trousers and pushed them down until they fell around his ankles. 

"Now put that pretty little mouth to use and lick and kiss your way up to my cock," he said, slowly stroking his hardening member. 

When Scheherazade did not move he leaned over her and smacked the broad side of his sword against her ass. The girl yelped and began to kiss and lick her way up his left leg. Shariyar groaned contentedly at the feel of her mouth against his skin, running his hand slightly faster up and down his cock. 

Scheherazade's lips ran up his leg, grazing up his thigh until she was just below his balls. 

"Don't stop," he commanded breathlessly. "Lick them." 

He smacked the sword against her ass when she hesitated, the razor-sharp edges leaving thin red marks on her skin. 

Shariyar groaned as he felt her tongue run across his scrotum, barely whispering across his aching balls. He stroked his cock faster, shuddering at each tentative lick. 

"Now lick my cock," he murmured, moving his hand away. 

The girl's mouth roamed upwards and she ran her tongue up and down the length of his cock before taking the entire length of his member into her mouth. Shariyar moaned as the warmth of her mouth enveloped him, her tongue still moving against his cock. 

He leaned forward, driving himself deeper into her mouth. The sword came down against her ass once more and Shairyar groaned as the girl whimpered around his cock. 

"That's it, gypsy," he breathed, holding her head in place with one hand. 

He could feel the pressure in his balls growing, feel the desire in his body aching for release. He did not want to finish so soon. He wanted to take her on her hands and knees and try and split her in half from behind. But he did not have the time, he was needed in another military strategy meeting soon. 

Shariyar growled, half in frustration and half in pleasure. He did not try to fight the building climax, he merely pushed his cock deeper down Scheherazade's throat so that she would have no choice but to swallow every drop of his cum. 

He held her head still as he came so that she could feel his seed sliding down her throat and then released her. Scheherazade fell backwards, coughing as she struggled to catch her breath. 

Shariyar pulled his trousers back on and fastened them, returning his sword to its sheath. He walked towards the door, not bothering to help the girl to her feet. 

"Have a drink or two while you wait for my return, gypsy," he said over his shoulder as he left. "Who knows what you'll beg me to do to you tonight." 

++++++++ 

The sun had just set when Shariyar threw the doors to the chamber wide and stalked inside, a scowl disfiguring his handsome features. 

"Gypsy!" He roared. "Get in here." 

Scheherazade walked in from the garden slowly. The expression on the king's face unnerved her. 

"What's the matter with you?" She asked, sitting down on the edge of the bed. 

"I was expecting the arrival of a diplomatic envoy but a storm blew them off course and they lost most of their fleet." 

"A diplomatic envoy from where?" She asked. 

"That is no concern of yours," he snapped. 

Scheherazade glowered at him. 

"They are supposed to land at Cyrria tomorrow morning," he continued. "And I am going to meet whoever of their company remains." 

She was not sure how, but somehow Scheherazade knew of the city of Cyrria. It was a small but prosperous city and a favourite stop for merchant traders. More importantly, however, it lay miles and miles away along the eastern coast. 

The girl did not bother to conceal the eagerness in her voice: "Will you be gone long?" 

"Unfortunately for you, no," Shariyar said witheringly. "I'm leaving tonight and I will be back here by tomorrow night. The morning after at the latest." 

Scheherazade scowled, her displeasure obvious. 

"Come on, gypsy, you've already had five days rest from me," he said, his tone low and mocking as he pulled her from the bed and into his arms. "Now you're all mine." 

He kissed her before she could protest, savouring his last taste of her. 

"Try not to miss me too much," he said and let her go. 

Scheherazade sat back down on the bed heavily as Shariyar locked the door behind him. She wondered if he would remember to make sure the servants fed her while he was gone. 

The sun slipped below the horizon and still no servants came to bring her supper, so Scheherazade wandered out into the garden, plucking an orange from one of the citrus trees. She peeled the fruit as she wandered through the walled oasis, leaving a trail of orange rind as she went. A white willow stood in one of the far corners of the garden and Scheherazade ducked under its draping limbs, curling up against the knotted trunk. 

Scheherazade ate the orange in the darkness, finding comfort in the curtain of hanging fronds that guarded her from sight. She had almost made up her mind to spend the night curled up amongst the roots of the willow when she was suddenly overcome with an instinctual awareness of another being's presence. 

The girl crawled forward slowly and parted the willow branches, glancing furtively around the garden. Although the dark oasis seemed still and empty, the knots twisting in Scheherazade's stomach said otherwise. She knew she was being watched. 

She stood up and left the cover of the willow tree, creeping quietly through the garden. She almost ran the last few steps into the bedroom, sighing in relief as she bolted the door to the garden behind her. 

But she was forced to stifle a scream when she turned around and saw a shadowy figure sitting at the table. She clapped her hands over her mouth, her heart suddenly in her throat. 

The man rose and stepped into the light. Scheherazade knew his silver eyes in an instant. 

"Shahzaman," she breathed. 

He offered her a crooked smile: "Hello, wild waves."



Scheherazade and the King Ch. 06



Scheherazade stood frozen as she stared at the exiled prince, her hands clamped firmly over her mouth. 

Just as he had been the night she first saw him, Shahzaman was clothed all in black, a matched set of swords sheathed at his hips. But this time his face was not obscured by a dark mask. 

Hazim's voice echoed in her mind as she took in the prince's visage: He tortured him within an inch of his life before Shahzaman's allies helped him escape. 

Tendrils of scorched tissue snaked up from beneath his clothing, covering his neck before continuing up his right jawline. She had seen burns before but never to this extent. His skin looked like melted wax that some blundering candlemaker had tried to push back into place. 

Where his flesh was not burned, it was scarred. Lines of stitched flesh blazed forked patterns across his face like lightning. 

The banished prince watched her taking him in quietly, his gaze unwavering as her sapphire eyes followed the trail of traumatised flesh until it reached where his right ear should have been. 

"Did Shariyar do that to you?" She asked, her hands falling slowly from her mouth. 

Shahzaman blinked in surprise. Of all the questions she could have asked — indeed, probably should have asked — he had not expected that one. 

He looked down at the ground as if he was ashamed and ran a hand up his neck, his fingers hovering over the hole that marked where his ear had been. 

"I suppose I should be more concerned with what you're going to do to me than what your brother did to you," she said, her tone sombre. 

"I'm not here to hurt you," Shahzaman said, raising his silver eyes. 

Scheherazade's memory had not distorted the sound of the prince's voice: it rumbled up from his throat like distant thunder, low and booming. It sounded like it belonged to a much bigger man than the one who stood before her. 

"Then what do you want?" She asked. 

"I promised I'd see you again," he said, turning his back to her as he walked towards the table and sat down. 

"Why?" She asked, following after him. 

"I wanted to meet you," he said, stretching his legs. "And perhaps while you were awake this time." 

"Meet me?" She scoffed, her arms folded tightly across her chest. "Your brother's whore?" 

"That may be what he treats you as, but that is not what you are." 

"What am I then?" 

"A piece of a puzzle," he said. "A player in a game." 

"You mean a pawn," she muttered bitterly. 

"I do not," he said. "I did not survive this long by being a fool." 

She sat down in the chair opposite, eyeing him with suspicion. 

"I don't want to use you," he said softly, glancing across the table at her. 

Scheherazade scoffed aloud and sunk lower into her chair. 

"I'm sorry you find that so hard to believe," Shahzaman said. 

"And I'm sorry you risked your life just to lie to me," she glowered. 

"I'm not lying to you," Shahzaman said. 

"Oh really?" She asked. "Then tell me, in this game of yours, whose side should I be on?" 

The prince shrugged. 

"Whose side was Nasrin on?" 

Shahzaman's silver eyes narrowed: "No one's but her own." 

"That's not what I heard." 

The prince let out a heavy sigh, his proud shoulders slumping: "What did my brother tell you?" 

"He said that you convinced Nasrin to kill him because you wanted — want — to take the throne from him." 

"I didn't and I don't," he said. 

"His perceptions of reality seem to be the only ones that matter," she said. 

Shahzaman ran a hand up his neck, his fingers following the line of his scars until it reached where his ear should have been: "I'm well aware." 

The girl bowed her head and looked away. 

"From what I hear, you have suffered at his hands too," he said gently. 

He opened his mouth to speak again but, before he got the chance, she interjected sharply: "Wait — what do you mean "from what you hear"?" 

"I still have friends here and there," he said. 

He pulled a folded piece of paper from his shirt pocket and handed it to her: "Indeed, I think we have at least one mutual friend." 

Scheherazade unfolded the sheet and gasped slightly when she saw that it was one of Hazim's letters. 

"Hazim saved my life," he said, his voice low. 

She eyed him silently for a few moments, and then began to speak: "I saw the way your brother reacted when he found out you had breached the palace walls. I am loathe to believe he could have imagined such a threat where one does not exist." 

"And yet," she continued, musing aloud, "Hazim counts you as an ally." 

"I never had any intentions towards the throne," Shahzaman said. "In my younger years I was content to bask in the fame and wealth that was my birthright. Believe me, Scheherazade, had you known me before, you would feel no sympathy towards me now. It's a wonder Hazim cares about what becomes of me at all." 

"Hazim does not seem one to condemn easily," Scheherazade said. 

Shahzaman searched for a hint of bitterness in her voice but found none. He shook his head in wonder. 

"Scheherazade," he said, "when you discover who you are, and what you did to end up on this most unlikely of paths, I do not think you will be surprised." 

The girl looked at him sharply: "Do you know who I am?" 

"No," he admitted. 

Scheherazade's shoulders slumped slightly in disappointment. 

"But I have a guess." 

The girl straightened: "You do?" 

Shahzaman nodded: "And I believe that, once my brother receives the information I have, he will come to the same conclusions." 

"Information?" 

"I know two stories Shariyar does not," he said. "One will come to him from foreign messengers but the other must come from you." 

"From me?" 

"Yes," Shahzaman said. "He needs to hear your story." 

"No," the girl said, rising sharply from her seat. "I cannot." 

"You must," the prince said as he stood to follow her. 

"And what exactly would you know of my story?" She asked. 

Shahzaman sighed and sat back down: "After Shariyar tortured me, my friends and allies did everything they could to bring me back to health. But I was not satisfied with merely my health — I wanted to appease my vanity. So I sought out a Daarkan healer and that is how I came to meet Ekundayo." 

The name had a visceral effect on Scheherazade. 

"You met Ekundayo?" She asked, her voice barely louder than a whisper. 

The prince's eyes were downcast as he nodded solemnly: "I did." 

"Why do you hang your head?" Scheherazade asked, apprehension building in her voice. "What happened to her?" 

"Nothing," he said, his heart over his hand in promise. "She is alive and well to the best of my knowledge." 

"Then why are you so grave?" She asked. "What did you do?" 

"I did not do anything to her," he said. "But I tried." 

"You had best explain yourself — now," the girl said icily. 

"I sought Ekundayo out and demanded that she heal me," Shahzaman said. "I will never forget how she scoffed at my sword and my rank, how she sat me down in the dirt and began to tell me a story about a girl who had had everything taken from her — her voice, her sight, her youth and beauty. The girl had not come looking for healing; Fate had led her. She told me your story, Scheherazade, so I would understand why she could not use her ancient magic on the likes of me. And, had my friends not restrained my hand, I would have killed her for her refusal." 

"You and your brother do not seem so different after all," Scheherazade muttered grimly. 

Shahzaman lowered his head: "I would like to think I am no longer the same person who appeared before Ekundayo." 

Scheherazade sighed, taking in the sincerity in his voice, and finally relented: "You do not seem like the same man." 

"I am not," the prince said earnestly. 

The girl held his eyes for a moment before nodding for him to continue his story. 

"When Hazim told me about you — the girl covered in Daarkan tattoos that Jafar had rescued from the sea — I knew you were the young woman Ekundayo had described," Shahzaman said. "I knew your name before Hazim spoke it." 

"If you know the suffering I endured, then you will understand why I cannot tell Shariyar," she said firmly. 

"You must tell him," Shahzaman urged. 

"I will not relive those memories of pain and humiliation for him to take some sick pleasure in," she said, her voice trembling with anger. "And, even if he were to find an ounce of humanity left somewhere within him, I do not want his pity." 

"You do not deserve pity, Scheherazade," the prince said. "You deserve respect. You must tell him what you have endured so he can understand the kind of person you are." 

"Do you understand what you are asking of me?" She asked. "You are asking me to reveal my darkest, weakest moments to the man who rapes me and beats me." 

"If you do not tell him, you may never find out who you are." 

"And why can't you tell me?" She asked. "Why can't you find out?" 

"My forces may be strong, but I do not have the diplomatic resources necessary to confirm my suspicions," he explained gently. "Shariyar does." 

Scheherazade began to pace the floor, her hands clamped so tightly into fists that her fingernails threatened to puncture her palms. 

"How long before the messengers arrive?" She asked finally. 

"If there are no delays — and, believe me, Scheherazade, I am doing everything within my power to ensure there are none — approximately two months." 

"And what will happen if he comes to the same conclusions you have and confirms that I am whoever it is you think I am?" 

"As I see it, he has two choices: either he returns you to your former life or he keeps you for himself," he said. 

"Or he kills me," she muttered. 

"He won't." 

"Let us imagine he does decide to return me to my former life," Scheherazade said, ignoring the prince's remark. "What will you do then?" 

"If he does the right thing, my forces will be behind his, offering whatever support we can from the shadows until the day comes that he calls me "brother" again." 

"And if he keeps me or kills me?" She asked. 

"Then he will have to add another enemy to his growing list," Shahzaman said gravely. "Shariyar may control an empire, but his capital is surrounded by my desert. No caravan or messenger crosses those dunes unless I allow it. That is why, although my brother has banished a hundred and fifty women, he has killed none." 

Scheherazade stopped in her tracks: "You mean they are alive?" 

"Alive and well in my keep," he said. 

"Why haven't you returned them to their families?" She asked. "While you keep them, Shariyar still has a target on his back." 

"If I were to return them to their homes, I would have the loyalty of many powerful men," Shahzaman said. "My brother may not have their loyalty, but at least no one else does." 

Scheherazade laughed slightly to herself as she resumed pacing: "The irony of it all... By exiling you, your brother gave you the motivation to dethrone him and all the tools to do it." 

The prince watched as the girl walked back and forth with quick, deliberate steps. 

"So I am not a player in the game at all," she said finally, throwing an accusing glance over her shoulder at him. "I am the test your brother must pass." 

"He is doing better," Shahzaman said, his voice a gentle murmur. 

"Better?" She scoffed. 

"He is attending council meetings, he is drinking less," Shahzaman said. "And right now he is on his way to personally greet a diplomatic envoy — this is the first time he has left the palace in almost half a year." 

The girl's steps slowed to a stop. 

"He is returning to the king he used to be — the king our people need and deserve," the prince said. "And the only change is you." 

"So, to protect your people, I must stay?" She asked. 

Again Shahzaman searched her tone for bitterness and self-pity, and again he found none. 

"Scheherazade, will you please sit?" He asked, gesturing to the chair opposite him. "I know your story, I think it is only fitting you know mine." 

The girl did as he asked wordlessly. 

"As I said before, I had no desire to rule. My status meant I did not want for wealth and my looks meant I did not want for —" The prince stopped mid-sentence as he searched for the right word. 

"Companionship," he said finally. 

"Growing up I always believed my brother and I were fundamentally different — he cared deeply about things I could not muster a grain of sympathy for," Shahzaman continued. "When we were young men, a terrible earthquake struck a small city called Abula'a. Shariyar accompanied our father to lead the recovery effort. He helped many people rebuild what they could of their lives, but he could not help them all. When they returned, my brother was sick with heartbreak for the people he could not aid. For months he could barely eat or sleep." 

Shahzaman's voice was thick with emotion as he continued: "My response to my brother was to taunt him for being weak. I did not care about the families who would never be whole again." 

The prince hung his head in shame: "I suppose I knew from then the kind of depression my brother was capable of sinking into, but I did not consider myself his keeper. After our father passed, Shariyar descended into despair once again. And, just as before, I left him to deal with his sorrow alone. And that's when she found him." 

Scheherazade's eyes widened at the hatred she suddenly heard in Shahzaman's voice. 

"When that woman found Shariyar, he was at his lowest point," he said. "She took advantage of his vulnerability to earn herself a place among the royalty. And, when he was thoroughly wrapped around her finger, she made her move." 

The prince fell silent for a moment, his argent eyes fixed blankly on the table before him. 

"She came to you?" Scheherazade asked gently, prompting him to continue. 

"Yes, she came to me," he said. "I suppose she assumed I was an ambitious man — one who could be useful to her. I came into my room one night to find her lying naked in my bed and I laughed in her face." 

Shahzaman cringed at the memory: "I threatened to drag her to my brother and tell him what she had done. She sobbed at my feet, promising me that she would never try to betray my brother again." 

The prince took in a shaky breath and stole a glance at Scheherazade, finding just enough courage in the sparkling depths of her eyes to finish his story. 

"The next thing I knew, I was the one being dragged through the palace like a dog," he murmured. 

"And that's when he did that to you?" She asked. 

Shahzaman nodded: "The pain was more than I could bear. I screamed until my voice was a mere whisper as he hurled accusation after accusation at me. I barely had the strength to tell him that I — I could not have seduced Nasrin." 

"Could not?" She asked. 

"I do not feel for women the way most men do," he said. "With what I had left of my strength, I confessed that fact to my brother but if he understood what I was telling him, he did not care. He refused to believe that Nasrin would betray him of her own volition." 

Scheherazade bit her lip, trying to come to terms with the full weight of Shahzaman's admission. 

"How did you escape?" She asked. 

"He let me," Shahzaman said. 

The girl cocked her head questioningly. 

"My closest friends came to my rescue," he explained, "but they were no match against Shariyar's guards. We were outnumbered and I was too weak to walk let alone fight. He could have killed me then and there but he spared my life and let us escape." 

He looked at Scheherazade meaningfully: "He did not kill me and he will not kill you." 

"You are his brother, he loves you," Scheherazade said. "He could not kill you." 

"And he cannot kill you either." 

The girl's expression was suddenly stony: "What do you mean by that?" 

"It is obvious you matter to him," Shahzaman said. "If you did not, he would have sentenced you to death like all the others." 

"He has sentenced me to death," she retorted. "And he's promised it will come at his own hands this time. There will be no short walk into your desert for me." 

"You are the key to his salvation and he is the key to yours," the prince said. "I am sure of it." 

The girl shuddered: "Do you hear yourself? Do you understand what you are saying?" 

"The man who did this to me and who is doing these things to you is not my brother," Shahzaman said. "My brother is a good man and he will do the right thing when he remembers himself." 

"A good man would not take out his pain on another," she replied. 

"Fate has forced us all to wear masks we were never meant to," the prince murmured. "That is what you see — the mask, not the man." 

"So have you truly changed or is this just a mask?" Scheherazade asked. 

"Sometimes I ask myself the same question," he said darkly. "But I think I have changed, I think I am now a man my brother could be proud of..." 

"What if I am not who you think I am?" She asked after a few moments. "Will you just leave me at his mercy?" 

"No," Shahzaman said firmly. "But I do not think it will come to that. I believe you are the girl I've heard of and I believe Shariyar will do what is right when he learns your identity." 

"That makes one of us," Scheherazade said. 

"I have to leave now," Shahzaman said, rising from his chair. "If you need to contact me, Hazim knows how to reach me." 

Scheherazade nodded but did not say a word. 

"Before I go," he said, pausing in the doorway, "may I ask you a question?" 

She shrugged. 

"What was the pirate's name?" He asked. "Ekundayo could not tell me his name." 

"That's because I did not tell her," she said quietly. "I do not speak his name." 

"Then write it for me," he said. 

The girl sighed but nodded — the earnest look in his eyes told her that it would be useless to refuse. She walked to stand beside him and traced the letters on the wall. 

Her finger stabbed out a single word: Zigor. 

Shahzaman nodded, his expression enigmatic — she could not tell if the name meant anything to him or not. 

"Good bye, wild waves," he said, leaning forward to plant a chaste kiss on her cheek. "I think the next time we meet, it will be under different circumstances." 

"Better, I hope," she said. 

"I'm sure of it," he said, offering her a smile. 

Scheherazade nodded and watched silently as the prince scaled the garden wall, disappearing like a shadow into the night beyond. 

She bolted the door to the garden and collapsed onto the bed wearily. The thought of telling Shariyar about the tortures she had endured at Zigor's hands set her stomach churning. She sat up and glanced around the room. Suddenly, she noticed a pile of papers Shariyar had abandoned. She walked over to the table and plucked the topmost parchment from the stack. Shahzaman had given her an idea — she would write the story for Shariyar instead of relaying it aloud. She searched the room for a quill and ink, and, as soon as she found them, sat down to write. 

++++++++ 

Although Shariyar's body ached from hours of traveling on horseback, he was content. His meeting with the diplomatic envoy had been successful and he had been warmly received by his subjects in Cyrria. 

He led his convoy through the palace gates and dismounted in the main courtyard, leaving his steed to be tended to by the stable hands. He was hungry and tired and thirsty and, for some reason, he wanted to see the gypsy. 

He pushed open the chamber doors and was surprised to see the girl asleep on the bed. She still wore his shirt and the soft fabric barely covered her thighs. 

The king walked towards her, wondering at the peace he felt staring at her sleeping countenance. Although he hated to admit it, the girl's beauty had a power over him he could not shake. The raw fullness of her lips betrayed nothing of the sharp tongue they sheathed and it took all his will to keep from kissing them. 




Scheherazade and the King Ch. 06



He pulled off his cloak and let it fall to the ground, undressing as he stared at the girl. 

She is so beautiful, he thought as he pulled his shirt over his head, if she were a woman of rank, she could have this whole kingdom's gentry wrapped around her finger. 

Shariyar kicked off his boots: But she isn't. She is worth nothing. She is common. 

And yet here she is, he thought as he pulled his trousers off, sleeping in a king's bed. Alive when so many princesses and noble women are dead. She is nothing compared to them. 

Even in his mind, Shariyar could not say that last sentence with full conviction. He knew the girl was clever, that she was strong, and that she wielded a strange power over him. And he knew that it was only a matter of time before she came to the same realisation. 

Suddenly the girl stirred: she murmured softly in her sleep as she rolled over onto her back. Her eyes blinked open for a moment and then shot wide when she realised who she was looking at. Scheherazade sat up sharply and pushed herself away from the king, pulling the shirt down to cover more of her thighs. 

"Did you miss me, gypsy?" Shariyar asked. 

"No, but I can see you missed me," she said, glancing pointedly down at Shariyar's hardening member. 

He laughed slightly and took his member in his hand, stroking his length slowly. 

"Would you like to taste how much I missed you?" He asked, flashing her a wolfish grin. 

"No," she muttered. 

"Are you sure?" He asked mockingly. "I had three women in Cyrria and each one wanted a mouthful. Unfortunately they had to share." 

"Then you should have brought them back with you," she said icily. "Or could you not afford them?" 

"Why should I pay them when I have a perfectly good slave waiting for me?" 

"Well you will have to pay me as well if you expect me to act like I enjoy it," she said. 

"Oh so you can be bought?" He asked, his eyes sparking wickedly. 

Scheherazade glared at the king as he turned away from her and pulled a robe around his shoulders. He left the room without another word, leaving her alone. 

When Shariyar came back he found the girl waiting for him, her eyes narrowed warily. 

He approached her slowly and then held out his hand, opening his fingers slowly to reveal the Egyptian eye bead he had taken from her. 

Scheherazade gasped slightly and reached out for the charm but Shariyar closed his fist and drew his hand back sharply. 

He walked lazily towards the table and sat down, spreading his legs so that his manhood was clearly visible to her. 

"Do you want this back, gypsy?" He asked, a smug smile curling his lips. 

Scheherazade bowed her head as she replied: "Yes." 

"Come here," he demanded. 

The girl climbed out of bed slowly, approaching him with measured steps. 

Shariyar waited until she was a few feet away from him before commanding her to stop. 

"Right there," he said. "Get on your knees." 

Scheherazade knelt to the ground, her fingers playing nervously at the hem of her shirt. 

"What would you do to keep me from smashing it into a thousand tiny pieces?" The king asked, rolling the bead between his fingers. 

"Please don't," the girl said, the desperation evident in her voice. 

"What would you do?" He asked again. 

"Anything," she murmured. 

"I want you to crawl to me on your hands and knees," he said, his dick hardening between his legs. "I want you to use that pretty mouth of yours and convince me that you did miss me. I want you to moan around my cock and tell me how good I taste and how big I am until I cum all over your face. Then, and only then, will you get this back." 

"And you will let me keep it?" She asked quietly. 

"Yes," he said. 

"I had fifteen of these charms," she reminded him. 

"I'm offering you the chance to earn each of them back," he said. "All you have to do is be the obedient little slave I know you can be." 

Anger flashed in Scheherazade eyes as she stared at the king. 

"Come now," he taunted. "Be a good girl and crawl to me." 

Slowly the girl got on her hands and knees and began to crawl across the floor. A shiver went up Shariyar's spine as he watched her shirt ride up. 

She came to a halt between his legs and sat up on her knees. 

"Take that shirt off," Shariyar ordered. 

The girl pulled the shirt over her head and let it fall to the ground beside her. 

"Tell me you want my cock, gypsy," the king said, his voice low and dark. "Beg for it." 

The girl glanced up at him and, for a split second, he saw the words she really wanted to say in her piercing gaze. Then she trained her eyes on the floor and spoke. 

"I want you, Shariyar," she murmured. "Please let me suck your cock." 

"Not 'Shariyar'," he said suddenly. "You will call me 'master'." 

The girl's lips trembled angrily as she spoke again: "Please, master, I want to suck your cock." 

"Say it like you mean it, slave," Shariyar purred. 

Scheherazade scowled and looked away. 

Shariyar leaned forward in his chair and grabbed the girl's chin, pulling her face towards his: "If you don't want me to crush that bead beneath the heel of my boot, you will say it like you mean it." 

The girl's eyes stormed and her upper lip curled in disgust. 

"Say it," he said, his fingers harsh. 

"Master, please let me suck your cock," Scheherazade murmured, her voice low and seductive. 

"That's better," he said, leaning back in the chair. "Yes, you may." 

The girl took his manhood gently into her mouth, running her tongue around the tip of his cock before taking it deep into her throat. 

Shariyar groaned as the tip of his dick pressed against the back of her throat. He felt her slowly draw back before gulping him down again, she moaned softly around his cock as she repeated the motion again and again. Finally she pulled back and let his cock fall from her lips. 

"Do you like the way my dick tastes?" He asked breathlessly. 

"Yes," the girl murmured, her lips full and flushed. 

"Turn around and put your face on the floor," he said. "Keep your hands behind your back." 

Shariyar stroked his sex as he watched her bend over, press her cheek to the floor and overlap her wrists firmly behind her back. 

"Now tell me what you want, girl," he said. 

"Master, please give me your cock," she murmured. "Please give it to me." 

For a few moments, the king did not move other than to feel his manhood as he stared at the girl. Her voice was steady, her tone convincing, but he could see the angry tears that she was fighting to hold back and he could tell that she was having to steel her fingers from shaking. 

He knelt down behind her and ran his fingers along her sides until they came to rest on her hips. Shariyar positioned his length at the entrance to her womanhood and pushed in, forcing her to take all of him at once. The girl cried out and she made to move her hands but Shariyar grabbed her wrists and held them in place, pressing down on her back so that her face was forced harder against the floor. 

Scheherazade tried not to cry as she felt Shariyar force herself inside her. Pain radiated through her chest at the effort it took for her to hold back her true feelings. She felt as if she could barely breathe, her throat burned so harshly from the sobs she was choking down. 

Again and again she reminded herself of why she had to do this... But a terrible question loomed in her mind: What if the past I am so desperate to discover is not worth the sacrifice? 

Her mind was brought back to the present as Shariyar withdrew from her suddenly. He pulled her to her knees by her hair and, with a rasping cry, emptied his load across her face. 

Shariyar laughed breathlessly, his grip on her hair vicious as he kept her from sinking to the ground. 

"You are the cheapest fuck I've ever had, gypsy," he said. "For the price of six beads, three shells, three stones, two bits of carved bone and one coin, I can do anything I want to you." 

The girl closed her eyes as tears began to drip slowly down her cheeks. 

"You think these worthless curios will help you figure out who you are?" He asked, his tone growing increasingly harsh. "Do you really think anyone cares? If anyone gave a fuck about you, don't you think they would have found you by now?" 

The king stared down at her, finding some twisted satisfaction in the tears and cum that streaked her flawless skin. 

"Even if someone was looking for you, I do not think they will want you back now," he mused darkly. "Not when they see what you've have become. Not when they learn everything I've done to you." 

The girl looked up at him, the heartbreak clear in her teary eyes. 

"You're pathetic," he snarled. 

Shariyar glared into her brilliant eyes for a few moments more and then spat on her face. The girl flinched as the king's saliva slowly dripped down her face. 

The king let her go and she sank to to the ground, her head bowed and her shoulders slumped. 

Scheherazade was silent as Shariyar pulled his pants on. She desperately fought to control her tears so that she could speak without sobbing. 

"Give it back to me," she said finally, her voice a low whisper. 

"Was that an order?" Shariyar asked. His tone was sharp but taunting. 

"Well it was not a request," she hissed. 

The king walked towards her slowly, his anger building with each deliberate step. 

"I am under no obligation to you," he said. 

"You gave your word," the girl cried, rising shakily to her feet. "You promised!" 

"You dare take that tone with me kunde?" He roared. 

"Baleh, kiri," Scheherazade snarled in return. 

Before she even had a chance to react, the king's hand was around her neck and he was dragging her across the room. The girl coughed and gasped as he wrenched her out the door and down the hallway, trying desperately to keep her balance. 

Shariyar pulled her along the corridor, not caring who saw her naked, cum-stained body, opened the door to the dungeons and pushed her inside. 

Scheherazade stumbled but managed to keep her balance. She turned around to see Shariyar looming in the doorway. 

"Here," he said, tossing the bead into the darkness beyond her. "It's all yours if you can find it." 

++++++++ 

Jafar paced his room agitatedly, unable to keep his mind or his feet from racing. He had been on edge for days now, ever since he had seen the falcon at his window, a scarlet band tied to its leg. Shahzaman had not sent a falcon in months — indeed, the last time he had come, he had given neither Jafar nor Hazim any warning whatsoever. 

But the falcon had come three days ago, and still there was no sign of the banished prince. 

The vizier sat down on his bed dejectedly and stared at the floor, his mind so preoccupied that he did not notice a figure clothed all in black climb through the window. 

Shahzaman cleared his throat softly to announce his presence but Jafar still leapt at the sudden sound. 

The two men stared at each other in silence, each waiting for the other to speak first. 

"Did you see her?" Jafar said finally, his voice barely louder than a whisper. 

"Yes," the prince responded. 

"Is she all right?" He asked. 

"She is as well as she can be," Shahzaman said with a shrug. 

The vizier nodded and looked away. 

"Are you angry with me?" The prince asked quietly. 

Jafar looked at him sharply: "You know I am." 

"You must be patient," Shahzaman said. "There are greater forces at work than I have control over." 

"I cannot lose another person I care about to Shariyar's madness," Jafar said, his hands balled into fists as he tried to keep his tone in check. "I cannot do it." 

"Why does this girl matter to you?" Shahzaman asked, his silver eyes lowered. "She is a stranger to you." 

"She saved me," Jafar muttered, "and in more ways than one." 

"I would not have let him kill you," the prince said. 

"And yet you would have let him kill her," Jafar snapped. 

"He was never going to kill her," Shahzaman said. 

"What do you know?" Jafar hissed. "Did you ever imagine he would hurt you the way he did?" 

Shahzaman sat down sullenly, his head in his hands: "You care for her, don't you?" 

"I do," Jafar said resolutely. 

"The way you cared for Nerin?" The prince asked. 

"Yes," Jafar said, the memory of his fiancé's olive skin and steely green eyes suddenly fresh in his mind. 

"The way you care for me?" 

The vizier felt his heart shudder in his chest. 

"No," he said, after a moment's pause. "Not the way I care you." 

"You care for me differently?" 

"Yes," Jafar said. "I love you." 

"You would have married Nerin had she not succumbed to illness. Is that not a display of love?" Shahzaman asked, bitterness evident in his voice. "And what of this girl? Would you have married her too?" 

"To save her from Shariyar's cruelty, I would have," Jafar said. 

"And what would you do for me?" The prince asked, his silver eyes flashing like lightning. 

"What haven't I done for you?" Jafar asked incredulously. "Every day since the day you left I have waited here, doing exactly as you asked me to do. I have remained at Shariyar's side even though I should have torn his still-beating heart from his chest for what he did to you. I would have killed him that night had you not ordered otherwise. I have played my part well, Shahzaman, and for what? To remain powerless as he degrades a woman who has done nothing to deserve it? To listen as you question my loyalty?" 

Shahzaman set his jaw as he listened to Jafar's rant. 

"Every day I hate myself more and more for my inaction and yet still I remain here," he continued furiously. "I stay because you told me to. And then you abandon me for months on end without offering even the slightest gesture to show that you still care for me. And then Scheherazade comes into my life and I can do nothing but watch her suffer." 

"I do not question your loyalty," Shahzaman said. "I question your love." 

The look that gleamed in Jafar's viridescent eyes was murderous. 

"How do you have love in your heart for so many?" The prince asked, unfazed by the vizier's glare. "How can you love Scheherazade and me?" 

"I love you differently," Jafar said. "I love her and Nerin like I love the moon, but you... you are my sun." 

"It must be nice to be able to love so many at once," Shahzaman muttered. 

Jafar shook his head and looked down at the young man: "Sometimes I forget you and your brother are cut from the same cloth." 

Shahzaman looked up at Jafar, the anger in his eyes replaced all at once by heartbreak and regret: "I'm sorry." 

The vizier groaned into his hands: "Why do you doubt me still?" 

"Look at me, Jafar!" The prince cried, pulling open his shirt to reveal the tortured flesh beneath. "How can you love me when I look like this?" 

The vizier walked towards him slowly, reaching out to gently run his fingers along the prince's scarred jaw. 

"I have always loved you," Jafar murmured. "I loved you when your soul was far uglier than your scars." 

"But why?" The prince asked. 

"That will always be a mystery to me," the vizier said. "But I do not know what else I can do to prove my love for you. I love you more deeply than I've ever loved another person." 

Shahzaman sighed: "I just cannot understand why." 

"I can see how that might be difficult for you," Jafar said, a hint of bitterness colouring his tone. "I should hate you for the things you've put me through. Do you have any idea what that girl has gone through at his hands? And I could have helped her had my love for you not kept my own hands firmly bound." 

"I did not tell you to dismiss her the way you did," the prince countered defensively. "I did not insist that you abandon her." 

"I was angry," Jafar said, his voice low and quiet. "Neither you nor your brother wanted me anywhere near her and then, suddenly, neither did she. I was angry — I said things I did not mean." 

The prince reached out and ran his thumb across Jafar's cheek, cupping his face against the palm of his hand. 

"I'm sorry," he said again. 

Jafar nodded but pulled away from the man's touch. 

"What are you here for?" He sighed. 

"You," the prince said. "I am here for you." 

The vizier scowled: "And what do you want of me?" 

The prince stepped towards him and wrapped his arms around the small of Jafar's back, pulling him towards him sharply: "Everything you are willing to give me." 

Jafar moaned under his breath as Shahzaman's mouth whispered across his neck. 

"You've missed me," the prince murmured, his lips brushing against Jafar's skin. "I know because I have missed you greatly." 

"I have," the vizier admitted, closing his eyes so that he could get lost in the prince's taste and touch. 

"May I show you how much I've missed you?" The prince asked, his fingers already tugging at the waist of Jafar's trousers. 

The vizier could only murmur his consent as the prince's mouth began to wander down his body. 

"I want to hear you say it," Shahzaman said, his breath hot against Jafar's skin. "Tell me how much you need me." 

"I need you so badly it aches," Jafar said, tangling his fingers in the prince's hair. "I need to feel every inch of you inside me. I need to feel your mouth around my cock." 

Shahzaman looked up at him, his silver eyes full of mischief: "Do you remember our first night? Do you remember how you begged me?" 

"Yes," Jafar admitted. 

"I was hard on you," Shahzaman reminded him as he rose to his feet. "The sounds you made were music to me - no matter how pained they were." 

"You were too big," the vizier said breathlessly. "You went too fast." 

"Did I hurt you?" Shahzaman asked, his fingernails digging into Jafar's ass sharply. 

"Yes," he hissed. "You left me so sore I could hardly walk." 

"But you came back for more, didn't you?" The prince asked. 

"Yes," he said. "I wanted you so badly." 

The prince's fingers were gentle suddenly and he drew away from Jafar to stare intently into his eyes: "You always came back to me, even when I was cruel to you. Even when Shariyar destroyed my looks, you still came back to me." 

"I love you," the vizier said again. "Your looks never mattered to me." 

"You deserve more than me," he said. "A scarred, broken man... a disgraced prince." 

"You are all I want," he said resolutely. "And you ought to start believing me before I change my mind." 

"So, may I stay with you tonight?" The prince asked. "Can I have you? All of you?" 

"Yes," he said. "If it were up to me, you would never leave." 

"Soon, hopefully, I won't have to," Shahzaman said as he shrugged his shirt off. 

"Your brother is going to be in for one hell of a shock," Jafar chuckled as he pulled his own shirt over his head. 

"I know," Shahzaman sighed, running his nails gently down Jafar's taught abdomen. "His best friend... in love with his little brother." 

++++++++ 

Shariyar woke up the next morning in a dark mood. He had not slept well without the gypsy in his bed — a fact that made him terribly angry at both himself and her. 

He went about his day without bothering to send anyone to check on her or offer her food or water. He focused his mind on his work, engaging fully with every ambassador and representative that he met with. It was only when he entered a council meeting with his financial ministers that his mind began to wander. As his ministers blabbered on blithely about the state of the treasury, he leafed lazily through the stack of papers before him. Suddenly he noticed a piece of parchment covered in unfamiliar handwriting. He read a few sentences and quickly realised that he was reading Scheherazade's story. 




Scheherazade and the King Ch. 06



"My good men," the king said suddenly, his interruption sending the room into immediate and complete silence, "I'm afraid we must continue this meeting at another hour. Let us adjourn until tomorrow." 

It took every fibre of his being to keep from yelling at the old men as they slowly gathered themselves up and left the room, but he waited patiently and in silence as they shuffled outside. 

Finally, he closed the door behind them and sat down with Scheherazade's writing, quickly losing himself in the dark story she wove: 

I remember waking up for the first time. Everything burned. My throat was on fire, my lungs felt as if they had been scoured with flames, and every inch of my body felt raw and sore. 

I did not know who I was, where I was or when I was, but I knew I was alive. 

Sometimes I wonder if that's what birth feels like. If it is, I am glad we do not remember it. 

Slowly my vision came into focus and I saw a man beside me. I tried to speak to him, but no sound came out. He noticed me finally as I tried to will my limbs to movement and came to stand over me. 

"Oh are you awake?" He asked. "Well, in a few moments you will wish you had not woken at all." 

I doubt that I shall ever forget those words; they are the first ones I remember hearing. At first I could not understand them — as if they were blurred on the page in my mind — but slowly they came into focus and I knew their meaning. 

I tried to sign to the man that I could not speak, but I could barely get my arm to move. 

"What's the matter with you?" The man asked me. "Can't you talk?" 

I shook my head as best I could. 

"Well, well," the man chuckled. "I wonder what Captain will think of that?" 

I looked at him blankly but dread was building in my heart. I tried to remember something — anything — but it was as if my mind had been wiped clean. 

I wanted to know why I could hardly move, why I was in so much pain, where I was, who I was... But all I could do was lay in silence. 

Suddenly the door opened and another man came into the room. If I didn't know I was in danger before, one look in his eyes and I knew it then. 

"So she is awake?" The man asked, leaning over the table to examine me. His voice sounded like metal grinding against metal. 

"Aye, Captain," the other man said. "But I don't think she can speak at all." 

"Is that true arrain txiki?" The man asked me mockingly. 

I stared up at him helplessly. Little fish. If that was what I was, he was most certainly the shark. 

Suddenly the man's hand shot out and caught my cheek. I cried out but not a sound escaped my lips. 

He straightened and shivered slightly, his eyes never leaving me. 

"Oh, I am going to enjoy this," he said, shrugging his coat from his shoulders. "I would have keelhauled you long ago had I known it would leave you like this." 

Keelhauled. I knew then what had been done to me but I still did not know what it meant. All I knew for certain was that my pain had come at this man's hands. 

The man pulled off his shirt and grabbed my chin: "I won't have to gag you any more, will I?" 

I looked to the other man — what I was hoping for, I do not know. He merely laughed as he closed the door behind him. 

"You probably cannot move too much right now," the man said as he pulled his shirt over his head. 

His body was a map of pain — every inch of his torso was covered with scars. 

"That is to be expected," he said, his eyes glinting with grim satisfaction. "After all, the barnacles barely left you with an inch of skin on your hide. I thought you would be drowned by the time we hauled you back up. Imagine my surprise when we drag you aboard the ship and you're still alive. But, now, to find you have no voice? Fate is a wicked woman and she smiles on me." 

"Who are you?" I mouthed the words as clearly as I could. 

His eyes were quick and he understood what I was asking as if I'd said it aloud: "Did you just ask me who I am?" 

The smile that curved his thin lips when I nodded was the most eerie sight I've ever witnessed. There was nothing human in that smile. 

"To you, arrain txiki, I am God," he said, tracing a finger up and down my arm. His nail was gentle at first, but soon he was dragging it sharply across my skin. "I am the master of your fate and you belong to me in every sense of the word. Your life is in my hands and, if you wish to keep it, you must obey my every command." 

I felt myself slipping back into the darkness with each word he spoke. I did not have the strength to comprehend all that he was saying to me. 

But, before I could fade into unconsciousness, he began to touch me. I felt his teeth on my breasts and his fingernails on my skin. The last thing I felt was his fingers inside me. I went gratefully into the darkness and I prayed that I would never awaken again... Just as the sailor predicted. 

I did, of course. I woke up for the second time to find that he was inside me, rutting wildly without a care as to the fact that I was unconscious. I let loose silent screams and tried to fight him but all my efforts earned me was a black eye. 

Slowly, I learned things about where I was. We were aboard a ship and the men who crewed her belonged to no country or king. They attacked ships and settlements indiscriminately and they always left death and destruction in their wake. 

I belonged to the captain but he hated me with the kind of vehemence I could not understand. He never told me what I did to him. He much rather enjoyed telling me what he had done and would do to me. Sometimes, when he attacked a settlement, he would take a woman prisoner and make me watch as he raped her and tortured her. He would tell me: "I did this to you too. Don't you remember? Go ahead, feel for the scars." Then he would kill her before my eyes and say: "Don't you wish you had it so easy?" 

Shariyar read the page three times before he could fully comprehend the words written upon it. He could tell that it had been difficult for her to write — here and there the round imprint of a tear had smudged the ink. 

He could barely keep his fingers steady as he placed the parchment on the table. Something that felt a great deal like guilt squirmed in the pit of his stomach. He quelled it immediately — what the girl had endured at the hands of another was not his concern. 

++++++++ 

In the darkness of the dungeon chamber, Scheherazade searched for the bead she had sacrificed her dignity to save. She crawled on her hands and knees across the dirt floor, feeling every inch of the space before her with careful fingers. 

Finally, her fingertips met with the smooth glass of the eye bead and she cried out in wonder as she held it in her hands, clasping it tenderly to her heart. 

She fell asleep with the bead clutched firmly in her fist and did not awaken until the pangs of hunger brought her sharply into the realm of consciousness. 

The girl waited in the darkness, naked and alone with only the sounds of her own growling stomach to break the monotony of the silence, for hours until, finally, she heard a key in the door. Light suddenly flooded the chamber and she squinted up at the figure that loomed in the doorway. 

"Are you awake, gypsy?" 

The king's voice resounded through the chamber. 

"Yes," she murmured, her voice hoarse. 

"Are you well-rested?" He asked, his tone dark and mocking. 

"No," the girl muttered. "I'm thirsty and I'm starving." 

Shariyar was silent. 

The girl's voice came out of the darkness once again: "You hurt me." 

Shariyar grimaced at the accusation in her tone — his chest felt tight. 

"If you want food, you will have to come with me," he said after a few moments' silence. 

Scheherazade stood up and made her way to the stairwell slowly, keeping one palm against the rough wall at all times. With great effort, she ascended the stairs. Each step felt like a mountain. Stars appeared before her eyes as she finally reached the top of the stairs and her legs gave way beneath her. 

Shariyar watched the girl intently — she was worse off than he had first thought. Her breathing grew laboured as she climbed the stairs. He saw the signs that she was about to faint just in time and he lunged forward, pulling her into his arms before she collapsed. 

He held her for a moment without moving. His lungs were working wildly even though he had expended very little effort to keep her from falling. It was not exertion that set his pulse racing; no, it was fear. He pressed his head against her chest to ensure she was still alive and breathed a shaky sigh of relief when he heard her heart pounding steadily in her chest. 

Suddenly he heard the sharp sound of glass upon stone. Shariyar watched as the blue bead escaped from the girl's limp fingers, rolling down the hall with unnatural slowness. 

He glanced down at the unconscious girl and then back at the bead. Gently, he leaned her body against the wall and stood to chase the small piece of glass. He caught it between two fingers and held it up, admiring the deep blues and striking whites of its design for the briefest of moments. Then, all at once, he felt the weight of its unblinking gaze on his soul and quickly tucked it in his pocket. 

Shariyar walked back to the girl's slumped figure and lifted her into his arms, carrying her lifeless body back to his room. 

He laid her on the bed and, with warm cloths softly freed her body from the stains of his sins. 

++++++++ 

Scheherazade woke the next morning to the heat of the sun on her limbs. She sat up slowly, trying to stop the world from swimming around her. 

She slid off the bed and onto the floor, grateful for the cold, unmoving marble. Eventually, the world ceased swirling and she cast a furtive eye around the room. 

A platter of food and pitchers of water awaited her at the table. 

With what remained of her strength, Scheherazade pulled herself to her feet and staggered to the table. She sat down heavily and pulled a tumbler of water towards her, gulping the cool liquid straight from the pitcher. 

She did not care that water spilled down her chin, nor did she care that the food stained her lips as she tore into the plates of meat and unleavened bread like an animal. 

It was only when she was satiated that she realised Shariyar had left her something else — at the other end of the table lay a roll of parchment and a quill with ink.



Scheherazade and the King Ch. 07



When I awoke, I had fourteen charms braided into my hair. Their origins are easy enough to guess but I have no recollection of their significance or how I came to possess them. There is only one charm that is not a mystery to me — the Egyptian eye bead. I have relived the horrors of that day far too many times in my own mind to want to do it again for you now. But perhaps if you know even some of the tyranny I have endured, you will understand why nothing you say or do will keep me from fighting for every moment of whatever remains of my life. 

Even in battle, the captain kept me locked in his cabin. If the ship were to go down, I would go with it. In the constant darkness of that room I had to rely on my other senses to understand where the ship was. I learned to distinguish when she was at sea or when she was along a river by the pitch of the waves and the roll of her gait. I could tell from the sounds of men moving on the deck above what time of day or night it was. 

From the way the ship moved, I knew we had been travelling along a river for some days before we happened upon a settlement. The clamour of action on the main deck told me that a battle was nigh. Weapons were being readied, feet were pacing anxiously in the calm before the storm. The ship landed with a shudder and a roar. The men descended on the town like a thousand demons and I soon heard the screams of men and women alike. The sounds of death eventually settled into an ominous silence. Feet walked the decks again, less than before but still in strong numbers. He had not lost many men in this fight. More feet followed, they shuffled and wailed. He had taken on prisoners. 

He did not linger over his conquests. Cargo and captives were hauled aboard quickly, whatever was left of the town or vessel set alight, and our ship would be off and away. Only when he had found a safe mooring would he allow his crew to bask in their spoils. 

It did not take him long to find a secure harbour that day. I waited for him to return, knowing full well that he would not be alone. It was part of his ritual to take a prisoner for himself. He would have her in front of me and then kill her. I knew it was only a matter of time before he stumbled through the door, a girl swung over his shoulder or dragging behind him, but I could never seem to prepare my heart enough to steel it. I thought that, maybe if he saw that their deaths no longer affected me, he would stop. That day I was determined — no matter what he did — I would not react. I would not scream silent curses at him. I would not cry. 

When the door of his cabin opened and a girl fell inside, I hardened my heart and set my jaw. 

Her eyes lit on me and she leapt to her feet, falling backwards into his waiting arms. He laughed into her neck and looked at me, his eyes gleaming with anticipation of the evil he was about to commit. 

"If you do not do exactly as I say, you'll end up like this one." 

The girl sobbed but she nodded her understanding. I am not certain what I looked like at that point, but I suspect I was something monstrous to behold. The abuse he wrought on me must have been plainly visible to her and it must have been terrifying. 

I concentrated on staring directly ahead, unseeing and unfeeling. 

I looked but I did not see as he stripped her. I could feel his eyes on me each time he glanced my way, waiting for me to react. He played with her like he was a child trying to get his mother's attention by behaving badly. He made her scream and cry, beating her and fucking her mercilessly in equal turns. It was everything I could do to ignore her cries — each shrill scream was a knife to my heart. 

Finally he grew tired of baiting me and receiving no reaction. He was angry. He dragged her off the bed and held her before me, his hands dangerously tight around her neck. 

"Arrain txiki," he growled, "do you want her to die?" 

I did not move. 

The girl's eyes were frantic as his grip tightened. Her fingers clawed at his, desperate to break their hold. 

"Will you not fight for this one's life like you did the others'?" 

He squeezed harder when I did not acknowledge him. The girl reached out towards me, grasping at me. She wore a bracelet with blue eyes and they all stared at me. 

Sweat beaded on his brow as he wrung the life from her neck. The sounds she made were deafening but still I could not waver. She would die, but she would be the last. 

He dropped her lifeless body to the ground and stood over me, panting at the effort it had taken to strangle her. 

I glanced up at him and the look in his eyes was one of such hatred it should have stopped by breath. But I was angrier than he was. 

I could not hear anything other than my own heart. It thundered louder than the threats he was roaring down at me. I think I may have smiled at the realisation and that simple act sent him into a fury unlike any other I had ever experienced. He hauled me and the dead girl out of the cabin as if her lifeless body and my iron shackles weighed nothing. 

He ordered the crew to tie a rope around my waist and had them pitch us both overboard. My chains dragged me down faster than the girl but I reached out and grabbed her hand, pulling her towards me. I hugged her close, praying a thousand apologies into her hair. I thought I would drown as we sank into the darkness and I was prepared to die in the deep if it meant his last memory of me would be one of defiance. But, suddenly, the rope around my waist went taught. I gasped as they began to haul me back to the surface, clutching at the girl. I cannot say why I tried to pull her up with me but the water had her and I could not fight its grip. As the currents wrenched her away from me, the bracelet she was wearing came apart in my hand. Faster and faster I shot to the surface, the world exploding in air and light as they dragged me from the depths. 

He let me sink three times more, each time long enough that I could drown if I wanted to. It was a test — one he would repeat many times in the future. He wanted to know if I had given up fighting, if he had finally taken the will to live from me. 

I will not lie and tell you that I did not consider it. There were times that death sang sweetly to me, begged me to open my mouth and drink the water in. But I never did. 

I value the bead you took from me, Shariyar, but do not make the mistake of thinking that if you break it, you will break me. 

The page felt heavy in Shariyar's hand and the bead tucked in his pocket felt even heavier. He turned the page over, simultaneously hoping and dreading that he would find more written overleaf. Indeed, she had written a few, short sentences more:  

The reason I do not say the captain's name aloud is because I never have. At first, it was because I could not speak at all. But even since my voice was returned to me I have refused to say it. I hear his name in my mind in the voices of a hundred other women, but never in my own. 

I will write his name for you now but you will never hear me speak it... 

Zigor 

Shariyar ran his fingers over the pirate's name. The girl had all but stabbed the page. 

He let the parchment fall slowly onto the desk and hung his head in his hands. 

It cannot be true. He thought. This is a fantasy. She has concocted this story from thin air the way she did the story of Qadir. 

Shariyar stood up and took the bead from his pocket, cupping it in his palm. The eye glared up at him, its unwavering gaze accusatory as ever. He returned the bead to his pocket quickly and began to pace the room, a thousand thoughts crowding his mind at once. 

Above all, he concentrated on one: The girl is a storyteller. This is naught but another fiction. 

+++++++++ 

The girl sat listlessly by the fountain as dusk darkened the sky and the stars began to find their places. She ran her fingers through the water, watching the ripples expand and fade. 

She was tired, not of body but of heart and mind. She had told a hundred stories, but her own was the hardest to express. Each word was an old wound reopened, an old tear shed anew. Scheherazade let her shoulders slump and concentrated on holding back her emotions, steeling them now just as she had so many times in the past. 

From a distance she heard the door to the chamber opening. Shariyar had returned for the day. She sat up straighter, moving her wrist in lazy circles as if she had not a care in the world. 

He paused for a moment in the doorway, staring out at her with his arms crossed. The girl certainly did not look as if her confession had weighed on her soul at all. 

Shariyar walked into the courtyard and sat beside her at the fountain. Wordlessly, he pulled the bead from his pocket and held it out to her. The girl glanced at him briefly before taking the charm, her fingers barely grazing his. She glanced into his eyes for only a moment, but her gaze spoke volumes. 

"Thank you," she whispered, holding the bead tightly in her fist. 

"Do not presume that this means I will tell you anything more about Nasrin," he said. 

"You do not have to tell me anything you do not want to," Scheherazade said. She loosed one of her braids a few inches so that she could twist the bead around a strand of hair and restore the charm to its rightful place. 

Shariyar watched as she tied the braid with a rough piece of hempen thread, her knot small but strong — a seaman's knot. 

"If I were you I would never have boarded another ship again," he said suddenly. 

She looked up at him sharply and he looked away, clearing his throat as if he, too, was surprised at the honesty of his admission. 

"I am not afraid of the sea," she said. "In fact, I've missed it since I've been here." 

Shariyar shook his head incredulously: "How many times must something try to kill you before you develop a healthy sense of fear?" 

"I would rather die than live a life governed by fear." 

"Then why didn't you?" Shariyar asked. "Why didn't you let yourself drown?" 

The girl shook her head at him: "Do you not think I was afraid of what my survival would mean? My life was ruled by pain, never by fear. Had I given in to fear, I would have let myself drown rather than face another day." 

The king sighed up at the gathering night. The girl was either the bravest person he knew or the most foolish. 

"Would you like to see the ocean?" He asked after a while. "From the southern watchtower there is a magnificent view." 

"I would," she said, already on her feet. 

Shariyar led the girl through the palace, pointing out objects of art and the purpose of different rooms as they went. It was strange for him to think how many months had passed since he had had occasion to wander through his own home. The rooms that used to be constantly filled with visiting dignitaries were empty and the grand halls that used to echo with music were quiet, the tables now covered with dust instead of food. 

The king paused in the doorway of a grand banquet hall, smiling sadly to himself: "Nasrin and I celebrated our marriage in this hall after the ceremony. There was not an inch to spare there were so many people. And yet it has not been used once since she died." 

Scheherazade stared around the empty chamber, trying to imagine Shariyar in a happier moment. 

"You have not had a single thing to celebrate?" She asked. 

"No," he muttered, turning his back on the room and continuing down the hall. He turned a corner and began to climb a great, spiralling staircase. 

Scheherazade followed after him slowly, chewing the angry words she held inside her mouth rather than letting them fly. By the time they reached the balcony, however, the girl's eyes fairly glowed with restrained fury. 

The king flung his arms wide and gestured at the wide expanse of ocean. The waves foamed and frothed, the moonlight cutting a silver path towards the horizon. 

"Well? What do you think, gypsy?" Shariyar asked, turning on his heel to face the girl. 

Scheherazade glowered at him: "Do understand what you are looking at?" 

"The sea," he answered bemusedly. 

"You are looking at freedom," she said. "The whole wide word is at your fingertips and you would rather wallow in your room with your wine and your whores. You think you've known pain, Shariyar? You couldn't fathom the tortures I've endured." 

"What are you saying?" Shariyar growled defensively. 

"I'm saying that you are an ungrateful alcoholic who found an excuse for his weakness and cowardice in a cheating spouse," Scheherazade seethed. "You have never known hunger, you have never known pain, you have never known the kind of violation that I experience on a daily basis —" 

"Enough!" Shariyar's hands were balled into fists, his lips curled back in an angry scowl. 

"I have had to fight for every moment in my life and I will never stop fighting because, even if there is no one waiting for me, no one in the world who will ever love me, at least my life and my death will not be like yours." 

"Keep this up and your death will come sooner than you think!" 

"Kill me then!" Scheherazade cried, throwing her arms wide. "My grave will be nobler than yours no matter how shallow the ditch you kick my body into." 

"I am the King of Kings," Shariyar roared. "You are a whore a couple fishermen dredged up. You do not matter. When you die, you will be mourned by no one, missed by no one." 

"And who will miss you?" Scheherazade asked. 

"I will be mourned by a kingdom!" 

"And what will happen to your kingdom?" The girl asked scornfully. "Which one of your sons will inherit it from you? What? No children? I guess your brother —" 

But Shariyar did not let her finish her sentence — his open hand flew back and caught Scheherazade's jaw. The girl stumbled backwards in stunned silence. 

"I said enough!" Shariyar roared, walking slowly towards her. "Clearly you didn't learn the lessons your former master tried to teach you." 

The king's eyes glinted dangerously: "Or maybe you just need to be reminded." 

Shariyar reached out and grabbed a handful of the girl's hair at the base of her neck, tugging her face to meet his: "Would you be more obedient if I did those things to you?" 

"No." 

"I'll do it," Shariyar said, wrenching her even closer. "I'll do those things to you and worse." 

The girl snorted. 

"You doubt me?" He asked, shaking her roughly. 

"I believe," she gasped. 

Shariyar smirked. 

"I believe you have good in you," she continued, wincing in pain. "I believe you are a greater man than he was." 

Shariyar's grip loosened slightly. 

"He took out his anger on me when I was barely more than a girl," she whimpered. "To the point where I could not fight back. I believe you are a better man than that." 

The king released the girl and stepped back wordlessly. Scheherazade massaged the back of her neck, looking warily at Shariyar as she tried to catch her breath. 

"I - I'm sorry," Shariyar stammered, his fingers trembling. 

The king sat down slowly, his back grazing against the rough stone wall as he sank to the floor. He groaned wretchedly into his hands, his dark eyes filled with angry tears that he would never allow himself to shed. 

"I never once hurt her," he said, his voice a dark rasp. "I worshipped her and she used my love against me. Her betrayal felt like a thousand daggers in my heart." 

The girl sat down against the opposite wall, her chest still rising and falling sharply. 

"Have you ever loved anyone, gypsy?" Shariyar asked. 

Scheherazade shook her head: "I do not remember having loved anyone or having anyone love me." 

"Then at least Fate spared you that pain," Shariyar said, sprawling his legs wide. 

"They say it is better to have loved and lost than to never have loved at all," the girl countered. 

"Well they obviously never felt the pain of having loved and lost." 

"It is because you do not know yourself without love," the girl said matter-of-factly. "You were loved by your family, loved by your wife, and you knew yourself through them." 

Shariyar raised his eyes and took her in: Her eyes were lowered and her fingers toyed with the bead in her hair. 

"I had to learn who I was without even the memory of love," she continued. "It's hard, Shariyar, but I came to love myself and that is all the love you need to survive." 

The girl glanced up at him and then looked away, unsure of whether his response would be cruel or kind. 

A breathe of air stirred the silence, prompting Shariyar to speak: "How did you escape?" 

"I didn't have to," she said. "He sold me to a pair of Bedouin brothers but, apparently, he neglected to tell them I was mute and blind." 

The girl chuckled self-deprecatingly: "I'm lucky they did not kill me then and there. They abandoned me to the desert and that's where a Daarkan elder named Ekundayo found me. She saved my life and, when I told her I wanted to find my home, she told me which ship to take. Though she warned me I would face more suffering before I got there." 

"And you went anyway?" 

"Jafar was surprised as well," she mused. "But when she said "suffering" I imagined rough quarters or a shortage of food aboard the vessel." 

"So, not a storm that would sink your ship and cast you into the company of a despotic king?" Shariyar interjected, attempting humour. 

Scheherazade offered him the ghost of a smile in return: "A plague of locusts would have been preferable." 

The king smiled sadly and looked away from the girl. Silence settled over the pair once again. 

"Did he do those things to you?" He asked finally, his voice so low she could barely hear it over the roar of the sea. "Did he blind you?" 

Scheherazade sighed and nodded, turning her azure eyes to the sky: "He told me he would. One night he told me that, since he had already taken the memories from my head and the speech from my mouth, he would next take the sight from my eyes. I gestured to my ears to ask if he would take the hearing from them as well but he said no. He said he always wanted me to be able to hear the names I would be called." 

"And an old lady in the desert magicked all that away?" Shariyar asked, not bothering to conceal the scepticism in his voice. 

"You doubt me?" 

The look in her eyes sent something twisting in the pit of his stomach. 

"There is nothing to corroborate your story, gypsy," he said defensively. "Why should I trust you?" 

"I have never once lied to you about my past, Shariyar," the girl said. 

"But you have lied to me about others things, haven't you?" He asked. 

"Yes." 

She admitted it without hesitation, an act that earned Shariyar's begrudging respect. 

The girl drew a shaky breath and spoke again: "Sometimes the only way I could sleep was to convince myself that I had done something to deserve his treatment of me. I would imagine all the terrible things I could possibly have done and tell myself over and over again that I must deserve this life." 

"Do you really believe that?" The king asked. 

"It's more comforting than the thought that I do not deserve any of this." 

"What do your instincts tell you?" He asked. 

"I don't know," she murmured. "He used to taunt me with all kinds of stories, knowing full well I would not know which were true and which were false." 

Thunder sounded in the distance and Scheherazade suddenly scrambled to her feet to look over the wall. Lightning flashed on the horizon, making the swelling clouds dance with light. 

"It's beautiful?" She murmured breathlessly. 




Scheherazade and the King Ch. 07



Shariyar drew his legs up and rested his forearms on them, gazing up at the girl: "You almost drowned when your ship went down, how can you revel at a storm?" 

"What is to be gained from hiding away from the world just because it could hurt you?" She asked, her eyes still fixed on the gathering squall. 

"You make it sound so simple but I have tried many times to turn my back on this pain and anger to no avail," he said. "Do you not believe there are some hurts that we cannot come back from?" 

"You are looking at it from the wrong perspective," she replied. "We can never return to the person we were before we were hurt. But I believe we have a choice in who we become after. I may never know who I was before my captivity and, in many ways, it does not matter because I am not that person anymore and I never can be." 

"So I am to take my sufferings as an opportunity?" He asked. "Am I supposed to be grateful for the harsh lessons life has taught me?" 

"I do not think you have learned a thing," she said. "Otherwise you would understand that only through suffering is hope born." 

"Suffering is meant to teach you to caution," he retorted. "Only a fool could possibly find beauty in something that nearly killed them." 

"Then a fool I shall be," she muttered. 

"Remember al-mawt," Shariyar countered sombrely. The Death. 

Scheherazade turned sharply on her heel. Her smile was defiant: "Remember al-hayaat." The Life. 

She turned her back to him again and opened her arms to a sudden rush of wind. She laughed as it set her hair swirling about her. 

Shariyar wanted to look away from her, to dismiss her words as folly, but he found he could not. He stared up at her, the lightning that forked the sky paled in comparison to her brilliance, the rumbling of the thunder was a whisper against her vim and vigour. He had only two options: to leave her there while he slunk away to the safety of his room, or to stand beside her as she defied the gods and embraced the storm. 

The king stood up slowly, the wind tugged at his hair and set his cloak streaming behind him like a banner. 

"Scheherazade?" 

The girl glanced over her shoulder. Shariyar stood behind her like a dark spectre, his face bowed and his hair a dark halo whipped by the wind. 

"Are you happy right now?" He asked. 

She turned her body to face him and her lower lip twitched: "Would it upset you if I was?" 

He shook his head: "I just don't understand how you could be." 

A sheet of rain swept towards them, forcing them to speak louder and louder just to be heard. 

"I vowed long ago that no devil would steal my joy," she said. "Happiness needs nothing more than strength of spirit to flourish — even in the darkest of hours." 

"May I stand with you?" He asked. "I do not think I can face it alone." 

The girl pulled her hand to her chest for the briefest moment but then she quickly stretched it out to him. He grabbed her slender hand and let her pull him towards the rail. His fingers left hers to latch onto the stone wall just as the curtain of rain swept over them, soaking them within seconds. 

Scheherazade laughed up at the black clouds, her arms open to the rain. She opened her mouth and drank in the rain drops as if they were nectar. Her feet were moving to a rhythm he could not hear and she twirled away from him. 

Shariyar's fingers gripped the stones harshly, his eyes closed tightly against the rain as he felt his wet clothes grow heavy. He could hear the girl laughing behind him and he wanted to let go. 

A sudden clap of thunder sounded above them, sending his ears ringing. For a few moments he could hear nothing but the echo of a distant memory. He heard Nasrin's voice in his ears, her tone shrill as she commanded the servants to lock the windows and shut out the tempest. He had always loved a good storm but she had always hated the way the wind and rain set her perfectly coiffed hair curling and her makeup running. He opened his eyes just as a flash of lightning illuminated the night. He could see for miles — the ocean was empty and black and roiling restlessly. Then the world was dark again and the following thunder sounded, vibrating his very bones. 

He laughed and the sound stopped Scheherazade in her tracks. She spun around in the rain and found him before her. 

"I used to love the lightning," he yelled, leaning closer so that he could hear him over the wind. "I had forgotten." 

Shariyar's eyes glowed like fire in the sudden brightness, his teeth gleaming white as he grinned at her. 

"You are welcome," she shouted back. 

He bowed his head slightly and offered her his hand: "May I join you?" 

"Are you certain you can keep up with me?" She asked, her heart too reckless to pay any heed to her head. 

"I do not know this dance," he said, beginning to lower his hand. 

"Then I shall lead," she cried triumphantly, grabbing his fingers in hers. 

++++++++ 

A distant echo of thunder woke Jafar from his sleep. He stretched his tired limbs across the bed and opened his eyes suddenly when he realised that he was alone in it. 

"Shahzaman?" He called out quietly, sitting up in bed. 

"I'm here." 

The sombre answer came from the window, where the prince's darkened figure loomed. 

Jafar climbed out of bed and walked towards him, not bothering to cover his nakedness. 

"I thought you had gone," the vizier said, stifling a yawn. 

"I was going to," Shahzaman said. "I did not want to wake you." 

"I would rather wake to the sight of your face than anything else," Jafar said. 

The prince offered a sad smile: "Well, there's a storm setting in, I do not think I will be leaving for a while." 

"If you could, please try to sound less enthusiastic at the thought of being trapped in a room with me," Jafar said teasingly. He leaned against the window frame opposite the prince, his arms linked behind his back. He could sense that something was troubling Shahzaman but he had learned long ago not to bother asking for an explanation before he was ready to offer it himself. 

"The girl asked me if I had truly changed," the prince said, his eyes fixed steadily on the dark heavens. "I told her I had but sometimes I am not so certain." 

"You have," Jafar said. "You are just not sure you wanted to." 

Shahzaman's silver eyes were on him suddenly and they ached with sadness: "You know me too well." 

The vizier nodded, prompting him to continue. 

"If I had not been forced to change, I do not think I ever would have," Shahzaman said, his voice a hoarse whisper. "I would have whored and drank myself to death, just as Shariyar is doing to himself now." 

"But you did change," Jafar said gently. "So what is it that is troubling you?" 

"That it had to come to this," Shahzaman said, gesturing to the scars that covered his body. "That I had to lose so much to gain what I should always have had." 

"Do you feel that you lost more than you gained?" 

Shahzaman's lips said "no" but his tone said otherwise. 

"You can be honest with me," Jafar said. "Nothing you say will sway my opinion of you." 

"I lost my father, my brother, my looks, my wealth, my status," he said bitterly. "I scavenge in the desert like a criminal, forced to live away form the only person in the world who still loves me." 

"Your brother loves you as well," the vizier said. "And your journey is not over yet — you will be a prince of Persia again some day." 

"Sometimes I am sick with caring," Shahzaman said quietly, ashamed of his admittance. "Life was much simpler when I was numb to anyone's needs but my own." 

"But you were not happy," Jafar reminded him. 

"Well I am not happy now either," Shahzaman growled. "My heart aches to be hated by my brother, my body aches from having to fight for survival each waking day, and every part of me aches to be away from you." 

Jafar's green eyes glistened as he stepped forward, cupping the prince's scarred face in his hands: "You will be home soon." 

"That is my hope," Shahzaman whispered, allowing himself the moment of peace Jafar's touch afforded him. 

Another clap of thunder sounded and the rain came quickly on its heels. 

Shahzaman shivered at the sudden rush of cool air that accompanied the downpour. Jafar pulled him close, planting a gentle kiss on the corner of his mouth. He moved to turn away but the prince's hand was suddenly on the back of his head, tangling his fingers through his hair as he pulled him into a deep kiss. 

Jafar wrapped his arms around Shahzaman, dragging his fingers roughly down his back as the prince's hungry mouth stole the breath from his own. 

Shahzaman pulled away from the kiss, pressing his forehead to Jafar's: "I swear to god, it is only when I kiss you that my soul is at peace." 

Jafar laughed quietly, his restless hands now pawing at the prince's scarred abdomen, running lightly along the lines of his muscles, tracing them down until his fingers touched his hardening manhood. 

Shahzaman groaned at the light touch of Jafar's fingers and his cock stiffened: "Only your touch stirs my heart to this kind of passion." 

The vizier's green eyes rose and he smiled coyly at the prince: "Are you turning into a romantic on me, Shahzaman?" 

The prince's hands cradled Jafar's face, pulling him so close that their lips brushed against each other's as he spoke: "Yes... A hopeless one." 

Jafar laughed as he kissed the prince, his hands grabbing at his ass roughly. Shahzaman pushed him suddenly against the wall and Jafar moaned as his hardening cock pressed against his own dripping member. 

Thunder sounded and lightning bathed the room in a brilliant silver glow, illuminating the tangled pair for the briefest moment. Their lips moved together, hands roaming over each other's bodies with the kind of frantic hunger that usually only grips new lovers. It seemed no matter how many times they kissed, the taste of each other's lips only became sweeter. 

Jafar pulled the prince, their lips never parting for more than a moment, towards the bed. Shahzaman pushed him backwards, lifting his legs up so that his ankles rested on his shoulders. Jafar reached forward and ran his hand gently along the length of Shahzaman's cock, his fingers whispering up and down the prince's member. 

Shahzaman groaned and kissed his calf: "Don't taunt me any longer." 

Jafar found the prince's silver eyes in the dark: "Take what's yours." 

Shahzaman closed his eyes and pushed inside, moaning at the warmth that greeted his cock. 

Jafar gasped aloud and pressed his hand to Shahzaman's chest: "Slow, please." 

The prince growled, his fingernails digging into Jafar's calves as he entered him. Jafar's palm on his chest was the only thing keeping his movements gentle. 

Shahzaman swore under his breath as Jafar took every inch of him in. He loosed one hand and searched for Jafar's member in the darkness, replacing his fingers with his own. 

"Are you ready?" He murmured, stroking Jafar's dick in a gentle rhythm. 

"Yes," he moaned, his fingers gripping the sheets tightly as he got used to the prince's size all over again. 

Shahzaman moved his hips in time with his hand, driving his length deep inside Jafar as his fingers brought him closer and closer to cumming. 

The very wind and rain seemed to conspire to mask the sounds of their groans. The creaking of the great wooden bed could hardly be heard over the roar of the tempest. 

"Shahzaman," Jafar murmured. "Please make me cum." 

The prince responded by intensifying both his movements, fucking him harder and deeper at the same time that his fingers moved firmer and faster up and down his cock. 

Jafar cried out as he orgasmed, covering his stomach and Shahzaman's hand in cum. The prince smiled and leaned down to kiss the breathless man panting beneath him. He drew away and licked his fingers, his cock still deep inside him. 

"Satisfied?" Shahzaman murmured, a dark smile lighting his eyes. 

"Not yet," Jafar whispered, pushing himself against Shahzaman. 

The prince groaned and planted a hot kiss on Jafar's calf as he began to thrust inside him again. The pressure built quickly and within moments he was the one crying out in pleasure as he came. 

Jafar pulled the prince on top of him, covering his scarred face in kisses: "Now, I'm satisfied." 

++++++++ 

Shahzaman woke with the first rays of the rising sun. Remembering what Jafar had said the night before, he pressed his body against his and woke him up with gentle kisses along his neck. 

Jafar moaned happily and smiled as their lips met again. 

"Morning," the prince murmured. 

"Good morning," Jafar replied. 

"I have to leave now," Shahzaman said. "While they are changing the guards." 

Jafar closed his eyes again, a sad sigh escaping his lips as Shahzaman climbed out of bed. 

"I wish it wasn't like this," the prince said as he pulled on his clothes. 

"You have no idea," Jafar said, sitting up in bed. He tucked his legs to his chest, leaning his head on his knees as he watched Shahzaman dress. 

"So what is Scheherazade's role in your plan?" Jafar asked after a few moments. "Do you know who she is?" 

"I think so," Shahzaman murmured, fastening his swords at his hips. 

"Tell me," the vizier said. 

The prince shook his head, his silver eyes grave: "The less you know, the safer you are." 

"Well at least tell me how long," Jafar pressed. "Tell me how much longer we have to live like this." 

"In a couple of months, a convoy of messengers will come," he said. "They must be granted an audience with Shariyar." 

"From where?" 

"I cannot say," he said. "Even that would put you in unnecessary danger. All I can tell you is that they will be in mourning and that, although they represent a deceased king, their mission has not been sanctioned by his successor." 

Jafar's raised brow spoke for him. 

"I am doing everything to make sure they make it here undisturbed and undiscovered," Shahzaman said. 

"My thoughts will be with you as you do," Jafar said quietly. 

The prince nodded and crossed the room quickly to plant one last kiss on Jafar's waiting lips. Then he pulled his mask over his face and ducked out through the open window and disappeared into the murky shadows of the coming dawn. 

Jafar sighed and fell back in bed, curling up against the still-warm pillows. He suspected the next two months would be the longest of his life. 

++++++++ 

Shariyar left the girl sleeping in his bed, their wet clothes in a sodden pile on the floor. He pulled his robe over his shoulders and slipped quietly in the hallway. 

"Find Jafar," he said curtly to one of the guards. "Tell him to meet me in the observatory." 

As the guard rushed off, Shariyar climbed the stairs to the dusty room. He sat down heavily at the desk, pulling the small box that held the girl's charms towards him. He emptied the mementos on the table, picking through the trinkets until Jafar came through the door. 

"What is it?" Jafar asked. The man looked as if he had barely slept. 

"What kept you up?" The king asked. "You look shattered." 

"Pardon me for not being able to sleep when the whole palace is shaking," he snapped. "Perhaps if I drank a bottle of wine every night I would sleep better too." 

Shariyar raised one dark brow and chuckled: "Sit down before you hurt yourself." 

Jafar growled but did as he commanded. 

"Will you tell me what you ruined my beauty sleep for, then?" He asked. 

"Do you believe it would be wise for me to meet the dignitaries from Orsaló without a female companion?" 

"You know better than that," Jafar scoffed. "They are meticulous when it comes to precedence and ritual. To abandon their traditions, especially when you are trying to secure an end to that wretched trade embargo, would be beyond foolish." 

"Then who do you suggest I bring?" The king asked. 

"Hmm, well, perhaps if you had not exiled all the women in your harem, you might have more of a selection," he said. 

"Did you brew your tea with wine instead of water this morning?" Shariyar asked, laughing at his friend's brazen attitude. 

"You know as well as I do that you only have one option," Jafar said, rising to his feet. "I just hope you haven't left her with any bruises that cannot be hidden." 

Shariyar's eyes flashed, all humour gone from his glance: "You should leave before you get yourself in trouble, Jafar." 

"Fine," he grumbled. 

"Shut the door behind you," Shariyar muttered. 

"One last piece of advice, friend," Jafar said, pausing before he closed the door. "I'm not sure that the Orsalóans will take kindly to you bringing a slave to stand alongside their wives. She must look and be treated as a woman of rank and status if you expect to get anywhere in that meeting." 

++++++++ 

"Wake up, girl," Shariyar said as he reentered his chambers, letting the door fall closed with a bang. 

Scheherazade shot up in bed, pulling the covers over herself as Shariyar advanced towards her. 

He produced a fist from behind his back and held out his arm to her, opening his fingers to reveal two charms: a carved piece of bone and a piece of smooth, polished agate. 

Scheherazade stared up at him warily: "And what will those cost me?" 

"Your cooperation," he said. "I need a female companion at my side today for a very important meeting." 

"What kind of meeting?" She asked, still not daring to accept the charms. 

"Representatives from Orsaló are coming to negotiate a trade agreement," he said. "There has been a trade embargo ever since a general in my army decided to take matters into his own hands and attack one of their wealthier outposts. Apparently his execution was not a strong enough denouncement of his actions on my part." 

"And you will not force me on any of these men?" She asked. 

"No," he assured her. "Their customs dictate the presence of their wives and it would be unseemly for me to appear without a female companion of my own. All that I require of you is that you be silent." 

"Fine," she said, taking the charms from his outstretched hand. 

"Good," he smiled, keeping his hand extended to help her stand. 

The girl ignored his gesture, looking intently over the mementos. 

A knock came at the door and Shariyar cleared his throat, pulling his hand to his chest. 

"Come in," he called. 

Two servants entered, each carrying a box. 

"Ah, yes," he said. "Come in, show me the dress." 

One of the servants nodded, placing the box she was holding on the edge of the bed and opening it to reveal a deep blue dress covered with glittering beads and gems. 

"Fine," Shariyar nodded. "Take her to the harem, get her cleaned up. Bring her back here as soon as you're finished with her." 

Scheherazade glowered at the king and pulled the sheet off the bed as she climbed out of it so she would have something covering her as she followed the servants out into the hallway. 

"I want that sheet back, gypsy," Shariyar called after her, a wicked smirk on his lips. 

++++++++ 

Scheherazade followed the servants as quickly as she could without tangling her feet in the yards of fabric trailing behind her. 

"I can't believe it's come to this," one of the servants muttered. She spoke a rough dialect but Scheherazade understood enough to figure out what she was saying. 

"Hush!" The other servant admonished, glancing furtively over her shoulder at the girl. "What if she can understand us?" 

"Why would a gypsy from a foreign land know our language?" She asked. "But very well, if you want me to prove it —" 

The servant looked over her shoulder at Scheherazade: "If you can understand us, tell me now." 

Scheherazade glanced up at the servant and, even though she knew she should say "yes", her morbid curiosity got the better of her: "I'm sorry, I don't speak your language. What did you say?" 




Scheherazade and the King Ch. 07



"My apologies," the servant simpered, this time in their normal tongue. "I was merely asking how you slept." 

"Oh, um, fine. Thank you," Scheherazade said, trying to keep her composure. 

"See?" The servant said, slipping easily back into the rough dialect they used. "She can't understand a word." 

"I don't trust her any farther than I could throw her," the other servant sniffed. 

"Oh I agree," the first servant said. "Her kind are beggars at the best of times and thieves at the worst." 

They continued the rest of the way in silence and Scheherazade breathed a sigh of relief when they finally reached the doors to the harem. She hoped that was the worst of what they had to say behind her back. 

They opened the doors to the harem wide and Scheherazade almost gasped when she stepped inside. The cavernous chamber was filled with flowering plants and the air was perfumed with myrrh and ambergris. Bathing pools cooled and warmed to different temperatures frothed and bubbled in the centre of the room. Sunlight streamed in through magnificent prisms set in the ceiling, lighting the room in a rainbow of colours. No wonder so many women clamoured to be in the King's court — the exotic oasis looked like it belonged to another world. 

The servants left her marvelling at the scene before her and walked to one of the numerous dressing alcoves notched into the wall. There, they began unloading the contents of their cases with almost ritualistic reverence: rich, black sormeh to line the eyes, red qazeh to add blush to the cheeks, sefidab to lighten the face, vasmeh to darken the eyebrows and make them appear thicker, and many rich, scented oils to perfume the body. 

"I'll wager the queen is rolling in her grave right now," one of the servants said. 

The other giggled: "I'll say! Her husband's whore in the harem?" 

Scheherazade flinched at the word. 

"Might as well get this over with then," the first said. "I wonder if the king wants us to try to cover up those tattoos?" 

"Not enough vasmeh in the world to do that, I'm afraid," the other scoffed. "The dress most likely has sleeves or a jacket." 

"Let's get her dressed and go from there," the first suggested. 

"Miss?" The servant called out to Scheherazade. 

"My name is Scheherazade," she said as she walked towards the alcove. "May I ask your names?" 

The servants looked at each other and then back to her. 

"Simin," the first servant said, her eyes sharp and appraising. It was true that no one she served in the palace had ever asked her name but, then again, none of them had been commoners. 

"Ziba," the other chimed in with a slight smile. 

"It's nice to meet you," Scheherazade said, trying with all her might to remain demure and calm in the face of their preconceptions. 

Simin and Ziba helped her into the dark blue dress, their fingers working quickly and efficiently as they tied and buttoned the various layers of fabric around her. Ziba had been right — the box also contained an elaborately embroidered jacket. 

With her tattoos safely hidden from sight, they sat her down on a short stool and began to comb aromatic oils into her hair, pinning it up with glittering hairpieces. Next came the makeup: they powdered her face to an even lighter shade of pale, lined her eyes with sweeping black marks, brushed her cheeks with red rouge and painted her lips a deep crimson. 

The women's movements were choreographed to perfection — this was a ritual they had performed countless times before. The dance of brushes never changed, just the subject. 

"Almost looks the part, doesn't she?" Simin asked as she stepped back to admire their handiwork. 

"If I didn't know any better, I'd say she looked like a lady of the court," Ziba agreed, wiping her brow with the back of her sleeve. 

"Did you see those scars on her back?" Simin asked as she touched up the makeup around Scheherazade's eyes. 

"I wonder which of her masters gave those to her," Ziba said. 

"They look new to me," Simin said, handing her a set of blue shoes and nodding at the girl's bare toes. 

Ziba knelt down to guide Scheherazade's feet into the flat shoes. The curling toes pointed out long past her own. 

"You think the king gave those to her?" Ziba asked suddenly, staring up at Simin. "Why?" 

"I heard from one of the guards that she tried to sleep with Ja —" Simin stopped herself, knowing the girl would recognise the name. "The vizier." 

"Couldn't keep it in her pants, huh?" Ziba giggled as she rose to her feet. 

Simin walked slowly around the girl, making sure not a hair was out of place. 

"Do you think he's going to kill her?" Ziba asked suddenly. 

Simin shrugged and licked one of her fingers, reaching out towards Scheherazade to smooth a stray strand of hair into place. 

All at once Scheherazade turned and grabbed the servant's wrist mid-air. 

"I can assure you he will not," she snarled. 

++++++++ 

Shariyar paced the polished floor of the throne room, his steps growing more agitated with each passing moment. 

Jafar had gone to great lengths to set the room for a meeting between equals, more social than political: Shariyar's grand throne was hidden behind thick curtains, and, instead, a table inlaid with polished ivory sat in the middle of the chamber. Around it circled a series of low divans, interspersed with towering ghalyan filled with flavoured tobacco blends. Flowering narcissus and lily of the valley erupted from vases set around the chamber — symbolic offerings of prosperity and peace. 

"What's taking them so long?" He growled. "Shouldn't she be here by now?" 

Jafar glanced up at him from one of the divans almost idly: "I think it's your turn to sit down before you hurt yourself." 

"I'm not certain I appreciate this newfound bravado of yours," the king snarled as he sat down heavily opposite Jafar. 

"Yes, I don't know what's got into me," the vizier said with a smile. 

A knock at the door sounded and Shariyar shot to his feet: "Finally! Come in!" 

Shariyar stepped around the carefully arranged table, paying attention to his feet until a flash of blue caught his eye. He looked up and froze where he stood. 

Scheherazade walked through the open doors slowly, her eyes low and darting. When she saw him watching her, she instinctively went to clutch her arms around herself but, at the last moment, steeled them at her sides. She heard the doors close behind her and held her head high, her eyes as fierce a blue as the colour of her clothes. 

Jafar's eyes glanced between Shariyar — still motionless mid-step — and the girl. He cleared his throat, spurring the pregnant moment along. 

"What?" Scheherazade snapped, trying to keep her nervous fingers from fidgeting. 

Shariyar's foot finally came down and he walked towards her, his dark eyes raking over her with their usual intensity. He circled her slowly, simultaneously admiring the servants' work and resenting the fact that she was, in fact, far more beautiful without all the makeup. 

"Are you uncomfortable in this attire?" He asked, coming to stand before her. 

"Try not to take too much satisfaction in this, Shariyar, but yes, I feel out-of-place," she glowered. 

"Unfortunately, I cannot take any satisfaction in that," Shariyar said quietly, "because you do not look it." 

Just at that moment, a series of trumpets sounded and the wide doors on the opposite side of the chamber began to open. Shariyar swept away from the girl and strode across the room, his arms open wide in a gesture of welcome. 

Jafar was suddenly at Scheherazade's side. He nudged her gently and smiled at her — trying to convey in that quick glance a thousand words of apology, support and strength. Her lips flickered into the ghost of a smile and she nodded slightly at him. 

"Daman! Kasar!" Shariyar greeted the entering dignitaries as if they were the oldest of friends, clasping them each in an embrace. 

The men were elegantly but practically dressed, their wealth muted but still prominent to the keen eye. Though they wore no jewels or gems, their clothes were intricately embroidered with glittering patterns of gold and silver thread, exotic feathers crowned the short caps they wore, and their tall boots were made of a strange, pock-marked leather that had been polished to perfection. Sourced from all over the known world, their clothing was a testament to the many trade routes that ran through Orsaló and kept the territory wealthy. 

"To what do we owe this enthusiasm?" The older of the two men chuckled as Shariyar released him from their embrace. His shock of white hair stood out against the darkness of his skin, as did his icy blue eyes. 

"Yes, what has happened to the sullen Shariyar we have come to know and tolerate?" The younger man asked. Compared to his companion, he was in the spring of his youth and his dark hair was tucked in a low bun against the back of his neck. His eyes, in comparison, were such a deep, rich brown that they were almost chestnut in colour. 

Shariyar merely shook his head and laughed. In truth, his own exuberance surprised him, as if he had not realised how much he had missed the company of these men until the moment he saw them again. 

Behind the men suddenly appeared two women, both dressed in a similar fashion to the men. Their boots were made of the same, strange material but theirs were decorated with clasps of polished silver and, instead of caps, their long, grey hair was woven into intricate braids that spilled down their backs. 

"You remember my wife Eta and her sister Turvi?" The older man asked, stepping aside to allow the women to pass. 

One of the women — Turvi — greeted Shariyar with as much enthusiasm as the men had, wrapping him up in a strong hug. Eta, however, remained stoic, offering only a polite nod of her head in greeting. 

"Now for our introductions," Eta said, her voice resounding throughout the chamber without any apparent effort on her part. "For while I'm certain we all remember Jafar, your female companion is a stranger to us." 

Shariyar offered her a curt smile: "You never were one for small talk, were you?" 

"No," she said, her voice devoid of any trace of good humour. 

"This is Scheherazade," Shariyar said. "She is new to my court." 

"Allow me to introduce our party," the older man said with a broad smile. "I am Daman and the wizened shark you just met is my wife, Eta. This beauty is her younger sister, Turvi, and her son Kasar." 

Scheherazade bowed her head respectfully to each member of the party. It was true that there was something predatory about Eta. She seemed the kind of person who knew the value of time all too well to allow it to be wasted it on frivolous pleasantries. Not, at least, when there was business to be conducted. 

"And where is your wife, Kasar?" Jafar asked, reaching out a hand to greet the young man. 

"Sadly, Mona suffered an injury last week that made it impossible for her to join us," he said gravely. 

"I am so sorry," Shariyar said, concern etched across his face. "What happened?" 

Kasar coughed into his hand and looked away. 

Turvi leaned forward: "She twisted her ankle in the bazaar leaping after a shawl that another woman had got her hands on first." 

With the exception of Scheherazade and Eta, the entire room burst into laughter. The older sister's lips were pressed in a thin, unwavering line as she stared at the girl. Scheherazade, meanwhile, concentrated on finding anything other than her to look at. 

"Enough," Eta said suddenly. "While I hate to interrupt this banter, especially when Shariyar seems to have inexplicably regained his good humour, I am an old woman, my husband is even older and, if we expect to return to Orsaló before he dies, this meeting must commence." 

Shariyar scoffed at her deadpan manner: "You haven't changed a bit, have you Eta?" 

"No," she said, one eyebrow arched, "but it seems you have. I can only imagine what is responsible for it." 

Daman cleared his throat to interrupt the awkward silence that followed: "Better do as she says, Shariyar — that's the only reason I'm still alive." 

Shariyar laughed and gestured towards the tables, inviting the rest of the party to take their seats. Scheherazade held back, waiting for Shariyar to indicate where she should sit. But, before he had a chance, Eta had her by her elbow, guiding her to take the seat beside her. 

Scheherazade glanced up at Shariyar and, for the briefest moment, he glared at her. The message in his eyes was clear: Not. A. Word. 

He blinked and was suddenly returned to his new, jovial self. With a wave of his hand, he summoned steaming pots of tea to the table. 

"To business then," Shariyar said, clasping his hands together. "As you know, I saw justice done to the general who attacked your outpost." 

"You had a single man put to death," Daman said, his tone suddenly as sharp as his wife's. "That does not compensate for the hundreds of thousands of daric that your general's actions cost our people." 

"You know very well I did not condone his actions," Shariyar responded. "I did not hold you accountable for reparations when your people sparked a protest that blocked our trade routes last year for three days." 

"Three days?" Kasar interjected with a scoff. "Your general pillaged for a week before your forces arrived. There is no comparison, Shariyar!" 

Scheherazade was intently following the conversation when Eta suddenly tapped on her shoulder, passing the mouthpiece of the nearest ghalyan to her. The girl took the silver mouthpiece tentatively. She glanced at Shariyar for approval but he was too deeply embroiled in his argument with Daman and Kasar to pay her any attention. 

Eta breathed out, sending two perfect circles of smoke her way: "Funny, I did not peg you for the kind to ask for permission." 

Scheherazade's lips twitched and she put the silver piece to her mouth and inhaled deeply, holding the smoke in her lungs for a few moments before letting the milky smoke flow slowly from between her lips. 

The tobacco set her head buzzing slightly as she handed the mouthpiece back to Eta. 

"So," the old woman continued, smoke billowing in mighty clouds from between her teeth, "you are new to the King's court?" 

Scheherazade nodded. 

"Can't you speak?" 

For the briefest of moments, the girl flashed a glance at Shariyar before shaking her head. The look was so fast that anyone other than Eta would have missed it. 

"Oh," she said, her thin lips pursed in a knowing smile. "I see." 

Scheherazade's fierce eyes fixed on Eta as if to say: You see nothing. 

Eta nodded and handed the mouthpiece back to Scheherazade — a gesture of peace. The hours passed by as they sat in silence, listening to the men argue over reparations. Slowly, however, the negotiations faded into fond reminiscing as the tobacco took its effect. All the while, Eta and Scheherazade sat like two dragons, monitoring the proceedings with dignified stoicism as thick, white smoke poured from their mouths and nostrils. 

"He seems a changed man, does he not?" Eta said suddenly, leaning towards Scheherazade. 

The girl looked over at Shariyar: Whatever story Turvi was telling had set him beaming so broadly that his eyes were almost closed. His entire frame fairly shook with laughter. 

She looked back at Eta and nodded curtly. 

The old woman's hand was suddenly on her arm, her long nails digging into her skin: "You just remember this, girl — Shariyar did not become the man he was overnight, and he will not change back overnight either." 

Scheherazade pulled her arm from Eta's grasp and the sudden movement was enough to draw Shariyar's distraction. 

"Perhaps we ought to adjourn for the night," he said, his booming voice filling the room. "Our business has long been finished. And, might I add, without your guidance, Eta." 

The old woman looked at the girl and then smiled slyly at the king: "I apologise, I was too busy getting to know Scheherazade to pay any mind." 

++++++++ 

Shariyar saw his party of guests to sleep, making sure each one was comfortably situated inside his palace. Throughout the entire process, he kept Scheherazade at his side as if she were a trusted companion of his. As soon as the last door was closed, however, Shariyar grabbed the girl's arm and dragged her through the corridors until they reached his chambers. 

The king wrenched her inside and pulled the doors closed behind them. 

"What did you say to her?" Shariyar growled. 

"Nothing," Scheherazade said, folding her arms across her chest. "I did not say a word to that woman." 

"What did she say to you?" 

"She asked me if I was new to your harem, I nodded. Then she asked me if I could speak and I shook my head," she said. "Then she told me that you may seem a changed man but that you would not return to the man you used to be overnight. That is all." 

Shariyar sighed: "I'm sorry, I did not mean to treat you harshly. I should have known she said that just to vex me. That jende likes nothing better than to stir the pot. What Daman sees in her I will never understand." 

There was silence for a few moments before the king spoke again: "I will summon the servants to escort you back to the harem and undress you." 

"No," Scheherazade said, her voice ringing louder than she had intended. She cleared her throat and continued more softly: "Um, no, I don't want to go back to them." 

"Why?" He asked sharply. 

"As you've seen several times before, I can undress myself," she retorted. 

"Where they rude to you?" 

"They did not say anything you had not already," she muttered. 

"What did they say?" 

"Is it your intention to make me relive every humiliating moment you were not present to watch unfold?" She asked icily. 

"N- no," he stammered. "I simply —" 

"They talked about all the rumours they had heard about your whore," she said. "Do you need me to recount their every word as well or are you satisfied?" 

Shariyar looked away from the girl as she began pulling the pins from her hair, setting her long curls free. 

"Do you want anything more of me tonight?" She asked, slamming the jewelled hairpieces on the table. "Or can I go back to... my quarters?" 

My quarters. He grimaced slightly to hear her refer to the dark dungeons that way. 

"No, you do not have to go back there," he said, sitting down on the bed. "Tell me a story." 

"What kind of story?" She asked wearily. 

"Your favourite," he said. 

"My favourite?" 

He watched her brow furrow in confusion. 

"Surely you have a favourite," he pressed. "I'll tell you mine if you tell me yours." 

"You'll find it boring," she said with a slight shrug. 

"I wish to hear it all the same," he said. 

Scheherazade sighed but, finally, decided that she could use a good story herself: 

"In a distant land and a distant age, there lived a wise old king whose only heir was a daughter named Alvida. She was everything a father could want from a daughter: as brave with a sword as men twice her size, as eloquent in verse and script as any scholar, and as beautiful as the waxing moon. But, in spite of all her perfections, she was also wilder than an eastern monsoon. She would do nothing unless it was on her own terms. 

"So, when her father told her that it was time for her to be wed, she refused unless her suitors agreed to submit to three tests. Knowing that it was pointless to argue with her, the king acquiesced. The first test would be to fight one of the great black bears that only the king had the birthright to possess. 

"Suitor after suitor — princes, noblemen, and peasants alike — all fell to the great claws of the monstrous black bear. The princess, much to her father's chagrin, had their heads displayed on spikes outside the castle as a warning to any other men who might be foolish enough to attempt the challenge."