Lubna
Erach was looking at a likeness of their very own prince Rustum. The princess Lubna was showing an image of the Persian prince, and he deduced that she had painted it herself. The implication was clear.
He didn’t know how he should tell the poor smitten princess that Rustum was a rogue who slept with every woman who crossed his path. The fact that he looked stunningly handsome helped him satisfy his lusty appetite. To seek an alliance with Rustum would mean that the princess’ kohl would soon be smeared across her cheekbones, and her eyes would be puffy.
Erach kept quiet just then. A hand in the Sultana’s kingdom was something they had wanted all these years. The Persian satrap wanted to either make an ally of her, or wanted to control her in some manner. If Erach made either possible, then he would attain rare royal favor. Royal favor at the expense of one foreign girl’s happiness. It didn’t prick his conscience that much.
“That is Prince Rustum, your highness,” he said.
Lubna’s eyes lit up.
“Rustum,” she said, sighing, and running her hand over the painting.
Erach’s suspicions were confirmed. The Arab princess was in love with his prince, and this was something that would place the Sultana in their hands. He wondered when the princess had seen the prince.
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Rawer
Rawer raced his steed at a safe distance. Arabian horses were the best. He didn’t remember finding such good horses back in Nubian country. His horse was a mare, and she not only responded to his every thought that translated into subtle muscular pressure on his part, but she also accelerated and decelerated with such smoothness, that he barely felt tired riding her. He patted her mane affectionately as they raced parallel to the princesses' retinue, staying just out of sight.
Her name was Ayesha, and she had the distinctive wedge-shaped head with a broad forehead that distinguishes Arabian horses. She was stocky and surprisingly strong for her size, with large eyes, large nostrils and a smaller than average muzzle, even for an Arabian. The jibbah (bulge between her eyes) that gives desert horses additional sinus capacity that is invaluable in the dry heat, had a black splotch on the fur. That was a mark that Rawer made on his steeds with a traditional Nubian paint, to mark them out as special steeds that carried a soldier of his caliber. The rest of her was a breathtaking rust red.
Rawer was awaiting the bend. Once they reached the bed, where the horses would have to go single file, he would take a lesser known shortcut so he could see them from high above, and intercept Mediha and head her off to the shortcut. Her sisters and retinue would think she was up ahead or back below them, if he got lucky. Even if they raised the alarm, he only needed a few minutes to set up a rendezvous with her.
She was right at the head of the equestrian retinue. That was not the best place to be when you want to not be missed, but Rawer decided that he’d be taking his chances, no matter what.
She saw him from his elevation, as his mare whinnied softly. Their eyes met, and she knew that she had to get away. She nodded, and led her horse off the path. The person behind her was her sister Lubna, who had just appeared in Rawer’s line of sight. He was sure that she wouldn't be able to see where her elder sister had vanished.
Rawer kissed her on the lips, running his fingers through her long hair that had been tied into coiffure that hid under a riding hat. He wanted to undo it, but they had only two minutes before the other members of princess Mediha's retinue would start searching for her.
So he left the hair alone. Their lips were interlocked for too long a time, searching each other, locking their tongues together, and forgetting the pressure of limited time. Then Rawer forced her back, knowing that they had to talk.
“Princess,” he said, “we must meet elsewhere, away from the palace. We need to make plans, if we are going to be together.”
“We must meet, but not only to make plans,” she said, running her finger down his thigh, with an evil look in her brown eyes.
Rawer smiled.
“That too, but I was tailed by a Hellene who knew our secret.”
The princess nodded. Tuya had mentioned someone being aware of their secret. Princess Mediha was keenly aware that she may be reprimanded if their affair became public knowledge, but Rawer would be beheaded.
“A Hellene?” she said, trying to work something out in her mind.
“He was out to blackmail me,” Rawer said, “so I had to silence him.”
The look in his eyes was unmistakable. The princess understood. Rawer was a soldier. Taking human lives was nothing to him. She hadn’t killed people herself, but she knew her mother had. Her mother was always exhorting her to understand the necessity to be ruthless when required.
“The palace sewers open outside the palace walls,” he said. “For you, it will be a walk that is at least six palms long, but it will seem longer, because you have to walk unseen, under the ground.”
She wrinkled her nose in disgust.
“You’re asking me to walk the length of the sewer!” she said.
“I will have to meet you outside palace walls, my love,” he said. “You must understand; I wouldn’t ask if there was an easier way. Our usual meeting spot is not appropriate. If you are tailed in the sewer, my best chance to get away is outside, where I can observe you from a distance before I come to get you.”
She maintained her look of disgust, but nodded nonetheless.
“We must make plans, princess,” Rawer continued. “If we are to meet, then we must plan for our future together.”
The princess nodded, a thoughtful look entering her eyes.
“Cover yourself from head to toe, my love,” he said. “Nobody must see you when you enter or emerge from the sewer.”
She nodded. She didn’t like the plan, but she liked what she’d get out of it.
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Sultana
The Sultana was pleased with the Hellene. He had given them plenty of information on what the snake sisters were thinking. She may have been giving him too much credit, but she knew that there were plenty of lads who could serve coffee and sweets at meetings. Someone with his talents was better employed elsewhere.
He had told them about a center for power in their own kingdom. This was a center for power that had been gathered through ancient magic, too ancient for anyone alive to remember. The center housed something that frightened the sisters. Their communiques that had been recorded using the changes in color in their eyes hadn't mentioned precisely what was there at that center for power.
She got these double checked even as their war council progressed. Nobody was allowed to step outside the conference room, until they had some decision, except for the trusted errand boys who brought them notes and information of happenings from around the kingdom, or things that had been ordered.
The Hellene was standing in place looking reasonably secure. They knew that the center of power was approximately a day’s ride away from the palace. From what the sisters spoke, it was between a Wadi and a section of woods that were shaped like a star, which was very unusual. The Sultana didn’t remember such a place very well, and she extensively toured her kingdom. If this were an ancient phenomenon, she was sure she’d have remembered it.
A minister coughed. It was one of the nonagenarians, and he was called Aman. He was cranky at the best of times, and now wasn’t the best of times. The Sultana gave him a cautious look that told him that his advice was important to her, but it must be measured and to the point.
“Your Majesty,” he said, “the boy was caught spying for whatever purpose. The punishment…”
The implication was clear. The Hellene had confessed to snooping in General Mohal’s quarters when he was supposed to be cleaning them. If she allowed him to get away without punishment, her reputation would be stained, and reputation was something that no regent could afford to sully. Not publicly anyway.
Spying against the kingdom meant beheading. The boy had been spying for no particular reason, it appeared, other than idle curiosity. Still, the minimal price for spying was imprisonment until one had three character references, and had donated a sum of five hundred dinars to the kingdom, and had agreed to clean public baths and toilets for a period determined by where one had been caught spying. If the offender couldn’t do any of the three, their time in prison would be for a whole year, and they would work for the kingdom in prison as well.
The Sultana fixed the minister with a steely glare. The boy’s spying had won them major information. That must count for a lot. They didn’t really have laws for internal spying that ended up favoring the kingdom. So she established them right there.
“The minister Aman makes a great point,” she said, appearing to ponder it. “The boy spied, and yet it was the curiosity of a boy. It cannot be condoned, and yet the boy’s curiosity has given us what may be our only hope against the serpents.”
The conference room was filled with a mixture of ayes and grunts that indicated their nays. Many of the latter would see the boy beheaded for having made them lose face. Particularly the General Mohal, who wasn’t saying anything, but had flashed the boy veiled looks that portended murder.
“In lieu of his service to the kingdom,” the Sultana continued, watching the dissatisfied faces in the room in sweeping glances that wouldn’t arouse their suspicions, “the boy’s prison sentence is waived, and his fine and public service requirement are reduced. He must only pay a fine of a hundred dinars, or clean public baths and toilets for a period of two weeks. He must also get at least one character reference.”
There was silence in the conference room. She had done away with the prison term, and reduced the service and fine significantly as well. Two of the nonagenarian ministers, whose vote counted for a lot in such meetings, nodded their approval. Minister Aman made a sound like a camel choking, but said nothing else. General Mohal gave the boy another dangerous glare, as though he were beheading him mentally. There were enough 'ayes' in the room that the Sultana felt reassured.
The boy looked worried, but he appeared satisfied. He gave the Sultana a grateful look.
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Imi
The maids scurried out of the room. Prince Rustum’s unsteady gait was audible down the palace corridor. Only Imi didn’t make it, and hid behind a curtain. She trembled. She had heard about the prince. It was a closely guarded secret, but no amount of close guarding can make a lecher something else.
She gasped, as the prince staggered in. He was handsome beyond all description. He was a Farishta - an angel from heaven, and it was clear why all women agreed to sleep with him without any hesitation. Even when they knew his reputation.
She trembled behind the curtain, almost willing him to find her. She knew that she must hide, and yet she wanted to fondle his ivory skinned, oval face, and his dark hair. She wanted to suck his cock and take it inside herself, wherever he wanted to place it.
The prince’s movements were unsteady, and he appeared ready to drop. She couldn't restrain herself any further. She stepped out from behind the curtain, and revealed herself.
“Well, well, well,” he said, grinning at her, “you’re what - Egyptian, my love?”
Imi nodded.
“Come here, darling,” he said, swaying to and fro, barely able to stand. “Come help your prince undress for bed.”
She felt a thrill within her. He was beautiful beyond anything she had known. His pale hand ran through her hair, while she supported his hips, and allowed him to unlace his pants.
“You know what they say about royal cock, my Egyptian beauty?” he said, dropping his pants and revealing his turgid penis and hirsute testicles.
She shook her head, to indicate that she didn’t.
“Neither do I, love,” he said. “Now do your duty to the kingdom and suck it!”
She smiled and swallowed his cock, enjoying her duty to the kingdom. The cock tasted lovely.
