I wanted to tell him that it was doubtful the Minaeans would invade from the direction he was guarding, but pointing out someone’s stupidity was not a good way to get what I wanted. “Are we at war?”
“No. But King Hasan is always vigilant.”
“You’re very brave.”
He stared down at me. “The bravest.”
I chewed on my lip and thought of all the ways my rhetoric teacher taught me to win an argument. Everybody wanted something. I just had to find out what it was. “Is the pay good?”
“Go away!”
“I have money.” I pulled the satchel from beneath my dress.
“There’s no door!”
There might be no public door, but my architecture teacher told me about secret entrances that blended into the stone. He also explained that most walled cities had ladders inside for quick exits if under attack.
“My new employer will fire me if you don’t let me in.”
“I told you—”
“I have wealthy customers waiting for me.” I slipped my dress over one shoulder.
The guardsman stared at my breast. “You’re a prostitute?”
“Not just any prostitute. I work for . . .” I clapped my hand over my mouth.
“Who? I know all the brothels,” he boasted, his surliness gone.
“Not this one. We service only the most elite. It’s a secret brothel.”
“Secret, eh? How come?”
“Throw down the ladder and I’ll show you.” I hoped I had not just promised sex to an ugly guardsman.
He disappeared, and my heart sank. I waited a few moments, then turned the camel around. How foolish of me to think that every man was enticed by sex.
“Hey, where are you going?” He held something in his arms. “Here’s the deal, I throw the rope ladder over and you climb up and show me some of those special whore skills.”
“What about my camel?”
“Unless your camel can climb a rope ladder you’ll have to leave her there.” He hefted the ladder. “Well? You’re the one who made the offer.”
The camel cushed to her knees and I climbed off. “Go hide in the bushes until morning.” I patted her neck.
Nasreen mewed in the saddle.
“You can’t come either.” I scratched her ears then started up the rope ladder.
“Hurry.” He drummed the top of the wall. “Faster.”
Climbing a rope ladder isn’t easy in a long dress. It kept getting caught and twisted around my legs. I hitched it up, shoving the hem under my belt.
Halfway up, I got a good look at his face. His nose was long, almost beak-like, but instead of marring his appearance, it made him look intimidating. Dark eyes stared at me from under his low brow. He looked far more threatening than he sounded, but that disappeared when he smiled. His sexy grin spanned from ear to ear, all hostile features stretched with an eager need. He reminded me of the village leader’s son, a youth with menacing features and an arrogant strut that made all the girls swoon.
The guard helped me over the wide ledge with surprising gentleness, then he hauled up the ladder, which he kicked toward the wall. He turned, all his pretended arrogance vanishing with his nervous smile.
“Lie down,” I said.
He did as told, his cock pushing past the fabric of his tied kilt to point at the night sky.
“Do you have a girlfriend?” I stepped over him and looked down at his eager face. He was a terrible guardsman. I hoped he proved to be a better lover.
“A few.” He grabbed his cock. “They all want this. Can’t keep them away.”
“Even the prostitutes?”
“Yeah, they fight for the privilege of fucking me.”
I bit my lip to keep from smiling. “Well then I’m the luckiest whore in town.” Without taking off my dress or showing him my breasts, I lowered myself down to a crouch and slowly sank onto him inch by inch.
I was tight as a new bud, not yet moist, but when I began pushing onto his thick length, the rough feel against my clamped cunt lasted but a glorious moment. My nectar flowed double, the arid landscape saturated in four heartbeats. I sank deep, wiggling onto his length.
“So good,” the guardsman moaned.
I did not have a jinni’s strength or speed. I had only an excessive hunger for sexual pleasure. What had Momma said? I had to control it or it would control me. Was I in control now?
The guardsman’s hands groped my breasts, and I decided it didn’t matter. I needed this. I ground myself into him and let the feeling take me where it would.
“Your cunt . . . so fucking tight,” he panted.
My cunt pulsed, the pleasure rising in me like water in a dam after a rainstorm. I rose and fell, slamming into him, and no longer hearing his groans, until the stars touched my breasts and the moon filled my eyes and divinity washed over my body.
The guardsman lay there, his eyes fluttering closed, a smile on his face. He was done. I was not.
I wiggled over him and took his weary cock, sticky with my nectar and his cum, in my mouth.
“The gods are good,” he murmured, and he parted his legs.
The taste of mingled cum and nectar was a salty-sweet elixir that made my cunt ache. I licked him like a cat cleans her paws, and then I licked his balls. His cock rose again, resurrected, stiffer and longer.
His head lolled and he hissed, “Yes.”
This time I lowered myself onto him the other way, my ass to his face. He grabbed hold of my hips as I bounced. He was artless, or too delirious with lust, but it did not matter. His cock was hard, and it served my needs, which often felt like a thirst demanding to be quenched. I bounced and ground to my rhythm, my tempo, with no concern for him. I did not care, I needed cock. Lots of it. The pleasure rose again, the sweetness of pre-rapture gathering inside until I crested and bucked astride him. I sang my joy to the heavens, heard him join my song.
“Sweet fucking mother of Almaqah,” he murmured. “This is heaven on earth.”
I slid off of him and held his tired, slick cock in my hand. “I want more.”
“I can’t . . .” he whimpered, and closed his eyes.
Still horny, I lay beside him, energy coursing through my limbs. The jinn half of me was energized by sex, not depleted.
“I love you,” he mumbled.
In a moment he was asleep, a lazy smile on his face. I rolled away from him after noticing his water skin in the corner. I took a long swig to quench my other thirst.
My body coursing with energy, I checked out the view. From this tower, it felt like I could see forever, yet I knew I saw only a mere fraction of Saba’s territory. What must it be like to rule such a kingdom? And why would a leader choose to rule it badly?
I don’t know how long I was lost in a reverie between sky and land, but I turned when the guardsman yawned. “I’ve been keeping lookout for you.”
“Thank you.” He struggled to his feet and staggered over to the wall. “Did you look for a new king?”
“Does Saba need one?” I handed him the wine-filled water skin.
“Many think we do.” He drank and wiped his lips. “You’re the best fuck I ever had. When can I see you again?”
“Now.” I snatched away the wine bag and poured wine over his cock, rubbing my hand up and down to get it fully wet. I dropped to my knees and sucked him back to life.
When his cock grew long and hard again, I leaned over the wall.
He entered me slowly from behind, his hands rubbing my ass. “You like my cock? Can’t get enough? I’ll give you all you want,” he whispered in my ear.
He fucked slowly, more from weariness than sensual art, but I enjoyed it nonetheless. Together we looked out over Saba’s farmland as his cock slid in and out.
His hands went under my dress and kneaded my breasts. “Take off your dress,” he murmured into my neck.
“No. You’ll have to pay for that honor.” I wiggled my ass into him.
My bliss grew slowly, his easy,
steady thrusts drawing the pleasure out. At the precipice, when I wanted him to go faster, to plunge harder and deeper, he did not, which kept me teetering on the edge until my body unleashed an orgasm that shook my legs and tingled my toes.
I sighed as his cum dripped down my legs. Momma was right. This need of mine would be a curse if I could not control it.
The guardsman and I watched the sunrise, me eager, the guardsman slumped, his body drooping with exhaustion.
“When do the gates open?” I asked.
I had murderers to find and Momma’s head to steal back.
CHAPTER 13
I hurried down the ladder, climbed on the camel, and made my way to the front gate, only to find there was already a long line. It took longer than I’d hoped to enter the city again.
In daylight, Ma’rib astounded me. I had never seen so many three-story buildings. The place bustled with life, a hundred sounds and smells coming from every direction.
My heart sank. Ma’rib was huge! I would never find the five murderers. They could be anywhere!
“Hey, pretty lady, are you hungry? I have the world’s tastiest goat stew.” A round-faced street vendor pointed to the tall pot on his cart.
My stomach growled. It did smell tasty.
“Have you seen all the kingdoms in the world?” I asked.
The street vender chuckled, his cheeks like two pomegranates. “Just repeating what I’ve been told by other visitors.”
My brows shot up. “How do you know I’m not from here?”
“A man doesn’t forget a woman who looks like you.”
“You’re just trying to make a sale.” I couldn’t help but smile.
“Hunger makes a sale, not compliments.” The street vendor ladled the thick goat stew into a bowl. “Where are you from?”
The aroma made my mouth water. “A small village west of here.”
“Are you a princess in this small village?” He held out the bowl and a wedge of thick hard bread.
I took it, inhaling the scent of unusual spices. “With flattery like that you’ll soon make enough money to open up a restaurant.”
“It’s not flattery. You really do look like a princess. Go on—eat.” His pomegranate smile wilted into a withered frown. “As for the restaurant, I ought to have one. I certainly make enough.” He squinted at me. “You related to King Hasan?”
“No,” I said between mouthfuls.
The street vender looked around and, seeing no one nearby, leaned over his cart and whispered, “You know anything about business, princess?”
“My mother was a basket weaver. She paid a small percent to the village. A fair percent.”
The street vender nodded. “Fair is fair. But this king….” He grabbed the edge of his kilt and wrung it out as though wet. “He’s driving the best merchants away. I’m thinking of taking my business to Shabwa or the port of Muza. I ask you, are high taxes any way to grow a city?”
“Seems like Ma’rib is thriving.” I tore off a bit of stew-soaked bread and plopped it in my mouth.
The street vendor grimaced. “Barely. Ma’rib could be important, a gateway to the rest of the world. Instead, the king locks the gates at night and charges a costly entrance fee. A lot of the traders and merchants avoid Ma’rib. Instead they go through Najrān by way of Shabwa, even though it takes longer. King Hasan’s men are more lenient there. Soon Ma’rib will dry up like a dead body in the desert.” He pointed to my bowl. “Well? How do you like it?”
I had never tasted anything so delicious. The goat stew was divine, the tangy sweet spices complementing the crushed walnuts, thin-sliced onions, chopped figs, and drizzled honey. “It’s wonderful. Is it your recipe?”
“My father’s father’s father’s.” He winked. “Where are you headed to, princess?”
“The king’s palace.”
The street vendor shook his head. “Not to see the king I hope. He rarely plays the judge to settle disputes. What’s your business here?”
Revenge. “My own,” I said instead.
“No offense, princess.” The street vendor held up his hands. “Do you know the way?”
I shook my head because my mouth was full.
He pointed. “Follow this street. You can’t miss it.”
Then he told me the price for the goat stew, and I dropped an extra coin in his palm.
“Best of luck to you, princess. I’m here all day. Come back for the evening meal. I make the best lamb with leeks and figs in the world.”
“I believe you.” I set the empty bowl on the cart and headed toward the palace.
I didn’t get too far. A crowd watching a slave auction blocked the street.
“Why only women?” I asked a young woman standing on tiptoes.
“Today it’s women,” she whispered, her face pinched with worry. “Tomorrow it may be children, or grandfathers, or merchants.”
“Are you buying one?” Momma never wanted a slave. She preferred paying servants for their labors because slavery was so cruel.
“No!” The young woman glared at me. She was my age, with a narrow face, pointy chin, a slim long nose, and large eyes that were almost too close together. The effect was lovely—the strong, sincere face of a serious soul. “My neighbor is up there.”
“Buy her and set her free.”
She frowned. “You must be visiting.” She drew me aside. “It doesn’t work like that.” Her voice was hushed, her eyes darting around. “One of King Hasan’s men will buy her because she can’t pay the widow’s tax.”
“I never heard of—”
“Shhh.” The young woman leaned close. “Most of them are forced to work in the palace. The prettiest ones live in King Hasan’s harem.”
“That’s not right,” I whispered.
“He’s the king. Everything is his right.” She set her hand on my arm, her gaze turned to the auction platform. “My neighbor is next.”
It was done in an instant. The price for the young widow was announced and settled in a heartbeat. A man with shaved eyebrows, coiled hair, and gold jewelry clamped an iron around her neck and tethered her to the others he had purchased.
“Be safe!” the young woman beside me shouted. “May Almaqah bless you.” Her fingernails dug into my forearm, and tears ran down her cheeks.
My heart clenched, sympathy and anger like a vise. “Can nothing be done for her?”
The young woman shook her head and walked away.
“What about the king’s ministers?” I asked coming up alongside her. “Or his advisors? Surely, they do not approve of this tyranny.”
She put her finger to her lips. “Maybe they do. Maybe it makes them rich.” She looked over her shoulder. “Or maybe the ministers are afraid of Hasan.” She tilted her head, her large eyes tapering into wary narrowness. “What brings you to this cursed town?”
“Revenge.” I don’t know why, but I trusted this girl. “My name is Bilqīs.”
“I’m Duvsha.” She looked me up and down. “Revenge? That’s a bitter meal I would gladly share with you. What happened?”
“Five men murdered my mother and took her head as proof. From everything that I’ve heard about King Hasan, I’m beginning to suspect it was he who ordered the assassination.”
Duvsha wrinkled her nose. “Was your mother a queen?”
“Long ago . . . she was in hiding.” It was a partial truth. Momma had once been Queen Ismenie of Ophir generations before my birth.
Duvsha’s brows arched with suspicion. “Are you a princess?”
“No. I’m just me.” A half jinni with a Great Destiny I no longer believed in.
Scowling, Duvsha tilted her head and looked at me as though I was the village idiot. “How do you plan on exacting this revenge? You can’t just walk into the palace, you know.”
The street vendor had said the same thing.
“When does King Hasan settle disputes?”
“You missed that rare occurrence by one day. Now you’ll have to wait a month. Or
more.”
A month was too long! I wanted to look into King Hasan’s eyes today and ask if he sent five men to kill Momma. There had to be a way to get an audience with him.
“Have you ever seen the king?” I asked.
“Only from afar, when he leaves town. He’s exceptionally handsome. You would never guess that under his good looks lies a cruel beast.”
“Beauty is a deceiver,” I said.
Duvsha reeled back. “In that case, you’ve given yourself away and I take my leave. You’re much too beautiful to be honest.”
I squeezed my eyes shut. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. When I opened them, Duvsha was striding away.
She paused to look over her shoulder, her lips twisted with indecision. “Do you know anyone in town?”
“Not a soul.”
She shook her head and rolled her eyes skyward. “If I report you, I’ll get a reward.”
“You won’t though.”
Duvsha put her hands on her hips. “How do you know?”
“Because you hate the king as much as I do for enslaving your neighbor.”
Duvsha marched back to me. “So you plan on killing him? Then what? One of his ministers will take his place and he might be worse.”
“I like you, Duvsha. You’re smart and sensible.”
“You’re not.”
I laughed. “Maybe you’re right. But can we go someplace where I can buy you a beer and you can tell me everything you know about the king and his palace? Any bit of information will help me make a better plan to get my revenge.”
“My father is waiting for me. Why don’t you come with me? I can tell you all I know while working.”
“Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me yet,” said Duvsha. “Maybe what I have to say will be a waste of time.”
CHAPTER 14
“What is your father’s business?” I asked as we turned into a wide side street where most houses were three stories tall.
“He’s a bead maker.” Duvsha waved as she passed a few open doorways.
“Is bead making profitable?”
“Only if you’re a skilled master like my father.”
Near the end of the street, Duvsha ducked under the low doorway of a three-story dry-stone home. I followed her inside, and found the room illuminated by cleverly placed copper mirrors capturing the sunlight.
Confessions of a Sheba Queen Page 6
