Bedtime Stories

by Johnson, Jean

  My suspicions have been confirmed, he thought, satisfied mentally, if not yet physically. She does want to discuss a marriage as well as a treaty. From everything I’ve heard, she’d make any man a magnificent wife. A marriage between us would unite our lands and bring greater prosperity for all . . . but she could have selected a worthy enough man from her own realm, rather than run the risk of possibly being rejected by the lord of a rival nation. Even though I rule the East and could have any woman within the boundaries of my own kingdom . . . I am flattered she has chosen to send all these gifts to me, of all possible men . . .

  The thought of the gifts she had sent, and this book in particular, made him frown in sudden thought. He would have to consult with his cabinet of advisors on what else to send: spices and herbs from his own lands and the realms of lands farther east, pashmina goats for their wool, and rare woods meant for carving, and of course books on the history and customs of the East, with annotated letters of his own pointing out whatever similarities he might find. And of course the good merchant Hassim shall have to enjoy my hospitality for a few more days as I quickly devote my time to finding those similarities, so that I can take her more publicly proper requests as seriously as they deserve . . . but answering this book requires a very personal touch.

  I shall have to think . . . heh . . . long and hard about what to send back to her personally when I send all the other goods. Smirking, Prince Kavi rolled onto his back and finished sating himself with both hands, thinking about all the things he might send to share with Her Highness his own opinions on such important, intimate matters. It can’t just be another book, though I think I shall send her one of my own favorite erotic tomes, in the hope she will like it as much as I like this one. No, I should send her something extraordinary on top of all the other gifts, to reassure her of my appreciation of her passionate nature . . . and soothe any hesitancies she may have had over sending such a bold, personal, and . . . mmm . . . intimate gift . . .

  THIS time, Hassim rode a full hour ahead of his caravan. His current mission troubled him, and the nature of it had prompted him to rise early, saddle his mare, and instruct the members of his caravan to take their time in following him, giving them an admonishment to keep their lips sealed as to the location and the nature of Wali Daad.

  His solitary approach caused the weather-browned face of the aging grass cutter to wrinkle further. Wali Daad hurried to meet him, calling out as he approached, “Hassim, my friend! Have you lost your caravan? What ill fortune has fallen upon you? Tell me the gods have not turned their back upon you, of all people?”

  “No, no, my old friend. I come alone only because I come ahead of my camels and men,” Hassim reassured him. “They are on their way.”

  He let Wali Daad lead his horse by the reins to the troughs, where the grass cutter left him to fetch the first bundle of hay. Hassim dismounted and started drawing the water from the well to satisfy his mare’s thirst. Once the animal was comfortable, with her tack removed so that it could air dry as she rested, the two men retreated to the shade cast by the eaves of the thatched roof and a bench Wali Daad had thoughtfully bought with his meager hoard of saved pennies.

  “If you come early, you must have a strong reason to leave your men to follow,” Wali Daad reminded him, pouring water into a cup for the merchant.

  Hassim nodded, sipping at the liquid. It was a plain pottery cup, not the fine blown-glass goblets he had drunk from at the palaces of the West and the East, but the taste of Wali Daad’s simple well water was just as fine as any of the wines he had sampled. “I come because there are not just goods in this caravan. There is also a contingent of guards, and a woman.”

  Wali Daad frowned, scratched his head in puzzlement, and frowned again. “She isn’t a gift for me, is she?”

  “No, no. You have been sent the usual—fruits and spices and carvings from the East,” Hassim said dismissively. “No, the woman and the soldiers guard a casket said to come from the hands of Prince Kavi himself, the contents of which are to go into the hands of Princess Ananya herself, and no other. And the woman who rides with us, she is the mistress of the chambers!”

  Hassim said it with awe in his voice. Wali Daad blinked. “What does that mean?”

  The merchant flushed behind his beard, then grinned. “The mistress of the chambers—I believe the West has a master of the chambers as well, though I am not completely sure—is the person who instructed His Highness in the courtly art of passion.”

  Wali Daad blinked again. “Forgive me my friend, but . . .” He flopped his hands loosely on his linen-covered lap. “Well, I do not understand. Why would His Highness send his lover to Her Highness, if all this going back and forth—which we started—is now happening because they are seeking to unite their two kingdoms in marriage?”

  “It is because of the gift she brings, which she brings as a reassurance that though it must not be placed into anyone’s hands but Princess Ananya’s, it will not harm Her Highness,” Hassim explained. “I was told all of this so that I, too, would know what would happen. She will kneel with her head under a sword blade while Her Highness accepts this mysterious gift, and willingly offer up her life in punishment if it harms the Flower of the West even by the tiniest bit.”

  Wali Daad sat back against the stone and plaster wall of his hut, absorbing this extraordinary news. Hassim sipped at his water, then smiled.

  “She told me herself how she volunteered for the job also to personally reassure Her Highness that His Highness was properly instructed in how to please a woman, as is the custom of the Eastern lands. Since it seems His Highness is very much interested in pursuing the possibility of these two rulers and their two lands wedding together as one.”

  The grass cutter rubbed at his age-salted hair and finally shrugged. “The ways of the highest ranks in both lands escapes me . . . but I will hope Her Highness is not insulted by this visit, and pray she sees this as a good thing. I am a simple man, and I lead a simple life. Perhaps I missed out on passion, but I find my joy in other things, and I am content. Who am I to question the ways of those with more complex lives?”

  “Yes, well, it is because of this woman and the guards who accompany her that I have come early to meet with you, my friend,” Hassim cautioned him. “I have not said who you are, other than the wisest, most generous man I know. Or rather, I have not mentioned how you live and what you do for your living. I did not do so out of shame—you have taught me by example that the man who is content with his life is the happiest, healthiest, and wealthiest of men, and there is no shame in that, only something worthy of honor in my eyes—but I kept silent because I did not know how you would feel to have yourself revealed.

  “You are as you say you are, a simple man who leads a simple life,” Hassim said, gesturing at the cottage, the well, the troughs, and the hay shed. “To reveal this simplicity to others might complicate matters beyond what you might find comfortable. So I have come ahead of my caravan to ask you if we should reveal who you are, or keep your identity private.”

  Wali Daad blinked and sat in thoughtful silence, absorbing his merchant friend’s words. He sat for so long that the line formed by Hassim’s caravan came into view in the distance, rising up out of the rippling stalks of grass as they followed the road from the East Kingdom. Hassim did not pressure Wali Daad for an answer, but did rise with the intent of filling the rest of the stone troughs with water for his animals and men.

  Sighing heavily, Wali Daad rose to follow him. “I think it best to keep my identity a secret. I may have started this because I could not shut my trapdoor on all the pennies I had collected, but this has become far greater than you or I, my friend. We have played our parts in the start of it, but the blessings of Heaven have taken over. It would be presumptuous to claim anything more.”

  Hassim nodded. “I thought you might feel that way. So. You shall simply be the grass cutter with the well and the sweet hay at this stop along our journey. Though I ask that you do not h
esitate to greet the mistress of the chambers; I wish your opinion of her . . . since if Prince Kavi and Princess Ananya wed, she will need some other occupation. It may be presumptuous of me to say this, and I may be reaching beyond the stars themselves . . . but she and I have been getting along very well on this journey. Her name is Bhanuni, and she seems to me at least half as wise and beautiful as Her Highness. A jewel who might be out of my reach . . . but one for which I feel I must strive.”

  Wali Daad nodded at his wheelbarrow. “Then I shall fetch the sweet hay and collect my pennies for it as usual, and give the kindest of greetings to the mistress of the chambers for your sake, my friend.”

  IT was in the closest semblance to privacy possible that Princess Ananya was presented with the contents of the fiercely guarded casket.

  That semblance included five of her personal guards and her chief enchantress, the merchant Hassim as bond for his fellow travelers, the noble Lady Bhanuni, and the lady’s three guards, one of whom bore the small casket literally manacled to his arms by stout iron chains. The meeting for this personal presentation had also been arranged to take place after sunset. The guard with the casket knelt and bowed his head, lifting the metal lockbox in presentation. Lady Bhanuni offered Her Highness the key and a list of instructions on its contents.

  “The item within this casket is an enchanted item, Your Highness,” the noblewoman offered, bowing deeply. “It is, by its enchanted nature, the most precious possession His Highness could possibly offer to you. Aside from his very self, of course. The nature of the enchantment cannot harm you, and as a reassurance it cannot, I have volunteered to kneel under a drawn sword while you receive it. Should it harm you in any way, my head is willingly forfeit.”

  “And your head, of all the heads in the Eastern lands, is forfeit because . . . ?” Princess Ananya asked, looking between the key in her hand and the lovely middle-aged woman lowering herself gracefully to her knees.

  Lady Bhanuni lifted her head and smiled. “Because I am the mistress of the chambers for His Highness, and I am also here to give explanations and reassurances for any questions you may have about my liege’s abilities in matters of love and marriage. The proposed merger of two kingdoms is a matter for rulers and their advisors to discern, but the merger of two people is a different matter.”

  “I would rather you explained a bit more about this enchantment,” the chief enchantress interjected as Princess Ananya blushed. “What does it do?”

  “It, erm, links His Highness to this prized possession. The nature of the enchantment is to key it to the touch of one hand alone, the first hand to touch it since the moment it was enchanted. And once it is keyed, it is enspelled to animate the object when that hand alone is touching it,” the mistress of the chambers explained. “It has been declared a death sentence by Eastern law for any hand but yours to be the first one to touch the item His Highness has sent. It is also realized that this is not the kingdom of the East, but it is hoped that you will give due consideration and honor to Prince Kavi’s wishes in this matter.”

  “We would not insult a gift of such esteem by ignoring His Highness’s requested precautions, though I do not think you will need to bow your head to a drawn sword,” Ananya returned politely. She lifted the key, then nodded at the wizardess at her side. “My chief enchantress will keep an eye upon this Eastern magic, of course, but I will put my trust in Prince Kavi’s words, and in his desire for this alliance.”

  Lady Bhanuni chuckled, making Her Highness aware of her choice of words. Blushing a little, Ananya unlocked the casket still being held aloft by the Eastern soldier. She lifted the lid, peered at the contents . . . and blushed a lot. Dropping the lid, she covered her face with her hands for a moment, trying to cool the heat burning in her cheeks, then lowered them slowly. Princess Ananya had to be sure she had seen what she thought she had seen, so she lifted the lid a second time.

  The contents were the same at a second glance as they had been at the first: nestled in soft red and gold brocade—some of the very same red and gold brocade she had sent to Wali Daad, who had apparently passed it along to the Prince of the East—was a golden phallus. Every ripple, every wrinkle, every vein had been carefully crafted, making it the most realistic metal penis she had ever seen. From the dimpled slit at the tip to the bulbous bollocks of its sack, it was a proud curve of crafted manhood.

  “Er . . . and . . . I’m . . . supposed to pick this up?” she managed to ask politely, finding her voice.

  “Yes, Your Highness. Once you do, it will respond to no other touch. His Highness requests that if you refuse this gift, it must be locked and returned to him utterly untouched by any other hand, for he offers this enchanted opportunity solely to you.” Lady Bhanuni paused, then smiled again, though this time the smile was more puzzled than warm. “He did not say exactly why, but he did mention something about the two of you having similar tastes in many subjects, including . . . bedtime stories. I am afraid I did not understand his meaning, and he did not explain.”

  Blushing again, Ananya nodded. “I do understand myself, and that is enough; you need not ask why. I do accept this gift,” she stated, reaching into the casket and curling her fingers around the metal, which warmed rapidly, “and thank His Highness for the great trust he displays in offering it. I shall do . . . Oh! It moved!”

  Lady Bhanuni smiled. “As I said, it is enchanted.” She gestured and the soldier holding the casket lowered it, offering it to the mistress of the chambers. Reaching in, the older woman plucked out the phallus. “You can see for yourself how in my hands it is nothing more than a bit of sculpted metal.”

  Knocking it on the side of the casket made both the iron and the gold clank loudly as they were struck together. All of the men in the room winced in sympathy. Unfazed, the mistress of the chambers held out the phallus to Princess Ananya, continuing her explanations.

  “Even when we both touch it . . . see?” she said as Ananya reached for the proffered phallus. “It is still nothing more than metal. But the moment I let go . . . it becomes as one with its progenitor—you cannot harm him by it, of course, not even if you were to place it upon an anvil and strike it with a hammer under the force of your own hands,” Lady Bhanuni added in caution, “but every touch that inspires pleasure and passion will be transmitted to him. And every response he feels through your pleasurable touches shall be displayed in return for you.

  “To this end, it is strongly requested by His Highness that you refrain from touching it at any point during the hours of daylight. He does have a kingdom to run, and it would not be good to startle him when you did not know he was, oh, descending a long flight of stairs, perhaps. Or sitting in judgment on a petition brought to him by his people.”

  “Of course, of course,” Princess Ananya hastily agreed, still a bit embarrassed by this presentation.

  She wasn’t an innocent; members of the royal house were instructed in passion as thoroughly as they were instructed in geography or riding. Her embarrassment was more on Prince Kavi’s behalf, to have had his manhood displayed before her watchful guards and her magical advisor, even if only through a metallic proxy. Treating it gently, she set it back into its padded casket and closed the lid. One of the other soldiers came forward with a second key, which he used to unlock the first soldier’s shackles.

  Ananya gestured at the box as it was set at her feet. “This is indeed a gift beyond all . . . beyond all imagining. I find myself overwhelmed by His Highness’s generosity and his, er, thoughtfulness.”

  She hesitated, then looked at her chief enchantress, who leaned in and whispered in her ear. Nodding, Ananya addressed the others.

  “You may all go—and a suitable reply shall be formulated for you to return with to His Highness on our behalf, noble merchant,” she told Hassim. “In the meantime, you are invited to once again enjoy all the delights of our palace. The same hospitality shall be extended for you as well, good soldiers of the East. Lady Bhanuni . . . if it would not be too muc
h trouble, would you care to stay and answer a few more questions for me? I realize it is late, and you have traveled a long way to get here.”

  All of the others, save for one Western guard, bowed themselves out of the private salon serving as their audience chamber. Lady Bhanuni remained on her knees, ignoring the lingering bodyguard. “I would be honored, Your Highness. His Highness has been increasingly interested in your overtures of courtship, and—”

  “My overtures of courtship?” Ananya raised her voice, catching the others as the last of them filed out of the room. “Merchant Hassim! Come back in here!”

  The merchant came back promptly at her sharp command, along with another one of the Western bodyguards as an escort. He bowed his way up to her and knelt. “Yes, Your Highness? You wish something of me?”

  “Did you, or did you not, bring these bracelets to me on behalf of Prince Kavi?” Ananya asked, lifting her wrists.

  Hassim blushed, scratched briefly at his beard, and finally shrugged. “Not exactly, Your Highness . . .”

  “Not exactly?” Princess Ananya repeated, arching one dark brow. “What does that mean? Were these bracelets not made by Prince Kavi’s own royal jeweler, as you have claimed?”

  Hassim bowed his head, choosing his words carefully. “I brought them to you, as I said, at the behest of Wali Daad. He decided in his wisdom that you deserved them, and he requested they be made by the finest jewel crafter I knew . . . which happened to be the artisan Pramesh, who was appointed royal jewel crafter to the Prince of the East just over two years ago.”

  “So these came from Wali Daad, and no other. Not in any way or shape from His Highness of the East. And the silks and brocades and the cloth-of-gold I sent back to him?” she asked, flipping open the lid of the casket at her feet. Hassim glanced at the contents of the box out of reflex, then quickly looked away, flushing. “This very same gold-woven silk was among the bolts I sent back with you to this Wali Daad as a thank-you gift for the generosity and thoughtfulness of these bracelets I wear. How did this cloth come to be in the possession of the Prince of the East?”