The King's Harem

by Derr, Megan

  Abandoning the flowers, she moved to the center of the garden, a circle of soft grass with a fountain displaying children playing, their pails and baskets spilling water into the pool. All around it were curved stone benches. Sitting down on one, she pulled her wrap more tightly around her to ward off the chilly night air.

  So focus only on the good. That was the smart and proper thing to do. At the end of the day, the reasons did not matter except insofar as the great problem of her sister being pregnant had been overcome. Though she had not intended to become queen in her sister's place, it was certainly not a bad thing to be, and anything was better than execution.

  When she actually thought about it, she was astonished her parents had not come up with the idea of making Fahima seduce the king in hopes he would choose her over Nawra.

  Then again, perhaps they'd known how utterly stupid an idea that was; Nawra was a beauty, and much more socially accomplished. She knew the proper topics, instead of speaking only of tariffs and translations, foreign cultures and dusty history.

  Making a face at herself, Fahima tried to turn her thoughts away from self-pity. Honestly, it was not like her to sulk so.

  The sound of feet on the grass drew her head up, and she stood in fear before she realized who had joined her. "Lord Nandakumar." A guard stood nearby, just outside the circle of grass, but she only distantly noted him; guards followed the concubines everywhere, both protecting and watching.

  "Lady Fahima," Nandakumar greeted. "My king bid me bring you a gift."

  Fahima frowned. "A gift? That is," strangely bold, nearly inappropriate, "… generous of him."

  Nandakumar smiled and sat down on the bench, too far away for them to touch, but close enough to easily talk. He held out a neatly folded bundle of silk—a head scarf, Fahima realized. She could not determine the colors in the moonlight, but could see it was a beautiful moon and star design.

  There was also something within the folds.

  "A gift for his intended bride?" she asked quietly.

  "Of course," Nandakumar said.

  Ah. Now she saw. Somehow, someway, all would know of this little meeting and rumors would fly the king was definitely courting the younger rather than the older sister. Neatly played.

  She set the folded scarf down upon the bench, not bothering to unwrap it to see what was inside. "I could not in good conscience accept something that was no doubt intended for my sister." She pulled her wrap up, and stood. "Tell His Majesty that of course I am most humbled, but I could not accept such a gift. Good night, Lord Nandakumar."

  "You are his intended bride," Nandakumar said quietly. "Therefore, the gift was bought for you and no other. Lady Nawra has nothing to do with this."

  "Under the circumstances," Fahima said just as softly, but curtly, "I cannot see him giving a mere substitute anything. We play our parts in public, I will not endure this farce in private as well."

  She walked briskly away, ignoring Nandakumar when she thought he called out, striding back into the palace and to her room.

  Gulzar sat by the fire, quietly mending a shawl. She set it aside as Fahima sat down beside her.

  "Am I a fool?" Fahima asked softly, resting her head on Gulzar's shoulder.

  "I think there are many fools involved in this drama," Gulzar replied, stroking her hair gently and kissing her brow. "If you are one of them, it is only the best sort of fool—a fool in love."

  Fahima sighed. "That seems the worst sort of fool to me."

  Gulzar laughed softly. "I suppose it must, at that. Certainly, my lady, I was quite miserable when I mooned over you."

  That drew a laugh, and Fahima sat up enough to give Gulzar a lingering kiss. "I seem to recall sneaking several longing glances of my own, pretty maid mine."

  "Yet here we are," Gulzar said. "If you can entrance a cynical street rat, my lady, I do not see how you could fail to enthrall a king."

  Fahima shrugged. "I was forced upon him, Gulzar. What person likes to have a life forced upon them?"

  Gulzar clucked and flicked her on the nose. "Now, my lady. Often that is the case, but often one must be knocked upside the head before one realizes what should have been obvious. Your sister, for instance, would benefit from a sound beating. Perhaps things are not as dire as they seem, and certainly I think being queen is better a life for you than a mere priestess. Certainly you have always been the real ruler of your parents' home."

  "That is different than being queen," Fahima replied.

  "Only a grander scale, my lady." Gulzar smiled. "You will see, and if all else fails I will knock some sense into that King myself."

  Fahima chuckled at the thought. "I believe you would, Gulzar." She tucked back a strand of hair, suddenly feeling a bit hesitant though she knew that was silly. "Does that mean you will stay with me?"

  Gulzar grinned and flicked her upon the nose again. "As though you had to ask. Can you imagine the cook's face, when she learns I am to be concubine to the Queen of Tavamara? She will spit flames for a year!"

  "That would be a sight to see," Fahima said, smiling.

  Tucking her mending away in a basket, Gulzar stood and pulled Fahima to her feet. "Come, my lady. You need rest, and to be reminded that you are worth loving. I love you, and I'm certain the king will too. He is acclaimed a smart man, after all."

  Fahima did not share Gulzar's confidence, but it was warming to know someone cared for her, and she went willingly to bed and allowed Gulzar to do whatever she pleased, content to be loved.

  *~*~*

  She stopped with her teacup halfway to her mouth when the knock at the door came, and set it back down when it opened to admit a royal guard. Her breakfast lost what little appeal it had as the guard intoned that the king would like to speak with the lord and lady.

  Her parents shot her a suspicious look, for they'd been able to glean nothing from either of their daughters about the rumors of the past few days.

  Fahima sat in a tense, miserable silence. This was it, very likely. The period of 'consideration' was over; Shahjahan would say he preferred Fahima to Nawra. She wondered if her parents would be angry, but could not see why they would be. This would solve all their problems, and to the best of their knowledge with neither her nor the king knowing the deception they had been attempting.

  Picking up her teacup, she attempted a sip, but it tasted like ashes on her tongue. Setting the cup down again, she folded her hands in her lap and worried her lip. What would she do if her parents said no?

  What would she do if they said yes? Could she be a queen? She didn't have a choice, but it was an intimidating prospect no matter what Gulzar said. Being queen was so far from being a priestess, especially when her husband did not even—

  She picked her tea up again and was surprised to find it cold. Had she been brooding for so long?

  A knock at the door startled her and she nearly dropped the cup. Setting it down, she allowed one of the maids to open the door. The same guard as before stepped inside. "Lady Fahima, His Majesty would like to see you."

  "Of course," Fahima said, hoping she did not sound as nervous as she felt. Smoothing her skirts as she stood, she tucked back a stray curl and stepped into her slippers. Nodding that she was ready, she followed the guard through the halls. It was early enough that few people were out, and those who were stared unabashedly until Fahima stared back, at which point they guiltily averted their gaze.

  When at last they reached the small meeting room, Fahima was ready to turn and run. It was not an option, sadly, and so she nodded in thanks to the guard and stepped inside. "Majesty."

  She looked briefly at her parents, who had the familiar closed expressions that said they wanted to be angry but knew very well they could not. Likely she would catch some sort of grief later, anyway, for they did not know all she knew and had done, but she found she did not care.

  All she cared about was the man sitting on the raised dais, face implacable as he regarded her. "Lady Fahima …" Shahjahan broke off, shaking hi
s head. He looked around the room at the guards, her parents. "I would like to speak to the lady alone." He gestured sharply when protests were immediately launched. "You are dismissed."

  His tone brooked no argument, and in seconds the room was empty save for the two of them. Improper, for she did not yet wear a wedding ring, but he was marrying her, and he was king. That granted some leniency.

  "My lady …" Shah sighed softly and stood and descended the dais, extending his hand as he reached her.

  Fahima frowned, but slowly placed her hand in his. It was warm, and rougher than she thought a king's hand would be.

  "My lady," Shah said again, "I am afraid you leave me rather at a loss. From the very first, I have managed this affair quite poorly. The manner in which we spoke to you that night was unfair, for though your family is guilty of much you are guilty of nothing. Certainly Nandakumar was in a similar situation—that you two have so much in common is startling." He shook his head. "My point is that it was unfair to place the burden of reparation for those wrongs upon you." His grip on her hand tightened, and the startling focus of his eyes as he looked at her made it hard to breathe. "Though I have told your parents that I favor you far and above your sister, and would take you to wife, it is not right to force you into something you do not want. I know you wanted to become a priestess, and if that is your true aspiration I will see it becomes a reality."

  She stared at him. "Majesty? But—you told me yourself all the problems—I know—" She bit the words off, because saying she knew she could not compare to her sister but sounded too much like a confession.

  "That is no excuse to treat a woman cruelly," Shahjahan replied. "I never intended that, and there is no excuse for my behavior. I will endure whatever befalls me for not following through with this marriage, if your desire is not to marry me."

  Fahima dropped her eyes, at a loss for words, looking at the way he still held her hand. "Majesty …" She shook her head and pulled her hand away, turning away because she could not focus her thoughts as she would like while facing him. She wanted not to be a substitute, but to confess such a thing sounded weak. Women would kill to be her right now, why did she fuss over such minor details?

  Shah moved away, striding back up to the dais, but he returned a moment later holding a small bundle.

  She recognized it instantly, though before she had only seen it in the dark. By daylight, it was far more colorful than she'd realized—the crescent moons were either silver or gold, and the stars scattered amongst them were every color of the rainbow in rich jewel tones against a black background. The whole was trimmed in bands of more silver and gold.

  "I first spoke to you at dinner that evening of our meeting because you seemed sad and bored. Your answer was far more than I could have expected, for even more experienced diplomats at the table missed certain details which occurred to you. I realized then that perhaps there was more to you than I had thought."

  Fahima nodded, acknowledging his words, but said nothing.

  "I confess also your sister had not interested me at all; she fell flat. I am confused as to why everyone says she is the better." Shah shook his head and held out the bundle. "I know you have already refused this, and I promise it is merely a minor token, but whatever you decide—priestess or queen—it is yours. You should also know that I never considered you a mere substitute. I think that regardless of these events, I would have wanted you for my wife."

  Her eyes widened, and she willed her fingers not to shake as she finally took the bundle he held out, mostly because this king who always appeared so in control and unruffled by anything seemed suddenly uncertain.

  Slowly she unwound the fabric, and nearly dropped what was inside from sheer astonishment.

  The moon orchid broach she had seen in the marketplace. Pink Sapphire shimmered in the sunlight. She looked up. "How?"

  "We noted you leaving from the balcony, and I bid Beynum follow you for we knew you were upset."

  Beynum? The concubines were forbidden to leave the premises, except in the company of the king or queen. He'd followed her? Why?

  Shahjahan laughed. "He was furious that you wandered alone into the market—I think only the knowledge he would be in a great deal of trouble kept him from hauling you right back to the palace."

  Fahima frowned. "I go alone often to the market back home."

  "It was not intended as an insult, my lady," Shahjahan replied. "Merely that we felt guilty, and worried for you. I wanted you protected, but also left to your own devices."

  Slowly Fahima nodded, unable to argue with so earnest an entreaty. She looked again at the broach, rubbing her thumb over the brilliant pink gems and gleaming silver. "I did not mind trying to be queen," she said haltingly, fighting the sting in her eyes and refusing to look stupid by crying. "I did not want to be one simply because I was the only available replacement."

  Gentle fingers touched her chin, urging her head up. Shahjahan smiled faintly, more than a bit ruefully. "Lady Fahima, I have been raised since birth to be a king; more lessons than I can fully recall drilled thousands of skills and volumes of knowledge into me. The one thing all my tutors seemed to miss was how to treat and court the lady I would like very much to take to wife. Forgive me any awkwardness or unintended slight, and believe me when I say I consider you no mere replacement—I would like you to be my bride."

  Fahima gave a shaky laugh and nodded, wiping away tears of relief and no small amount of happiness. "Perhaps we are well matched after all, Majesty, for I do not really know how to be courted. I'm afraid I skipped those lessons to read my father's mathematical treaties."

  Shahjahan laughed and took her hand again, lifting it to kiss her knuckles softly. "Then may I assume, my lady, that you will consent to be my wife and queen?"

  "Yes, my king, I consent most happily," Fahima replied, scarcely believing she was saying it. That did not keep her from going easily as Shah drew her closer still. His kiss was completely different from Gulzar's, firmer, almost spicy, and the scratch of his beard was odd but not awful.

  He was grinning when the kiss finally ended. "Now, my dear, I will introduce you to one of the better compensations for being a ruler."

  Fahima looked at him, confused by the words but somewhat amused at how boyish he looked saying them. "What is that?"

  "Telling the council I have yet again done what I wanted, and not what they wanted, and there's nothing they can do about it."

  Fahima let out a startled laugh. "So it's true you like to aggravate them?"

  "Quite true," Shahjahan said. "You will see. It is fun to do."

  She shook her head, somewhat amused, but she could not dismiss the council as easily as he. "They have every reason to be upset, really. I was never meant to be queen. I have no training for such things."

  Shahjahan reached up to catch a curl that had slipped free of the knot in which she'd bound her hair. "You are more suited than perhaps you realized. These past days you have gotten men who normally only squabble to chat almost like they were friends." He took the broach she still held, and had all but forgotten, and carefully pinned it to her shoulder. "I promise, my jewel, you will be a fine queen."

  Fahima started at the endearment, glancing briefly at the broach before looking up at Shahjahan. Finally she nodded. "I will do my best."

  "You will be brilliant, my jewel. You shine," Shahjahan replied, bending to give her another kiss.

  Fin