Banished to the Harem

by Carol Marinelli

  ‘Take the jewel and leave.’ He was close to begging as her hand returned, yet he did not halt it, for the hand that now held him was silent, and it allowed him to remember. ‘Take the jewel,’ he said, as he had to the other girls throughout the night. He had hoped so badly to find Natasha, but now his body gave in.

  She watched, fascinated, watched him rise and grow at such a slight touch. It was as if his body welcomed her back even as he tried to douse it.

  ‘My mind is with another.’

  ‘I can be her,’ she whispered, for she knew it was her that he was thinking of, and she smiled at what he had done.

  She understood now Nadia and the other girls’ silence when they had returned. He had kept himself unto her, and though his hand was tight over her wrist she moved her other hand over the magnificence that was waiting, stroked a finger lightly along it.

  ‘You can think of her …’ She took the hand that gripped her to her breast, felt his hand flat and resisting against it, then a reluctant exploration as still she stroked him.

  ‘Take the jewel.’ His teeth were gritted, for his mind was playing tricks. Beneath the musk he could smell her delicious fresh scent, and he did not want to open his eyes and be disappointed all over again—did not want to taint the fantasy that it was her. Was this what he was destined to do for the rest of his life? To close his eyes and imagine it was her?

  Yes, Rakhal realised, for she could not be found.

  ‘Please …’ he begged this wanton woman who should follow orders.

  But without order she had removed her veil. Her lips were at his tip now, and he could feel her hair on his stomach. He curled his fingers into her hair to lift her head, to tell her to stop, but there was a devil that begged him let her work on, for her mouth was a soothing balm and her tongue knew just what to do in a way others did not.

  ‘Let me be her.’ Natasha smiled and licked him, licked his delicious length, and then took in the moist tip and slowly caressed it. She berated the sound of her earrings, for they had distracted him, and could only admire his roar of restraint as he yanked at her hair and pulled her head back, almost weeping to the dark.

  ‘I love another!’

  How angrily he said it, but how delicious it was to hear it.

  ‘Then let me love you,’ she said, taking her earrings out as she returned her mouth to him.

  ‘I am to share my bed only with her. My people are searching for her now,’ Rakhal said. But her mouth was back and he was weak.

  He must get rid of this woman who had crept into his head, who knew what he liked, who made him weak, made a strong man give in. He reached for the lamp, for he must end this fantasy, yet as he turned on the light there were red curls cascading over him and it killed him not to come. There was white pale skin and it was a cruel torture to be tested like this.

  He lifted her head and saw her eyes and it was Natasha—or was his mind playing tricks? Could he convince himself so fully as he made love with another that it was her?

  ‘Natasha …’ And there beneath the make up and musk it was surely her. ‘I have been searching …’

  ‘I’ve been here.’ There was hurt in her eyes. ‘Your gold seal assured me access to all areas.’

  Ardour was replaced by anger as realisation dawned. ‘I did not grant that …’

  ‘Only you can.’

  ‘Or the King.’ He knew the lengths his people would go to, to keep traditions safe, but that his father would take such an active part in it—would do anything to keep the ways of old—etched a new river of pain. ‘They were not even looking for you.’

  ‘Abdul knew where I was,’ Natasha explained. ‘He’s outside guarding the harem now—or supposed to be.’

  Anger propelled him from the bed. He pulled on a sash, scanned the room for his robe. He would go to Abdul first, kill him with his bare hands so blind was he with fury.

  ‘He fell asleep. I think he thought you were done for the night.’

  He heard the tremble of rage in her voice and knew he would deal with Abdul later. There was something more important to address than his aide.

  ‘I paid them a jewel for their silence,’ Rakhal said. ‘I could not think of being with another since I have been with you.’

  ‘But one day you might. When I am away being pampered, or when we’ve had a row and I haven’t agreed with something you said, or when I’m old or sick …’

  She looked to the rope and she loathed it, but his eyes did not wander there; instead he looked at the woman he had missed every night they had been apart. He never wanted to sleep alone again—which sounded a lot like the love she insisted upon.

  ‘No.’ He shook his head. ‘Those ways are over.’

  ‘You say that now.’

  He meant it. For here was the one living person who did not care about his title, who did not care for his luxuries, did not care about the prestige that marrying him would bring. All she wanted was him, and it was humbling indeed to look love in the eye and recognise it.

  So he asked her for the first time, when before he had bestowed an honour. ‘Will you be my wife?’

  And Natasha stood there silent—because if she opened her mouth she’d say yes, would settle for two nights a month knowing that he loved her.

  But her silence forced him to continue.

  ‘Will you share in my life?’ Rakhal asked. ‘All of it?’

  ‘The people …’ She could not take it in. ‘The traditions …’

  ‘The people want a strong ruler,’ Rakhal said. ‘And I will be stronger with you by my side. In time they will come to understand.’

  He pulled her towards him. He saw her as if for the first time. He traced her lips with his fingers to be sure, and then he tasted them again to prove it to himself. And he dipped his sash in the water by his bed and washed off the musk, took off the clothes she had worn for him. He wanted only her now, and he kissed her till she was writhing, till their bodies were locked deep in their own rhythm and her neck arched back and her mouth moaned. The music heightened and their bodies moved in the shadows above.

  There would be changes, she thought faintly, but for tonight she would celebrate the ways of the desert and the music that was made for them.

  ‘I can spend the rest of my life making love to you.’ How could he have thought it was a concession? This was heaven he had found. She was a part of him and he could love her for ever.

  He imagined her heavy with his child, those breasts full and milky. He would love every change in her. He would witness each one.

  She was over and on top of him; she made love to him as he had once made love to her; she gave in to him completely, taken to a new place, to a future that would be different. And she did not fear it, for Rakhal would be walking with her.

  She felt the tremble of her orgasm and there was no halting it. The music urged them on and, unsheathed, he spilled inside her, for they never needed to hold back from each other again.

  ‘We marry soon.’

  He held her as he told her, and she did not resist, for she wanted that too.

  ‘The people will hear today that my bride has been chosen.’ He wanted more than that for Natasha, though—wanted the changes to start this very day. ‘Today they will see who I have chosen. I will return to the palace with you by my side. You will step out on the balcony with me.’

  And later she was taken and bathed. The maidens knew the secret, for perhaps she might be with child, and this time when she was oiled and hennaed she knew she would be returned to him. She even had a little joke with Amira, for she was not wearing her mother’s jewels.

  ‘I will fetch them for you,’ Amira said, and it felt nice to wear them on this day as pretty flowers were painted over her womb. So badly she wanted to see them grow.

  Rakhal too was bathed, and dressed in a robe of black. His kafiya should be tied with a silver braid till his selection, but it was already decorated with a braid of gold, for the choice had already been made—by both of them.<
br />
  Natasha was nervous as she sat for the second time in a helicopter—though not so terrified as she had been the first time. Rakhal sat beside her and she looked down at her hand in his, saw the long fingers and manicured nails and felt the warmth of his skin around hers. She glanced over to Abdul, who sat sweating and pale opposite them—for Rakhal had not yet said a word to his aide.

  And Natasha said nothing either, as she sat in a lounge with the maidens and Abdul went in with Rakhal to address his father.

  She waited for shouts, for protests, for rage. But the walls must be thick, for all she heard was the low murmur of Rakhal’s deep voice, and then the door opened and as always he made her heart hammer. As on the first day, a blush rose in her cheeks and she fought the urge to run to him.

  ‘What did he say?’

  ‘That he does not consent. That the wedding cannot go ahead without his blessing,’ Rakhal said.

  She felt her stomach tighten in dread, felt the weight of tradition force them apart, but Rakhal gave a dismissive shrug to his father’s threats.

  ‘I told him that I did not need his blessing. That I will show my bride to the people today and we will marry when I rule, if that is how my father chooses to be.’

  She had not met the King, had only heard of his power and might, but today no might could match Rakhal’s, for his eyes were as dark as the night sky, his stance resolute, and it was clear he would not be deterred.

  ‘I told him I have learnt not just from our teachings but from our mistakes—from his mistakes, from his regret at not having my mother by his side.’

  She could hear Abdul weeping beside her.

  ‘For years he has mourned her. He could have been with her. She pined not for the desert but for him.’

  Rakhal closed his eyes for a brief moment, dragged in air, and she could only imagine how hard it must have been to say it, let alone for the King to hear it.

  ‘I have learnt from his mistakes and I choose to do things differently. Or else …’ He looked at his soon-to-be bride but did not continue.

  Natasha now spoke for him. ‘You would never walk away from your people.’

  ‘Of course not,’ Rakhal said. ‘My people trust me to make the right decision and they will not turn away from me.’

  But a muscle flickered in his cheek as he said that, and Natasha was not so sure.

  ‘We must greet the people now,’ he said.

  They walked up a vast staircase. She could hear shouts and cheers from the people outside, waiting for their Prince to come out, and she was terribly, terribly nervous—especially when the maidens took off her robe and arranged her hair. She looked to Rakhal, who was also being readied, a sash placed around his shoulders, his kafiya already roped in gold. He stood tall and strong, ready to face the judgement of his people.

  ‘Whatever their response,’ Rakhal said, ‘know that I am proud.’

  She could not do this to him—to the people, to the King. But Rakhal silenced her protests and ordered the balcony doors open. He took her hand and stepped out to face the crowd.

  The noise was deafening, and the silence, as the shouts faded, was deafening too. They saw their Prince with his chosen bride and there were gasps of bewilderment as they realised she stood by his side. Her hair was blowing in the breeze and his hand gripped hers tighter.

  And then she heard a cough behind her, turned. For the first time Natasha met the King—a thinner, older version of Rakhal, his face etched with the pain of half a lifetime buried in regret. Her heart could not fail to love him—especially when he stepped forward and took her other hand and then raised it to the crowd. The cheering resumed, with claps and the shouts from the people, as the King blessed his son’s choice.

  A few days later she was draped in gold, as she had been the night he found her, and led to him. She curtsied to the King and smiled at her proud brother.

  They were married in the gardens of the palace, then driven through the streets—and the people cheered for them, for there had always been a sadness in the Sheikh Crown Prince’s eyes and it was gone now. They had mourned the passing of his mother and seen the happiness die in their King’s eyes, but now love had returned to Alzirz and now they cheered for it.

  For the love their Prince had found with his bride.

  EPILOGUE

  THE King was returned to the desert just before sunset. He had lasted another three months but death, when it came, was swift, and that morning they had been urgently summoned to farewell him.

  One by one they went to him, even King Emir of Alzan and the tiny princesses. For though there was rivalry, there were deep traditions too. And after Natasha had been in to see him she sat with Amy, the nanny, because she was English too.

  ‘How are they?’ The girls were gorgeous, with big black eyes that were as solemn as the day.

  ‘They’re doing well.’ Amy gave a tight smile.

  ‘And King Emir?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ Amy said. ‘We don’t really see him.’ She looked down at the babies, and there was a wry note to her voice and a flash of tears in her eyes as she addressed them. ‘Do we, girls?’

  ‘But …’ It was not her place to question, but Rakhal had told her that it was different in Alzan, that the royals raised their own children. Clearly this wasn’t the case. Natasha looked over as Emir came out from his time with the King, but he did not glance over to his girls; instead he sat in quiet prayer.

  And then it was Rakhal’s time to go in, and there he remained with his father till the end.

  Today they stood where the palace gave way to the desert, and there was wailing and tears, but Rakhal stood stoic and strong as he had all day.

  ‘We will stay in the desert.’ Rakhal explained the ways of his country. ‘The rest of the party will return now to the palace, but it is a time for deep tahir for me, so you need to farewell our guests.’

  ‘Thank you for coming.’ She smiled and embraced her brother Mark. He hugged her and checked she was okay, as a brother should when his sister was grieving. He was doing so well now. He loved the land as much as Natasha did, and still worked the mines even though he was a royal now too. She was proud of him. It was so wonderful to see him strong and healthy.

  Natasha then went back to her husband, who was saying goodbye to Emir and thanking him for his attendance. A dark, brooding man, Emir greeted her formally as she approached.

  ‘How are the twins?’ Natasha attempted conversation, but he hardly returned it.

  ‘They are with the nanny.’

  He kissed Rakhal on both cheeks, as was their way, and then went to his car. Natasha could see the nanny and the babies in the car behind him.

  She knew what Amy had said earlier was true. They were present for duty, for appearances’ sake. Not once had he looked at them.

  But she could not think of Emir’s pain tonight. They were driving in silence to the tent they both loved—though it would not be joyous this time. In the last three months she had grown fond of the King, and Rakhal’s relationship with his father had warmed.

  She took off her shoes. She was drained and exhausted, but for the first time since they had been summoned to the King’s bedside they could speak properly.

  ‘He did not suffer,’ Natasha said.

  ‘He was happy to leave.’

  Rakhal surprised her, for his voice was not morose—in fact there was a pale smile.

  ‘When everyone had said their goodbyes and I sat with him, he said he could see my mother dancing sometimes in the dust devils, and that he could see her more clearly today. It wasn’t just me who saw her out in the desert.’

  Natasha felt like crying, but she joined him at the low table and sat down on the floor as a maid poured water into a goblet. She drank and waited for their meal to be served.

  ‘Now I will pray.’ Rakhal rose. ‘Rest if you are tired.’

  ‘I’m actually really hungry.’ She felt just a little guilty admitting it—especially when Rakhal grimaced.
r />   ‘I have not explained. For two days the country will be in the deepest of mourning. For two days we will fast and pray. When I return to the palace there will be a meal at which I will preside. That is when I will assume the role of King. For now I am to prepare for that duty. For now we pray for my father who is still the King.’

  ‘I don’t know if I can …’ She saw him frown, saw his features darken.

  ‘Natasha, in so many things I do my best to listen and to make changes where I can, but do not disrespect me in this—for you are disrespecting my father too, and he is not even cold.’ And he strode off to his abode.

  She followed him. ‘Rakhal, please.’ There were tears in her eyes that he thought she might be so callous, so precious, that she would not miss a meal and keep his ways. ‘I didn’t want to tell you today—not when you are grieving—but I found out just before we were summoned to your father.’ She saw his mouth open, saw some light in those dark eyes. ‘I couldn’t wait for the moon. I saw the palace doctor this morning—just before your father did.’ She watched as his face paled, as on this darkest of days somehow hope shone in. ‘He confirmed that I am pregnant. I honestly don’t know if I am allowed to fast. Of course if I am, I will do it …’

  ‘No!’ He couldn’t take it in. He should be on his knees in prayer, but instead he held her. ‘It feels wrong to be happy in grief,’ he admitted, ‘but it feels so good to have this hope.’

  He looked to her and she knew what he was thinking.

  ‘He would rejoice.’

  ‘He did,’ Natasha whispered. ‘When I farewelled him I told him.’ And she was so glad that she had—just so she could have this moment. ‘Of course I should have told you first, but I had only just found out myself. But he knew.’ She repeated as best she could what his father’s response had been.

  ‘ “My life is complete.” ‘ Rakhal translated the words his father had said to her. He knew his father was with his mother now, back with Layla and dancing in the desert. ‘He kept saying that soon Alzirz would celebrate—I did not understand that he knew something I did not.’