by Milly Taiden
“Damn,” he swore.
“What?” Mattias asked.
“Earlier I came across Sessily and one of the men who delivered the horse having a little disagreement or something in the stables. Actually, it looked more like he was bullying her or trying to cow her, although she covered for him when I stepped in,” Ahsan said.
“Are the men still there?” Leander asked.
“I'll call you back.” Ahsan didn't waste time. Snatching his cell phone off the desk, he left his brethren still talking over the speaker as he broke into a jog that took him more quickly through the halls of his home. On the way, he dialed the stable-master and discovered that the truck and trailer were still on the premises. It was odd—why hadn't the delivery men just taken her away?
It would have been too noticeable, that's why. Leaving the men behind had been a good decoy to give Sessily a necessary head start. He ordered the stable-master to alert security around the stables. The delivery crew were not allowed to leave the property before he had a chance to question them.
Through the halls, more guards fell into his shadow, guards well versed in the art of killing. Ahsan ate the distance between the foyer and the guest rooms where he'd given the men a place to stay in record time.
Approaching the first door, he didn't bother knocking but went straight in. This was the room that should house the man he'd had a confrontation with earlier. Sure enough, the brute was passed out on the bed, one arm slung over the edge, a half consumed bottle of liquor on the nightstand. So much for staying in the truck as he'd been told.
Ahsan loomed over him and hauled the man up by his shirt. “Wake up.”
“What...” Drunk and sloppy, the man flailed his arms and barely got his feet beneath him.
Ahsan bulled the man into the wall, holding him upright by sheer force. One of his personal guards utilized a glass and a pitcher of water near the liquor, adding a splash of cool liquid against the delivery man's ruddy cheeks.
Roused, a brief struggle ensued. “What the hell is the meaning of this?” the man demanded, voice a slur.
Ahsan glared down, fists tight in the man's shirt. “What's his name?” he asked of his guards.
“Robert.”
“Robert. I want to know exactly what Bashir is up to sending Sessily here.” Ahsan was taking an enormous chance that he was right in his assumption. The way Robert's eyes widened let him know that he was at least on the right track.
“I don't know what you're talking about. We're from—”
“Save it. I know you're not from Romania. Lie again, and I'll start collecting teeth for a necklace.”
“Don't know any Bashir! I swear it. We're up from--”
Ahsan used one hand to brace the man and cocked a fist back.
“Wait, wait!” Robert said, flailing his hands out as if he might prevent a strike to the jaw.
“Start talking. Now.” Ahsan stepped back and two of his guards took over propping Robert up. Pacing in front of Bashir's handyman, he waited for a reply.
“I don't know what he wants. All I know is that we were brought on to drive the horse up here, and given a story about being from Romania. Part of Sessily's 'stables' or something like that.” Robert, the whites of his eyes showing, tracked Ahsan's movements. His words were still slurred, the syllables running into and over each other.
“That can't be all.”
“It is. I swear it.”
“Then tell me what that little display was in the stables, when you were in her face, making threats.” Ahsan's gut told him there was a lot more to the story. Robert might be drunk, but drunks could still withhold pertinent information.
“I was directed to remind her what she's—I mean I was reminding her where her allegiance belonged.”
“What she's...what? That's not what you were going to say.” Ahsan narrowed his eyes. His hands flexed in and out of fists.
“Just that. She needed to focus on her, on the...” Robert swallowed hard.
Ahsan swerved his steps right up to Robert, disgusted by the fetid breaths that smelled of too much whiskey. “On the what? Make me stand here much longer, keep leading me on, and you're going to regret it.”
“I think Bashir was afraid she would beg for your help,” Robert said in a rush. “I had to remind her to stay on task.”
“And what task was that?”
“To win the race. To earn your trust.”
“For?”
“He sent her here to spy on you. Well. He'd hoped you would bring her home.”
“For what purpose?” Ahsan took no joy knowing he'd been at least partly right about Sessily. All her interest in him at the gala had nothing to do with any chemistry between them, just a feigned connection that she'd played to the hilt.
“I don't know what for. I swear on my life.” Robert put his hands up, palms out. “Bashir's men didn't tell us all that. I guess just to watch you, see what you do. I don't know.”
“Put him under lock and key. He's not allowed out until I say so.” Ahsan left the order with his guards and exited the room, oblivious to Robert's rambling protests.
It took him two complete circuits of the palace to cool his raging temper. Very few times in his life had he been taken off guard, and he disliked being played both by Bashir and Sessily. Even if she was being blackmailed, he'd given her ample time and reason to confide in him. He could have helped her, could have—he stopped that train of thought in its tracks. It did him no good to lament what he could not change.
Sessily wasn't affected by him at all. She'd played her part, enduring his attention and company because she had to, rather than because she wanted to.
Back in his office, he dialed the Prince of Latvala, Mattias Ahtissari, and waited through three full rings.
“Yes?” Mattias said.
“We were right. Bashir set me up. He planted Sessily at the party on the off chance that we would hook up.”
“I'm sorry to hear it, brother,” Mattias said. “What was the reason for her presence in your home?”
“To spy on me. Perhaps to report my movements, or maybe how much security I have, things like that.”
“It makes sense, especially if he is making bigger plans to bring you to ruin. You would be on your guard too much if he came for a brotherly 'visit'. This was a better way to find out information.” Mattias paused, then asked, “What will you do now? Do you need the three of us to return?”
“You may want to. I intend on paying my brother a visit of my own at first light. If you don't hear from me by tomorrow evening, assume he's taken action against me.” Ahsan wouldn't put it past Bashir, not at this point. Part of his reason for calling the members of the Royal Elite was not only to recall them to Afshar, but to put them on alert. If he did go missing, then there were three prominent members of society who knew the whole story and what his plans were.
“Maybe you should wait until we arrive,” Mattias said.
“Unless you can get here in the next four hours or so, I'm gone at dawn.”
Ahsan meant to confront Bashir at the soonest possible opportunity.
*
She got little sleep in the room with no windows. Stone walls surrounded her in every direction, the gray color unappealing, depressing. The only piece of furniture was a thin cot with no pillow and no blanket, hardly comfortable enough to get prone on. The prick of springs in the lumpy mattress drove her to distraction. A sliver of light penetrated the crack at the bottom of the door, providing the only illumination to see by.
Rolling to her feet the following morning, she groaned as she stood and stretched. Everything hurt. Her entire body ached and her skin had started to itch. No salve remained, and she knew better than to ask for more. They'd given her just enough to take the initial pain away, leaving her to suffer in the aftermath. Her windblown hair felt gritty with sand, and no amount of finger-combing helped.
She needed a shower. She needed water, and food and—what have I done? The thought came unbidden. Pacing to the door, sh
e leaned against it, tipping her cheek against the wood.
Had there been any choice but to leave the comfort of Ahsan's palace? With the looks the women had thrown her way in the foyer, Sessily hadn't been confident that the ladies hadn't sold her down the river. But would Ahsan have gone this hard on her, even if she'd been planning to help them escape?
She just didn't know. In the moment, she'd felt it prudent to get out of there and seek refuge somewhere else until she could figure out how to rescue Iris.
What a mess. What a great, horrible mess. Now she was here, without a way out, and without knowing the status of her sister. Sliding her hand into a pocket, she came across the vial of poison and pulled it out. Crouching down, she held the vial nearer to the sliver of light at the bottom of the door.
Maybe she still had a proverbial ace up her sleeve. The vial and thus the poison, was still in tact. The men hadn't thought to pat her down, although they had taken her phone sometime between finding her in the desert and now. How did she best use this to her advantage? Perhaps she could lie and tell Bashir that she'd planted the vial with a note before leaving Ahsan's palace, implicating Bashir in a murder plot. She could say she'd gained the confidence of a staff member who promised to make sure Ahsan found the stash if she and Iris were not released in a timely manner.
Would it work? She came at the idea from all angles, finding a few flaws with the plan.
Before she could delve too far into the semantics, she heard movement outside the door. Scrambling to her feet, she fumbled the vial as a key rattled in the lock. Catching it against her body, she shoved the poison into her pocket just as the door opened. Squinting against the spill of brighter light from a hallway, she tried to act like she hadn't just been doing something she shouldn't.
“Come with me,” a man said in heavily accented English. Dressed in white head to toe, the guard sported a medium beard, thick mustache and had the same dark eyes as Ahsan.
“Where am I going?” she asked, hesitant to leave the room suddenly.
The guard gave her a long, cool stare. “You do not argue. Do as I say, or I'll drag you.”
Sessily bristled. Her natural instinct was to tell the heathen that she didn't have to do anything, and that dragging was for stone age cavemen. Biting back the retort, she followed the guard into a hallway that was no more appealing than the room. At the end of the corridor, he took her up a short flight of steps to another door, and all that changed.
The nondescript 'holding cells', as she thought of them, gave over to the kind of opulence she'd glimpsed in Ahsan's home. They were in a round room of sorts, with several doors and a few other hallways leading different directions. The luxury was almost obtuse, the gleam of gold lining the molding high on the walls and trickling down to the intricate carvings inlaid into frames. The guard led her through a short maze of shorter halls, up three marble stairs, and around a corner.
Here, a great room sprawled into existence. High ceilings gave the space an atmospheric quality, drawing the eye upward to the masterful paintings that covered every inch of ceiling space. It rivaled the Sistine Chapel for beauty and elegance. Marble floors veined in gold gave way to tall columns that flanked the entire room, ending at a dais with a gilt chair Sessily could only call a throne.
Bashir sat there in all his glory, a few sprigs of incense spilling spirals of smoke into the air at his side. Aids, advisors and what she thought were guards loitered around the throne, speaking in calm, low voices.
“Come,” the guard said, leading her down a few steps to the floor.
Overwhelmed by the sense of majesty, and a little disgusted to think that Bashir probably made some of his fortune off the backs of women like those in the harem, Sessily followed the guard toward the dais. She took note how Bashir made sure to seat himself in a position that visitors coming in tall doors opposite the dais would have to approach from a lower angle, forcing guests to look up while he looked down.
Which is what he did once she and the guard reached the bottom of four broad stairs leading up to the throne. They did not ascend, of course, but hovered there until Bashir deigned to notice.
It took him ten full minutes of ignoring her on purpose before his dark gaze landed on her.
Sessily was fit to scream by then, offended and affronted at the callous treatment. At the blatant wait, driving home the point that he would get to her when he was good and ready and not a moment before. She'd had a belly full of these arrogant, self-serving men.
“Due to your recent failure, and because you have become the dead weight I mentioned, I have decided to send you on from here. Your transfer into the hands of another will happen tomorrow, and I would like you to reflect upon the fact that things could have gone much smoother for you if you'd done what you were told.” Bashir stared down with annoyed imperialism.
A cold stab of fear lanced through Sessily. Transferred to who? “What about my sister?”
“As I said—you should have taken your duties more seriously. You were warned, however.” Bashir paused, holding up a stalling hand when she opened her mouth to protest. “Hush. There is another matter of more importance.”
Sessily's teeth clicked together. She wanted to argue the point: there was nothing more important to her than her sister. Had the bastard 'sent Iris on'? Given her to some other crony, shipped her off to an unknown corner of the world? The thought made her shake with fury and indignation. And fear.
“We found you in the desert with the clothes on your back, which means you left everything else behind at the palace. What has become of the gift I left you with?”
“By 'gift', you mean poison. What have I done with the poison.” Sessily could not rein in her wayward tongue. The ripple of murmurs that passed through the aids and advisors quieted when Bashir held a hand up to silence them. Clearly, she'd caught quite a few people off guard with that statement. Some had undoubtedly been in on the plan with him—some had not.
“Where is it,” he repeated. “Be very careful what comes out of your mouth.”
This was her chance. Did she dare engage in yet another lie, one that might potentially backfire? If she worded it right, perhaps she could be free of the horror he meant to inflict upon her.
Just as she drew a breath to spin an elaborate tale, a commotion at the open doors behind her brought Sessily up short. Twisting a look over her shoulder, she saw guards and advisors scurry out of someone's way.
In sauntered Ahsan, drawing the eye of every person present. The grandeur of the throne room seemed diminished suddenly, all because Ahsan deigned to approach the dais with the distinct air of someone with far more authority than the figure that lorded over the room from on high. Arrogant, confident, enigmatic, Ahsan commanded the attention of the lowliest servant to the Crown Prince himself.
A Crown Prince who did not look happy to see his brother there.
Sessily wasn't sure what to think of the way Ahsan didn't so much as glance her way. As if she didn't exist. Standing directly before the dais, there was no way he could have missed her—yet nothing. No flicker of acknowledgement.
He was larger than life here, too, as he had been at the gala, a man cowed by no one nor moved to do anything he didn't want to do.
Stepping up beside her with perhaps a foot distance between them, Ahsan propped a boot negligently on the lowest stair and cocked his weight back on the other foot. Despite the fact he was at the base of the dais, there was every sensation that Ahsan was the bigger man here, in control, merely playing Bashir's game better than the Crown Prince ever could.
Sessily tore her gaze off Ahsan to pin a look on Bashir. A muscle jumped in Bashir's jaw repeatedly while he stared his brother down.
An expectant hush fell over the entire room. Nothing moved, no one spoke.
“What, no warm welcome? No dancing women, no siren to serenade me?” Ahsan's gravelly voice lifted to the rafters, yet he did not bellow. He didn't have to, not with everyone else so quiet. One hand splayed over his heart
in the traditional sign of mortal offense.
The open mockery seemed to grate on Bashir's nerves. He said, “To what do I owe the honor of your visit, brother?”
“Perhaps I should be asking you the same. To what do I owe the honor of your intrusion into my home, my public life? Have you learned what you wanted by planting a spy inside the walls of my sanctuary?” Ahsan asked conversationally.
Sessily was not the only one who gasped in surprise. Ahsan didn't waste any time getting straight to the point. How had he known she'd been sent to spy? Had he been aware the entire time, waiting for her to slip up or to catch her reporting back to Bashir?
Put on the spot in front of so many witnesses, Bashir shifted on the throne, flipping the corner of a robe over his knee in agitation. “It is not as dramatic as all that,” Bashir said. He snapped his fingers, sending several servants and lesser advisors from the room.
Sessily noticed that not all departed, but hovered near archways to hear how the confrontation played out.
“Oh, I think it is. What has you so paranoid this time? Do you worry that our esteemed father will change his mind and strip you of a title we all know you don't deserve?” Ahsan asked, goading Bashir further.
Sessily glanced between men. She understood just how small and insignificant she really was in the grand scheme of things, and that her little ploys and lies over the poison probably wouldn't have gained her any kind of leverage or freedom. These were heirs to an empire, men engaged in a power struggle she would never completely comprehend. They had access to limitless resources and only the best man would come out on top. Or come out alive.
It was humbling and disconcerting to realize she was a gnat in the presence of giants.
“As usual, Ahsan, you overstep yourself. I have nothing to fear for my title and position. You, on the other hand, are the only son banished to the furthest corners of our country, a blight upon the Afshar name and credibility.” Bashir laughed. “No, I think I have little to fear. You do need to be kept an eye on, however, so you do not jeopardize all that the Emir and I have accomplished—and that I intend to accomplish when I ascend the throne. There is your reason for the spy.”
