Scheherazade and the King Ch. 04

Disclaimer: Thank you to all those who have sent me feedback and commented on the story thus far, I appreciate your input and support. I apologise for the delay in getting this chapter out and thank you for your patience.

*****

Scheherazade hugged her knees to her chest and watched sullenly as the panels of light that stretched out across the floor before her bed were blocked out one by one. The thick pieces of wood let in only the slimmest rays of sunshine, scarcely enough to light the room.

Once the last window was boarded up, she heard the key in the door. Shariyar walked inside, his eyes darting about the dim room as if he expected Shahzaman to appear out of the shadows.

Finally satisfied that his brother was not hiding in the room, Shariyar fixed his amber eyes on the girl.

"He said something else to you," he muttered, stating the question more than asking it.

"He didn't," she said. "Or, if he did, I can't remember."

"Don't lie to me gypsy."

"I thought it was a dream," she said. "He was straight out of a story."

"One of your stories," Shariyar retorted, his tone accusing.

"Do you want to hear more of it?" She asked, uncurling her long legs.

Shariyar's eyes flashed to her pale skin for just a moment before he turned his molten gaze away.

"No," he growled.

"But don't you want to know why Qadir looked at Mo so strangely?"

"Fine," the king said, throwing a hand in the air dismissively.

"Qadir welcomed Mo to the den of thieves with a smirk -"

"No," Shariyar interrupted sharply. "I don't want the whole story. Just tell me why the king of thieves would bother to spare the life of a fool."

"Well," Scheherazade said hesitantly, "they were brothers."

"Brothers?" Shariyar snorted. "I should have guessed it."

The girl fiddled with the sheets on the bed. She had not expected Shariyar to demand the twist to the story.

Suddenly Shariyar rounded on her: "Brothers? So in your story Shahzaman is Qadir and I'm Mo?"

"No," the young woman said, her restless fingers abandoning their idle work. Her brows furrowed in confusion.

"You're on thin ice as it is, gypsy," Shariyar growled beneath his breath. "From now on, unless my dick is in your mouth, I suggest you keep it shut."

"It was just a story," the girl said, incredulity building in her voice. "It wasn't about you!"

"Did my brother send you here?" Shariyar asked. "Huh? Are you working for him?"

"You really are insane, aren't you?" Scheherazade cried. "It was just a fucking story!"

Shariyar's hand flew back and the girl shielded her face with her arms instinctively. But the blow never came.

The king's hand stopped mere inches from her face, his fingers trembling with the rage he was holding inside. He withdrew his hand and turned his back on the girl.

"They will call me many things when I am dead," he muttered, "but dishonest is not one of them. I will not lay a hand on you for three more days."

Scheherazade lowered her arms as Shariyar retreated.

He threw her a dark glance over his shoulder: "But then you are mine."

The king stalked out through the doors, slamming them closed behind him so that the two sides met with an almighty crash.

Scheherazade sucked her teeth angrily and scowled around at the empty room. She heard Shariyar giving more orders outside, his deep voice muffled by the walls. And then there was silence.

The girl sighed and sat down on the edge of her bed, sinking softly onto her back to gaze up at the maze of flowers on the ceiling.

"I wonder if boredom or Shariyar will kill me first?" She mused aloud.

A few hours passed before she heard life in the adjoining room. Scheherazade propped herself up on the bed, waiting anxiously to see who would enter her room.

She could not help but smile when the doors opened to reveal Hazim. But the weak smile the old man offered her in return filled her heart with dread.

"Hazim?" She asked as the doors closed behind the doctor. "What's wrong?"

"I'm worried for you my dear," he said gravely.

"Shahzaman did not harm me," she assured him.

"It is not him that I worry about," he said.

Hazim refused to speak anymore until he had tended to the girl's wounds. He was pleased to see that they were healing well, and much quicker than he had dared hope for. Even with the girl's health improving, however, the doctor was troubled.

After he had finished his examination, he sat down at the foot of Scheherazade's bed, rubbing his aching temples.

"It is not Shahzaman that I worry about," he said finally. "I worry what Shariyar will do now that he perceives his brother as a threat again."

The girl shrugged, her actions portraying more bravery than she felt: "It cannot be much worse than what he has already promised."

Hazim shuddered and he pulled the girl's hands between his gnarled fingers, holding them firmly.

"He is more dangerous now than ever before," he warned. "I know your heart must be heavy with the weight of the injustices he has thrown after you but you must try your hardest not to bait his anger right now. He believes his brother instigated Nasrin's treachery. He tortured him within an inch of his life before Shahzaman's allies helped him escape. He will not hesitate to pass down the same fate to anyone he believes to be in league with his brother."

"But I'm not in league with him," Scheherazade said. "I didn't even know who he was!"

"I know that," the doctor reassured her, "and no reasonable man would believe anything otherwise, but Shariyar is not a reasonable man anymore."

The girl nodded, turning her blazing eyes away from the old man so that he could not see how loathe she was to agree to obedience.

"I believe that Jafar is going to try to see you," Hazim continued, "but you must not speak with him. No matter what he says to you, you must obey Shariyar's orders and not speak to him or look at him. I have warned him not to come, for your sake and his, but may try to see you anyway."

The doctor squeezed Scheherazade's hands tightly: "You must promise me that you will not disobey Shariyar. If not for your own sake, then for Jafar's."

The girl bit her lower lip but nodded again: "I promise."

Hazim sighed and smiled relievedly at the young woman. He knew it hurt her pride to give in to Shariyar's orders, but he feared that the king would hurt her far worse if he discovered her disobedience.

"If I linger any longer the guards might suspect something," he said, rising to head for the door.

Scheherazade did not watch as the doors closed again, leaving her alone and in silence once again. She heard the doctor's words echo in her head over and over again, understanding the sense in them but hating what they meant for her. Jafar, after all, had been the only person other than Hazim to show her any kindness. He had saved her.

Did he? Came a bitter voice in her head. Who did he save me from? A couple fishermen? I would have been better off in their hands than in Shariyar's. Perhaps Hazim was right to blame Jafar - he saw injustice occurring at his friend's hands and did nothing to stop him.

Hot tears welled as she thought about the vizier. She had thought him so handsome when he had pulled her away from the fishermen, his green eyes filled with sunlight and his skin smooth against hers. He had held her, kissed the tears from her face... and, for the first time, she had wondered whether there could be someone in this world that might love her.

"Fool," she muttered.

Jafar did not love her. He thought her beautiful, but that was all. Her heart grew heavy with the realisation that the vizier would not understand why she was ignoring him.

If he loved me, he wouldn't come. She thought. But he will. He wants to assuage his guilt, and he will get angry when I turn away from him.

The girl groaned into the palms of her hands and crawled back into the bed, clamping her eyes shut against the world.

++++++++

The day dragged on slowly. Silent servants brought her food and water, the latter of which she gulped down gratefully. Now that the windows were boarded shut, the heat of the room grew oppressive. She sweltered in the dark room, forsaking her bed for the slightly cooler touch of the stone floors.

She lay sprawled across the hard stone, her eyes fixed on the slim space of light between the door and the floor. She felt as though she were in a daze. She swore she could feel each bead of sweat snaking its way down her body before dropping onto the floor.

Scheherazade had felt this kind of stifling heat before. Grim thoughts from days spent drifting at sea roiled in her mind, making her limbs heavy with the weight of past pains.

If me and my memories are left alone much longer, she thought grimly, I'm going to end up as mad as Shariyar.

Finally she heard footsteps and saw dark shadows flashing across the glimmer of light that shone in under the door. She sat up as the door opened, closing her eyes as the sudden sunlight blinded her. Cool air rushed over her and she laughed under her breath at the freshness of the air. She almost did not care who it was that had entered...

"Oh my God, Scheherazade, are you all right?"

But she could not keep her heart from sinking when she recognised the voice as Jafar's. She knew he would not understand.

"It's a furnace in here," Jafar said, kneeling down beside her. "Have you had any water?"

Scheherazade turned her head away, refusing to meet his gaze.

"Are you all right? Do you need water?" He asked again, grabbing her arms and shaking her slightly. "Speak to me!"

The girl pulled herself away from the vizier and stood up, turning her back to him.

Jafar rose to his feet slowly, his green eyes imploring. For every step he took towards the girl, she took two to get away.

"Are you serious, Scheherazade?" He asked. "You're not speaking to me? You won't look at me?"

The girl said nothing. She bowed her head, her heart aching at the pain in Jafar's voice.

"You're obeying Shariyar's orders?" He asked, steadily approaching her.

Scheherazade gave the slightest nod.

"He's not here," Jafar said. "He won't find out. Talk to me. Just let me hear your voice. Let me hold you."

She wrapped her arms around herself and shook her head slightly.

"Are you mad at me? Is that it?" He asked. "I had to hurt you - he made me, Scheherazade!"

The girl did not move.

"You know I would never want to hurt you," he said. "Please talk to me."

Scheherazade remained stoically silent.

"Don't blame me!" He cried. "This is Shariyar's fault!"

Jafar caught up with the girl, grabbing her hand and pulling her towards him gently. She struggled against his touch, wrenching herself free as he tried to wrap his arms around her.

"Stop, Scheherazade, you're going to hurt yourself," he murmured angrily. "Stop fighting me!"

But she was unrelenting. Jafar watched, the confusion and hurt growing in his eyes, as she twisted and pulled.

Finally he let her go and she fell backwards onto the bed with a gasp of pain. She moaned and rolled onto her side, blood blossoming onto her dress. She sat up slowly, her back to Jafar.

He stared at the blood, horror and heartbreak written clearly across his face.

"Fine," he whispered. "If this is how you want it, then fine."

She bowed her head, tears filling her eyes. She knew what was coming next.

"If you'd rather hurt yourself than be near me, then I will not trouble you any more," he said, his voice thick with emotion.

She dug her fingernails into her skin, trying to distract herself from the pain building in her heart. He was abandoning her to her fate, after everything she had done to protect him. Whatever heartbreak Jafar was feeling, the ache in her chest was ten times that. She wanted to turn around and scream at him, give voice to the betrayal she was experiencing. But that would endanger them both.

"Do not look to me for help ever again," he said. "I am no longer your ally here and you owe me nothing."

Silent tears spilled from Scheherazade's azure eyes as Jafar slammed the doors closed behind him. She buried her face in the pillow, letting it muffle her sobs.

"I did it to save you, you stupid ass," she whispered, her tears staining the fabric.

++++++++

Shariyar entered his chambers with a sigh of relief. It had been a long day, and even his bones felt weary. His empire was vast and it took a great deal of strategy to keep its trade lively, its enemies at bay, and its boundaries secure.

He threw off his heavy, formal robes and went to sit down at the table with a bottle of wine, when Scheherazade began pounding at the door from the queen's chamber.

"Shariyar!" Came her muffled voice. "Let me out!"

He sighed and set the bottle down on the table.

"Are you going to be good if I do?" He asked, walking towards the doors lazily.

He laughed to himself when she did not respond and turned the key in the lock. A rush of hot air escaped from the room as he pushed the doors open.

Scheherazade stumbled out of the room, breathing in deeply the cool air. Her long, blonde locks clung to her skin and her limbs shone with sweat.

"God, gypsy, do you look a sight," he breathed, taking in the pathetic figure she cut.

The girl threw him a contemptuous glance as she began to walk towards the balcony. She passed through the gauzy curtains and into the night's embrace, revelling in the sharp chill of the evening air.

Shariyar poured himself a glass of wine and then followed her out. He noticed then the stain of blood on the back of her dress. He ran his fingers up her spine, causing her to arch her back slightly at his touch.

"Why were you bleeding, gypsy?" He asked.

She shrugged her shoulders: "I didn't know I was."

"You still think I don't know when you're lying?" He scoffed.

The girl pulled her hair into a loose knot over her head, letting the dripping strands hold themselves in place.

"My deceitful vizier came to see you, didn't he?" Shariyar asked, swirling his wine in its glass. "And don't lie to me."

Scheherazade nodded.

"And did you remember the order I gave you?" He asked, his fingers suddenly around the back of her neck.

"I did," she muttered.

"You didn't look at him, speak to him, or touch him?" He asked, his nails digging into her flesh.

"No, I did not," she replied through gritted teeth.

"Good girl," he said condescendingly, pulling his hand away.

"I'm sure he wasn't pleased about that, was he?" The king continued.

She shook her head slightly.

"Hmm, now, let me think," he pondered, "what would my cowardly friend have said to you?"

Scheherazade set her jaw and steeled her heart. She would not show Shariyar her weakness.

"He blamed you for surrendering to me, didn't he?" He asked. "He wouldn't have apologised for his role in all this."

Shariyar's fingers were at the small of her back again, tracing slowly around the reddened patch of fabric.

"You know him well," Scheherazade said curtly.

"No, I know human nature," he responded harshly. "You can call me crazy all you want, but I am the master of millions and I did not become so by being a fool."

"Being a fool and being crazy are not the same thing," she rejoined bitterly. "I never accused you of stupidity. Just insanity."

Shariyar's fingers moved lower and he grabbed her ass, gently kneading her with his fingers.

She growled and pulled away from him: "Don't touch me."

"I will touch you whenever and wherever I want," Shariyar sneered. "Your precious Jafar may have abandoned you, but that doesn't make your promise null and void. You are still mine to do with as I please."

Scheherazade's sapphire eyes glowed fiercely.

"You need a bath, gypsy," he said, appraising her ragged appearance once again. "Come with me."

He motioned her after him as he disappeared through the curtains. He set his wine back down and then led her into his bathing chambers.

Shariyar pulled his own shirt over his head before turning to the girl. She was watching him warily, her arms crossed over her chest.

"Come here, gypsy," he said, dropping his shirt to the floor. "Let me help you."

"I don't need your help," she muttered.

"Don't be foolish," he said. "Your back must hurt, let me help you."

Scheherazade stepped towards him nervously and unfolded her arms.

Shariyar's amber eyes held hers as he ran his fingers along the hem of her dress, grazing her thighs. He lifted the dress up slowly, pulling it gently over her head.

As soon as her arms were free, Scheherazade folded them over her breasts, shielding them from Shariyar's burning gaze.

The king walked around her and gathered her hair in his hand, brushing the stray strands from her back so that he could look at her wounds. He grimaced slightly at the carnage. It was hard for him to believe that all those scars had come from his own hand.

He ran a gentle finger along one whip line that stretched the length of her spine. Scheherazade's entire body steeled at his touch and she cried out when he reached a tender spot on her back.

Shariyar withdrew his hand and let her hair fall.

"Sorry," he muttered, brushing past her.

He pulled off his trousers and waded into the water, turning around once he was waist-deep to gesture for her to enter.

Scheherazade followed him into the water slowly, letting her body adjust to the temperature. When she was finally inside, she waded to the other side of the pool, as far away from Shariyar as she could get.

Shariyar chuckled to himself as he walked through the water to stand in front of her, his chest inches from hers. He drew handfuls of water over her shoulders, watching as the droplets left glistening paths down her skin.

"You really are beautiful, you know," he whispered.

She turned her back to him, straining against the urge she felt inside to slap him across his face.

"So beautiful," he whispered, burying his face in her hair.

"Leave me alone," she murmured angrily.

"You're mine, gypsy," he reminded her darkly. "I give the orders."

"You know I don't take kindly to those," she said.

"That's part of your allure," he said, drawing away slightly. "Dip your head back."

She glanced over her should at him, her eyebrows drawn up.

"To wet your hair, girl," he said. "Dip your head back."

She closed her eyes and dropped her head backwards into the water. Shariyar's fingers ran across her scalp and through her hair, teasing the tangles apart gently.

After a few moments, she raised her head and turned around to face Shariyar: "I don't understand you."

"You don't have to," he said. "You just have to do as I say."

Scheherazade sighed in frustration.

"And right now, I want you to relax," he said, reaching out to trace the curve of her cheek.

"How can I?" She asked, pulling away. "You're so unpredictable. Next thing I know I might be tied up and begging for my life."

"Now that's just not true," he said, a hint of mischief in his voice, "you would never beg."

She scowled at him: "It's like taking a bath with a crocodile."

"Oh don't worry," he said, flashing her a wicked grin, "you have three more days before you're in danger of me biting you."

"Is this a joke to you?" She asked incredulously.

"I like seeing you riled up, gypsy," he said, rolling his shoulders nonchalantly. "You just look so cute when you're angry."

He grabbed her waist and pulled her around so that her back was to him before wrapping her in a tight embrace. Scheherazade shivered as his lips brushed against her neck.

"And I've never seen a woman look as pretty when she cries as you do," he murmured.