Scheherazade and the King

"Sorry, sorry," the vizier muttered. "I just find it difficult to be optimistic when it comes to Shariyar."

Hazim said nothing but nodded as he pushed open the door that guarded Scheherazade's bed. The girl was still asleep but the welts on her arms had decreased significantly and there was no evidence in pain in her peaceful expression.

"May I wait with her till he comes?" Jafar asked.

The doctor sighed but nodded. He exited the room without another word, leaving Jafar to sit in silence at Scheherazade's bedside.

Jafar heard Shariyar coming long before he burst into Scheherazade's room. He rose to his feet and planted a quick, chaste kiss on Scheherazade's forehead, running his fingers through her hair gently. The girl stirred but did not wake, not even as Shariyar pushed open the door.

The king walked to stand on the other side of Scheherazade's bed. His molten eyes took in the pale, slim girl as if for the first time.

Jafar watched his friend's eyes linger on the girl's face and realised that this was the first time Shariyar had seen the girl while he was sober. He stared at the king intently, hoping beyond hope for a flicker of remorse to pass over his countenance.

If it did, Jafar did not see it.

Shariyar looked up at Jafar, suddenly aware of his scrutiny.

"How is she?" He asked, his voice empty of any real concern for her well-being.

"Hazim says well enough," Jafar replied curtly. "But she ought to stay here the night."

"Unfortunately, the little gypsy has a prior engagement," he said darkly.

Jafar's hands instinctively clenched into fists.

"Wake her," Shariyar said, ignoring the rage in his friend's eyes.

Jafar sighed and bent down: "Scheherazade, it's time to wake up now."

He brushed a stray lock of hair from the girl's face and offered her a rueful smile as her sapphire eyes opened.

Scheherazade glanced up at Jafar and then Shariyar, clasping the sheets to her chest as she sat up to keep herself covered.

Shariyar's breath caught in his throat when her wary gaze met his. He had forgotten how stunning her azure eyes were... He wanted those eyes staring up at him with his cock halfway down her throat.

"Leave us, Jafar," Shariyar said gruffly.

Jafar breathed in sharply but did as he was commanded, catching the girl's eyes for one last meaningful glance before he left the room.

"Gypsy, you have a story to finish telling me," Shariyar said.

"Now?" She asked quietly.

"No," he said. "Not yet, not here."

Scheherazade swallowed nervously and fidgeted with the sheets.

"Are you prepared to go to my chambers willingly tonight?" Shariyar asked. "Or will my guards have the pleasure of escorting you?"

"May I have something to wear?"

"I don't really see the point," Shariyar said, his amber eyes glowing.

Scheherazade's fingers tightened around the sheets: "What are you going to do with me?"

"Whatever the fuck I want," Shariyar said.

"I will go," Scheherazade said slowly, her eyes flashing. "But know that I go only out of duty to the debt I owe Jafar and not out of any sense of respect or fealty to you."

Shariyar's smug smile faded and his upper lip curled in anger: "Your impertinence has already earned you one lashing, if I were you I would think very carefully about what you say over the course of this evening."

The girl glared at him, the sting of his whip suddenly fresh in her mind. As much as she loathed the thought of feeling it again, she would not cower before a tyrant.

Shariyar snapped his fingers and immediately two armed guards entered the tiny room and grabbed her upper arms. Scheherazade tried to keep hold of the sheets, but as the guards pulled her roughly out of bed, the fabric fell from her body, leaving her naked.

Scheherazade struggled to free herself from the guards' tight hold, painfully aware that Shariyar's molten eyes were fixed on her body.

"Please let me cover myself!" She cried indignantly.

Shariyar smirked: "Stop pretending to have any sense of modesty, gypsy."

"Perhaps you ought to try pretending to have a sense of decency," she spat.

"I'm warning you, girl, mind that tongue of yours."

"Or what?" Scheherazade hissed. "I'll lose it? Last night you implied you had far more lewd plans for my tongue than cutting it out."

The guards grasping her arms shifted uncomfortably in the silence that followed. The only sound was that of Scheherazade's heavy breathing as she kept up her struggle to twist away from her captors.

Shariyar finally gestured to his guards to let the girl go.

The guards released her without hesitation. Scheherazade immediately knelt to the ground, wincing at the effort as she wound the sheet around her body, clutching the fabric closed before her breasts. She rose to her feet slowly, her eyes meeting Shariyar's once again.

The king's lips curved into a smile at the mistrust in her eyes. She was right to be wary of him.

He turned around to leave the room, but just as Scheherazade moved to follow him, he spun on his heel and backhanded her across her face so hard that her knees crumpled beneath her.

Scheherazade moaned on the floor as Shariyar loomed above her, his cognac eyes burning.

"Or that," he said, smiling grimly.

"Pick her up," he said to the guards as he stalked out of the room. "I don't give a shit whether she's naked or not."

Scheherazade had gathered her wits about her enough to latch on tightly to the sheet covering her body. She gripped it as if her life depended on it as the guards pulled her to her feet by her upper arms.

Her cheek stung and it was all she could do to keep from crying, but Scheherazade held her head high as they marched through the palace. She would endure the pain again if it meant preserving even the slightest shred of her dignity.

When they reached Shariyar's chambers, the guards walked Scheherazade through the doors and released her, returning immediately to flank their king in the hallway.

"I have one more piece of business to attend to," Shariyar said curtly. "In the mean time, get yourself cleaned up, gypsy."

Shariyar's eyes raked her body and then returned to meet her gaze: "You look awful."

The guards pulled the doors shut and Scheherazade heard a bolt slide into place and then the booted footsteps of the king and his escort. They faded into silence, and then she was alone.

The girl looked around the empty room, taking it in for the first time. The chamber was majestic, sumptuous and cold. No amount of rich fabrics or priceless marble could make up for the fact that this room was void of any trace of its inhabitant. There were no paintings, no books, no maps. Shariyar owned everything in that room but nothing in it was his. But for the grandeur of the chamber, it could have belonged to anyone.

Scheherazade had been in a room like this once before. A dark, rich room filled with cold treasures... She shivered at the memories, banishing them to the back of her mind as she hugged herself tightly.

She walked over to a set of doors on the opposite side of the chamber and pushed them open to reveal the king's private baths. There were scented oils and soaps laid out in perfect order beside the pool of water. She wondered if Shariyar meant for her to use them. But, then again, the man had given her nothing to wear after bathing... She sighed and returned to the main chamber.

There was another set of doors on the other side of the room. She pulled at the wrought iron handles but they did not open.

"Perhaps these were the queen's chambers?" She whispered to herself, backing away from the locked doors.

Scheherazade glanced around the room again. She figured she had two options: The first would be to remain swaddled in a sheet, covered in the remains of medicinal paste, until Shariyar returned. The second would be to make herself quite at home in the king's chambers, use his soaps and oils, wrap herself in his velvet robe, and pour herself a glass of his expensive wine.

The girl's mouth twitched in a smile as she let the sheet fall from her body and strode towards Shariyar's baths. If he expected her to cave in to his abuse, he was sadly mistaken.

Scheherazade stepped into the water slowly, gasping as the warm water slowly enveloped her limbs. Her wounds stung at first, but soon the water felt soothing and refreshing. She was liberal with her use of Shariyar's soaps and oils, and, when she finally emerged from the water, her skin and hair were perfumed with the scents of imported sandalwood and cardamom.

Scheherazade poured herself a glass of wine while she was still naked. She took a sip of the mulled liquid and sighed as the alcohol settled in her stomach, warming her from the inside out.

She set the goblet down and walked over to Shariyar's closet.

"Well, I think I can guess what your favourite colour is," Scheherazade scoffed, taking in the various shades of red that dominated Shariyar's wardrobe.

A flash of blue caught Scheherazade's eye and she dug through the mass of scarlet fabric until she pulled out a royal blue, sleeveless robe. It was embroidered with gold and bronze stitching and, although it was beautiful, it was far too big for her: It trailed on the ground as she walked and she had to loop the sash around her waist three times.

Scheherazade picked up the glass of wine and walked out onto the balcony, staring up at the stars that were beginning to appear in the darkening sky. The stars had been her only solace and comfort for many years until they, too, had been stolen from her.

The young girl's eyes glimmered with tears and turned her back on the night sky. Sometimes she wondered why she had been dealt these hands in her life. As if on cue, her tattoos started to tingle - they always did that whenever she began to feel sorry for herself. She inhaled deeply and turned around again, raising her face to the sky.

++++++

Shariyar pushed open the doors to his chamber wearily. It had been a long day: He was tired, hungover, and in no mood to deal with the gypsy's sass.

His room was dark; the girl had not lit a single lamp. Shariyar lit one of the lamps beside the door, cocking his head when he noticed the girl was no where to be seen.

"Gypsy?" He called, continuing to light the room. "Where are you?"

Scheherazade walked in from the balcony slowly, still sipping on her glass of wine.

Shariyar turned around when he heard her footsteps and gasped slightly when he saw her. She was wearing his blue robe, the one he had worn the day of his wedding, and it brought out the colour of her eyes in a fierce way. She had looped the sash around her waist tightly, emphasising how slender it was, and every step she took, her long legs flashed from between the folds of indigo fabric.

The king stared at her breathlessly, not certain whether he was angry at her or not. The brazen girl was wearing his clothing, drinking his wine...

"You didn't give me anything to wear," she said, as if reading his thoughts.

"I didn't give you permission to rifle through my closet or help yourself to my liquor either," he said without conviction. She looked stunning in that damn robe, and he wondered suddenly whether the wine would make her any looser.

"You said to clean myself up," she said, shrugging. "It sounded like an order."

"Are you going to follow my orders tonight?"

She took another sip of wine and cocked her head at him: "Do you want me to finish my story?"

Shariyar nodded and began to undress in front of the girl. Scheherazade was silent for a moment as the king pulled off his shirt, revealing his broad chest and tight abdomen once again.

The king caught her gaze and raised a brow at her: "Death saw a friend of yours in the market."

"I remember," Scheherazade said quickly, averting her eyes. "Death gave a man I once knew a terrible look. Death went on his way but the man spied me and begged me for my horse.

"'Where will you go?' I asked him. He said that he would take my horse and go to Mosul, where Death would not find him."

"Did you give it to him?" Shariyar asked, pulling off his pants.

Scheherazade's breath caught in her throat at the sight of his member. She drew her eyes up quickly, her cheeks burning at the smugness that flickered in Shariyar's eyes.

"I did," she said.

Shariyar turned his back to her and walked into his bathing chamber, motioning for her to follow over his shoulder. He sunk down into the water with a sigh of relief and then gestured for her to continue.

"But after I gave him my horse I went in search of Death. I found him shortly thereafter, picking through the beggars along the wharf.

"'Death,' I said, 'why did you give my friend such a terrible look this morning? You gave him an awful fright.'

"Death was apologetic: 'I did not mean to startle him,' he said. 'It's just I did not expect to see him here.'

"'Why not?' I asked. 'This is where he lives.'

"'I know,' Death said. 'But I have a meeting with him tonight in Mosul.'"

Shariyar looked up at the girl curiously, the ghost of a smile flickering about his lips: "That is the shortest story I have ever heard."

Scheherazade shrugged and drained her glass.

She glanced into the empty cup and then looked at Shariyar: "Not that I owe you the courtesy, but would you like me to pour you a glass?"

The king's amber eyes smouldered but they did not harden. He nodded at the girl, stealing a glance at her swaying hips over his shoulder as she walked away. He wanted to hold onto those slim hips as she rode his cock. He closed his eyes and leaned back in the water, his balls tightening at the thought.

"Here," she said, suddenly standing over him. He reached up to take the glass of wine she offered him.

Scheherazade lifted the robe and sat down on the edge of the pool, dangling her legs in the water. Shariyar swallowed at the expanse of her creamy thigh that was visible.

Suddenly there was a sharp rap on the door. Scheherazade was on her feet in a moment. The king looked at her amusedly as he stood up and climbed the steps out of the pool.

"Don't look so anxious," he said. "It's just the servants."

Shariyar handed Scheherazade his glass of wine so that he could wrap a towel around his waist. He opened the door to his chambers, ushering in a pair of servants laden with food. They set the trays down on the table and exited, bowing repeatedly as they went.

As Shariyar closed the door, Scheherazade's stomach growled. In all that had happened, she had forgotten that she had not eaten in days.

The king sat down at the table, motioning for Scheherazade to bring him his wine. She handed it to him and then turned away from the table so that Shariyar could not catch her staring hungrily at the spiced bread and stewed meats.

Shariyar began eating, eyeing the girl as he spooned meat onto his plate. He, too, came to the realisation that the girl was probably starved.

"Did Hazim feed you?" He asked.

The girl shook her head.

"Aren't you going to ask to join me, then?" He asked. Perhaps the little gypsy was too proud to beg, that was why she simply took what she wanted instead.

"I asked you for clothes earlier," she said, the faintest tinge of bitterness in her voice. "You could not offer me a servant's rag to wear - why should you offer me a place at your table?"

"And yet, despite my refusal to clothe you, here you are dressed in embroidered silks," Shariyar said.

The girl shrugged and placed her half-finished wine beside the decanter, making her way out to the balcony once again.

"Do not walk away from me when I am talking to you, gypsy," the king said. "Come back and sit down."

Scheherazade stopped in her tracks and Shariyar watched with amusement as her small hands balled into fists. She turned around slowly and sat down opposite him at the small table, her azure eyes glinting.

"You do not like taking orders," Shariyar said simply.

"No," she said. "I wore the halter for many years and never got used to it."

"Who was your master?"

"He is dead," she said, her eyes leaving Shariyar's to stare at the food before her.

The king looked at the girl hard, wondering why she refused to answer his question. He only broke the silence when he noticed her longing gaze.

"Gypsy, you may eat," Shariyar said, "but only if you do something for me first."

"And what is that?" She asked warily.

"Take off that robe, get down on your knees, and suck my cock," he said.

"Sadly, I have completely lost my appetite," Scheherazade snapped, rising from the table indignantly.

Shariyar smiled as she stalked off to the balcony. Her former master may not have been man enough to tame her, but he was and he would.

"Fine, come back," he said. He grabbed a piece of bread and held it out to her: "Here you go."

Scheherazade walked back to him but, before she could even reach for the piece of bread, Shariyar dropped it on the floor.

"There you go, gypsy," he said. "If you don't want to suck my cock, you can eat off the floor."

The girl shuddered at the pain that welled suddenly in her heart. Her tattoos burned at the injustice she felt inside.

"What did I do?" She whispered, her eyes sparkling.

Shariyar merely shrugged, his lips curved in a smug smile.

"I am not an animal, I will not eat from the floor."

"Then suck my cock."

Scheherazade turned away from him: "I think you better get your whip."

"Is that the only thing you respond to?" Shariyar taunted. "Or perhaps it's just my cock you don't want to suck... Would you get on your knees for your precious Jafar?"

The girl scowled over her shoulder at him, her eyes blazing.

"I thought you gave me your life," Shariyar said.

"I did," she said, spinning on her heel to face him. "But not my obedience."

Shariyar rose out of his chair and took two menacing steps towards her: "What is that going to cost?"

"Let me know when you figure that one out."

Shariyar grabbed a fistful of Scheherazade's hair at the base of her neck and pulled her to her knees sharply.

"Suck my cock like a good little whore or eat off the floor like a bitch," he growled down at her. "Those are your choices."

"I could just starve," she said through gritted teeth, wincing as Shariyar tightened his grip on her hair in response.

"Fine, you stubborn little shit," Shariyar hissed, letting go of her hair. "Starve."

Scheherazade grimaced as her stomach growled loud enough for Shariyar to hear.

The king chuckled grimly as he sat down at the table again and loosed his towel, his eyes fixed on Scheherazade as she promptly looked away.

Shariyar began to stroke his cock, coaxing it quickly to its full length. His chest rose and fell sharply as his balls grew heavy. He groaned as he waited for Scheherazade to give in and wrap her lips around his dick. Finally the girl turned her face towards him. His muscles steeled as her gaze slowly roamed over his body before finally meeting his.

"Come on, girl," he said darkly, "you know you want it."

"What I want is food."

"I have plenty of meat for you," he said. "Come show me what a good little cocksucker you are."

Shariyar chuckled as Scheherazade began to crawl on her hands and knees towards him but his self-satisfied smile faded quickly when she stopped and picked up the piece of bread he had thrown to the floor instead.

The king was on his feet in an instant, smacking the piece of bread from her hands. Before Scheherazade had a chance to cry out in protest, Shariyar's powerful hands were on either side of her head, forcing his cock inside her mouth.

Scheherazade gagged as Shariyar shoved his dick down her throat, holding her firmly in place so that she could not push him away, try as she might. He groaned at the feeling of her throat clenching tightly around his cock.