Aurora - Blood Moon Tribute Pt. 07

Beck wanted to say, 'Hell yeah! Pocket Rocket on steroids! Supersonic sportscar, sex on wings!'. Still, she'd learnt the hard way over the past few weeks to offer up nothing, so instead she simply replied, "Not really."

"Well, I will take you flying one day!" the prince grinned. "In one of the two-seaters. Then you will see."

"Mmmm... yeah.... no thanks." Beck said, "I'm afraid of heights. Where are you taking me, just out of interest? Back to the palace?"

Rashiid shook his head. "Oh no, no, no. It is far too dangerous for that. I am taking you to the mountains, to my own private fortress. You will be safe there."

Beck struggled free of the sundered sack and cast it aside. Pulling the golden cape tight around her shoulders, she hunched forward, pressing her knees together. "Can we stop for a minute?" she asked, "I really need to pee."

Rashiid's jaw sagged. "You need to...?"

"Pee." Beck said. "Have a leak. Go to the toilet. Please, I'm busting."

Rashiid's jaw worked silently for a moment. A local woman of any breeding would sooner suffer rupture than admit to a male she was prone to such bodily needs. Yet here she was, the little sky-eyed Westerner, putting it out there, confiding in him, admitting to an intimate necessity. He banged the driver's headrest. "Stop," he roared, "do you hear me! Pull over at once! Her Ladyship wishes to stretch her legs!"

The SUV stood on its nose and snaked to a rubber-smoking stop, then sat idling quietly in the middle of the road. "Got any tissues?" Beck asked, "Or any wet-wipes?"

The four troops and Prince Rashiid ransacked the cab, finally coming up with a crumpled fast-food bag, containing one unused napkin, and a single, scented hand-wipe in a tiny foil sachet. The driver unlocked her door and Beck slipped out, into a fragrant desert night under a three-quarter moon. Rashiid threw open his own door and hurried to her side. "What are you doing?" Beck demanded.

Rashiid looked around. "Protecting you?"

"What from?"

"Who knows?" The prince shrugged. "There might be scorpions. There may be snakes. It is not safe out here at this time of night."

Beck blew a raspberry. "My country is home to nine out of ten of the world's deadliest snakes. They don't bother us. In fact a lot of Aussie kids keep them as pets."

"But My Lady." the prince pressed, eager to watch the little blonde go about her business, "The desert is a dangerous place."

"It's not dangerous." Beck scowled. "Just ask my old... just ask anyone. The desert's beautiful. The natural world's a paradise. All of it."

"My Lady, I beg you. If anything should happen..."

Beck raised a hand, cutting him off, an offence, should he choose to take it, that could earn her life in jail. "Look!" she said, "I'm just not in the mood. Okay? Just wait in the car. I won't be long."

Turning, Beck picked her way over boulders bordering the road, then hopped onto pristine sand, gazing out over the moonlit wilderness of low dunes rippled with windrows. Going just far enough that the SUV was still barely audible, she picked out a little bush that looked like it needed a drink. Her old man had told her once, back in the day, how evolution had selected for creatures who fixed nitrogen in their pee, to feed the plants, which fed the creatures who fixed nitrogen in their pee. With one last check for spectators, she hiked her clothes up and dropped to a squat, close enough that the vegetation might make use of the gift. She shivered, as a hot jet of sweet relief powered into the ground. As she watched, big black spider dug itself out of the sand and scuttled away, swearing. "Sorry mate." Beck giggled, then looked around, wondering if she should just scuttle away herself. Into the night. Into the wilderness. Head north by the stars and hope to hit the coast. Find a town, steal a boat... sail away... even swim home if she had to.

But no. She was thirsty and she was hungry. She was tired and frightened and far, far from home, all alone in a big, strange land. Full of strange people, with a strange language and strange way of doing things. And maybe she was safe, for the time being, if the mouthy prince could be believed. While she waited for Bragg to pull his finger out, or the embassy to finally get off its ass. Task complete, she quickly wiped herself, then dug a shallow grave and buried the napkin. On her feet, she tugged the slip down and straightened the cape, before turning on the spot getting her bearings.

Meanwhile, back in the SUV, the prince sat waiting, peering out the window, taking deep, anxious drags of his cigarette. He had her at last, the silver filly, against all the odds he'd finally wrested her from his father. How his men would cheer when he told the tale of breaking her in, riding her bareback over the jebel, as she kicked and bucked and shied and whinnied. Movement caught his eye, and Rashiid watched a small, ghostly figure hop off a rock onto the road. The door saw Beck coming and magically opened, and she stood for a moment, coughing and fanning herself as smoke poured out of the cab. "Poooh!" she said, wrinkling her nose, "You've been smoking. IN the car. You shouldn't do that, you know. It's really rude."

The troops in the rear row of seats swapped a glance. "Sir? What did she say?"

Rashiid cleared his throat, thankful his goons were so poorly educated. "She said how good it feels, to be safe and sound at last. With me." He patted the driver's shoulder. "Now go, go."

The road soon pitched upwards and the SUV tore up the mountainside, through a never-ending series of switchbacks. Beck, in the back with her seatbelt cinched tight, sat swaying side to side as the slalom continued. She yawned. "Does everyone in this country drive like an idiot?"

"Forgive me." Rashiid replied, "The men of Ab Aldafra are just too brave." He tapped the driver, who throttled back a shade, but before long they were back at terminal velocity.

They rolled through a checkpoint, and Beck came upright as a massive, brightly lit complex reared up over the horizon. Rashiid took one look at the wonder on her face and lay his hand on her thigh. "Welcome to my humble home, My Lady. I beg you, think of it as your own."

The place was immense. Sitting high on a mountaintop at several thousand feet, a stylish fortress of sandstone blocks in multiple tiers, lots of glass, with a dedicated helipad and a huge infinity swimming pool. Beck looked at him. "I hope your wife doesn't mind."

"Wife?" Rashiid frowned, and his member stiffened at the very idea. Perhaps she was offering.

"The lady of the house." Beck said, gesturing with her chin. "I hope she doesn't mind you picked up a stray."

Rashiid looked at her, brows knitted. Everyone knew he was the 'Playboy Prince'. Could she really be so inocent? "But I do not have a wife, My Lady. Not yet. I am a man of action you see. A military man, a warrior. I've spent so much of my life bravely serving my country, there just hasn't been time." He ran his hand up her thigh, high enough that Beck was moved to interdict. "It is well known that I am a man of duty, rarely have I taken time to indulge my own desires. But I must confess, now I've met you..."

Beck compressed her lips, as the SUV topped a rise then rolled slowly down a concrete incline into an underground garage. "Uh huh. Now you've met me what?"

The prince gazed at Beck with puppydog eyes. "Never have I felt the force of such attraction. Such desire. It is written... there is someone for everyone under god's heaven. And, My Lady, I believe you may be the one."

There was a tiny interlude of pin-drop silence, then Beck screwed up her face. "Mmmm... yeah..." she said, pushing his hand away, "... nahhh. Thanks all the same but I don't think so. And, don't you know? I'm supposed to be marrying the king."

Rashiid's eyes were suddenly evasive. He'd spent years plotting his father's downfall, never for a moment dreaming the catalyst would turn up in such an irresistible package. While the the false flag attack had been a little... spur-of-the-moment... the spadework- infiltrating the palace and gathering allies, fomenting unrest in the rank and file, covertly denigrating the monarch for his infatuation with the decadent West- was well and truly in place. Now the old fool was about to drag the country into war, on the eve of a sacred holiday. And once the king sent his forces south, leaving the palace exposed, he, Rashiid, would topple his father's regime and claim the throne.

And like a gift from heaven, this little blonde plaything was just icing on the cake. He could do what he liked with her, he knew, with royal and divine impunity, throw her down and fuck her raw without so much as a by-your-leave. But no. He'd been waiting weeks for this chance and above all else he craved her admiration, her love, her giggling, starry-eyed adulation. "But..." he replied, "I'm afraid that may no longer be possible. We are on the brink of war, and His Majesty is busy rooting out dissidents as we speak. I fear there will be no Blood Moon, no royal marriage. As my father's favourite son and heir to the throne, the sacred responsibility for your welfare has been passed onto me. In perpetuity."

Beck tried to pin his eyes but they darted away. "Really? Well don't you think I ought to hear that from the king?"

"But... My Lady... you are hearing it from me. Prince Rashiid, bin Abdulaziz Al Shabazz. That's as good as hearing it from the king himself. Better in fact, for I bravely risked my life to save you, and I am honour-bound to tell you the truth. And here I am, telling you face-to-face. My Lady, if you should doubt me..."

Rashiid left the statement hanging and Beck felt a chill run down her spine. After weeks in the company of Samia Khan and Inayat, she knew a threat when she heard one. "No, Your Highness, of course I do not doubt you, I was just making sure. And please, just call me Rebekah."

"As you wish, Rebecca."

"Rebek-ah, Your Highness. With a 'k' and an 'a' and an 'h'."

Rashiid dipped his head. "As you wish, Rebekah. And you may call me, 'Sire'. Or 'My Liege'. Or... who knows... maybe even 'husband' one day."

"A good-looking guy like you?" Beck said dryly, as the SUV rolled to a stop and the driver shut down. "Your Highness, let's be honest. You could have anyone, ANYone you desire! You don't want me."

"But you are mistaken." Rashiid said, as a uniformed staffer opened Beck's door. "And I will prove it to you. But for now, welcome. Welcome to my home."

Rashiid lined his troops up for his young visitor's benefit, to show her who was boss. He led the way through the honour guard towards an elevator with golden doors, past the ranks of the palace staff. "He is the head steward," Rashiid said and Beck nodded hello, "and this is head of security. My runner, his PA, and the head of housekeeping. This is my butler, these are my servants..."

Each man bowed as the prince and his foundling walked past, Beck in her fabled golden cape with the hood pulled up. They entered the lift and the head of security stepped in, then punched a key for the ride to the top. The elevator bumped to a stop and when the doors rattled open, Rashiid stepped out, then stood aside and gestured Beck into the living room of his vast abode.

The room was gorgeous, three broad terraces stepping down to a vast panoramic window, looking out over the desert from the royal eyrie. Rashiid led Beck by the elbow to a gilded silk couch and bid her sit. At the same time, the little blonde's eyes lit upon the flayed skin of a great big tiger, lying flat-out on the floor, mouth agape, fangs bared, glass eyes staring in mute surprise. She pointed. "Is that thing real?"

The prince puffed himself up and smoothed back his hair. "Indeed, Lady Rebekah, I shot it myself. From the back of an elephant, in India. We stalked it for days."

Beck took a knee and gave the big dead head a loving stroke. When she looked up there were tears in her eyes. "That's disgusting." she said, in no mood for indulging local proclivities. Like spending millions to trek for days through one of the last bastions of tiger habitat, with an entourage of fifty, riding on elephants, to shoot a perfectly innocent cat, leaving her cubs to starve to death and the species one step closer to extinction.

"I... I... I..." the prince stammered, "what do you mean?"

"Well where was it? When you shot it? In the pub? In the shopping mall? In the playground at the local kindergarten? Hmm?"

The prince shook his head in confusion. "Why no, Lady Rebekah. It was in the deep in the forest... in the dense, dark forest, where the faint of heart fear to tread. We stalked it, like I said. We hunted it down."

"Right." Beck nodded. "So it was out in the bush, in its own home. Is that what you're saying? Minding its own business. Then you turned up and shot it. For what? So you could throw it down in your lounge and walk all over it? That poor bloody pussycat."

Having never, ever been chastised by a commoner, the prince was at a loss just what to do. One word to security and he could have her shot on the spot, but what a waste of such an investment. He held out his hands, groping for some plausible disclaimer. "But... but... but... but My Lady, it was injured. Wounded by poachers. I was merely putting it out of its misery. Ask anyone, My Lady, I can assure you, I am most humane."

"Really?" Beck curled her lip, not believing a word. "So then you skinned it? Humanely? Then dragged it back here?"

"As a reminder to others how we must revere nature." Looking up, Rashiid signalled a lurking servant. "You!" he snapped under cover of his own language, "Get rid of this."

"Your Highness?"

"This damned tiger. Get rid of it, hide it somewhere, it's frightening Her Ladyship."

The servant bowed, wondering, 'What the fuck? Scared by a moth-eaten old skin?' "Very good, Your Highness."

"And the lions from the bedroom." Rashiid growled. "And the leopards. In fact all the skins, including the bear. Take them away."

The prince stepped up and took Beck by the elbow. "But come, Lady Rebekah, let us not dwell on such unpleasantries. You must be tired. You must be thirsty. I must get you a drink. What would you have? Coffee? Tea?"

Beck wavered on the brink of requesting some French Champagne, then thought better of it. Out of the frying pan into a bushfire, she was going to need all her wits about her. "Tea would be fine, thanks Your Highness."

"Perhaps, after that, you might take a shower." the prince said, then turned away and casually added, "Before we go to bed."

"We?"

Sweat popped out on the prince's brow in spite of the air con. Worth a try. "A slip of the tongue." he said, but not the one he'd been hoping for. "I have prepared a room for you, your very own chambers. For the time being, until you feel comfortable." Or he finally lost patience and threw decorum out the door.

Beck narrowed her eyes. "It's almost like you were expecting me."

"We have a saying in our squadron, 'Strike first, strike fast, above all be prepared."

"And we have a saying in mine... if it walks like a duck and quacks like a duck..."

"My Lady?"

"I'm starting to wonder. About this so-called rescue."

Rashiid's expression hardened. "For the last time, I urge you, do not look this gift horse in the eye. You were well on your way to the southern border when my father despatched me. Had we not intercepted that band of criminals... well... My Lady... I shudder to think."

All alone and deep in hostile territory, Beck walked it back. "Forgive me, Your Highness, I must confess I feel a little light-headed. Really. I wish to thank you for all you have done. I am in your debt."

Rashiid brightened at her sudden change of tone. "I can assure you," he said, rubbing his hands, "as long as you are with me, you are as safe as you ever could be. The last few days must have been trying, I understand, but please, just try to relax. I think you will find my hospitality most comestible. Now come, meet your maid."

"Maid?" Beck sniffed, "I don't need a maid. Look, if you really want to help, just point me in the direction of the Australian embassy."

The prince laughed. She was property of the crown, she knew that, surely. And thereby effectively stateless. "Embassy? A little joke, no?"

"No."

The prince beckoned and a skinny little black girl hurried in. "Your Highness." she said in passable English, kneeling at Beck's feet.

"Highness?" Beck frowned, "That's him over there."

"She means you." Rashiid beamed indulgently. Nothing opened legs like a gratuitous peerage.

"Silly Billy." Beck smiled, reaching down, "I'm not a highness. Come on. Up."

The maid's big dark eyes went wide, as she looked first at Beck's waiting hand, then over the white girl's shoulder at the prince standing behind her. The prince gave a tiny nod and the maid lay her hand in Beck's, half expecting sparks and shooting stars. "There you go." Beck said, helping her up, then smoothing the maid's apron over her chest and adjusting her collar. "It must have taken hours to iron that uniform. You don't want to wrinkle it."

The maid looked at the prince in borderline terror. How to deal with such blatant fraternization? The prince, meanwhile, was wrestling with his own impulses... should he cut his losses, just throw this insolent little bleacher off the cliff and be done with it? Or beg her for sex? Or just kick back and watch her live on CCTV. In the bath, perhaps, or in the shower. "W... w... would My Lady care to bathe?" he asked hopefully.

Beck shrugged the sides of the cape over her shoulders, revealing the sheer silk slip underneath. She raised her arms, yawning, and Rashiid's heart skipped a beat at the sight of her pale, perfect underarms. "How about that cuppa first?" she said, slumping exhausted onto a gilded settee. So much gold. She wouldn't be surprised if they ate the stuff. The prince shooed the maid away to organise tea. "Oi!" Beck called after her, "Sweetiepie. Any chance of some tucker?"

The maid teetered to a stop. "Your Highness?"

"A snack? A sandwich? Toasted cheese and Vegemite would be good. And don't call me Highness. Rebekah will do."

The maid bowed, "Your Highness." then hurried from the room, humiliated and confused. Address a guest of the prince by her name? The little sky-eyed blond was either simply stupid or mocking, and putting them both in terrible danger.

**********************************************************************************************************

Noon had come and gone by the time Beck surfaced, in the middle of a bed big enough for carrier-ops. She sat, smacking her lips, hair in disarray and sleep in her eyes, as her Somalian handler hurried in. "Good morning, Your Highness." the maid bowed, taking Beck by the arm, helping her rise. She'd been briefed by the prince that the little Western female was entirely incapable of washing, dressing or grooming herself and that she, Hope, must take the utmost care of her. Sleeves rolled up, skirt tucked into her knickers, she led Beck to the bathroom and commenced unbuttoning her silk pyjamas.

"Is this really necessary?" Beck asked wearily, fending her off. "I'm a grown woman."

Big dark eyes peered into Beck's baby blues. "I have displeased you?"

Beck heaved a sigh. "No, Sweetheart. It's just that, it all seems so over the top. All this bowing and scraping, treating me like a child. Is this really how people live over here?"

The maid shook her head in confusion. "People? But you are royalty, Your Highness. Not people."

"Yeah, well, funny story. I'm actually just a... oh, never mind. Look. How about we just go with, 'My Lady'? Highness seems like so much overkill."

"My Lady?"

"That's better." Beck said, stepping out of her pyjama pants as the maid dropped to a squat in front of her. After the past few weeks, it seemed almost natural to be standing starkers in front of hired help, close enough to feel their breath on her unmentionables. "And while we're at it." Beck went on, as the maid hurried away to run the shower, "What's your name?"