Scheherazade and the King Ch. 02

Disclaimer: I'm sorry this chapter is a little shorter than the first. I will try to make sure Chapter 3 is longer. Thank you to all those readers who have commented and voted.

Shariyar's amber eyes opened with the first rays of the rising sun. The first thing he noticed was that the girl was not in his arms.

The king shot up in bed and glanced agitatedly around the room. The girl was nowhere to be seen. Shariyar threw off the covers and wrapped himself in his robe as he began to search the chamber. She was not in the bathing room, she had not found her way into the queen's quarters... Shariyar was about to storm out into the corridor and question his guards when he realised he had not checked the balcony.

Shariyar walked out onto the balcony, nervous for a moment that the girl had jumped. Instead he found her curled up in a corner, wrapped in the towel he had given her the night before.

"Wake up, gypsy," Shariyar said gruffly.

Scheherazade's eyes fluttered open and she looked around dazedly.

"Do you not remember making the decision to sleep out here?" Shariyar asked, his brow furrowing.

The girl grimaced as she pulled herself to her feet. Her head was pounding from dehydration and she swayed slightly as she stood before the king.

"May I have some water?" She asked, her voice hoarse.

"Answer me first."

"I just wanted to be beneath the stars," she murmured.

"You won't eat off the ground but given the choice between the floor and a bed, you'd choose the former," Shariyar taunted disdainfully. "You're a foolish girl."

He turned on his heel and walked inside, gesturing to a bottle on the table. Scheherazade poured herself a glass of water and sat down at the table, downing three glasses in quick succession as Shariyar dressed for the day.

When the king was fully clothed he turned his attention back on the girl: "You had a nightmare last night."

Scheherazade swallowed and turned her wide eyes away from Shariyar.

"Do you remember?"

The girl shook her head, staring pointedly at her knees.

"Fine," Shariyar muttered.

"I don't," Scheherazade said staunchly.

"Was it me?" Shariyar asked, pulling Scheherazade to her feet roughly. "Huh? Were you dreaming about me?"

"You wish," Scheherazade whispered angrily. "You could never live up to the man in my nightmares."

"Watch me try," Shariyar scowled.

"Why would you want to?" Scheherazade asked, her eyes blazing. "He was a monster. He deserved his death a thousand times over."

"I am well on my way to deserving the same," Shariyar said. His voice was thick with anger but, just before he turned away, Scheherazade could have sworn she saw sadness gleaming in his dark eyes.

"You will remain here," the king said as he walked to the door. "I will be back tonight."

Shariyar did not look back at the girl as he slammed the door shut behind him. He left his guards so they could watch over her and so that he could be alone with his thoughts.

The king walked through the palace slowly, eventually making his way to the inner courtyard. The gardens were still wrapped in morning's dewy embrace, and the heady perfume of dark blossoms filled the air.

Shariyar breathed in deeply, hoping that the fresh air would help clear his head. He did not know what to think: Not only had he let the girl live, but he had fallen asleep with her in his arms. He had not held a woman like that since his wife.

"Fool," he muttered, unsure as to whether he was addressing himself or the gypsy.

He wandered down the cobbled paths aimlessly until he found himself at the gnarled old tree he and Jafar used to climb as boys. It was the only one tall enough to give them a glimpse of the city that lay beyond the palace walls. He ran a hand over the knotted bark and was close to becoming lost in his memories when he heard footsteps.

Shariyar was the last person Jafar expected - or wanted - to see as he rounded the corner to his favourite place in the courtyard. He started when he saw the king standing beneath the old tree.

"Good morning, your highness," Jafar said, confusion evident in his voice.

"Do you remember this tree, Jafar?" Shariyar asked, staring up at the twisting branches above his head. "We used to pretend it was the mast of a sailing ship or the tower of the enemy's keep."

"I remember it well," Jafar said cautiously. The vizier studied his friend carefully, trying to figure out what could possibly have prompted him to venture here. And alone... the king's guards were nowhere in sight.

"I was never meant to marry Nasrin," Shariyar said suddenly, breaking Jafar's concentration. "Do you remember that, Jafar?"

The vizier's eyes narrowed but he nodded as the memories returned suddenly. He had not thought about the betrothal in years. Certainly it seemed a lifetime ago that Shariyar's father announced to the young prince that he was to be engaged to the princess of a powerful but tiny kingdom over the ocean.

"I can't even remember what her name was," the king said.

"It was an age ago," Jafar whispered.

"What?"

"It was an age ago," he said again. "I can't remember either."

"It was so strange to think of getting married," Shariyar reminisced.

Even the concept of a betrothal had seemed very strange to the two young men. Shariyar and Jafar had both assumed that the future King of kings would have the right to choose his own bride. For Shariyar to be engaged and to a girl years younger than him... well, the whole thing had seemed preposterous.

"Your father didn't even tell you," Jafar said. "Remember? If we hadn't have been trying to sneak into the harem, we never would have overheard him planning away your future."

"Didn't stop us from getting into the harem though, did it?" Shariyar chuckled slightly.

"I don't think wild dogs could have kept us from stealing a glance at those women," Jafar said. He could not help but smile at Shariyar's laughter. No matter what his friend had done, it warmed Jafar's heart to see him happy. Even if just for a moment.

"What ever happened to the princess, I wonder?" Shariyar mused.

"I don't know," Jafar said. "We were too young to care."

"Not to mention it was not long after that that my father passed," Shariyar said. "If I cared at all about the betrothal, I cared even less after that."

Jafar nodded solemnly, remembering how grief had struck at his friend like a sickness. It took over his life, consuming his every waking minute for years until, finally, Nasrin entered his life and reintroduced happiness to the king's countenance. That was another reason why her betrayal had shaken the very foundations of his sanity - she had been the one to pull him from the depths. Without her, there was nothing to keep him from sinking back into that dark place and staying there.

"Perhaps that was when my bad luck with women began," Shariyar chuckled darkly, finally turning his back to the old tree.

Jafar cleared his throat but did not comment.

"What appointments do I have this morning?" Shariyar asked, motioning for Jafar to follow him back to the palace.

"Um, this morning you have a military strategy meeting with your generals," Jafar said, quickly catching up with the king. The list of Shariyar's meetings for the day ran on until the pair stepped back inside the castle.

"A full day then," Shariyar said wearily after Jafar finished. "We'd best get started."

"Before we begin," Jafar said slowly, "where is Scheherazade?"

Shariyar stopped in his tracks and rounded on the vizier: "She is not your concern."

"I just want to know if she is still alive," Jafar said.

The king said nothing, simply reached into his pocket and pulled out the ivory charm Jafar had given the girl.

"Why did you give this to the gypsy?" He asked, dropping the charm in Jafar's outstretched hand.

"I wanted to," he said.

"You wanted a piece of flotsam to have the charm you carved for your mother?" Shariyar asked.

"Can you not see that she is something special?" Jafar countered exasperatingly.

"She is no more beautiful than any whore you'd find at a brothel," the king said dismissively. "She is a mouthy little slave girl who needs to be reminded of her place. And that is what I intend to do."

"Then she is still alive?" Jafar asked, hope creeping into his voice.

"For now," the king murmured, his eyes simmering. "But you'd do best not to mention her again."

Jafar inhaled deeply but nodded, bowing his head as Shariyar turned. He followed the king through the palace, his heart racing with the knowledge that the girl had survived, not one, but two nights.

Perhaps Shariyar would not kill her after all.

++++++

When Shariyar was gone, Scheherazade climbed back into the bed, pulling the sheets around herself and staring around the room.

She fell asleep for another hour or so. When she woke again there was no sign that any servants had come. She should have known better than to expect Shariyar to remember the clothes he had promised her.

Scheherazade climbed out of bed and wrapped Shariyar's robe around herself, shivering at the memories its scent evoked. She rolled her shoulders and walked over to the table. She plucked a handful of dried dates from the bowl and sat down, tucking her legs up on her chair as she nibbled at the sweet fruit.

Scheherazade waited patiently for hours, but no servants appeared.

Finally she pulled the door open and found herself face-to-face with two of Shariyar's armed guards.

"I need something to wear," she said, looking from one helmeted face to the other. "Please? The king said the servants would bring me something."

The guards looked at each other and then one pulled the door shut. Scheherazade gasped angrily in surprise but, just as she turned her back, the doors opened again to let Jafar in.

"Jafar!" The girl exclaimed, wrapping him in an embrace.

"Scheherazade, are you all right?" Jafar asked, his face in her neck.

The girl pulled away and shrugged, hugging the robe tighter around her body.

"Did he hurt you?"

"Not compared to how I used to be treated," she replied.

"I don't have much time," Jafar said apologetically. "And Shariyar can't know I was here."

"I understand," she murmured.

"What did he do to you?" Jafar whispered, running his hands down her arms.

The girl shrugged, refusing to look him in the eye.

"Scheherazade, please," Jafar said.

"You must understand, since I can remember I have been a slave,"she responded. "This is what fate has chosen for me."

"That does not mean that you have to resign yourself to this," the vizier said angrily. "I could have saved you!"

"If you had then you would be dead right now," she reminded him. "Instead we both have our lives."

"What kind of life is this?" He asked.

She smiled sadly: "Mine."

The girl took a step back so she was out of Jafar's reach: "He promised me clothes."

Jafar cleared his throat and nodded.

"I will have something brought for you," he said as he walked towards the doors.

"Please do not be angry with me, Jafar," Scheherazade whispered.

Jafar stopped in his tracks and turned to face the girl. The look in her eyes melted his heart - the thought of him being upset with her seemed to sting her even more sharply than Shariyar's whip.

"I am not angry with you," he said earnestly, walking back to catch her up in his arms. "How could I be angry with you? You saved my life."

The vizier hugged Scheherazade tightly, savouring the touch of her skin, before pulling away reluctantly.

"I must go," he said. "But I will make sure you are clothed. It is the least I can do."

"Thank you," the girl said.

She felt empty when the vizier closed the doors behind him. She had nothing to do now but wait for someone to bring her a dress, and then for Shariyar to tear it off her.

++++++

Night had long fallen by the time Shariyar returned to his chambers. He pushed open the doors wearily.

The girl was out on the balcony, leaning over the railing with her face raised to the stars. She did not turn around when she heard his footsteps.

He joined her on the balcony and looked up at the sky.

"Nasrin used to love coming out here to watch the stars find their places in the sky," he said softly. "She knew all the constellations."

"What did she do to you?" Scheherazade asked softly.

"She betrayed me for another man," he said, trying to keep all emotion from his responses. "After years and years of marriage, she tried to kill me in my sleep. But I overpowered her and the knife meant for my throat found hers instead."

"I am sorry," the girl whispered.

Shariyar turned to look at the girl and noticed suddenly that she was wearing a servant's shift. Scheherazade looked out of place in the plain dress - her long limbs were far too graceful to be clothed only in rough cotton.

"Where did you get that dress?" He asked.

"Abbas brought it up for me," she replied, smoothing out the wrinkles.

"Abbas?" The king asked sharply.

"He's one of your servants," Scheherazade answered, raising her eyebrows at him.

"Oh, yes, of course," Shariyar muttered, looking away from the girl.

"You don't know your own servants' names?" She asked.

"Why should I?" Shariyar snapped.

There was silence for a moment as Scheherazade looked away from the king's burning gaze.

"Come inside," Shariyar muttered, turning on his heel.

Scheherazade followed the king inside, wondering at how quickly the man's mood shifted.

Shariyar suddenly rounded on the girl, his amber eyes gleaming.

"Servants' garb suits you," he said mockingly. "But those charms in your hair do not."

Scheherazade's eyes widened and her hands went instinctively to her locks: "What?"

"Take them out," Shariyar said darkly.

"No, Shariyar," she said plaintively, "they are my only possessions."

"A couple shells and beads?" He asked scornfully.

"I-I've had them ever since I can remember," she said pleadingly. "They are my only clues to who I might have been."

"You think I give a shit?" Shariyar asked contemptuously. "Why would anyone care who you were? You're nothing and you always have been."

A tear dripped down Scheherazade's cheek and she lowered her eyes.

"Take them out," the king said slowly, pronouncing each word carefully.

"If I do, may I keep them?" She asked.

"Maybe," he said, a dark smile lingering on his lips. "But if you refuse to take them out, then know that I will cut them from your hair and you will never see them again."

The girl nodded and went to sit down at the table, tears falling softly as she undid the braids holding the trinkets in her hair. One by one she placed each semiprecious stone, polished shell, clay bead, and carved charm on the table. When she was finished, there was a colourful line of momentos laid out neatly before her.

Shariyar walked over to the table and swept the keepsakes into his hand.

"What are you going to do with them?" Scheherazade asked, rising to follow him. "Please let me keep them at least."

"I will make sure they are somewhere very safe, gypsy," the king said grimly. "Now sit back down at the table and keep that relentless mouth of yours shut."

Scheherazade watched helplessly as Shariyar stormed out of the room, his fist full of the only things she had ever called her own.

As the guards pulled the doors shut, the girl sunk to her knees and cried into her palms. Her tattoos tingled furiously as the tears streamed down her cheeks. Never could Scheherazade have imagined that something so little being taken away from her could hurt so much... She had lost so much more in her life.

"Why me?" She whispered between sobs to the empty room. "Why am I always so hated? What did I do?"

She was still crying when Shariyar re-entered the room, his hands empty. The king shook his head down at her and grabbed a fistful of her hair, wrenching her to her feet.

"You're crying more than when I beat you," he growled low. "Do you really think it matters who you were? You're a worthless little shit and you always have been."

Scheherazade cried out in anger and swung a fist at Shariyar, catching him on his jaw. He reeled with the force of the blow, letting go of her hair as he stumbled backwards.

The girl ran towards the doors and pulled them open, dashing out before the guards had a chance to react.

"After her!" Shariyar roared at the guards, who had already sprung into action. "Bring her back!"

Scheherazade could hear the men's booted feet behind her as she sped through the palace. She raced down the marble staircase, trying desperately to remember where the entrance to the stables was.

But the guards knew the palace better than the backs of their hands, soon two had split off from the group to race through the servants' passages and emerge ahead of the girl.

Scheherazade cried out as she saw the pair emerge from a hidden door in front of her. She immediately turned to race in the other direction, but the remaining guards had caught up with her. She was trapped in the gilded hallway with nowhere left to run.

"Come on!" She screamed at the guards, her eyes alight.

The guards surrounded her hesitantly. Scheherazade's tear stained face was contorted in rage, her hands open but tense - as if she was just waiting to scratch out the eyes of the first man that tried to grab her. Finally, the two guards closest to her suddenly lunged at her arms.

Scheherazade let loose an angry cry as she fought to tear herself from the men's grasps. They dragged her, kicking and screaming and pushing and pulling, all the way back to Shariyar's chambers.

When they got to the open doors, the king was waiting. Scheherazade glared at the king but did not cease her struggle, in fact, she twisted and writhed all the more fiercely.

"Take her to the dungeon, tie her up," he snarled. "Don't bother to be gentle with the bitch either."

The guards pulled the struggling girl down the hallway and through the hidden door to the dungeons. One of the men hoisted her over his shoulder, pinning her legs under one arm so that she could not kick him as they wound down the narrow stairs. Her fists were no match to his armour but she aimed a couple well-timed elbows to the exposed section of the back of his neck.

When the guards finally strung her up, the guard she had elbowed rounded on her.

"If I thought my master would grant it, I would ask his permission to discipline you myself," he snarled.

Shariyar's voice suddenly filled the room: "You have my permission, soldier."

The man's lips curled into a grim smile: "Thank you, my king."

Scheherazade's eyes blazed as the soldier stepped back from her. He winked at her and then swung a punch directly into her stomach.

The girl cried out in pain and her knees gave way beneath her. Shariyar's eyes filled with a lustful fire as she choked down desperate breaths.

"That will be all," Shariyar said, dismissing the soldiers with a wave of his hand.

Scheherazade struggled to regain her breath as the men filed out of the room.

"I think he wanted to do more to you than what I let him," Shariyar said, circling the girl slowly.

He ran his hand across different parts of Scheherazade's body as he walked, his fingers lingering on her thigh, her forearm, her neck, her waist, her ass, her breasts...

"I could have let him do more," he whispered darkly. "I could have let him fuck you. I could have let them all fuck you."

Scheherazade slowly returned to her feet.

"Would you like that?" Shariyar asked, returning to stand before her. "Would you enjoy them grabbing at you?"

The girl inhaled deeply, her lips trembling.

Shariyar laughed quietly to himself as he placed his hands on the collar of her dress and slowly began to tear it in two. Scheherazade's breasts rose and fell sharply as they were exposed.