Scheherazade and the King Ch. 05

"She should rest here for a while," Hazim said, turning to Shariyar. "At least for the afternoon so I can monitor her condition."

"Of course," he said. "That will give the servants time to ready the chambers in the eastern wing."

"The eastern wing?" Scheherazade asked.

"Would you prefer to remain in Nasrin's room?" Shariyar asked sharply.

"No," she mumbled.

"This is the second time someone has died by my hand in that room," the king said. "I am going to have it walled-off and levelled, just as I should have done months ago."

Scheherazade fidgeted with the covers in the silence that ensued.

Hazim cleared his throat and rose to his feet: "Well, I'm going to go get you some water, Scheherazade. You are clearly dehydrated."

The doctor brushed past Shariyar, leaving him alone with the girl.

"Do you —," Shariyar's voice was low, as if he were unsure of himself. "Do you want me to stay with you?"

Scheherazade looked up at the king, her expression cryptic.

Now why would she want you to stay, huh? He berated himself as he waited for her to answer. But I saved her! Indeed... from the pot right back into the fire. She wants nothing to do with you.

"Never mind," he muttered, turning to leave.

"Shariyar," she called out, stopping him in the doorway.

"What?" He asked gruffly over his shoulder.

"Thank you," she said.

He nodded and left her without another word.

++++++++

Shariyar could barely focus on the map laid out before him. Various generals and captains pushed clay figures across the parchment, arguing about the terrain and whose battalions should be stationed where.

They had been in the middle of discussing strategies of how best to advance north into Dahae territory when Akbar had burst into the room, breathless and panicked, to tell him that Faraz was attacking Scheherazade.

He had not seen the guard's treachery coming, and that shook him more than anything else.

The maelstrom of voices in the room grew louder as the men's arguments over strategy became increasingly bitter. Finally Shariyar raised a hand to silence them.

"Let us adjourn for the evening," he said wearily. "I have had a trying day and cannot give this matter my full attention. We will reconvene in the morning."

Shariyar rose and his subjects did the same, they bowed as he and his guards filtered from the room.

They walked through the palace in silence until they reached the doors to the eastern chambers. Shariyar was about to enter the room when he suddenly stopped and turned to address his guards.

"You lost a friend and colleague today and for that I am sorry," he said gravely. "But, I assure you, Faraz will be buried with the full honour of his rank. Go home, rest. I have no need of your service tonight."

The men did not protest. After a collective bow, they disappeared down the hallway.

Shariyar sighed and pushed open the doors to the room. Once, these had been his parents' chambers. After his father's passing, Shariyar had ordered the servants to clear away the minutia of their existence that remained. He had intended the rooms to serve as guest quarters for visiting dignitaries.

Not that I've had any. He thought sullenly.

He walked into the room, taking in the low, wood-beamed ceilings and tapestried walls for the first time in years. His father had never been one for polished stone and lofty chambers, he had modelled his quarters to reflect the warmth of the dwellings that had characterised his youth before royalty.

Shariyar noticed suddenly that the gypsy was nowhere to be seen. His ears pricked as a breath of air stirred the room, carrying whispers of a melody on its wings. He crossed the chamber, pushing open the carved wooden doors that led out into the patio garden. The garden was a indeed a feat of ingenuity: A full storey above the earth, his mother had managed to grow a paradise all of her own. A pond filled with waterlilies sat in the centre of the walled oasis, shaded by the lush foliage of flowering myrtles and fragrant citrus trees.

He followed the faint sound of music down the narrow slab-stone path that led into the centre of the garden and found Scheherazade seated on the edge of the pond, plucking lazily at the strings of his father's oud beneath the light of hanging lanterns. Her bare feet tapped lightly to an off-beat rhythm inside her head while her fingers deftly coaxed a melancholy song from the ancient instrument.

Lyrics tumbled from her lips, dark and soulful: "I am captured in the shade, tangled in the net he made..."

She glanced Shariyar's way then turned her eyes back to the instrument.

"Ragged claws across the floor. How long have I been drowning for?"

Shariyar took another step towards her and started when broken glass crunched beneath his boots. He stared down in confusion at the shards of glass, the pool of red... But it was not blood.

"Gypsy, are you drunk?" He asked, his tone wavering between amusement and anger.

"I might be," she said, her fingers never breaking from their dance across the oud's strings.

"Now hush," she admonished. "Let me finish the song: I feel the salt in my veins, feel the teeth on my remains. My blood is weaker than the sea, she courses through what's left of me. And yet I hear his voice as it whispers through the dark. I can feel his fingers around my heart. I sink down, down, down into the blackest of the sea. Down, down, down not even death can set me free."

She let the last chord hang in the air and then turned her eyes to the king. He could see she was drunk. Her sharp eyes were not focused, they stared at him with half-resolved resentment.

"What do you think?" She asked. "Too dark and depressing?"

Shariyar did not answer. He turned his attention to dislodging the shards of glass from his boots.

"How about this one," she said, strumming the instrument in a livelier tune. "I went down to the shore one day, the prettiest girl did I see. I should have asked her from whence she came before 'would you marry me?' Too-lo-too-la-too-lay, she was a pretty dish! Too-lo-too-la-too-lay, too bad she was half fish!"

She chuckled to herself as the chords faded and watched as Shariyar tried to kick the larger pieces of glass off the path.

"Sorry about that," she said, her voice devoid of any real regret. "I've been testing your coping mechanism and, I have to tell you, I don't think wine is a strong enough spirit to banish my demons."

She dropped to her feet and shoved the oud into Shariyar's chest. He took it without a word, watching dumbfounded as she began to walk down the winding pathway, her bare feet narrowly missing the gleaming splinters of glass. He followed her wordlessly, his gaze hanging on her swinging hips.

Shariyar followed the girl into the chamber and rested the oud against the wall. Scheherazade pulled two glasses from a cupboard beneath the main table and filled them with wine.

"Does it help you forget?" She asked. "Or does it just make you feel like this - deeply, passionately, tragically wronged?"

Shariyar kicked off his boots and pulled his shirt over his head, throwing it to the floor. He walked towards her and ran his fingers up her spine, taking a heady breath as her body arched in response.

She spun on her heels, holding his wine out for him.

He drew his hand away to accept the glass and took a long draught. She watched him warily as she took a sip from her own cup.

"Actually," he said finally, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, "most of the time it makes me want to fuck something."

Scheherazade stepped back from him. She licked her lips as she looked him over, her eyes lingering on the trail of dark hair that snaked down from his navel, before returning her gaze to meet his.

"Seems it does not have that effect on me either," she said, her eyes simmering.

"Bloodshed makes me hungry," he said, running his tongue across his lower lip. "And the sight of you makes me thirsty."

"Oh yes, I almost forgot you like me best when I'm a bit bruised up," she said bitterly.

Something like remorse flickered in his fiery eyes as he stared at her. He reached out and gently pushed the hair from her face, revealing the purple marks beneath. His fingers drifted down the curve of her face, lingering on her lower lip.

"I'm sorry you had to see that," he said, releasing her from his touch. "I should have made you leave the room. I wasn't thinking."

She shrugged: "I've seen men die before, Shariyar."

"Ah yes, you've seen Death and you know his face is not like mine," he said, recalling her first story. "Are you sure I did not bear a slight resemblance to him today?"

"I'm certain," she said. "You're far more handsome."

Shariyar raised a brow at her: "Was that a complement, gypsy?"

"Yes, and one you should treasure," she said, pushing past him. "I'm sure it will be the last."

He followed her back out into the garden, struggling to keep his eyes and hands from the girl's ass as it swayed before him.

"Be careful of the glass," he said.

"I know," she snapped with mild annoyance, sidestepping the shattered goblet.

She sat down on the edge of the pond and dipped her fingers in the water, tracing lazy circles around the lily pads.

"Do you have pets, Shariyar?" She asked abruptly.

"No," he said, sitting down beside her. "Nasrin used to keep peacocks. The damn things were always flying up onto the roof and getting in through her window. I'd come in and she'd be reading or sewing, surrounded by a flock of squawking birds."

She watched as his lips curved in a nostalgic smile.

"Do you miss her?" She asked quietly.

He looked at her and nodded, throwing back the rest of his wine.

"We had a deal, gypsy," he reminded her. "Now that you've asked me a question about Nasrin, I get to ask you one about your former master."

"One question," she agreed quietly, taking a long drink of wine.

"Who was he?"

"Depended which side of his sword you were on," she said. "To his own people he was a hero, to the rest of the world, he was nothing more than a thief and pirate."

"What was his name?"

"No," she said, shaking her head. "You only get one question about him."

"Fine," he said. "But there's something else I want to know: Where did you get that dagger?"

He was certain he knew the answer and he tried to prepare himself mentally for what she would say.

"It was hidden in the queen's chamber," she said.

Shariyar nodded grimly and turned away from the girl. His queen had given herself, not one, but two opportunities to kill him.

He looked at her suddenly: "But you didn't use it on me?"

Scheherazade's countenance was stony as she replied: "I only found it this morning."

"Were you planning to kill me, gypsy?" He growled, his handsome features contorting viciously.

The girl eyed him almost idly: "I had not made up my mind."

"Well then perhaps I should be grateful that my guard attacked you," Shariyar snapped bitterly.

Scheherazade's eyes lit up angrily and she was on her feet in a moment, rounding on the monarch with sudden and uncharacteristic savagery.

"Believe me, Shariyar," she snarled, slamming a pointed finger into his chest, "if that blade hadn't been for you, it would have been for me."

Shariyar was taken aback by the girl's sudden strength. He took her in with wide eyes: Her bruised face, her wine-soaked lips, the tempest raging in her eyes. Before she could protest, his hand was on the back of her neck, pulling her forcefully towards him so that he could capture her mouth in a kiss.

He stood up as he kissed her, holding her against his bare chest with his other hand at the small of her back. Slowly he felt her fists unclench and she dug her nails lightly into his skin, dragging them across his chest as she kissed him back.

Shariyar bit at her lower lip as he pulled away from her, eliciting a low moan that made his cock stir.

"I think I like you better drunk, gypsy," he said breathlessly.

Scheherazade closed her eyes and tried to push him away, her limbs suddenly heavy under their own weight.

"Let me go, Shariyar," she said. "I don't feel well."

"Oh you'll feel much better in a few moments," he murmured lustily, drawing her into his arms. He walked with her deeper into the garden until they reached a grassy space beneath an old wisteria that clung to the stone walls with gnarled fingers.

He set her on her feet and pushed her up against the wall, her back pressing against the creeping branches of the wisteria as he kissed her.

She tried to hold him at arm's length but she did not have the strength or the energy to struggle against him for long.

"No, stop," she moaned as his mouth moved to her neck and his hands lifted her dress around her waist.

"I can't," he breathed, pushing his pants down just far enough to free his throbbing cock.

Scheherazade clamped her eyes shut as Shariyar wrapped his arms under her thighs, grabbing her ass with both hands and lifting her off the ground. He positioned his member at the opening of her sex and thrust the crown of his cock inside her. He withdrew and Scheherazade's eyes flashed open. He pushed inside her again, giving her a couple more inches of his cock before pulling out again.

"Do you want it, gypsy?" He asked. "Do you want all of my cock inside you?"

The girl cried out as he drove the tip of his member inside her again. Shariyar laughed breathlessly as he pulled out once again, his cock dripping with precum as he pressed it against her pussy.

"Tell me you want it," he said.

"Let me go," Scheherazade whimpered.

"Tell me you want it," he repeated, giving her another inch of his dick.

He needed her to say it. He needed her to say it now. Shariyar's balls were aching they were so heavy with cum.

"This will all be over soon if you just say it," he murmured.

She pushed him away weakly, her hands resting against his chest.

"Just say you want my cock, say you want me," Shariyar pressed. "Say it and it will be over soon."

The head of his cock brushed against her pussy, leaving a glistening trail of precum across her skin. He pushed himself inside her and then pulled out, repeating the motion again and again.

"Say it, gypsy," he snarled. "Say it."

Scheherazade nodded her head and closed her eyes. But that was not good enough.

Shariyar pushed her harder against the wall and she cried out as a branch snapped against her.

"Say it," he murmured fiercely.

The girl looked at him, her eyes wide and unfocused but all the more blue for the tears that swam in them. He glanced down at his cock, its crown teasing the entrance to her sex, and then back up at her. His eyes burned her with desire.

"I want you," she whispered, her voice barely audible.

Shariyar growled and thrust the full length of his cock inside her before she even had the chance to finish her sentence. He buried himself so deep inside her that she cried out, her sobs echoing into the night as he pummelled her mercilessly.

He revelled in every whimpering noise she made, biting at her neck as he forced himself deeper and deeper inside her.

"Fuck, gypsy," he snarled. "Fuck you're tight."

Scheherazade moaned and pushed her palm against his face. He laughed and sucked one of her fingers into his mouth, raking his teeth across her skin. She pulled her hand away and slapped him across his face. Shariyar just growled and fucked her harder, his fingers leaving ten perfect bruises on her ass.

"Go on, gypsy," he said, "fight back."

She stared into his eyes helplessly, her lips trembling as she moaned.

"Fight back," he purred mockingly. "Come on, show me what you're made of."

The tears that filled the girl's eyes trickled forth slowly and Shariyar leaned forward to kiss her tear-stained cheek, savouring the salty taste of her skin.

"I'm going to cum," he whispered. "Tell me you want it."

Her eyes flashed angrily and he buried his nails in her flesh. She cried out and pushed against him, the wisteria branches digging into her flesh as she struggled away from him with renewed vigour.

Shariyar laughed breathlessly and pulled her harshly towards him, impaling her tight pussy on his cock.

"Say it," he commanded, his voice harsh.

Scheherazade's eyes snapped into focus for a moment and her nostrils flared angrily at him.

"Fuck you," she snarled.

Shariyar leaned forward and kissed her, groaning into her mouth as he came. His teeth grazed her lips as he emptied his balls inside her, the force of his orgasm sending a shiver down his whole body. He pulled away from her, his cock slipping from inside her.

She waited for him to drop her, but he did not. He kept her pinned against the wall, his abdomen tight as he panted.

He suddenly smiled up at her smugly. Scheherazade looked down and saw his half-erect cock still pointed at her. But that was not what he was looking at. She groaned in humiliation as his cum dripped from her pussy.

Shariyar let the girl go, stumbling backwards from exertion. She sunk to her knees, cum leaking onto her thighs.

"Gypsy," he panted, "I've waited too long to have you again to stop now."

The king stood over her, his hand around his cock as he coaxed himself easily to another erection. He placed a hand on the back of her head and pulled her face towards his groin.

Scheherazade looked up at him and saw the stars spinning over his head.

"Open your mouth," he said, running his cock across her cheeks.

The girl felt the tip of his cock brush across her lips and she parted them. He filled her mouth immediately with a satisfied groan, pushing his full length inside her mouth until his dick was at the back of her throat.

Scheherazade clamped her eyes shut, tears spilling down her cheeks as he held her head in place and fucked her throat, choking her with each thrust. She could feel the dark hair that covered his testicles brushing against her chin as he drove inside her. She wanted to bite him, to hear him roar out in pain instead of pleasure, but she had no fight left in her wine-weary limbs. Every inch of her body felt heavy, every muscle slack.

Shariyar withdrew his cock and wiped it across her face, moaning slightly at the sight of his member trailing saliva and precum across her skin.

He let go of her head and Scheherazade collapsed backwards, closing her eyes to the swimming world as she tried to catch her breath.

Shariyar knelt between her legs and ripped her dress down the middle, his broad hands rending the thin fabric with ease. The girl shivered as he pulled the dress apart to expose her breasts, her rosy nipples hardening at the sudden touch of the cool night air.

The king ran his hands over her body, his palms moulding to every curve and plane as they swept down her torso. He ran his fingers over the marks his guard's attack had left on her pale skin, tracing the thin outline of teethmarks around one of her nipples.

Did I do that? He wondered. Or did Faraz?

Shariyar lowered his head and sunk his teeth into her breast right where the marks were, running his tongue over her erect nipple as he did.

The girl whimpered and clutched fistfuls of grass and sod, digging her hands into the earth as she felt his hardening erection brushing against her lower belly. Shariyar raised his head, his teeth still around her nipple until it slipped from between them.

He settled between her thighs, pushing his cock against the entrance to her sex.

"Do you see the effect you have on me?" He asked breathlessly. "You're still wet with my cum and yet I'm ready to fuck you again."