Scheherazade and the King Ch. 08

It is dark. Dark and dank.

She felt as if she were being returned to a nightmare from which she had long hoped to have woken from and left behind forever. The only light came from a lantern that a trailing sailor held up behind them.

The guards pushed her into a barred cell and loosed her wrists. The sailor locked the door, looking at her with a curiosity that would have set her hairs on end had she been of a mind to notice his gaze.

She looked but did not see as the sailor led the guards up the stairs. The hatch closed behind them with a heavy thud and she heard another lock move into place.

Scheherazade stood in the darkness for a long time, considering the gentle movement of the wooden planks beneath her feet. The foul-smelling bilge water sloshed around her ankles.

Just as she used to do when Zigor locked her in the brig, she held up a hand to her face. She moved her fingers but, even though they were mere inches from her face, she could not see them.

++++++++

Shariyar woke with the dawn but did not get out of bed. He sat for hours, glaring at the thin rays of sun beaming in through the gaps of the curtains. His head thundered as if he had been drinking all night.

He turned his back to the morning sun and pulled the covers over his head, groaning into his pillow.

What have I done?

What I had to... She lied to me. She's a traitor.

...And the best thing that ever happened to me.

He turned over and threw off the covers, dragging himself out of bed and into the bathing room.

Shariyar's heart sank when he saw the ball gown Scheherazade had left draped across the back of a chair. He ran his hands along the fabric before grabbing the dress in his fists. He threw it to the ground and stormed back into his room.

For hours he moped around his chambers, ignoring every knock at his door.

Finally, Jafar's voice came through the door: "Shariyar? What's the matter with you? I'd ask if you were hungover but I know for damn certain you didn't drink."

"Go away!" Shariyar groaned.

The vizier pounded at the door: "What's wrong?"

"I said go away!"

The door opened and Jafar pushed his way inside.

Shariyar threw his hands in the air: "Oh, well, please! Come on in!"

The vizier strained to see in the dim light: "Why is it so dark in here? Open up the curtains."

"I don't want to," he moaned, sinking into his chair. "Just leave me alone."

"What's happened?" He asked, drawing open one of the curtains slightly to let some light and air into the room.

Shariyar shielded his eyes from the light and growled.

"Where is Scheherazade?"

"She's gone," Shariyar spat, sweeping his arm across the table and knocking the scrolls to the floor.

Jafar knelt down and scooped up the papers. His heart sank when he saw the wanted poster. He scanned the letter from Ekaitz and then rolled the papers into his fist.

"Shariyar, you have to come with me."

"Why?" He snarled. "Yet another woman I loved has betrayed me! Why can't you just leave me alone?"

"Because a group of Irlazken ambassadors arrived this morning. They are searching for —"

"I know damn well who they were searching for. You can tell them that I've already sent the traitorous whore back to their kingdom."

"No, Shariyar, you don't... They aren't looking for a traitor. They are looking for Princess Yanamari."

"Yanamari?" The name stirred some long forgotten memories.

"What does this have to do with Scheherazade?" He murmured, his mouth strangely dry all of a sudden.

"I don't know. But they had a copy of this very same notice."

++++++++

Scheherazade sat on a small wooden crate at the back of the cell, the rotting wood threatening to break under her weight at any moment.

The only sounds were that of the waves outside the ship, the groan of timber, and the occasional choked sob from Scheherazade's throat when she remembered the hurt and betrayal in Shariyar's eyes.

The sudden sound of a bolt sliding jarred her into reality and she stood up quickly.

A hand lowered a lantern in through the hatch, fumbling around until the lantern finally latched onto a hook. She watched as the same sailor who had helped lock her in the brig clambered down the steps, a flagon in one hand and a plate of food in the other. He jumped the last few steps and landed on the deck with a splash.

"And how is the prisoner doing so far?" He taunted. "Hm? Enjoying the journey so far? I hope your quarters are to your liking. Not as nice as what you had in the palace, I'm sure."

Scheherazade felt her back press against the hull of the ship and realised she had been retreating unconsciously.

"Aw, come on. Step back into the light," the sailor sneered. "Let me have a good look at you."

The girl did not move.

"If you want to eat, you'll do as I say," he said.

Scheherazade stepped forward cautiously.

The sailor held the flagon through the bars and she took it warily, draining it of its contents in a few gulps.

"Thirsty girl," the sailor chuckled as she placed the empty mug in his outstretched hand.

He placed the flagon on the steps behind him and held the plate of food up to the bars. Scheherazade reached for the plate but, as soon as she came within reach, the man grabbed her by the neck and pulled her against the bars of her cell. She gasped out a cry as her forehead came in contact with iron. The sailor laughed, digging his fingers harshly into her neck before pushing her away. He chuckled as she tumbled to her knees.

"Stupid bitch," he taunted.

She glowered up at him as he sat down on the steps and surveyed the plate of food resting in his lap.

"I've been surviving on half-rations. Something to do with sleeping during watch or some shit," he grumbled. "I have half a mind to eat this, unless..."

He leered at her: "If you let me stick my cock in your mouth, I might just let you share this food with me."

Scheherazade upper lip curled in disgust and she picked herself up, returning to sit on the crate at the back of her cell.

"What? Is my cock not good enough for the sultan's slut?" He taunted, abandoning the plate of food on the steps. He walked up to the bars of her cell and pulled his member from his trousers, letting his flaccid length dangle through the metal grate.

"Just a quick suck," he breathed lustily.

"Fuck off," Scheherazade snarled, turning away from him.

"I'm not going anywhere until I'm satisfied," the sailor said, wrapping his callused fingers around his dick and stroking himself to an erection.

"You could bend over and place that little ass of yours right here," he murmured, his fingers moving faster. "I'd pummel you real good. Better than you've ever had it. I'd fill you up with my cock and empty my balls deep inside you."

She swore and buried her head in her knees.

"I haven't felt a pussy around my dick in months," he continued, his eyes fixed on her. "Do you taste good, whore? Do you have a tight little pussy?"

Scheherazade tried not to listen to the sailor's taunts but she could not help but listen. Tears spilled down her cheeks unbidden.

"I bet you'd look good with my cum all over your face. Dripping down those rosy cheeks of yours. Or maybe I'll cum on your tits. Oh, fuck yes. I'll spend my seed all over your breasts, let my cum drip from your nipples. Cum-stained whore. Fuck —"

Scheherazade couldn't help but shudder as she heard the sailor groan. She didn't dare open her eyes to see the strands of milky cum dissipating in the foul bilge water. She tried not to cry aloud as the sailor tucked into her meal and promised to do the same thing on the morrow unless she presented either her open mouth or her naked pussy to him.

Finally, she heard him ascend the steps, unhook the lantern, close the hatch and lock the bolt in place. She opened her eyes and was relieved to see nothing but darkness.

++++++++

Shariyar's foul temper seemed to emanate from him as he stalked through the palace. Jafar followed behind him anxiously.

Shahzaman could not have foreseen this... I have to get word to him.

The king pushed the doors to the throne room wide and sank into the grand chair like a petulant child.

"Show them in," he growled.

Another set of doors opened wide and a small band of old men bustled in. They were cloaked in ceremonial robes and one carried a pennant of three dolphins looped in a circle. For reasons unknown to him, Shariyar's stomach did a slight flip.

The old man at the head of the convoy bowed before the king and his companions quickly followed suit.

Shariyar glanced at Jafar and the vizier saw the quiet look of panic in his friend's eyes.

"Allow us to welcome you to Persepolis," Jafar said, quickly realising that his ruler was at a loss for words. "Please, introduce yourselves and state your business to His Highness Shariyar, King of Kings and Emperor of Persia."

Shariyar threw a grateful glance his way and Jafar nodded subtly.

"Your Highness, I am Kuiril, formerly the Chief Advisor to the late King Mikolas of Irlazken — may his soul sail peacefully in the beyond — and now, I'm afraid, a traitor to the current King Ekaitz," the old man said, his voice stronger than his aged frame led Shariyar to anticipate.

It took the king a moment or two to grasp the full meaning of Kuiril's statement.

"Traitor?" He asked in bewilderment.

"I am afraid so," the old man said. "We are the last that remains of the late king's cabinet and we were true to King Mikolas' orders, even to the point of betraying our country's current leader."

"What were your orders, exactly?" Shariyar pressed. "Why do you have that notice?"

"Perhaps, I should start from the beginning?" Kuiril asked, raising a silver brow in the king's direction as if he were a school teacher reigning in an eager student.

"Yes, yes," Shariyar muttered. "Someone get them some chairs."

The conversation took a pause as Shariyar's guards and attendants all rushed to assemble enough chairs to seat the elderly convoy. Finally, Shariyar waved his hand for Kuiril to proceed.

"You may not remember this, your Highness, for you were just a boy at the time, but you were once betrothed to the youngest daughter of our illustrious ruler," the ambassador peered expectantly at the king.

"I — I remember," he rasped, his mouth suddenly dry again.

"That was Princess Yanamari. She is the reason we are here today, and the reason we have travelled thousands of leagues over the past several years. Though King Mikolas scoured the known world for her, she was not to be found in his lifetime. Ever since his passing, we have continued his search in the hopes that we may be able to fulfil his dying wish that she be found and returned to her throne."

Although he feared he knew exactly the answer, Shariyar asked breathlessly: "What happened to her?"

"The unthinkable," Kuiril said, his voice low. "I'm sure you've heard of the pirate Zigor. He has almost passed into the realm of legend in Irlazken, so terrible were his crimes against our country. For all the years he sailed the high seas, he was a threat to the security of our island nation. He plundered our shipping lanes relentlessly. It was only due to the sheer size and strength of our navy that our kingdom was able to resist his fleet. Finally, however, he did what no one ever thought him brazen enough to do... His horde of heathens attacked one of our coastal cities, knowing full well that was where the royal family took their summers. He breached the palace easily — it was not well guarded and he had the element of surprise. But, as fate would have it, the only member of the royal family there at the time was the young princess Yanamari. She was ill and had been sent there to recover by the royal physician. It wasn't the boon Zigor had hoped for but a princess is a princess. He kidnapped her and demanded a ransom that would have amounted to ruin for our kingdom."

Shariyar's heart felt like it might leap from his throat at any moment.

"We could not pay and the great king would not ask for aid. He was too proud. That was when he received a message from Yanamari. The pirate had made her write to her father but she had included a secret message in code. She told him not to pay the ransom. She argued that her life was not worth the security of the kingdom and that, if the king refused to pay, Zigor would realise he had no power over them."

"He didn't pay?" Shariyar gasped incredulously.

The ambassador shook his head: "He denounced Yanamari as a traitor to the kingdom instead and placed a bounty on both her head and Zigor's."

"So... the girl on the notice —"

"Is Yanamari, the lost princess of Irlazken."

Shariyar buried his head in his hands and hunched over. His fingers gripped his skull so tightly they turned white.

"No, no, no, no!" He cried, leaping to his feet.

"What — what's wrong?" The ambassador stuttered. He looked to Jafar, hoping for some explanation or for guidance on how to act but the vizier's eyes were tightly shut and he was muttering obscenities quietly but audibly under his breath.

"I thought I was doing the right thing!" Shariyar roared, directing the statement to Jafar.

"Well — once again — you didn't!" Jafar snarled.

"I thought she was a traitor!" Shariyar cried, this time addressing Kuiril. "I didn't know!"

"What have you done?" The ambassador asked, rising to his feet

"A girl washed ashore here several months ago. She had no memories of her past other than the fact that she was once a prisoner of the pirate Zigor. I tried to help her find out who she was. I sent her portrait to every ruler friendly to this empire and only one response came back."

"Ekaitz!" Kuiril growled, slamming a fist against his open palm.

A grumble of anger rippled through the elderly convoy and soon they were all on their feet.

"He said she was a traitor!" Shariyar exclaimed. "Why doesn't he want her found? Why did you have to become outlaws to search for her?"

"Ekaitz is a grasping social climber whose sole ambition has been to attain power," another ambassador rejoined suddenly. "No one paid much attention when he caught the eye of the eldest princess and no one batted an eye when they were married within a month. Rumours circulated but... well he was a decorated naval officer! It was only when both the princess and her father died under rather suspicious circumstances that the rumours of his true nature began to become more than mere hearsay."

"That's right," Kuiril said. "When I announced my intentions to find Yanamari and restore the legitimate bloodline to the throne, he sent assassins to my chambers! The same thing happened to several other members of the late king's council that night. We were the only ones to escape with our lives."

"And now it has all been in vain!" One of the old men moaned.

"No! It has not been!" Shariyar cried. "I was acting on the information I had and I thought I was doing the right thing... But I will do the right thing now. I am going to save Yanamari and restore her to her rightful place on the throne!"

He walked down the steps from the throne to grasp Kuiril's hands: "Can I count on your help?"

The ambassador glanced over at his comrades and, once each man had nodded his assent, he gripped Shariyar's hand firmly and nodded: "We intend to see our mission through."

++++++++

Shariyar fell to action immediately, ordering that word be sent to the Raja to abandon its mission and turn back. It was quickly understood, however, that word would not reach the ship in time. Shariyar was then instantly prepared to sound out orders for a full-scale invasion of the island nation. It took Jafar and the ambassadors a good hour to convince him that such a plan was not a good idea.

"It will be seen as an unprovoked act of aggression," Jafar reasoned, trying to maintain his objectivity. "Irlazken is a pivotal trade nation. Persia cannot be perceived as attacking without reason."

"It's not without reason!" Shariyar cried exasperatedly.

"To the rest of the world, it is," Kuiril agreed sombrely. "As much as I would have you storm the castle with the full force of the Persian imperial army, I'm afraid I must agree with your vizier."

"Besides that, it will take too long!" One of the Irlazkens chimed in. "As soon as that ship docks in Irlazken, she will be in mortal danger."

"Then what do you suggest?" Shariyar cried.

"Give me two hours," Jafar said cryptically.

Shariyar threw his hands in the air dejectedly.

"Trust me," the vizier said before taking his leave.

Shariyar's head was swimming when he directed his attendants to escort the ambassadors to the main hall for dinner. They ate in determined silence and, for his part, Shariyar was too dejected to enjoy his meal. His heart felt like a tonne of bricks in his chest and he climbed the stairs with legs that felt like lead. When he finally closed the door to his room a few hours later, he was too overwhelmed with emotion to notice the darkling figure standing in the shadows of the balcony.

Only when he felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end did he turn around. And, when he did, he found the tip of a sword pressing into the delicate flesh at his throat. His amber eyes followed the glinting line of steel to the gloved hand at the hilt, then up the black-clothed arm, then to the scarred visage and silver eyes of a man whose memory haunted him more than even Nasrin's.

"Hello brother."

Shariyar gasped: "Shahzaman."

"If you're going to have any hope of saving that girl, you're going to need my help."