Note to the reader: This is a sequel to my first story, "The Princess and the Vizier", in which the wicked Vizier uses his powers of enchantment and illusion to foil the schemes of our heroes, the beautiful Princess Shaia and her lover Issam. If you haven't, I encourage you to read that one first. Though, if you prefer to dive straight in, that's okay too.
*****
Issam paced in his cell. He ran his hands along the cold, rough stone. Mostly, though, he brooded.
Issam was a man who had risked everything and lost.
Just a few short nights ago he had been within a hair's breadth of becoming a member of the royal household and one of the most powerful people in the kingdom, with all the delights and pleasures the mortal world could offer at his fingertips.
But, a few short nights ago -- he guessed -- time was hard to track, he had blundered. And blundered. And blundered.
He ran through his failures over, and over again. Adding new ones to the list as they occurred to him. They should have chosen a different place to attack. They should have chosen a different time. They shouldn't have trusted in the amulet.
But mostly he regretted his actions at the end, when he allowed himself to be seduced by the Vizier's phantasms. When he had caved to his lust and fucked to his heart's desire instead of renewing the struggle. The old man had been distracted, Issam reminded himself. Surely, he could have moved quick enough.
"I was weak. I was weak. I was weak," he muttered to himself.
After a time, Issam sat down and started to strain his ears towards the door at the far end of the dungeon.
He was waiting for the heavy footsteps of the two slate-faced guards that brought his meals. They were big men. Heavily built, strong, with clever, probing eyes. Armed with cudgels and knives and wearing grungy armor.
Issam hated them. They were just like the marketplace guards he had been contending with his entire life, excepting that these two made no mistakes. And so, they gave him no hope. In a very real way, Issam found them more terrifying than the Vizier. The mundanity of it made it real, and that much harder to put out of his mind.
He sat and he waited and he brooded and he listened, but the guards never came.
Instead, when the door finally opened, it was a young woman that stepped through.
Issam gaped -- not just because the routine had changed, ever so slightly, but because the young woman was beautiful. Stunning, even. Perhaps the loveliest creature he had ever laid eyes on. In his shock, Issam allowed himself to eye the woman up and down -- taking in her fine features and her glowing skin and her luxurious hair and her striking eyes. Taking in the splendid swell of breast and the narrow waist and the sensual curve of her hip.
He hurried to his feet, even though he couldn't say why.
The woman, her eyes averted to the ground, moved tentatively towards Issam's cell. She set the bowl roughly to the ground, and then cautiously nudged it the rest of the way with her toe.
"Um. Hello. I am Issam" the caged man said.
The golden-haired woman's eyes flickered upwards for the barest of moments before she directed them back downward. Issam watched curiously as the girl flushed -- a fine pink spreading across her nose and cheeks and ears.
"I'm not sure if... Uh...", she managed to peep out -- and she turned and fled through the door.
Issam was stunned. He had never expected to see a woman again, let alone a beautiful one. But as the day drug on, he couldn't escape the conclusion that he was being toyed with by the Vizier, and that she was one of his creations -- designed to torment him anew. And besides, somewhere out there was Shaia. Just a few days ago she had been the love of his life. He would not forget her so soon. And so, he brooded. And brooded. And brooded.
The next day, though (as best he could guess), he couldn't help but grin when the beautiful young woman appeared through the dungeon door, instead of the two dour guards. Again, she held her eyes to the ground as she cautiously approached Issam's cage, the bowl of gruel held gingerly at arm's length.
"I suppose you're not supposed to talk to me," Issam began, "but please, at least tell me if Princess Shaia is safe. Nod, if you won't speak."
The beautiful girl glanced, briefly, at Issam -- and the young man was warmed by the sight of it. Even her glances were piercing. She nodded, slowly. "She is the master's favorite treasure. He wouldn't let any harm befall her." She smiled, perhaps a little sadly, "She is very lucky." The young woman set the bowl down, as before, and nudged it close enough to Issam's cell.
"That is good, at least," Issam replied, as he basked briefly in the feeling of relief, waiting for the girl to leave. But the girl idled around, fidgeting a little, throwing tiny glances his way, and blushing prettily. Issam watched her as she paced about the chamber. She would have been interesting under the best of circumstances, but for a man who had nothing to look at but stone walls and metal bars, she was captivating. The woman absently bit her lip. The woman brushed a stray hair out of her face. Finally, the girl took a deep breath,
"My name is Alya" she said, barely above a whisper. She threw another one of her quick, furtive glances towards Issam. The caged man grinned and stuck an arm through the bars of his cage, offering his hand to her.
"It is a pleasure to meet you, Alya."
The girl's eyes finally met Issam's. She smiled and took his hand and stepped closer to the cell, almost pressing up against the bars. Issam was very, very aware of her closeness. Issam took her other hand. He relished the feel of her warm, smooth skin, of her delicate fingers. He stared into her striking eyes. She stared back into his. Eventually, after a long time, she broke the near-embrace.
"I need to go. I will be back tomorrow," and she fled.
It took longer, this time, for Issam to recover from the young woman's visit. She was beautiful, of course -- Issam recalled her biting her lip and thought impure thoughts, and Issam was deeply moved by her kindness. But still, after she left, Issam begain to brood. She was a trick, of course. An instrument of torment. And, of course, there was still Shaia. Issam didn't know if she was supposed to torment him denial, or by seducing him away from his true love, or both. He supposed it didn't matter, really. He would be tormented. Even though he would never see her again, Issam did not want to feel lust, again. Not so soon after losing Shaia. Not so soon after his own lust had doomed him. Not so soon after losing everything.
And even still, the next day, when it was Alya who came through the dungeon door, Issam's heart swelled.
He moved directly to the bars of his cell. She moved directly to him. Through the bars, they took each other into their arms. Without knowing what he was doing, Issam pulled her close and ran a hand through her hair. He breathed in the scent of her and whispered, "Hello, Alya."
Alya ran her hands up Issam's back, she pressed her cheek to his and whispered, "Hello, Issam," and then she drew him in for a kiss. Issam did not resist. Their lips pressed against each other's, their hand drifted. Slowly, their caresses grew in tempo and chaos. Issam reached for the closure of Alya's dress, at the nape of her neck. She did not object as he began to undo it. The clothing fell halfway down her torso and Issam palmed one of her perfect breasts. He pressed himself closer towards her as he felt her delicate fingers begin to play over the front of his pants.
The pair was so absorbed in their spontaneous tryst, that neither heard the footsteps coming down the hall. They both started when the dungeon door opened -- Alya fleeing halfway across the room, clutching the top of her dress to herself, Issam hurling himself towards the back of his cell.
The Vizier, of course, stepped through opened door. And behind him trailed none other than Shaia. In the gloom of his imprisonment, he had forgotten how truly beautiful she was.
Issam groaned. The Vizier smirked. Alya whimpered. Shaia surveyed the situation and instantly understood. Her face flashed through an array of emotions -- shock, dismay, rage -- but she quickly schooled herself into a look of neutral disinterest.
"See, my Queen?" the Vizier murmured, "Your old toy is alive and well, despite his crimes. Just as I told you, I am a merciful man, and true to my word."
Issam couldn't help but notice that word -- Queen. A pet name? Or a title? Had the Vizier moved so fast as that? He watched as Shaia worked her jaw. Shaia stared daggers back at him, "You do not lie, my King, and I am glad for it." She did a credible job of concealing the fury behind her voice, Issam thought.
"But, oh dear. I fear we have interrupted one of the maids tending to him." The Vizier continued, looking up and down at Alya. "Young woman, do not let us interrupt. Continue with your duties." -- The older man gestured elegantly at Issam's cell. Alya did not hesitate. Still clutching her dress to herself, she moved dutifully towards the cell, beckoning Issam over. Issam did not move.
