Scheherazade And The King Ch 05

Disclaimer: Thank you for everyone's patience while I finished writing my thesis - I'm so sorry you all had to wait so long for this update. Hopefully you'll find this chapter worth the wait. Thank you, also, to those who have written comments and sent me feedback. As per a reader's suggestion, I have tried to work in some Farsi vocabulary and phrases. However, since I don't actually speak the language, I've had to rely on the internet, so I apologise to any fluent speakers if I've used a word or phrase incorrectly (or if the swear words are much more offensive than I thought). Also, I promise you there are no more silly career/school issues standing in the way of Chapter 6. I hope you all enjoy reading this chapter as much as I enjoyed writing it.

*****

Scheherazade shot up in bed as Shariyar swung the doors to the queen's chamber wide.

"Oh dear, did I wake you?" The king asked mockingly.

"Apparently not," she replied, sinking back down into the covers. "Seems I'm still trapped in this nightmare."

Shariyar walked towards her slowly, a smile playing about his lips: "So you know what day it is?"

The girl rolled over and did not answer.

Shariyar reached out and ran a finger down the folds of her dress, toying with the hem.

"You won't be needing this anymore," he murmured, pulling the edge of her dress up.

Lightning flashed in the girl's stormy eyes as she sat up in bed, struggling to hold the hem of her dress down.

"Come on, gypsy, take it off," he purred, pulling her closer so that his lips brushed against her ear. His hands found their way around and gripped the front of her dress, pulling it sharply up so that her arms were trapped. Shariyar stood up from the bed and pulled at the fabric. Scheherazade tumbled onto the floor with an angry cry before the shift finally came up over her head. She hugged her arms around herself, curling up against the bed frame.

"Don't be shy, girl," Shariyar said, balling the dress in his hands and throwing it across the room. "I know every inch of you - I own every inch of you. Show me what is mine."

Scheherazade stood up slowly and let her arms hang at her sides. The fire in the king's eyes smouldered as they combed over her body. He stepped towards her, his clothes brushing against her just enough to make her nipples blossom. He wrapped an arm around her waist to keep her still as he lowered his head and took one of her breasts in his mouth. Scheherazade struggled against him, her fingers digging into his scalp as she tried to push his head away. Shariyar glanced up into her angry eyes and then bit down harshly on her nipple. Scheherazade cried out in surprise and pain, and she let go of Shariyar's hair abruptly. The king laughed and ran his tongue around her swollen nipple one last time before rising to meet her gaze.

"Kiss me," he commanded.

The girl pulled her face away from his with a contemptuous snarl, renewing her struggle to escape his grip. Shariyar smiled and let her go suddenly so that she fell backwards against the bed. Scheherazade gasped as she crashed into the bed frame, pain shooting up her spine as she crumpled to the floor.

"I don't have time to give you what you want this morning," Shariyar said, bending down between the girl's sprawled legs. "But I will be back this afternoon to give that tight little

kos

of yours the fucking it deserves."

Scheherazade glared up at him and her full lips shook with each heavy breath she took.

Shariyar smirked at her defiance and reached out to run his thumb across her bottom lip.

"You have the most beautiful lips," he murmured. "And they look even redder and fuller after you've sucked my cock."

Scheherazade's nostrils flared angrily and Shariyar chuckled to himself, his thumb lingering on her lip.

"Bite me," he whispered suddenly.

The girl's eyes widened slightly in suspicion and then closed as she gently closed her mouth around his thumb.

"Harder."

Her eyes fluttered open and she looked at him warily. To be sure, she wanted to do nothing more than bite him, to make him bleed, even if only a little, but she could not understand what he wanted.

"Do it," he said, his voice thick with impatience. He could feel her tongue brushing against his finger as she finally acquiesced. Her teeth sank viciously into his flesh and her eyes closed again.

If she had kept them open, she might have seen the way his eyes closed in pleasure and the way his body tensed at the pain.

He pulled his thumb from her mouth suddenly. And as she opened her eyes in surprise, he delivered a stinging slap across her cheek.

"

Kesafat e goh

!" She cried, clasping a hand over her cheek. "What was that for?"

Shariyar grabbed her chin and pulled her face sharply towards his, taking her mouth in a searing kiss before she shoved him away.

"I felt like it," he shrugged, rising to his feet.

"You are absolutely insane," she growled, pulling herself onto the bed.

The king ignored her, walking across the room to pick up her dress. He threw the shift over his shoulder and made to leave.

"Shariyar!" Scheherazade called, springing to her feet. "I need my dress. Hazim is coming to see me one last time."

He glanced over his shoulder, one hand on the door handle: "No you don't. As I recall, Hazim has also seen every inch of you."

And with that he closed the door behind him, turning the key in the lock.

++++++++

Scheherazade walked around and around the empty room as she waited for Hazim, running the tips of her fingers gently across the walls as she paced.

Suddenly her fingers ran across a slightly raised patch of the otherwise perfectly smooth wall. She leaned closer, looking in confusion at the uneven surface. It was nearly impossible to see, it looked so much like the rest of the marbled rock. Scheherazade scraped at the smooth material with her fingernail, watching as it curled away in fine strips.

It's wax!

She realised suddenly.

It's been painted to look like the rest of the wall...

The girl dug at the edge of the wax until she peeled a corner loose, pulling it away from the wall in one smooth, rectangular piece.

She cradled the wax carefully in one hand while the other explored the slim, rough hole that had been carved out of the wall. Her fingers quickly met with a coarse piece of cloth and she tugged the bundle lose.

Scheherazade knelt down, placing the strip of wax on the floor so that she could unwrap the burlap. A small dagger fell into her hand, the handle made of raw, unpolished wood.

The girl dropped the piece of cloth to the floor and held the knife up, examining it in one of the slim rays of light that shone through the barricaded windows.

"Oh Nasrin, you clever woman," she murmured, fingering the knife's edge cautiously.

Noises from Shariyar's chamber brought her abruptly back to the present. She stuffed the fabric back inside the hole in the rock and tried as best she could to align the patterns painted across the wax with the ones the ran across the wall despite her trembling fingers. She pressed the wax covering in place and then dashed to the bed, wedging the dagger beneath the mattress. She pulled the sheet from the bed and just managed to wrap it around herself when the door opened.

Scheherazade breathed a sigh of relief when Hazim walked in, sitting down on the bed heavily.

"Oh my!" He gasped, rushing to her side as the guards pulled the door shut. "Are you all right?"

"I'm fine," Scheherazade said, trying to calm her racing heart. "I was just scared that it would be Shariyar and not you."

"I'm so sorry," the doctor said, his voice heavy with remorse. "If there was anything I could do —"

"You have already done so much for me," Scheherazade interrupted.

"And yet it is hardly enough."

"Well then I must ask you to do something else for me," she said.

"Anything, my dear!"

Scheherazade reached beneath the mattress and pulled out the letter she had stolen from Shariyar.

"He has spies watching the mail," she said, handing it to him.

The doctor sat down on the bed beside her, shaking his head as he stared down at the drawing.

"If he finds out you took this —"

"It will be nothing worse than what he already has in store for me," she said shortly. "But can you send it again? Can you make sure it gets past the city limits without being intercepted?"

"I will find a way," the old man vowed, tucking the letter inside his medicine bag.

"Thank you," Scheherazade breathed.

"But this means... he must have had a reason for not wanting your description circulated," the doctor mused gravely. "Perhaps he knows something of your past he's not letting on."

"I doubt it," she said, shaking her head sadly. "He would do it out of pure spite."

"Well, someone out there must know who you are, Scheherazade," the doctor said, rising to his feet with a renewed sense of purpose. "And I will do everything in my power to help you find them."

Scheherazade smiled gratefully and thanked the old man as he left the room but his words did little to lift her heart. She lay down on the bed, her hand still clutching the sheet closed at her chest, and stared at the patterned ceiling.

I have a choice now.

She reached underneath the mattress and pulled the dagger free. She held it above her, entranced by the glimmers of light that danced upon the knife's edge.

So... whose throat are you meant for?

She wondered darkly.

His? Or mine?

She tucked the dagger beneath the mattress and closed her eyes.

It was a terrible choice.

++++++++

The morning wore on slowly, the queen's room growing hotter and hotter as midday approached. Scheherazade had long abandoned her modesty to the heat and she lay naked on the floor, fanning herself with her hands.

Sounds filtered in from Shariyar's chamber and she sat up quickly, the blood rushing to her head as she did. Scheherazade pressed a hand to her forehead, groaning as the room swam before her.

She heard shouting, the slam of a door, then more yelling. Scheherazade stood up slowly, struggling to maintain her balance as the room slowly came into focus. She pressed her ear against the door, trying to make sense of the cacophony of sounds coming from the king's chamber.

"Shariyar?" She called out, slamming a fist against the door. "What's happening out there?"

Suddenly the doors to her chamber were thrown wide, the force of the motion knocking her to the ground.

Scheherazade scrambled backwards, her eyes wide with confusion as one of the guards rushed in and threw himself against the doors, barring them with his spear.

He laughed breathlessly and turned to face her, leaning against the doors as he gathered his breath.

"What's happening?" Scheherazade asked, pulling herself to her feat. "Is it Shahzaman? Are we under attack?"

The guard ignored her questions and pulled off his helmet, throwing it across the room. She flinched as it clattered across the floor, the ringing metal loud in her ears.

"No, we're not," he said finally.

Scheherazade's scarlet cheeks blanched at the sound of the guard's voice. She had not recognised his pale, chiselled features, but she knew his voice in an instant — he was the soldier who had punched her in the dungeons.

She was suddenly painfully aware of her nudity. She backed away from the man slowly, covering her breasts with her arms: "Then why are you here? What do you want?"

The guard pushed himself away from the doors, peeling off his armour piece by piece as he walked towards her.

"I want to know what's so valuable about you that I have to spend my every waking hour guarding you from harm," he said.

Scheherazade's back met the wall and her eyes flashed angrily at the advancing guard. He was less than three feet from her now.

But, just as he reached out a hand to grab her, the girl sprang to the side. The soldier growled and lunged after her, catching her by her ankle. She cried out as he brought her crashing to the ground. She tried to struggle from his grip but in the next instant he was straddling her back. He grabbed a fistful of her hair and slammed her forehead into the floor. Scheherazade moaned in agony as darkness clouded her vision. Her eyes blinked open as the guard dragged her across the floor towards the bed. Scheherazade tried to scream, tried to will her useless limbs into action as the soldier tossed her onto the mattress.

He was on her like a ravenous animal, threatening to devour her with every biting kiss. Scheherazade slowly regained control of her senses but she did not try to buck the guard off her. While his vicious hands roamed her body, she searched silently for the knife hidden under the bed. Her frantic fingers suddenly met with the wooden hilt and she gripped it tightly in her fist.

She lay unmoving as the soldier pressed himself against her, fumbling to free his cock. Scheherazade waited until he looked down and then, in one fluid and unflinching motion, plunged the dagger into his side.

The guard howled and rolled off her, clutching at the bleeding wound. Scheherazade leapt from the bed and ran towards the doors, pulling the spear from the handles and rushing outside. She threw the door closed behind her but did not stop to lock it, dashing instead towards the doors leading out of Shariyar's chamber. She tugged at the handles and cried out in angry surprise when they did not open.

"Help! Please, somebody!" She screamed, pounding her fists against the locked doors. "Help me!"

She turned around and cried out, ducking as the guard's sword slashed at the door, cutting a notch where her neck had been the instant before. The soldier lurched after her angrily, the knife still buried in his side. Scheherazade ran back towards the queen's chamber, pushing the doors closed behind her and barricading them with the soldier's abandoned spear.

She backed away from the doors slowly, her chest rising and falling frantically as she listened to the guard throw his weight against them. The spear strained against the force of his efforts and Scheherazade realised that it would not hold for much longer.

"You're dead, girl!" The soldier roared as he barrelled towards the doors. "When I get in there, you're fucking dead!"

She pushed the bed towards the doors, straining at the effort it took to move the heavy wooden frame. The bed was only a foot away from the door when the spear finally gave out, snapping in half. Scheherazade cried out and fell backwards as the guard pushed the door open, clambering over the bed and inside the room.

Blood poured from his side but the man barely seemed to notice. Scheherazade pulled herself to her feet and dashed to the other side of the bed. The guard snarled and threw his sword through the air, the spinning blade missing Scheherazade's head by mere inches. She rushed towards the door but the guard was quicker — he caught her by her hair and wrenched her back inside the room, throwing her to the ground.

Scheherazade screamed as the guard fell on her, struggling to twist her way out from under him. Her every sense consumed with the pursuit of escape, she barely registered the sounds of Shariyar and his remaining guards crashing into the chamber until two of the soldiers wrestled her attacker off her.

The girl scrambled to her feet and backed away from the men. For a moment all she could hear was the sound of blood in her ears. But, suddenly, another sound brought her sharply into the present: The steel of Shariyar's sword fairly sung as he pulled it from its sheath.

She watched in stunned silence as the two guards forced her attacker to his knees, seeing but not understanding what was happening until Shariyar placed his blade against the soldier's neck. He swung the sword upwards and then brought it back down.

Though it lasted for only a moment, the sound of Shariyar's sword cleaving through the guard's flesh was sickening.

Scheherazade refused to look away. She watched in resolute horror as the man's head fell from his neck and rolled across the floor, colouring the marble tiles crimson. Scheherazade felt something — whether it was sweat or blood or tears, she wasn't sure — dripping down her face and her legs gave out beneath her. She sunk to her knees, her fingers digging into her thighs as she stared at the corpse. The hilt of the dagger stuck out from his ribs and the soft tapping of blood against marble seemed to resound loudly throughout the silent chamber. A few feet away, the soldier's eyes gazed, wide and unseeing, at her.

She blinked and looked up at Shariyar, watching him wipe the blood from his sword across his cloak without a moment's hesitation for the rich fabric. He sheathed the weapon and turned his amber eyes to her, wordlessly offering her his hand.

Shariyar had never seen the girl's eyes so empty of emotion. He saw no rage, no fear, no sadness circling in her azure irises.

"Are you all right?" He asked her, pulling her towards him.

Her cheeks were painted with blood, most of it the solder's but some of it her own. Her forehead was already bruising around a gash at her temple. Shariyar caught the girl's hair gently in his fingers and cradled her face against his chest.

Scheherazade closed her eyes and concentrated on the sound of Shariyar's heart pounding, trying to drown out the echoes of the soldier's death, which seemed to ring in her ears.

Shariyar pulled away from her slightly, examining her carefully.

"Your forehead is bruised and you're bleeding a little," he said softly. "Did he hurt you anywhere else?"

The girl shook her head.

"Did he —?" He let the question hang unfinished, not wanting to speak the words aloud.

"No," she whispered.

Shariyar pulled the cloak from his shoulders and wrapped it around her. She grimaced slightly at the thought of the blood that stained the garment but did not object to the covering.

"I'm going to pick you up, all right?" Shariyar said.

Scheherazade nodded and inhaled sharply as the king brought her gently into his arms. She hugged the thick cloak around herself, pressing her face against Shariyar's chest so she did not have to stomach another glance at the gruesome scene.

"Get this mess cleaned up," Shariyar growled at the guards as he carried the girl out the door.

The king bore the girl swiftly down the hallway and the stairs, intending to take her to see Hazim, but she stopped him suddenly.

"Shariyar, please stop," she said, the strength in her voice restored.

"What's wrong?" He asked, coming to a halt at the bottom of the staircase.

"I can walk," she said.

Shariyar hesitated.

"I

want

to walk," she said. "Please."

The king set her down, his powerful hands ready to catch her if she was unsteady on her feet. But Scheherazade's moment of shock had worn off and she was as sure on her feet as ever.

"I don't need to go to Hazim," she said as they walked down the corridor.

"Head wounds can be deceptive," Shariyar said. "Many a man I've seen in battle collapse from head injuries sustained days prior. You may think you're all right, but you've been hurt."

Scheherazade sighed resignedly and let him lead her the rest of the way.

Hazim had heard of the attack and was ready for her when they arrived, immediately peppering her with questions to check her memory before cleaning her wound.

The girl winced as he dabbed a warm, damp towel against her forehead and Shariyar grabbed her hand almost instinctively. She glanced up sharply at him and pulled her fingers from his.

"Well, it's a much smaller cut than I'd thought," Hazim said. "So you'll be spared the pain of stitches, my dear."

Scheherazade closed her eyes in relief.