Shariyar glared at the young girl cowering at his feet.
Pooled at the base of his throne in a heap of delicate gauze and glittering gems, she was as beautiful and simple as the rest of them had been. Even now those large, vacant eyes were overflowing with tears.
"Please, King of Kings, spare me," the girl whimpered through her clasped hands. "I beg of you to spare me."
"Why?" the king asked, his voice low and dark.
"Because I have done nothing but try to please you!" she cried. "I will be a good wife to you!"
"A good wife?" Shariyar scoffed angrily. "Experience has taught me there is no such thing."
"But I am different, I -"
"You are all the same," the king interjected. "You are a faithless, deceitful breed."
"My king, I would never betray you like Queen Nasrin."
Shariyar's rugged features hardened at the mention of his first wife. In an instant the emperor was another person entirely: His cinder eyes ignited in a flash of anger, his upper lip curled into an animalistic snarl and his powerful hands shook as they clenched the arms of his throne.
The girl knew immediately that she had made a mistake. Her wide eyes grew even larger and her entire body trembled under the vengeful eyes of the king.
"You would," the Shariyar spat furiously. "You would and you will if I give you the chance."
"No, no please," she begged. "Please, my king, no."
The girl threw herself at the king's knees, grasping desperately at the rich fabric he wore as if seeking some comfort in its folds. Shariyar stood up and grabbed the young woman by her throat, wrenching to her feet with just one hand.
Fresh tears and wails erupted anew as he drew her closer and closer to him, closer and closer to the unbridled rage burning in his eyes.
"I wonder exactly how many days it would be before I find you in bed with another man," he said slowly. He pulled the top of her dress down violently, exposing her breasts for the world to see.
"No, never!" She choked, trying desperately to tear the king's fingers apart.
"Or how many months would pass before you try to murder me in my sleep," the king said, his voice rising. His open palm came down on her right breast, turning her milky skin a deep red.
"Ah! Please -"
"Or how long it would take you to cut my still-beating heart from my chest," he roared. Another slap, this time across her tear-streaked face.
The girl did not have enough breath to scream but she managed a strangled gasp.
"Be silent you treacherous whore," he snapped. "You will be exiled and when you die alone in the desert, your sun-bleached bones will serve as a reminder to all men that a woman's love is as fleeting as her beauty."
Shariyar threw the girl down and slowly resumed his place on the throne, watching with dark satisfaction as the guards came to haul her half-naked body away.
The girl's wailing cries for mercy barely registered as they echoed through the halls. Shariyar had long grown deaf to any woman's please for forgiveness. This girl would mark the one hundred and fiftieth woman he had married and then exiled since his wife's death.
Exile from the kingdom was tantamount to a death sentence. If the desert did not kill the women, the robbers who haunted the treacherous dunes surely would.
And she will not be the last. Shariyar thought to himself. They will all die. Every last one of the treacherous whores will die.
Shariyar glanced idly around the throne room, counting off the ever-present guards to make sure that none but two were missing as he waited for Jafar.
His childhood friend and most trusted advisor, Jafar was a tall, strapping man with green eyes and dark hair had not yet begun to grey. He had a broad smile that used to help them escape from all sorts of trouble when they were boys. Shariyar had not seen that smile for a long time... At least, not directed at him.
At any moment now, Jafar would storm into the throne room. Just as he had every morning for the past hundred and fifty days, the vizier would arrive in shocked disbelief and then become exceedingly angry with the emperor before attempting vainly to bargain for the girl's life. Finally Jafar would become despondent and leave to oversee the beheading.
Shariyar sat up straighter as the heavy wooden doors to the throne room were thrown open.
"Right on time," he muttered under his breath.
"Shariyar!" Jafar cried as he stormed towards the king. "How could you? Have you any idea what you have done?"
"She was just like all the others Jafar," he said. "She would have betrayed me before we'd even finished our honeymoon."
"That was the high court judge's youngest daughter," the vizier moaned. "Do you have any idea how many men you have just added to your list of enemies?"
"Men are not the problem, Jafar."
"They will be if you ever find yourself unguarded," he warned.
"That is why I never am," Shariyar said icily.
"You are without a doubt the most -"
"Jafar," the king said sharply, "do not say something you won't live to regret."
The vizier sucked his teeth and fumed silently at the king. After the Queen betrayed him, Jafar had watched his friend and ruler descend into crippling madness like a powerful dog ravaged by rabies. He was consumed with revenge and thought of nothing else.
"Let's bypass the usual routine, shall we? No, I will not alter my decision. Yes, the order for exile has been given. And yes, you must bring me another one," he said.
"And where do suggest I find another one?" Jafar asked, not even attempting to hide his anger.
"The harem, Jafar, where else?" Shariyar snapped.
"As of ten minutes ago, the harem is empty, your highness," the vizier seethed. "You have managed to exile all the women in your palace in less than half a year and you are still not satisfied?"
Shariyar rose and began to pace the room, stroking his beard anxiously. He was a ruthlessly handsome man with light brown eyes that smouldered like molten amber and coal-black hair that was only now beginning to streak with grey above his ears. And yet a blind man could see the vengeful madness that lurked just behind those striking features. Jafar pictured him now as a wolf that had lost the scent of its quarry, foaming at the mouth from want but finding nothing in its retraced footsteps.
Finally the king stopped pacing and whirled around to point a threatening finger at Jafar.
"You will find me a girl, Jafar," he said. "There are thousands of unmarried women in this city that would leap at the chance to marry the King of Kings. You will find me another one or it will be your head instead."
"This is insanity, Shariyar!" Jafar cried exasperatedly. "You have gone too far!"
"I haven't gone far enough!" the king roared. "They all deserve to die and I won't stop until this city is cleansed of their treachery!"
"You dishonour your mother and your sister with your words," Jafar warned. "When you condemn all of womankind on the actions of -"
"You have not known betrayal," Shariyar fumed. "You are lucky your fiancé died before you had the chance to marry her."
"How dare you?" Jafar asked, his hands curling into fists. "You dare to bring Nerin into this? You know very well -"
"Enough!" Shariyar interrupted, drawing his sword from its sheath and raising it to the vizier's heart. "Find me another or die!"
++++++++
That afternoon Jafar rode through the streets of Persepolis in search of another sacrifice for the king. He had been loose with his words in front of the scullery maids, knowing that within a few hours his purpose would be known. Indeed, he had not been wrong: every father in the city had hidden his unmarried daughters away.
For hours he combed the main roads and back alleys of the city searching for a single woman mad or desperate enough to follow him back to the palace. A selfish part of him hoped to find one, but for the most part he did not: Although he did not care for the thought of death, he had watched far too many innocent girls be cast out into the desert to die for his lack of action.
The sun began to sink lower and lower into the sky and he directed his escort back towards the palace.
"Oh well, my friends," he chuckled sadly to the guards, "I suppose I should have quit while I was a-head."
No one laughed.
Jafar's heart grew heavy as they neared the palace. He was riding knowingly to his own execution.
"Men," Jafar said suddenly, "grant me one reprieve before I return to Shariyar to die. Let me go to the cove on the other side of the palace. I will not attempt to flee, I merely wish to see the ocean one last time."
Not one of the soldiers could refuse the advisor and they escorted him through the forest that bordered the palace's west side and out to the seashore. Jafar dismounted and walked to the ruined dock that jutted out into the sea. The men rested in the growing shadows and paid him little mind. They trusted him to brave his fate like a man.
Jafar climbed along the cracked slabs of stone that had once formed an ancient cargo dock. He and Shariyar used to sneak out of the palace every chance they got to play here. Inside the palace they were prince and nobleman, out here they were roguish pirates, desperate castaways on a desolate shore, deserters from the navy. Across the small bay was a small fishermen's wharf where the men were just now bringing in the last catch of the day. When they were boys, Shariyar and Jafar had often listened to the fishermen on the wharf tell stories of mermaids, sirens and sea-nymphs as they mended their nets. The salt air incensed the boys' imaginations and made the stories seem not only possible but probable.
"For Shariyar to remember the happiness we felt here," Jafar breathed, "I would give anything."
Jafar stared sadly at the waves lapping against the ruined dock. The sun was slowly being swallowed by the gathering dusk and he could wait no longer. Jafar turned to head back to the palace and face his executioner when he heard a commotion coming from the wharf. He walked slowly down the dock and over the rocks to the small beach. The fishermen were yelling and laughing at something - perhaps one of them made an unusual catch or brought in an unlucky haul.
Smiling as he envisioned a great octopus being dragged ashore, Jafar trudged leisurely over the soft, white sand. This might, after all, be his last moment to laugh.
But then the royal advisor heard something that spurred his restful pace into a jog - the sound of a woman screaming. Jafar whistled for the guards to follow him as he picked up his pace, sprinting now to the wharf as the woman's cries grew louder.
Jafar and his escort elbowed their way through the throng of fishermen. At the centre of the gathering two young men were standing over a young girl whose only covering was the algae-encrusted nets she was caught up in. The youths were tugging at the nets, whistling and jeering at the girl as she struggled desperately to keep herself covered.
"Enough! Stop this!" Jafar shouted over the clamour of the crowd. "How dare you insult the modesty of a woman?"
A nervous silence settled over the assembly of fishermen as the guards moved to surround the girl.
