Chapter 1 - A Life of Bondage in Gold
Once, in the land of Fahrahshan, there lived a beautiful young woman by the name of Ahrahyah, who since the day of her birth had been raised in the harem of Murad VIII, Sultan of Fahrahshan and ruler of the known world. As she blossomed into womanhood, the Sultan found her to be an irresistible temptation, with a face possessed of immaculately lovely features, flawless skin the color of buffed bronze, long flowing hair as black as night, and a figure buxom and curvaceous beyond compare. Being a man of insatiable lusts, the Sultan took Ahrahyah as his concubine, showering her with gifts of unimaginable value and spending many nights of passion with her in his bedchambers. So completely the aging monarch gave himself over to the pleasures of Ahrahyah’s company, he became addicted to aphrodisiac narcotics to restore his virility, and control of the imperial council, the divan, fell to his wife and consort, the Sultana Mirrima. Jealous of the Sultan’s affection toward his concubine, the Sultana has long sought to place her son Ahmed on the throne and rule Fahrahshan as his regent. As Mirrima prepares to overthrow her husband, Ahrahyah passes her days in the company of her decadent master, isolated though not entirely oblivious to the deadly intrigues taking shape in the palace...
***
“The stars are dancing...”
Murad’s glossy eyes twinkled like the celestial bodies he observed in the night sky far above. Through a cloud of hookah smoke, his drug-addled gaze watched with inebriated fascination as the vapors he imbibed gave him an illusion of movement in the light. Before his eyes, the stars themselves would seem to cluster around the silver crescent shape of the moon that hung in velvet darkness high overhead. Such a level of intoxication was generally frowned upon in Fahrahshani society, but fortunately for Murad, being the Sultan conferred certain advantages. In the past, he had often justified such a debauch as the only way he could ever place his mind at ease with the responsibilities of sovereignty that weighed so heavily on his conscience. But as he approached sixty, he had discovered narcotics that bestowed the added benefit of restoring some vitality to his aging body.
Despite his advancing years, the Sultan was still a rather handsome man. Once an able warrior, tall and strong, he had been a dashing and inspiring presence at the forefront of his armies. Now, though not quite as fit as he had been in his youth, his lean muscular figure was in far better shape than many of his age. His face still possessed elongated, wolfish features that gave him a predatory charm, and he retained a full mane of hair, though it had long since gone gray, slicked back over his head and reaching his shoulders. A thin, finely trimmed beard framed even thinner lips which struggled to speak as the vapors of the hookah worked their magic upon his mind and body. He lifted a hand to grasp at the stars through the window.
“I swear, I could almost touch them if only I could reach...”
A slender hand reached out to touch his, long delicate fingers brushing over his own. “Such is beyond the abilities of mortal men, Sayyidi,” her soft feminine voice purred as she locked her fingers with his and gently pulled his hand away from the stars. “Yours is a physical realm, your domain one of earthly pleasures. Such as the divine light of the stars is beyond your grasp.”
Murad gasped a deep sigh of regret as the hand of his companion caressed his cheek. “Sadly, I believe you are correct, beloved,” he moaned quietly, closing his eyes and resting his head comfortably on the soft flesh of her thighs. Perhaps, she thought, he reminisced of glories from days past. The Empire had already covered much of the known world when Murad had ascended to the throne, but under his rule, the power and glory of Fahrahshan had increased beyond measure. In peace, he had worked hard to expand trade and turn the Empire’s cities into bustling centers of commerce, and in war he had led his armies to victory over their infidel enemies, acquiring vast numbers of slaves and treasure unseen before in the history of his dynasty. He could look back upon his life proud of all he had accomplished. The immense fortune he had accumulated and the far-flung territories he had conquered over the course of his reign had secured him a place of honor in the annals of his Empire.
And yet, as he lay gazing at the stars and contemplating his own mortality, the Sultan of Fahrahshan seemed filled with regret. “It is depressing to think that, despite all I have done in my life, there are some things I can never have.”
Ahrahyah leaned forward, her very large and heavy breasts falling softly upon his head. “But you still have me, Sayyidi,” she cooed.
Murad’s thin lips curled up into a bitter smile. “Yes, I do, beloved.” The Sultan reached up over his head to cup her naked bosom, groaning with unrepentant lust as her abundant mounds overflowed his fingers. “Though perhaps the stars are not the only heavenly spheres that exceed my grasp,” he mused as his fingers pressed deeply into her voluptuous flesh.
She gifted him with a laugh that was light and airy, her melodic voice pure honey to his ears. “Ah, but at least you can touch mine, Sayyidi!” Chuckling, Murad arose from beneath her prodigious bosom so that he might look upon his most prized possession. She was an unparalleled beauty, her light bronze skin completely flawless. Her face possessed high cheekbones, full pouty lips that smiled coquettishly beneath a thin and delicate nose, and wide cherry brown eyes ringed with natural kohl that gave her a smokey allure she knew her master to find most attractive. Though presently seated, it was obvious to any who gazed upon her that she was blessed with a body at once both lithe and voluptuous. Her limbs were long and elegant, yet her shapely thighs were quite thick, her thin waist and belly contrasted dramatically with the voluptuous hips below. The full curves of her lower body flared out beneath her as she sat upon the brocade sheets, her large round buttocks nearly double the width of her slender waist.
Very much aware of the Sultan’s eyes upon her body, the bronze beauty smiled as she turned to find a brush for the endless tresses of perfectly straight jet black hair that flowed from her head, so long they trailed off the side of the bed to the floor below. As she groomed herself, the concubine stretched her arms over her head, arching her back so that the huge elliptical forms of her breasts were thrust outward. Resting heavily upon her otherwise slender frame, the immense supple mounds were capped with tender dark brown nipples swollen hard in the cool night air. From the corner of her eye, she could see Murad staring intently as her massive bust quivered gently with her every breath.
Once she had finished brushing her hair, Ahrahyah softly touched her master’s cheeks, guiding his head back to her lap. She leaned forward again, her breasts covering his face until his nose was nestled within her cleavage from beneath, and she mused at the irony of Murad, the ruler of the known world, whimpering like a helpless child beneath her sumptuous bosom. Her dexterous hands danced across his mature but fit body, tracing every muscular contour, his chest heaving, and bulging at her touch. While her fingers played with his flesh, she felt him grasp at her breasts more aggressively than before, placing a hand upon each weighty globe and teasing her thick, engorged nipples with his thumbs. The concubine bit her lip to hold back the sounds of her own pleasure, but she gave sensual murmurs of approval for his efforts nonetheless, and the Sultan responded by tenderly kissing the undersides of her breasts. The more she moaned, the more aroused her master became, and the curvaceous beauty watched on with anticipation as Murad’s sex swelled to full size beneath the azure sheets, pleading for her to reach over his beautifully toned body and brush her fingertips across the apex of his shrouded manhood so that she might feel how the sheets had become wet at the tip.
Lifting her bust from his face, Ahrahyah gently removed his head from her lap and rested it upon a pillow of the softest silk, though not as soft as her thighs, then she crawled with feline grace over his body toward the throbbing cock clearly aching for more direct attention. Her abundant breasts swayed beneath her like overripe fruit, the plump globes of her backside turned toward her master, who failed to restrain an amorous groan. Even with the slightest of movements, her buttocks rippled like an ocean’s waves, and she knew Murad longed to feel the soft flesh of her behind against his body.
With an effort, the Sultan reached forward, grasping his lover by her generous hips. The concubine released a surprised gasp as Murad rubbed his face against her lovely behind, moaning quietly to himself as he felt the soft flesh of her buttocks pressed against his cheeks. Laughing, the courtesan tossed a coquettish glance over her shoulder as she watched him plant a number of sweet kisses upon her supple hindquarters. She brushed his hair with tender affection as she cooed, “Perhaps Sayyidi enjoys the pleasures of my body a bit too much.”
He did not answer immediately, continuing to show his love for her posterior, grasping her backside with both hands. Her flesh more than overfilled his hands as he playfully jostled her behind, watching her buttocks quiver in his grasp. “There is no amount of affection that I can give that would ever express the sheer breadth of my passion for you, beloved.” From over the wide curve of her bottom, his eyes turned upward to hers as he added, “You truly are the greatest treasure I possess in this world.”
Placing a hand beneath his chin, she lifted his handsome aquiline face from her behind and teased, “Sayyidi is far too generous to say such things to a lowly slave girl.” With that, she tore the sheets from him and then sat upon his lap, his naked manhood enveloped between her voluptuous buttocks. Instinctively he thrust himself against her soft backside while she reached her smooth arms over her head to guide his chin to her shoulder so that she might kiss him deeply and passionately. The bronze beauty murmured in delight as she felt his hands find their way around her slender body to her breasts, the flesh of her ponderous globes bulging between his fingers. Her lusty sounds encouraged him to grow larger against her rear, her own sex becoming swollen and moist in return.
The Sultan had lost himself completely to the curves of her body. He eagerly played with her heavy breasts, lifting and dropping them repeatedly while Ahrahyah moaned as his fingers brushed over her nipples every time he let her bosom slip through his grasp, waves of pleasure coruscating throughout her body. With her own amorous desires so awoken, she pressed her backside ever more insistently against his growing phallus and brought her own hands to her chest, helping Murad to pleasure her magnificent breasts. Her womanhood roiled in want, drenching the silken sheets beneath her as she felt his sex throb between her buttocks. She knew how much he enjoyed teasing her, but she had desires of her own as well and found herself longing that he might indulge her further still.
Reluctantly, she removed one of his hands from her breast, letting the massive globe fall from his grasp as she directed his fingers to her most private place. Writhing in lust, Ahrahyah eagerly guided his touch until he was deep within her hot and musky sex, his fingers forcing their way between her netherlips, causing her to cry out in pleasure as he toyed with her. She kissed him softly on the cheek, whispering into his ear as she sought to encourage him further. “Please, Sayyidi,” she knew he loved it when she begged, “I long for you to take me to such heights of pleasure that only you may bring!” The Sultan grunted an acknowledgment, his hand ravaging her labia while his swollen cock thrust against her backside, yet still she found herself hungering for more. Her hand fell to her rear, reaching between her buttocks as she teased the tip of his phallus and whispered, “I need to feel you within me, Sayyidi.”
A hoarse groan from her lover was the only permission she needed. Ahrahyah turned around, her master’s eager cock released from the soft embrace of her hind-cheeks for only the briefest of moments before it was pressed against the hungry lips of her vulva, hot and dripping with need. The courtesan placed her hands upon his taught shoulders, gently pushing him until he was resting on his back so that she might mount him. Her cries were his sweetest pleasure as she felt his engorged length slide into her, her thick shapely thighs wrapped tightly around his waist while her netherlips devoured him until at last, he was inside her completely, their bodies locked together as one.
She began slowly at first, rising and falling upon his manhood with a gradual and deliberate pace. It was not her desire to rush him, for she knew that the Sultan, and she as well, would wish for such immaculate pleasure to last for as long as possible, yet despite herself, the concubine found that her own amorous needs frequently overpowered her patience, and her body soon betrayed her as she rocked herself upon his lap with an increasing ferocity. Her long fingers sank into his sweaty muscular shoulders as she lifted herself over and again, only to fall back down the length of his engorged cock with such force that her bottom slapped and quivered against his thighs. Her immense breasts wobbled heavily mere inches from his nose as if to taunt him, knowing that he could not long restrain himself from touching her bosom.
Finding the temptation too strong to resist, Murad sat himself up, his hands grasping her breasts and setting his mouth upon first one quivering mound, then the other. Ahrahyah moaned as she felt him grow larger within her, the muscles of her hot, wet sex pulling him in deeper while she wrapped her arms around him, his hips moving faster to keep pace with her own as she brought him to climax. His breathing turned ragged, grunting like a beast in the rut as he came within her, and she buried her face against his shoulder, her fingers digging into the muscles of his back while she moaned in ecstasy. The exquisite sounds of her pleasure only encouraged him to continue thrusting for as long as he could. He grasped her plump bottom while her thighs drew tighter around his waist, their bodies entwined in the most intimate embrace until he was spent and he collapsed back onto his pillow, sweaty and exhausted.
“That was sublime, beloved,” he gasped between breaths.
Though she never failed to satisfy her master, somehow the concubine always found herself wanting more. Leaning forward so that her body lay upon his wet brawny chest, she whispered quietly in his ear, “If Sayyidi wishes it so, perhaps he may have me again tomorrow night.”
A lustful groan arose from the Sultan as he felt her breasts resting atop him. “Yes, I would like that very much.”
She caressed his face, and a gentle laugh escaped her lips. “As would I.” Setting his head upon the pillow, she continued, “Now sleep, Sayyidi. I must admit, you are still quite a stallion for your age, but I want to make certain you are well rested for tomorrow.” Murad weakly nodded, his eyelids becoming heavy as he drifted off into pleasant slumber.
******
Once she was certain he was asleep, Ahrahyah gently lifted herself from her master’s lap, holding back a moan as she felt his manhood slip out of her sex, so that she may leave her lord and master to rest and recover from their lovemaking. Given that Murad was far advanced in his years, she was always cautious not to overtax him whenever he desired the pleasures of her body, lest he die and she be blamed for his death. It never looked good for a slave to be in the company of her master when he died, and that was especially true for the women of the harem. The domain of her gender within the palace was a pit of vipers, and any single one of them would seize an opportunity to dispose of a rival. Becoming the Sultan’s favorite over the last few years of his reign had made life in the palace most dangerous for her as Murad’s wife, the Sultana, was not known to tolerate rivals for long.
A demure smile crossed Ahrahyah’s lips as she ran her fingers through his hair. Though she clearly possessed some kind of affection for the man, she could not call what she felt love exactly. She was a slave, owned by him since childhood, and raised in his harem. When she had blossomed into womanhood and became an object of the Sultan’s lusts, she knew it to be better to submit rather than to resist. Having spent her entire life in the palace, she had learned long ago that Murad could be as wrathful and cruel to those who displeased him as he could be tender and loving to those who drew his affection. Given the intensely competitive nature of the harem, therefore she considered herself fortunate that she had grown up beautiful, despite the jealousy her abundant curves drew from the other women. Being the favorite concubine of the Sultan certainly brought privileges, and it was in her interests to ensure that her relationship with him remained favorable. Though her life may have been one of bondage, it was a life of bondage in gold.
The Sultan’s bed was immense, and Ahrahyah found it necessary to roll through waves of brocade sheets before she could reach the edge. The luxury in which Murad surrounded himself was unmatched in all of Fahrahshan, his boudoir a vast space with a high vaulted ceiling framed by marble arches inlaid with gold and decorated with the most intricate latticework that was possible with the human hand. Silken curtains danced as the cool desert breeze passed through arched windows open to the night air. Despite having lived in the palace for as long as she could remember, the sheer opulence of the Sultan’s tastes still never ceased to amaze her, and the concubine shook her head in disbelief. He was a man who desired the greatest finery in all his possessions, including her.
The marble floor felt cool to the touch of her feet when she stepped from the bed to gather up her clothing. Much of what she wore was woven from golden and ebony silk, decorated with an abstract flame motif, and it left much of her slender, yet curvaceous body exposed. Upon her brow she bore a huge oval indigo gemstone fixed to an ornate tiara, her long arms and legs adorned with copious jewelry of unspeakable value. Her toned midriff remained bare while a bejeweled girdle tightly hugged her wide hips, and the filmy skirt that hung from it did little to hide her shapely thighs and ample buttocks. With a huff of annoyance, she struggled to fit her well-endowed chest into a brassiere that not only much exposed her breasts but, if anything, emphasized their sheer size. Pressed firmly together to form an opulent cleavage, the flesh of her bosom still spilled over the edges of her clothing, her breasts overflowing the confines of the scanty brassiere.
Everything about her clothing clearly marked her status as the most valued slave of a powerful man. Beloved and pampered, perhaps, but still a slave, nonetheless.
Once she was dressed, Ahrahyah seated herself on the edge of the bed, brushing her endless mane of immaculate jet black hair and enjoying her solitude under the dim light of the oil lamps until her thoughts were broken by three loud knocks on the massive golden door of the bedroom. She hesitated for a brief moment before finally rising with a contemptuous growl. Her obsidian tresses coiled upon the ground at her feet, and when she walked across the bedchamber they trailed behind in her wake. Moving with a sultry gait, her hips swayed from side to side, her buttocks wobbling while her immense breasts jiggled heavily in her brassiere. Pausing at the door, she carefully adjusted her clothing around her bosom once more before calling, “You may enter.”
The great metal doorway opened with a groan, and in stepped another young woman, dressed all over in green silks. The clothing of the newcomer was somewhat more covering than Ahrahyah’s, with great billowing pants and sleeves, although her midriff and shoulders were left bare. She was much shorter than the concubine, her lower body quite voluptuous though the round breasts that sat high on her chest were significantly more modest. Her face possessed childlike features and hazel eyes with dark reddish hair that fell in waves ending between her shoulder blades. The courtesan cast a piercing gaze upon the intruder as she whispered coolly. “Zulfia.”
The young woman tilted her head slightly to one side, her brow furrowed, and her small lips drawn tight with concern. “How long do you intend to remain locked away in here?”
Ahrahyah sighed in annoyance, noticing how Zulfia’s eyes were drawn to her swelling cleavage. “For as long as the Sultan desires that I remain with him.”
Zulfia rolled her eyes, grumbling as she forced her way past Ahrahyah and marched into the imperial bedchambers. The concubine called out for her to stop, but Zulfia was already at the edge of the Sultan’s bed before she began to cough upon entering the cloud of smoke. Waving one voluminous sleeve about while using the other to cover her mouth and nose, she cried, “How can you sit in this room breathing this vile air?!”
“Be quiet!” Ahrahyah hissed as she rushed over to Zulfia’s side. “I do not want you waking him!”
Glancing contemptuously at the tall hookah standing next to Murad’s bed, Zulfia reached over and lifted the mouthpiece to her face. “What exactly have you been smoking with him?”
In a swift flash of movement, Ahrahyah pulled the hose from the other girl’s hand and set it upon the bedside. “I,” she insisted with an icy tone, “have been smoking nothing! That is only for the Sultan!” She crossed her arms beneath her breasts. “His physician prepared this blend of herbs and spices personally.”
“Oh?” Zulfia asked, raising an eyebrow. “And what benefits does it bestow upon his health?” She looked over the courtesan’s smooth bronze skin and ample curves. “Ahrahyah,” she spoke cautiously, “surely you and the Sultan have not been...”
“The herbs in the hookah supplement the Sultan’s vitality, permitting him to engage in more...” Ahrahyah paused, sensuously placing a hand upon her supple hip, “amorous pursuits.”
Zulfia rolled her eyes and groaned. “Unbelievable. Ahrahyah, you need to understand how dangerous the situation in the palace has become for you. Do you have any idea how tired the members of the divan have grown of the Sultan’s indulgences, spending all of his nights smoking his herbs and venting his lust in your company? There are whispers spreading that Mirrima is already making arrangements to have him removed from the throne so that Ahmed may take his place.”
“Ahmed?” Ahrahyah raised an eyebrow as her thoughts turned toward Murad’s younger son. Barely fourteen, he had always been weak and sickly as a child, and it was believed that his mind might be afflicted with some sort of illness. Doted upon by his mother, he had never even been outside the confines of the harem. If he were to become Sultan, he would be no more than a figurehead while Mirrima would be the true holder of authority. “Do you truly believe that anyone would want that imbecile to ascend the throne just so Mirrima can rule as his regent?” she laughed incredulously. “The Sultan would never tolerate such a blatant threat to his position.”
Before Zulfia could reply, the doors to the imperial bedchambers abruptly swung open behind them, and the two young women turned to see a third enter the room, crossing the floor toward them with swift and confident grace. Far older than Ahrahyah or Zulfia, she was quite tall and noticeably slender, despite being covered from head to toe in long flowing robes of black and scarlet that completely concealed her body save for her face and hands. Possessed of sharp aristocratic features, her countenance was narrow and elongated, her nose giving the impression of a great bird of prey. Her eyes were a pale blue, her well-aged skin a faded shade of olive. Like the rest of her, her hands were long and thin, sparsely decorated with jeweled rings that nonetheless displayed considerable wealth. On the whole, the woman was quite attractive for her age, though her beauty did not inspire lustful desire in those who looked upon her. Hers was an austere beauty that was forbidding rather than inviting, and clearly intimidating to those around her.
Zulfia immediately bowed her head when the new woman approached Murad’s bedside but was ignored as the intruder looked directly toward the Sultan’s favorite concubine and addressed the curvaceous slave in a demeaning tone. “Ahrahyah.”
“Mirrima Sultan,” Ahrahyah responded, her voice equally haughty and contemptuous, her chin held high and proud even when in the presence of the Sultan’s wife.
The Sultana took a moment to regard the courtesan impassively before she turned her eyes toward the figure of Murad lying in the bed. “How fares my husband?”
“The Sultan rests, though he remains in good health,” Ahrahyah spoke with an aristocratic calm, gracefully placing a hand upon the hookah. “His physicians have prepared a new blend of herbs they believe may help to better restore his vigor.”
Mirrima leaned forward and touched Murad’s forehead. “How effective have these latest drugs proven to be?” she asked without even so much as glancing at the concubine.
“Quite effective,” Ahrahyah sighed breathily, her bosom swelling over her brassiere, a satisfied smirk upon her lips.
The tension in the room grew palpable as all three women remained silent. Ahrahyah stood perfectly still, standing next to the hookah as Mirrima glanced over her husband. She searched for any sign of emotion upon the face of the Sultana, but the older woman betrayed nothing, her elegant features an impenetrable mask. Zulfia kept her hands clasped before her, eyes focused on the floor.
At length, Mirrima stood up straight and cast a casual glance in Zulfia’s direction. “Why is this one here?” she asked. “I was under the impression that the Sultan wished to be alone, save for the company of yourself.”
“I sent for her,” Ahrahyah lied, a broad smirk upon her lips. “I felt it was necessary to keep the Sultan informed of the affairs of the divan, though he did not wish for me to leave his side.”
The eyes of the Sultana narrowed momentarily before she waved a dismissive hand. “Oh, of course. It is only proper that someone remains with the Sultan at all times.” She stepped forward to stare directly into Ahrahyah’s face. “Though one wonders why he would not desire the company of his wife.” Though her voice remained steady, her tone was laced with venomous hatred for the voluptuous courtesan.
“I do not know,” Ahrahyah spoke quietly. Though her lovely features maintained a serene facade of calm, within her a torrent of emotions roiled, torn between hatred and resentment toward this woman. Her prodigious breasts rose and fell as her breathing became heavy, the bronze flesh of her bosom glowing in the dim light. “I felt that it was not my place to question the Sultan’s wishes.”
Mirrima’s laugh was bitter and cruel. “Such a natural answer for a slave.” She briefly looked around the richly decorated bedchambers before gently placing a hand upon Ahrahyah’s cheek. “I always knew my husband was a fool for excess and opulence.” The Sultana lowered her eyes as she ran her fingers over the flawless skin of the courtesan’s neck and shoulders. Her touch grazed the supple flesh of the concubine’s abundant breasts spilling from the sides of her brassiere, then traced the sensuous lines of her toned belly to the wide curve of her hips. “One wonders what shall become of all his most beloved possessions, all of the beautiful but ultimately meaningless treasures he has collected to satisfy his own vanity, once he has passed on.”
A chill shot through Ahrahyah’s spine, yet through a supreme effort of will, she remained perfectly still, her sculpted features betraying nothing save passive indifference. When Mirrima eventually raised her eyes back to the concubine’s face, her expression too remained cold and aloof, and the two women simply stared at each other for what felt like an eternity while at their side Zulfia feared to even make a sound. Only after an impossibly long silence did the Sultana turn and move toward the door, commanding as she left the room, “Zulfia, see to it that you do not linger here for too long. The Sultan needs his rest, and I am certain that Ahrahyah is more than capable of attending to his every need.” When she reached the exit, she turned and added, “And after you have spoken to the divan, return to your quarters in the harem at once. I shall be expecting you.”
It was only after the great doors had slammed shut behind Mirrima that the carefully maintained mask of superiority Ahrahyah had displayed in the presence of the Sultana fell away. “Dear God!” she whispered. “That woman truly does mean to kill me!”
“Ahrahyah, you still have time to...”
“Time for what?!” Ahrahyah demanded of her friend. “What am I to do? I am a slave! I have no army, no wealth, no power of my own!” She gestured to her bejeweled golden attire. “Everything that I have is due solely to the favor of the Sultan! Once he is dead, I shall have nothing! Do you know what happens to the concubines of dead monarchs? So long as he has been alive, he has kept me safe, and no one would dare touch me for fear of incurring his wrath. But if he is gone, I...” she paused, “I do not know what will happen to me. Mirrima would surely like to see me dead, or perhaps even worse. You know as well as I that there are far less pleasant forms of slavery than ours in Fahrahshan.”
Ahrahyah sighed. “It is unfortunate that I had not yet been alive when the Sultan was still a virile young man, for then it would be I, and not Mirrima, who would be the Sultana. But alas, I have been consigned to the life a mere concubine, while she, the mother of a prince, holds the future of the Empire in her hands.” Lost in her own brooding, she fell into a momentary silence while Zulfia stood quietly at her side until her eyes became alight when a particularly devious idea materialized in her mind. “Though perhaps I could find a prince of my own. I have heard that the Sultan’s older son, Prince Faydeddin, born of his first wife, has grown into a very handsome young man since Mirrima exiled him from the palace and banished him to the province of al-Rhydiyyah.” She turned to Zulfia, the corners of her lips curling up mischievously. “And that he has not yet taken a wife.”
“But Faydeddin has fallen under the sway of insane charlatans,” Zulfia scoffed, “and grown obsessed with uncovering mystical trinkets of Fahrahshan’s distant past in his futile efforts to obtain some advantage over the Sultana and regain his birthright as heir apparent. He spends his nights in the company of deceitful conjurers who fill his head with legends from the time before the Great Cataclysm when sorcerers were said to use forbidden magics to summon forth djinn from the darkest dreams of mortals.” She rolled her eyes and sighed. “He is a deluded fool.”
“Nevertheless,” Ahrahyah waved her hand dismissively, “how adequately do you believe he could succeed his father as Sultan?”
“Are you speaking of his fitness to rule the Empire?” Zulfia slyly inquired, her eyes drifting across Ahrahyah’s buxom figure, resting momentarily on the concubine’s large breasts before lowering to the silken cloth between her thighs. “Or are you thinking of other areas he might need to fill in the place of his father?”
Ahrahyah smiled demurely. “While the rule of Fahrahshan is naturally foremost upon my mind, I am concerned with all of the qualities a prince may possess that would prove desirable in a future Sultan.” She adjusted the brassiere around her considerable bosom. “Perhaps it is time that I enlighten him to the benefits that await should he claim the throne. I could meet with Prince Faydeddin to warn him of the Sultana’s intentions. That would give me an opportunity to...” she paused and smiled coquettishly, running a hand over the sumptuous curve of her hip, “consult with him in private.”
Zulfia turned to look at her friend, a most peculiar smirk upon her lips. “Consult?”
“Yes, consult with him on the affairs of the state.” Ahrahyah then placed a finger upon her pursed lips. “Though how am I to reach him in al-Rhydiyyah when I am forbidden to even leave the palace?”
“Since his exile, the prince has continued to visit Fahrahbad in secret from time to time, to keep himself appraised of the state of the Empire.” Zulfia grinned. “There is a coffee house in the city that he favors.”
Ahrahyah raised an eyebrow. “Could you arrange for me to be smuggled out of the palace so that I could meet with him?”
Zulfia laughed. “Come now. Who else can better claim to be the eyes and the ears of the palace than we women of the harem?” She smiled coolly and continued, “I might have certain connections with the other girls, and perhaps even a few members of the palace guard, who would grant me a favor in such a time of dire need.” She moved toward the door, adding, “Faydeddin may be a fool, but I would rather see him become Sultan than Ahmed because I have no more interest than yourself in seeing Mirrima become regent. You know she hates me for simply being your friend.” She sighed. “Once she has killed you, I would most likely be the next to die.”
