Guilty Pleasures (27 page)

In the center of the large chamber where she now lay was a fountain tiled in several shades of blue. In the fountain’s center was a small spray, its rainbow droplets catching the sun as they sprinkled into the air. Gold and silver fish swam lazily in the water. Her own mother was dead, but her father’s other three wives, his two current favorites, and his half dozen concubines peopled the room, along with female servants and several eunuchs. Somewhere a musician played a stringed instrument as Hestia’s own personal slave woman slowly brushed the princess’s long pale golden hair.

Her deep violet blue eyes were sharp—she watched everything about her. The gossiping wives. The two favorites preening and beautifying themselves in an effort to outdo each other. The younger concubines giggling as they sat telling each other stories. Hestia was seventeen and a widow. Her father, the sultan, indulged her as he did no one else among his women. She was the only daughter of his second wife, who had died giving birth to another child when Hestia was ten.

After her mother’s death, her father had kept the child of his heart close. He might have given her in marriage to a powerful lord, but instead, to keep her near him, he had married her off to the eldest son of his vizier. Hestia had been content with his decision. She was her young husband’s first wife, and his family was honored to have her among them. But then tragedy had struck. Her husband was killed in a fall from his horse when they had been married less than a year. Once it was determined that Hestia was not with child, she was returned to her father’s house. Happy to have his favorite child returned to him, the Sultan of Cinnabar was in no hurry to marry her off again.

Her knowledge of sexual practices complete, the princess had a bit more freedom than the other women had. She had bribed one of the younger eunuchs to go to the marketplace and purchase a fine dildo for her. She had given him exact instructions, and he had not failed her. Now, because he’d kept her secret, she allowed the eunuch the privilege of using the dildo on his mistress for her pleasure whenever she felt the need. For a time it had sufficed, but of late Hestia had felt the need for more than a dildo.

The head eunuch, Abu Abu, came into the harem. At once all the women were alert, but he passed them by and went to where the princess lay having her hair brushed. A short plump man of mixed race, his skin was pale brown and his eyes the black of midnight. Hestia had known him her entire life. He bowed low. “Princess, your esteemed father requests that you come with me. He would speak with you on a matter most serious.” Abu Abu held out his fat hand to her.

Hestia smiled and took it, letting him pull her up. “If Papa wishes my presence,” she said in her melodious voice, “I will certainly come, for I am a dutiful daughter.” Then she followed the head eunuch from the harem to her father’s library, where not only the sultan but her half brother, Prince Omar, awaited her. Crossing her arms over her chest, she bowed to her father and then to her brother. Omar was the heir. They had never liked each other, but as heir he was entitled to her respect. Hestia knew how important it was to be polite to him. Her very life could depend on him one day.

“You are to be married, my daughter,” the sultan began.

Hestia remained silent, waiting for more information. Her heart was pounding with a mixture of excitement and fear.

“It will be a political alliance, my daughter,” the sultan continued. “You will become the first wife of the new Sultan of Sherazad, and the sultan’s sister will be married to your brother, Omar. You and your brother will meet the sultan and his sister, Princess Shalimar, at the Forest of Palms oasis, which is located at the border between our two kingdoms. Speak now, daughter, and tell me your thoughts.”

“Will the sultan be satisfied that his sister is a second wife, Papa?” Hestia wanted to know. “Especially as I will be the sultan’s first wife?”

“Omar has divorced Amira. Princess Shalimar will be his first wife. When that has happened, he will remarry Amira, who is content to be second in his life,” the sultan answered his daughter.

Hestia turned to her half brother. “How can you do this to Amira?” she asked him. “Amira has always loved you, and you would relegate her to second place for this princess, whom you have never laid eyes upon?”

“An alliance with Sherazad is important to Cinnabar,” Prince Omar answered his sister. “The sultan’s sister cannot be placed second in my household. Amira understands that. Why do you not? This time, sister, you will have a strong man for a husband. A man who will tame your unseemly independent spirit, not some besotted boy who was honored by your presence in his bed and who could not get you with child. It is your son by the sultan and my son by the sultan’s sister who will one day rule these two kingdoms and keep peace between our two countries.”

“You make it sound as if I am a piece upon a chess board to be played to the best advantage,” Hestia said to her brother angrily.

“That is exactly what you are!” he crowed. “I am astounded you understand that.”

“Papa! I don’t want to leave you!” Hestia played her strongest card first.

“And I do not want to lose you,” her father said, “but this match is too important for me to ignore. Your brother is right in this matter, Hestia, my dearest. You must wed with this sultan, and his sister with your brother. I wish it as Sultan of Cinnabar, and my wishes cannot be denied, daughter.” He turned to his head eunuch. “Abu Abu, take the princess back to the harem. Have the women prepare her for her journey, which will begin in three days’ time.”

“Papa,
please
!” Hestia begged, but the sultan turned his face from her, and her half brother looked smugly at her.

Oh,
Tiffy thought.
This is really going to be a fun fantasy. Make it ten days from now.

She found herself in a litter being carried down a desert road. It was hot. Not a breeze stirred. Her litter was set atop a white camel. The beast’s sure-footed motion was a rolling gait. Hestia was not happy. They had been on this desert road for well over a week now, but she had been assured that by sunset they would reach the Forest of Palms oasis. She reached for the water skin she had been supplied with this morning and sipped the brackish liquid. Then she lay back and dozed, for the heat had made her head ache.

The complaining of the camels and the sensation of her beast lowering itself to its knees awoke her. She awaited her eunuch to help her from the litter. Gazing through the diaphanous curtains, Hestia could see the oasis was a large one. The large section of palms growing on one side of it gave it its name: Forest of Palms. A magnificently large pavilion and several slightly smaller pavilions were already set up. From the top of the largest tent hung the green banner of Sherazad, with its circle of silver stars. From atop a slightly smaller pavilion hung the flag of Cinnabar, red with a gold crescent moon.

Her eunuch came to help her from the litter, leading her to the smaller of the two large tents. Her half brother was already there. She had barely spoken to him in the past two weeks. “Well, royal brother,” she said, “what now?”

“Have your slaves bathe you, and prepare to meet your new husband, as I will shortly meet my new bride,” Prince Omar told her. “The sultan has just arrived. It will be at least an hour before he sends for us.”

The hour passed and then two. Hestia was bathed and ready, dressed in a turquoise kaftan embroidered with gold threads and small crystals. There were matching silk slippers on her feet. Tiffany was fascinated by the track this new fantasy of hers was taking. She was enjoying letting it play out, and she had determined that the sultan would not look like her husband. Carla was right. Being naughty was what the Channel was really all about, wasn’t it?

“Princess, your royal brother says that the sultan is asking for your presence,” her slave woman said in a soft voice.

“Tell my brother that I have traveled for ten days to arrive at this meeting place. If the sultan still wishes to have me as his wife, he will come and fetch me,” Hestia said. “I am not some peasant woman to be sent for.”

The slave woman looked terrified at her mistress’s words, but she obeyed the directive and delivered the message to Prince Omar, crying out as he slapped her face in response. “Ask my sister if the heat has driven her mad. She is to come at once!”

Having heard her slave woman’s cry of pain, Hestia stepped from her curtained chamber. “I am a princess of Cinnabar,” she said to her brother. “The sultan should come to greet me, as you will go to greet him and his sister. How dare he demand my presence? Sherazad may be strong, but Cinnabar is an older and more respected kingdom. It is proper for you to greet Princess Shalimar in her brother’s tent, but I am not some slave girl to be sent for by this sultan. And you, brother, lose face for Cinnabar, for our father, for yourself by allowing it. You and the sultan must greet each other on an equal footing. You must not appear the supplicant.”

Prince Omar considered his half sister’s wise words. Then he nodded. “The sultan shall come to you, Hestia. I thank you for thinking of Cinnabar first, as you have always done. I shall tell our father of your loyalty. Now, pull your veil across your features, and when I have done what must be done, the sultan will come to you.”

The prince left her. Hestia waited patiently, lying amid a pile of pillows. Her slave woman watched at the entry of the tent for the approach of the sultan. Suddenly she hissed, “He comes, Princess!” Then she scuttled into a dim corner. Hestia arose to greet her new husband, for the contracts exchanged between Cinnabar and Sherazad before her departure from her father’s palace had already made their marriage a fact.

He strode into the pavilion in a swirl of white robes. Upon his head was a white turban, the length of silk falling from it concealing his face from her. He was a tall man.

Hestia stood, crossed her arms over her breasts, and bowed from the waist in a gesture of respect. The air between them almost crackled.

“So,” the deep voice said, “you would have me come to you, Princess.”

“It is proper that you do so, my lord sultan,” Hestia replied. “I am your bride, the Star of Cinnabar, not some woman of the streets.”

“You are my wife now, Princess of Cinnabar. This is the one and only time that I shall indulge such bold behavior,” he warned her. The dark eyes above his face covering locked onto her violet blue eyes. Then, reaching up, he unveiled her. For a long moment he stood staring at her beautiful face. Then he nodded. “It is an acceptable bargain I have made,” the sultan said, “although my sister is fairer than you.” Then he took her hand. “Come! The wedding feast is to begin shortly.”

She was astounded by his words and by the fact that she had yet to see his face.
Oh, please, don’t let it be Joe this time,
Tiffany silently prayed. She couldn’t imagine her sweet practical husband ever being this insolent. But the Sultan of Sherazad’s audacious manner led her to believe that he was going to fuck like a stallion. Hardly able to wait, she felt a tingle of excitement in her clitoris.

In the sultan’s great pavilion, she met Princess Shalimar, and Tiffany had to admit to herself that the sultan’s sister was an extraordinary beauty. Her skin was like a gardenia in color. Her long hair was the blue-black of a raven’s wing. Her eyes were like fine sapphires. Her features were delicate. A slim nose, thick dark eyelashes, a generous mouth, high cheekbones in a heart-shaped face. Prince Omar was already entranced with his exquisite new wife.

Seeing her brother reenter the pavilion, Shalimar laughed aloud. “Oh, Ahmed, do unveil your handsome face so your bride may see it. He can be so wicked sometimes,” she remarked. Then she kissed Hestia upon her cheeks. “I hope you will be as happy in Sherazad as I intend being in Cinnabar.”

“I hope so too,” Hestia replied, but her eyes were on the face of the sultan, which was now uncovered. He was every bit as handsome as his sister was beautiful. Black hair, and the dark eyes she could now see were deepest blue. Strong but elegant features that included a long, narrow nose, a sensuous mouth, and a squared chin with a cleft in it.

“I assume you find me pleasing,” the sultan said drily.

“I assume you find me pleasing,” Hestia countered.

Shalimar laughed again. “Oh, Ahmed,” she said, “you have been given a wife who will, I suspect, never bore you.”

The feast was quite generous, considering where they were and how long it had taken them to even get there. There were roasted lamb and roasted chickens. There were saffron rice, hot flat bread, minted yogurt, fresh fruits, crisp honey cakes, and sweet wines. And when the meal was finished, slaves brought around basins of fragrant water and linen towels to wash the excesses of the meal away from hands and face. The sultan had brought a troupe of acrobats to entertain them. But then the sun began to set.

Prince Omar arose, drawing his bride to her feet as well. “I thank you for your hospitality, my lord sultan,” he said, “but the time has now come for me to take my bride to my tent so our marriage may be consummated. My father looks forward to his grandchildren, and the assurance that his grandson will follow me onto Cinnabar’s throne. We will bid you our farewells in the morning before we go.” Then Prince Omar led Princess Shalimar from the sultan’s tent and across the compound to his own.

The slaves had cleared away all evidence of the meal. The acrobats were gone. The oil lamps had been trimmed and were now burning low. Outside the pavilion, the encampment had grown quiet with the night. The sultan’s voice cut the silence.

“You have been married before, I was given to understand,” he said.

“Yes, to the son of my father’s vizier. My father did not wish to lose his only daughter,” Hestia explained. “My husband died when his horse stumbled in a race and threw him. Ali’s neck was broken. He died instantly, the physician said.” Tiffany felt a bit guilty, for the unfortunate Ali had had Joe’s face.

“Did you love him?” the sultan wanted to know.

“Yes,” she said, “but the truth is, we had grown up together. We were friends.”