The Harem Master (3 page)

His afternoon and evening continued on with modest interruption, which was fortunate because the night was going to be agonizing enough. As the sun vanished, he abandoned his office and retreated to his private quarters.

Once there he quickly stripped off his clothes and jewels and scrubbed off, casting his bath a forlorn look because there was no time for a relaxing soak. His clothes for the evening had been spread out on the bed, and a servant stood waiting to assist him. After thoroughly drying Demir off, the servant rubbed a shimmering oil into his skin, making it gleam in the candlelight.

Once the oil was set, Demir pulled on lightweight black pants, loose in the legs, tight at the hips and ankles. Over the pants went a heavier black skirt, open clear to his hips on each side. They left bare the cluster of flowers tattooed on his stomach, teasing at where they vanished below the waistband of his skirt and pants. None but he, the servants who attended him, and the man who'd inked them knew the flowers wrapped around his legs all the way to his ankles. His feet were inked with little fish, frogs, and birds, and as he was head of the harem, he did not wear shoes save when he went outside.

The servant rebraided his dark, thick hair, threading it with jeweled beads and affixing pins that glittered with still more jewels. Two gold hoops decorated each ear, the slightly smaller attached by delicate chain to a gold orchid cuff high on the top of his ears.

Around his waist went the heavy chain that held the keys to the harem; another chain, decorated with rubies, went round his throat. A last chain was affixed to his nipple rings, though he shook his head at the one that would have attached it to his belly ring.

When the jewelry was attended, the servant finished off by decorating Demir's eyes, lining them in black that swirled out from the corners of his eyes, echoing the swirling designs of his tattoos.

He looked himself over in the large mirror affixed to one wall, nodding his satisfaction. The king might dishonor the harem that served him, but Demir would die before he dishonored the harem he served. "Thank you," he said and dismissed the servant with a nod.

Ready as he would ever be for another long, complicated, danger-laced banquet, he left his room and traveled quickly through the halls to the semi-public areas where the main banquet hall was located. He slipped around to the preparation rooms and saw all of the concubines performing that night gathered. "Was His Majesty satisfied with the concubines given to him for dining tonight?"

"Yes, Lord Demir," one of the concubines replied. "We still are not certain, however, what entertainments he desires."

"We'll keep to the revised schedule, and should there be any changes necessary I will notify you." The two nearest reached up and kissed his cheeks for luck, and Demir cast a prayer over all of them before slipping back into the hall and heading for the main entrance.

The Master of Banquets bowed to him, then stepped inside and announced, "Harem Master Demir."

Demir stepped into the room and sank to his knees, then bowed so his forehead touched the floor. "Your Majesty, good evening to you and your most honored guests on this most blessed evening heralding the coming of winter." The king gestured and Demir dutifully rose. He could feel Bulut's eyes on him like the oil rubbed into his skin, but did not glance that way, just kept his eyes firmly on King Kagan. "For your pleasure, and that of your honored guests, I have arranged the finest entertainments. A duel to start, to heat the blood and whet the appetite."

"That will do nicely, Lord Demir."

"Your Majesty." Demir bowed and gestured to the servant at the door, who signaled the concubines to enter.

On the dais overlooking the rest of the room, the king beckoned Demir to join them. He took his seat on the left side of the table, all the way at the corner, furthest from the king and directly across from Fatih, the Captain of the Guard. Demir glanced at him, receiving the barest nod as Fatih lifted a wine dish to his lips, and some of the tension bled from Demir's shoulders.

He would be going to bed late, but it was worth it for the task he must perform. The king might be breaking them all, but he had not yet completely destroyed them.

Looking over the wines scattered about the table, he chose a pale one that seemed to shift between pink and lavender in color. Morning Kiss it was called, a light, easy wine well-suited to the start of a long meal. He chatted quietly with Captain Fatih and some of the others at the table. The foreigners largely ignored him, as confounded as ever as to how they should behave around a man who, in their minds, looked like a whore but ranked as high as Fatih and the Masters of the Household.

Why, he did not know. Each of those persons looked like their roles. The captain resembled his soldiers, the masters resembled the servants in their charge. Each was a stronger, more powerful version of the people under their care. Why wouldn't Demir look like the concubines he watched over? To not resemble them indicated shame in what they did, what they were. Foreigners were so baffling.

The dueling concluded, and he silently motioned for the first of several singers to enter, keeping everyone quietly entertained while the first course was brought and enjoyed, a pleasant background to chatter and laughter and the noise of clinking dishware and calls for more wine.

As the first course was taken away and fresh wines were set out, Demir signaled for the dancers. After they began performing, he chose a beautiful amber wine, Summer Dusk, and sipped at it as he admired the dancing. It was one thing to watch them in practice, another to see them truly performing. Even more satisfying to see the nobles and others guests give them the praise and admiration they so deserved but never received from Kagan.

They were halfway through the first of three dances when shouting and bellowing came from the hallway, and the doors were thrown open. The guards posted there were cast into the startled dancers, sending several of them to the floor.

Guards all around the perimeter of the banquet hall rushed forward, drawing swords. Demir abandoned the table to attend the concubines, urging them behind him, putting himself between them and the guards who were facing off with….

Merciful Divine, it could not be. "Prince Ihsan?"

The man's eyes snapped to him, and around them everyone fell silent as realization dawned.

Demir stared, but the image before him did not change. The man was dirty from days of travel, face scruffy from several days without shaving, and it looked as though someone had slammed his face into shards of glass there were so many cuts smattering it… but it was unmistakably Prince Ihsan. If nothing else, Demir knew those pale amber eyes Ihsan had inherited from his mother.

Gathered around him were three men, one taller, two shorter than Ihsan. One, Demir recognized as Lord Sabah, the youngest son of Lord Cenk. When Ihsan had defied his father and the law to go to war, Sabah had gone with him. Everyone had been astonished since until then, no one had realized the two were such close friends.

The second man looked familiar, but the memory would not come. The third man had skin like fresh milk and hair the color of candle-lit gold. His mouth was curved faintly, eyes bright with amusement. Honestly, only a foreigner would find anything about the situation amusing. Did a single one of them ever show proper respect for anything?

He glanced away, back at Ihsan, and tensed anew to see Ihsan was staring back at him, eyes widened slightly. Why?

Before he could figure out how to ask what was wrong, King Kagan bellowed for Ihsan. Demir stepped hastily aside as Ihsan strode forward, past him and the concubines, past all the tables, and up the steps of the dais to bow to his father. "Hail, father. I am at last returned home."

"Fa!" Kagan slapped him, the sound sharp and painfully loud in the silence that still controlled the room. "Should I be impressed? I hope that you have returned because you have decided to be useful, though I doubt that as ugly as you have become. Who are these men who dare not kneel?"

"They're exhausted, Father, as am I. They mean no offense, and I beg your forgiveness on their behalf. This is my harem. You should recognize Haluk, once my bodyguard. Lord Sabah of course you know. And the last is Master Kitt Stevens, from Rittu. He was a fellow prisoner of war in the camp where I was held for two years and joined me when I finally escaped."

"They behave like soldiers, not concubines. Why do you arrive looking and acting like a bandit when you should have taken time to present yourself properly instead of insulting me this way?"

Ihsan bowed his head. More than his face had changed in the years of his absence. The crown prince who had stormed off to go to war would have gone toe to toe with his father, made a spectacle of the matter. Instead, he only said, "I was eager to be home, Father, and too excited to muster patience. Are you not happy to see me?"

"I will be happy to see you when I am certain you will not run off again."

"Of course, Father." Ihsan bowed. "Pardon me, then, and I will go get settled and clean. I will see you again in the morning. Blessings of the Divine to you and all your guests." He bowed low and, at Kagan's dismissal, turned on his heel and strode back down the dais. His eyes swept the room. "Where is Zehra?"

"Dead," Kagan said flatly. "She behaved like a whore and was punished for it."

The color bled from Ihsan's face. His hands curled into fists, and for a moment it looked like was going to speak. But then Lord Sabah stepped in close, touched his arm and whispered in his ear. Ihsan gave a terse nod, then looked around the room once more. This time, his gaze landed on Fatih. "Captain, when you are able, attend me, please." He dredged up a smile, though it looked out of place with the heavy sadness in his eyes. Fatih bowed his head, and Ihsan's gaze shifted once more, stopping when he met Demir's eyes. "Harem Master, to me, please. I require your assistance regarding my harem."

Demir looked to Kagan, who nodded. Bowing to him, Demir then turned to Ihsan and bowed again. "It would be my honor to assist you, Highness." Ihsan strode past him, flocked by his harem, and Demir followed them out. The doors closed on the rush of conversation that followed in their wake.

They walked through the halls in a silence broken only by the jangle of sword belts and Demir's keys. When they reached Ihsan's chambers, always minimally maintained on the chance he might someday return, a line of servants already waited. Demir removed a key from his chain and handed it to a young servant he recognized and had relied upon before. "Go to the harem hall. Have guards bring me the three black trunks in the storeroom behind my office. This will unlock the door. Lock it again when they're done and bring the key back to me. You and only you are permitted to touch this key. None but you and the guards may enter the storeroom, and only for the trunks."

"Yes, Harem Master." The servant bowed, took the key, and raced off.

Demir followed Ihsan into his chambers through the front room into the bedroom, where servants had somehow managed to light a fire against the night chill and set out everything they would need to bathe alongside the bathing pool in the far corner.

He stood out of the way, but close enough to attend quickly should Ihsan require him for something. Ihsan dismissed the servants and, once they were gone, began to undress. His harem stepped forward to assist him. Once he was naked, they helped undress each other, leaving clothes and armor and weapons in an untidy heap.

They helped each other scrub and wash then slid into the bathing pool, more than large enough to accommodate them, groaning and murmuring as they settled into the hot water. Demir kept his eyes turned away, thoughts on his concubines and the likelihood Kagan would take his ire out on them.

"Is it rude to compliment your tattoos? Uh, Harem Master. What is the proper form of address?"

Demir looked back at the bathing pool, gaze falling to the foreigner. Before he could reply, however, Prince Ihsan said, "Lord Demir or Harem Master. It's not rude to compliment, no."

The man smiled. "Your tattoos are beautiful, Lord Demir."

Demir ventured closer when Ihsan gestured with a hand that he should. "Thank you."

The man smiled up at him, wet and pale and lovely. If he could learn restraint and decorum he would make an excellent concubine. "How long did they take?"

"Three months apiece for the arms. The rest took a year and a half total."

"Rest?" The man's eyes dipped, lingered on his stomach then dragged slowly down the rest of him, narrowed in thought.

Ihsan chuckled and cast Demir an apologetic look. "Enough, Kitt. You are tipping into rudeness. My apologies, Lord Demir."

"No apologies necessary, Your Highness. It is good to have you home again, if I may say." Now perhaps somebody would remove Kagan and they could move forward with a better ruler. He hoped Ihsan was better, anyway.

Unfortunately, he had never interacted much with Prince Ihsan. They were twelve years apart in age, and always busy with their respective training. Kagan had assumed the throne at forty-four, and Demir had become harem master three years later, shortly after he'd turned twenty-six. Ihsan had been fourteen at the time, and already an angry, volatile young man eager to start a fight—especially with his father. Demir should have begun Ihsan's harem-related training when Ihsan turned fifteen, but that was the year the queen had died. After her death, everything had just gotten worse. Three years after that, Altan was exiled for treason, and three years after that Ihsan had runaway to war. Two years later, Demir had smuggled out the 'executed' Princess Zehra.

There was no way to know, except with time, what sort of man had returned from war in place of the boy who had escaped to it.

"It is good to be home, thank you," Ihsan replied, staring at him for a long moment that left Demir breathless and baffled.

What sort of man had returned? Someone fierce and compelling, rough-edged but comfortable with himself. Though it looked like he'd not had an easy time of it, to judge by the extensive scars on his face, chest, and left arm. He was nothing like the restless, angry, aimless boy Demir remembered. Some of the most beautiful men in the kingdom lived in the harem halls, but Demir had never found them as captivating as he suddenly did the man before him.