Princess of Dhagabad, The by Anna Kashina Page B

slide half off, baring his torso to the
warmth of the fragrant air, and to the closeness of the two women
that makes the muscles in his body tense up as if in preparation
for battle.
    He watches Ana’id pour another cup for Leila,
the two of them now sitting close together on the floor. Their
faces begin to move slowly toward each other, their arms touching;
Ana’id looks deeply in the girl’s eyes and plants a light kiss on
her mouth, brushing her lips back and forth against Leila’s lips as
the girl’s breathing begins to quicken. Unable to contain his
mounting desire, Chamar leans forward, drawing Ana’id closer as he
presses her lips in a passionate kiss. He reaches beyond her toward
Leila and finds her hands respond to his touch with an awkward
caress that makes every hair on his body rise in excitement.
    Wine is the nectar of desire. Leila’s eyes
sparkle as she puts down her empty cup, her usually pale face
aflame. As Chamar draws her toward him, he senses none of her usual
reluctance. She comes to him willingly, without hesitation,
submitting to his kisses and to Ana’id’s caresses. Chamar barely
remembers undressing them, the cool smoothness of the sheets, silk
robes sliding off to reveal the softness of skin to his eager
touch. He submerges into their caresses as if diving into warm
tingling water; two pairs of unhurried, supple hands gently stroke
his arms, his neck, and the insides of his thighs, as he feels
moist silky hair and hard breasts rise and sweep again and again
across his chest, his face, and burning fingertips.
    Excitement fills him like a vessel sailing
the waves of an endless sea of arms, breasts, hair, kisses, each of
them telling a tale, guiding him, surer and surer, to his uncharted
goal. As the three of them merge into a single creature of passion,
he grows stronger and stronger, to the point of being
unbearable—and beyond, over the peak, into a deep ocean of
relaxation, of bliss, where the caresses are soothing, calming him
down after the moment—the eternity—of ultimate happiness. And
then, deeply satisfied, he sleeps.

    Chamar wakes up, feeling the body against him
stir. Moonlight streaking in through the window falls on the floor
near the bed, on the table with the remains of yesterday’s meal, on
the pillows, scattered around the floor. In the dim glow of
reflected moonlight Chamar sees a slender naked body at his side,
long hair flowing loosely, covering him like a silky blanket. Leila
is sleeping beside him like a baby, all her fears of last night
gone, her head on his shoulder, her arm thrown boldly across his
chest.
    Chamar smiles at the sleeping girl, slowly
awakening to the realization that Ana’id is not in the room with
them and that the light outside is coming not only from the moon,
but from blazing torches as well, their yellow patches wavering
against an even silver sheen. He also hears voices in the courtyard
and realizes that perhaps what actually awoke him was a noise from
the outside, a noise that also caused Leila to stir.
    What could the fuss be about, at this hour
of the night? Chamar wonders sleepily. Where is Ana’id? What
is going on?
    He carefully removes Leila’s arm from his
chest and places it on the curve of her thigh. The girl mumbles
something in her sleep and curls up, pulling her knees up to her
chest.
    She must be cold , Chamar thinks,
pulling up a sheet to cover her and noticing, his eyes adjusted to
the dim light, that the sheet is stained with blood.
    She was a virgin last night , he
remembers. And now she is carrying his seed inside. Maybe she will
be the chosen one, the mother of his son and heir?
    He takes another sheet and covers the
sleeping girl, then puts on his robe and carefully finds his way to
the door.
    Several women with torches are standing in
the courtyard, talking in lowered voices. As he moves toward them,
one of the women separates from the group and runs straight to him.
The sultan recognizes Ana’id, her hair in