Way of Escape by Ann Fillmore

Zhara.”
    Vizier Rida quietly nodded and slipped away.
    â€œHow is your wife, Commander Yusef, and your son?” i-Shibl asked in an off-handed remark.
    â€œMy wife is as well as can be expected,” he said, “she will go to Florida next week for her third cancer operation. My son will go with her.”
    â€œOh, I am so sorry to hear she is that ill. Please, give her my regards,” said i-Shibl, “and those of my wives.”
    Zhara must not have been more than a couple rooms away because the big vizier reappeared with her in tow at this point. She was taller than her mother and most probably very distressing to her father being taller than her father. She was dressed in a long skirt made of stunning gold sari material and a white blouse with a scarf that matched the skirt. The scarf was not well wrapped, her eyes and nose and some of her reddish hair could be plainly seen. Yusef felt deeply embarrassed by her forwardness. Rida indicated for her to stand about ten feet away from the old warrior.
    Commander Yusef stood and was inwardly dismayed to find the girl was only an inch shorter than he was. “Your father wanted me to have a talk with you. He wants me to remind you of the seriousness of your stubborn behavior.”
    Her eyes flicked past him and gallantly remained staring at some distant carpet design on the opposite wall.
    â€œI imagine,” Commander Yusef went on, trying to be kind in his very gruff way, “that you are aware of the penalty for adultery, and that includes the intention of an adulterous act?”
    Her eyes flicked across his face, rudely, and instantly returned to their target on the wall. Yusef resisted the urge to slap her hard, although he bet her father had done it several times, or had had the vizier do it for him.
    â€œI can only plead with you to consider your actions,” he continued. “Your marriage to Sheikh Sultan Mustafa Bayigani will assure you of a home, of a future, especially if you give him sons. He is one of the wealthiest landowners in Kuwait. He has the ear of many American governors. I’m sure you may get to travel with his entourage. I see no downside to your situation.”
    Princess Zhara i-Shibl felt the bile rise in her throat. The image of the aged Sultan Bayigani was enough to make her gag, the mere thought of that man sticking his withered old penis into her made her want to throw up. She suppressed an inner painful, wrenching laugh. At eighteen, most girls in her circumstances, would have been long married, and if not, would not only still be virgins, they wouldn’t have the slightest notion of a penis, of sex, of how babies were made. In fact, Arab girls from these conservative families still bought the whole business of the woman determining the sex of the child. Ignorant fools, she swore under her breath.
    Her father spoke up, loudly, “She was caught using the telephone last night, Commander. I want you to trace that call. I want to know with whom she spoke.”
    Ah, the truth comes out, thought Yusef, the real reason he had been summoned here. “Of course, your highness,” he smirked. “I can do that with a mere call to the telephone company.”
    The sheikh sultan waved a royal hand over the heads of the people in the room, stopping at his daughter. “You see, Zhara, nothing you do is secret! You watch out. I will catch your friends and I will have Commander Yusef bring them to trial just as you will go to trial if you do not behave yourself!”
    Zhara nodded, solemnly.
    â€œHear me,” Yusef reproached her sternly, “your life is on the line. You can be executed. Do you understand that?”
    She cast her eyes down and pretended shame. The rage she had felt as she had been dragged from her teacher’s flat in Paris, the all-consuming fire of desire for Emil, she struggled to keep invisible. She knew the passion of Juliet and she would have it no other way. Death was so