Horns for the Harem Girl (5 page)

“What if the king finds out?” she asked, suddenly very aware of the danger they were playing with. “He’ll kill us both.”

Arad’s eyes burned into Helena’s soul. “He will do no such thing. We’ve talked.”

Helena opened her mouth to call him on another lie, but the prince continued: “In a manner of speaking,” and then kissed her again, this time pushing her veil away with his face before exploring her lips desperately with the tip of his tongue.

She let a gasp escape between their tongues. Then, a moan slipped from her lips. Seconds later, Helena – only two days before completely unaware of any feelings she had for this man – felt him stir against her belly. “We can’t,” she whispered. “It wouldn’t be proper, wouldn’t be right.”

A tight, slightly irritated sound rumbled in Arad’s chest. He kept on kissing her though, forcing her head back with the passion and desperation of his lips. It was only when they parted again, a soft sucking sound filling the air between them, that he bothered to catch his breath. She tried to pull away but his grip was iron.

“You’re right,” he said. “It wouldn’t be proper. Then again, is it proper for a king to make his subjects sell their children to feed the others?”

That stopped Helena dead in her tracks.

“Is it not wrong to starve your people while you live in such absurd luxury?”

He kissed her again, but this time it was harder, deeper, more desperate than before, as though he needed to drink her in to live. “Is it not wrong to keep destined lovers apart because of some... silly traditions?”

“Yes,” she whispered, “yes to all of that,” and she slid her hand down the curve of his back, letting her fingers dance across the muscles of his strong, tight, trim body. “But it’s also stupid to act brashly and not expect trouble,” she said. “And trouble is something I don’t want. My parents... well, you summed it up. They gave me to the king so they could keep the farm. And now, they live comfortable, happy lives. I’m happy to give up my freedom so my family doesn’t have to suffer.”

“But—”

“No,” she shook her head, interrupting Arad. “We
can’t
do this. My parents would suffer, my sisters... No,” she shook her head again, more emphatically. “I can’t make them starve so I can have love.”

“What if it didn’t have to be that way?” he asked, a clever thought coming across his face in the form of a quirked smile. “What if you could have your family safe,
and
the love you so obviously want? And what if I could finally rest. Helena,” he said, “you’ve possessed my soul, you’ve ruined me with little more than a glance, and now a kiss. I’ll never let you go, and if I have to overthrow a kingdom to have you, then by God I’ll do it.”

“I don’t want anyone overthrown or hurt or worse,” she said. “But... if you can somehow manage to keep my family safe, then... I’ll think about it.”

“Ha!” he bellowed. “She’ll think about it.” He was giving a monolog as though she weren’t there. “The girl will think about allowing me to have her if I can deliver the world.” He turned back to her, a savage glint in his eye. “I’ll take your challenge,” he said. “But don’t be surprised when the answer comes in a form you never expected.”

She cocked her head, not knowing what he meant.

Arad gave her one final, body-shaking, soul-shattering kiss. “Retreat exactly the way you came. Left at the first intersection, past six doors, then right. Past four more. The fifth is the door to the harem. Go, now, my father is shambling back to his quarters, drunk. He’ll be summoning you soon.”

“But how can you know?”

“Because I do. Go,” he said with such force that there were to be no questions.

With the prince on her mind, and the taste of his kiss still fresh on her lips, Helena emerged back into the harem’s common room just as a messenger arrived through the public door, and caught her attention. “You!” he said. “The king has need of your services. He’s been riding all day and is sore. Are you prepared? You have your oils for the king’s massage?”

Helena nodded, as demurely as she could. “I do,” she said, averting her eyes. “I’ll go to him right away.”

“You know the way?” the messenger asked, his voice bored and tired. “No, of course not, you’re new. Here.” He handed her a slip of paper that she didn’t look at until she’d gathered the various oils that the king enjoyed. When she did, she realized why Arad had been so certain of his father’s return – the door they’d been in front of?

The king’s chamber.

*

“K
ing Salomana?” Helena asked, carefully pushing the door open and stepping through into the thickly carpeted chamber. “Are you here?”

A groan was her answer. The smell of wine was thick in the air, just like Arad had promised. If he were drunk enough, this could be a very short visit.

“Come!” he said, jolly despite his slurring. “My feet, my legs, they ache. You’re the new girl, yes?”

“Yes, sir,” Helena said. “I’ve brought my things.”

She lit a candle just as she’d been shown, and placed her oils on warmers, again, just like Maret taught her. The king’s legs were surprisingly thick and supple for a man of his age, but they were knotted like tree trunks.

It wasn’t five minutes – barely enough time for her to make her way to the calf of his left leg – that the king was snoring happily.

Sometimes
, Helena thought,
things really do work out just how you want
.

––––––––

B
reakfast was nothing special the next morning, though Helena awoke earlier than usual.

The sun was streaming through the open curtains – which was how she always had them – just as the morning birds began to chirp their greeting to the dawn. She felt a little like she’d walked into a princess movie, what with the trilling birds and being in a palace and pursued by a prince with burning eyes and hands that were a little grabbier than they probably should have been.

But she wasn’t.

This was real, and she was in the middle of what had, apparently, become a coup.

How do I get myself into these things
? She wondered as she twisted over onto her naked belly and stretched herself like a cat. Her hips her back and her shoulders all popped satisfyingly as she yawned. The smell of thick, heavily roasted coffee wafted through the harem’s common room where she knew she’d find breakfast in just a moment. For now though she was alone, and the world was still and silent except for the chirps.

For just a moment, Helena wasn’t worried about the prince or the old drunken king, or the weird Englishman, or any of that. She was just in the moment, exercising her muscles, feeling the delicious stretches deep in her joints, and looking forward to that breakfast.
Pastries, I hope. I could really do with some date tarts or a quiche
. A laugh escaped her lips.

It was pointed at herself. She couldn’t believe how ridiculous her life had become. Morning with birds chirping at her through silk curtains; the best coffee in the world freshly roasted and brewed alongside a pile of flaky, fruit-filled pastries and pretty much anything else she could possibly want. It was decidedly different from waking up on the farm at home and having to hope there was enough condensation to water the cotton that day, or that the oil was pumping and there hadn’t been any accidents.

She missed it though. Missed her sisters, missed her mother and her father. She even missed her older brother Satala, though he only came home on holidays and she barely knew him. He was almost twice her age. Funny thing, how babies can just... pop up when you least expect them.

Thinking of her brother almost immediately turned Helena’s thoughts to her sweet prince. Had Arad been serious? Would he really do all those wild things he’d said? She was just a common girl with fairly generous hips and a nose she’d preferred was a bit smaller – why would a
prince
care enough about her to profess his love like Arad had done and then go just short of threatening treason for her?

Actually, thinking back, he’d gone just
past
promising treason.

She shook her head.

“Good morning, Maret,” she said in her cheeriest voice as the older woman shuffled in. It was hardly dawn, and the matron was already perfectly made up, flawlessly dressed in purple and yellow silks that hung across her bosom in a loosely draped X shape. Her face was dotted with tattoos – very old ones – that showed off her experience. The facial tattoos weren’t done anymore, they were an old tradition from a time far in the past. They’d faded some with the years, but were still plainly visible dots of color in the lines of her matron’s cheeks and in the shape of a sunburst above each eyebrow.

“The whispers have already started, child,” Maret said in a hushed, harried tone. She pulled the curtain closed and crossed the room quickly. “What have you done?”

Taken aback, Helena pulled her blankets up around her breasts and furrowed her brow. “I... I’m not sure what you’re talking about? I did just what I was supposed to do. I waited for the king’s summons, and when I went to him, I did what he wanted.”

“Which was?”

“He was well along drunk,” Helena said softly, as though the king’s appetite for wine was any secret whatever. “But he was complaining of pain in his legs, said it was from riding—just like you said,” she added for emphasis, “so I rubbed them.”

“What else?”

“Nothing! He was so drunk that after I’d got halfway down his right leg, he was snoring. I just packed up my oils, cleaned him up and came back here to sleep. It was late and I was tired.”

A brief flash of confusion showed on the old woman’s face. “Are you sure?”

Helena rolled to her side, facing away from Maret. She did so under the pretense of getting up, but she really did it because she was a terrible liar. “Yes, that’s all,” she said. At least to someone’s face she was bad at lying. Looking away it was as easy as eating. “Have they brought the pastries yet? I could do with some of those tarts.”

“She talks about breakfast and I’m talking about being thrown out of the harem. God above, what I wouldn’t give to remember what youth
feels
like for once instead of just having to deal with the results.”

“I’m right here, you know,” Helena said. “You don’t have to talk over me.”

“If I was talking
to
you, I’d be yelling. Be glad I’m taking it elsewhere,” Maret said. “The prince’s man, whatever his name is, he’s—”

“Crane. Jon, I think. The Englishman?” Helena said.

“Yes, him. How did you know his name?”

“He’s given access to the harem, isn’t he? I’ve seen him down here more than others, at least.”

“Humph,” Maret grunted, half-laughing. “He may be granted access but he only comes here because he’s an English letch, nothing to do with official business. And aside from his lechery, he’s a gossip.”

Helena went pale. Maret cocked an eyebrow. “So now the girl knows what I’m talking about. Her beautiful olive skin gets all clammy.”

“But I—”

“Had no choice,” Maret said, standing up, swishing her silks around about her legs and beginning to pace. “I know you had no choice. And even if you did, come now child, who would blame you? Given the choice between having Arad?
Prince
Arad? With those beautiful eyes, those majestic horns, I—”

“Horns?” Helena asked. “He’s a bit grabby, I’ll grant you that, but I didn’t see any horn.”

“Oh,” Maret caught herself. “Ah, just an expression. Stags, horn, you see what I mean.”

“I don’t particularly.”

“Don’t concern yourself with palace secrets.”

That
piqued Helena’s interest. If Maret hadn’t kept on so long with the horn business, she never would have given it a second thought. Still, the older woman was obviously not going to discuss what she’d meant, exactly, so there was no point to continuing to prod.

“Anyway,” Maret continued, “who could blame you? And regardless of who you canoodled with beforehand, you
did
go to the king when requested.”

She took the end of her carefully braided hair and stuck it unceremoniously in her mouth, chewing on the end of it. It wasn’t a particularly dignified way to fidget, but it certainly got the point of her nervousness across with very little confusion. “No, child, no one would blame you. But you’re caught up in something no matter where the blame may lie.”

Interested in getting to the bottom of what was going on as much as she was in a date tart, Helena decided that maybe it
was
time to prod a little. “What does Crane have to do with all this? He just gave me the note. As far as I know, he wouldn’t know whether or not I met Arad.”

At that, Maret scoffed a laugh. “Oh yes, I’m sure many who have received an invitation from the prince denied him. I’m certain that’s an extraordinarily common thing to have happen.”

“I didn’t mean to act superior,” Helena said. “It’s just... how would he know? The prince said such things that I—”

“He always does. Oh dear child, he always does. You wouldn’t believe the things I’ve personally heard him say to people.”

Helena considered arguing, but what was the point? She didn’t need to prove that Arad was going to be true to
her
. That is, if she even believed it anymore. “He didn’t... well, he stopped, if you catch my meaning.”

“He... did?”

Helena nodded. “He said so many things about his needs and desires, and then I told him that we couldn’t do, er, what he wanted, because the king would know. And anyway, I’m just a commoner, so none of the things he said make much sense.”

“What did he promise you?”

“Oh, nothing,” Helena faked a laugh. “I’m sure it was just chatter to try and get into my gown.”

He stole my heart with a word. And I know I stole his, because he told me. And when people look like that? They’re not lying
.

“Likely,” Maret said. “But... if he didn’t do anything, then I don’t see what wrong you’ve done.”

“Me either. That’s why I was so confused about your upset. We just met in the tunnels and he put some sweet nothings in my head. I’m sure they were just that now, sweet nothings.” The look in her eye said she
didn’t
believe that though. Maret noticed, but kept quiet as the girl kept rambling, as though she was trying to convince
herself
she’d done nothing wrong.