Stranger

The chafing of Khaya's new skin against itself was velveteen softness. With each step her hair bounced with the lightness of a cloud, and with each breath the gold leaf bonded to her flesh crinkled ever so slightly. Despite the cloak, even the slightest breeze sent gooseflesh rising across her limbs.

Khaya had never felt more unlike herself.

The eunuchs completely surrounded her, whether to protect her from prying eyes or ensure she couldn't navigate the palace without help, she didn't know.

All at once they were through the doors to the Prince's chambers. They did not break their circle as they guided her through the lounge through a set of arches to what Khaya could only assume was the bedroom. When the eunuchs bowed and took their leave, she could finally breathe.

The room was not as she thought it would be. The walls were calm, pale red with silver patterns, hardly decorated with paintings or other ornaments. Khaya swivelled on her heel and her eyes found the bed. Her whole family could have fit on it comfortably. The sheets were a green that almost matched her sirwals – had they matched it on purpose? – and looked soft enough to melt at the first touch. Rapturous verses from the Calipha's story resounded in Khaya's mind, and she quickly looked away.

She would cry after it was over.

Not now. She couldn't ruin all the work those girls had put in.

Swallowing the lump in her throat, Khaya glided to the long table across the room. Her feet sank into the plush carpet as she peered at the paper spread out on the table. It was a map of the kingdom going as far as the edge of Byzantium. Baghdad was twice as big as her palm, while other towns were barely dignified by a dot. The elaborate cursive labels were too hard to read, and none of the symbols made sense. Clearly this was not a map with any practical uses.

She absently dragged her finger across it in search of Jorash, knowing she would never find it.

A violent clang of metal crashing on marble reverberated from the antechamber.

Khaya's blood froze.

How did I not hear him?!

She stumbled away from the table, thoughts scrambling.

Should I sit on the floor, the bed? Should I stand facing the door? What if he recognises me from that night?!

Another crash. He obviously wasn't in a good mood.

Khaya clenched her fists by her sides, keeping her eyes on the ground. She didn't even know why she was afraid.

Good mothers raise good sons.

She let out a long breath, and the sound of his soft footsteps filled her ears.

◊

The Prince walked in with one hand on his other forearm, working at the latches keeping his gold braces in place. He didn't even register her presence till she sighed.

He tilted his chin up and there stood... something beyond words. His tired and impatient eyes softened to curiosity, and his hands stopped their urgent work.

So this is what Yahya prepared for me...

She was like paradise in human form, gold and green and alive. The gold glued over her chest gleamed with each breath she inhaled. Her gaze was downcast, unmoving.

He wanted to see those eyes.

"What have we here," he mumbled as he walked towards her. Though he couldn't see it, her shoulders tensed as he began circling her, taking in every detail drawn onto her tiny body for him. His gaze fell to her hands, clenched in tight fists. Shaking.

So, she really is a virgin.

He stood in front of her. "What is your name?"

"Khayz– My name is Khaya."

Rehan didn't so much as blink in response. He was about to touch her veil but abruptly stopped. "Look at me."

She waited for a long moment before tilting her chin up, and suddenly he was looking at the sun through a layer of honey. Dazzling as a pair of jewels.

It took him a moment to realise her eyes were shining, too much to be from the thick kohl. Rehan tore his gaze from hers and grunted in frustration. "That selfish idiot."

He stepped past her and unbuckled his remaining brace, then tossed it onto the floor.

"You can relax," he paused to recall her name, "Khaya. I have no interest in fucking a girl who's on the verge of tears."

The two dozen pins holding his kufiya in place were going to take an age. Rehan let out another huff, and looked over his shoulder. "Come here, Khaya. Help me with this," he said.

Again she hesitated, then obeyed. He met her halfway and sat on the floor, pulling her down with him. The kohl on her lower lids had smudged slightly. She must have wiped away her tears with her veil.

Now her hands weren't shaking, but her posture was still stiff, angling awkwardly towards him, as if touching him would suddenly change his mind about not pulling her clothes off.

His eyes fell to her stomach, and he noticed for the first time gold leaf peeking out from beneath her sirwals. Suddenly he averted his eyes.

What am I doing? I'm allowed to look.

He looked at her again, and in response she bent her elbows inwards to hide her chest, making him smile. Her skin glowed in the light of the chandelier, begging to be touched where curve melted into curve and shadow fell beneath jutting bone.

Reining in his lust had never been so difficult.

◊

Khaya lifted the kufiya off Prince Rehan's head and folded it neatly. He leaned forward and raked a hand through his hair, then looked at her with half-lidded eyes.

"Where the hell did Yahya find you?" he mumbled.

She knew she wasn't expected to answer, but she recalled the Calipha's words.

He loves a little puzzle.

"Guess," she said with surprising confidence. "There is a map right there." She pointed to where she had been standing minutes before.

The Prince's lips immediately pulled into a mischievous smile as he stood and sauntered across the room. Khaya followed close behind.

"How many guesses do I have?" he asked, scanning every inch of the map as if he hadn't seen it a thousand times before. He seemed full of energy now, eyes bright and alert.

"I..." play along, "Three."

He grinned. "What's my prize if I guess right?"

"I..." stop stuttering you fool! "There really isn't anything I can give you that you don't already have." She looked down, twining her fingers sheepishly.

"How about," he took a step towards her and reached for her face, "if I guess correctly, you take off your veil." He gently tilted her chin up with a finger and raised a brow.

Khaya quickly lowered her lids to hide her surprise and stepped back. She held out a hand, shoulders firm and square. "Agreed."

Rehan threw his head back and laughed, but took her hand and shook it firmly. "Agreed." Khaya had seen that same happiness on his face the first day they met, before the Nizari had thrown the camp into chaos. A laugh that illuminated his entire face. It drew her into him.

He peered at the map, the muscles in his shoulders knotting and unknotting. "Yahya said he just happened to find you... so it would have been on the route he was travelling. He's one of those uptight bastards who never strays from the trodden path," he said.

Khaya stifled her laugh too late.

Rehan smirked. "Ah, so you've seen it yourself. I always wonder if he was born with a stick up his ass or if uncle Khalid put it there after they crowned me."

Khaya hadn't laughed so hard in a long time. She was glad for the veil now more than ever. Rehan ran a finger over the map, tracing some route, but his eyes were on her. She pretended not to notice.

"We've been on Hajj for the past four months, so he must have found you on the pilgrimage route," he said.

Khaya's silence confirmed his guess, and his lips pulled into a wide grin.

"He was with me most of the time going, and we didn't pass through any notable slave markets... maybe he kidnapped you for all I know."

Khaya stiffened, and the Prince noticed. His mouth fell open. "Did he actually?"

"No." She was picking at the gold leaf on her stomach. "He... bought me."

Rehan chuckled. "I'm sure his purse was lightened considerably."

Khaya let out a nasal laugh. The Prince didn't filter his words at all, and she supposed there was no need to, seeing as he was the second most powerful man in the kingdom.

Now that his full attention was on the map, Khaya stared at him openly.

"Slave market," he mumbled as he dragged a finger along the pilgrimage route. Eventually he stopped. "Here."

Khaya took a closer look, though she already knew it wasn't the right answer. "I'm afraid not."

His fist slammed into the table, and the sound reverberated in Khaya's ears. Her heart shuddered against her ribs.

"Damn it."

Let him win. Just let him win.

He stepped away from the table and paced. Khaya shrunk into herself, barely aware of anything beside his footsteps and careful breaths. He muttered, looked up at the glazed ceiling, swore, then suddenly stopped.

"I'm a fool." He returned to Khaya and laughed. "Of course it was the souq." His finger found the Almaki souq without a second glance at the map. "Nothing as precious as this would be anywhere else," he murmured, but Khaya heard it all the same.

She was about to sigh in relief when a thought struck her.

He's going to recognise me.

She looked at him, smug with his victory.

And then he's going to kill me.

The Prince took a step towards her, hands ready to grasp at her veil and rip it from her head. She instantly recoiled. He raised a questioning eyebrow.

"Allow me," she said, moving her hands as slowly as she could. There was no way out of this. Her powers couldn't save her from someone who was stronger in every possible way. Every thought was of the next breath.

She pulled off the veil, and tilted her chin up with agonizing reluctance.

Recognition flashed across Rehan's eyes, and he laughed in disbelief. "You... I remember you!" He threw his head back, grinning. "The girl who saved my life. Khaya... Khayzuran? I can't believe I thought you were Yahya's whore." Another laugh.

There was nothing but pure joy in his eyes.

Khaya was bewildered.

"I'm sorry," he said, collecting himself, "You must have been frightened, thinking of the bloodthirsty monster from that night."

Khaya allowed herself a small smile. "Perhaps a little, but in this light you aren't that scary."

"I could say the same about you." He paused and tilted his head slightly. "Where are you really from?"

"Jorash," she said after a pause. She ran her eyes over the map and pointed vaguely. "It's not marked, but from what I remember... it may be here somewhere." The space she indicated was larger than her hand.

The Prince nodded and moved to the other side of the table to pick up a quill. He marked the area with three points, joining them with dotted lines. Beside one of the dots he wrote, in a neat and clear hand, Jorash, Khaya's home.

It was the first time she had seen her own name written down.

"I'll have a cartographer look into it."

Khaya didn't understand the word, but she felt warmed by his gesture. She stared at the lines while he stared at her.

"You are beautiful," he said.

She didn't even blink.

"A fact I'm sure you are already aware of," he added, chuckling.

Her lips curved up and she looked at him. "After you hear a thing repeated for years and years it becomes meaningless. Even coming from you, Prince of my country, it means nothing."

He raised an eyebrow. "Maybe you just haven't heard it from the right person yet."

She regarded him carefully. There was an appropriate distance between them that she suddenly wanted to close. Two heartbeats, and the decision was made. Khaya took two steps forward, grabbed the Prince's collar, and pulled him down into a kiss. For a moment he was still, but he didn't resist.

He tasted like sour grapes and melted sugar. A vague musky scent wafted up from his collar. But Khaya's mind was blank.

She kissed him harder, but nothing changed. She frowned, opened her eyes, pulled away.

"Happy birthday to me," he mumbled, and gave her a quizzical look. "What was that for?"

"It's not working."

"What–?" She tried to pull him down again, but he resisted and grabbed her wrists. "What are you doing?"

She let go. "I was trying to check something." Suddenly the childishness of the whole situation dawned on her, and she blushed. "Something I read in a book."

Rehan's lips parted, eyes shining with knowing. "Don't tell me my mother made you read that long drone of a poem, Kalal and Irfan?"

Khaya blushed even harder, and Rehan laughed.

"I still remember parts of it... The light touches her how the moon touches the eye of a swan. The first kiss is the chaos of a hundred-year war and one thousand suns of desire exploding inwards to a single point. The sands of time pause–"

"To behold this mighty union of two souls, fire and ice, air and earth, finally one." They said together.

Rehan bit his lower lip. "That's what you were looking for."

"Yes. But I obviously did something wrong."

Her frankness surprised him, and he let out a chortle. "Did you actually read the first two hundred verses?"

"Of course I did. I just need to try the kiss again."

Rehan leaned down slightly. "That feeling isn't in the kiss. I could kiss you a thousand times and you wouldn't feel it." He lifted a finger and touched the centre of her chest. "That feeling of a thousand suns? It's the weight of all the verses before the kiss. It's love."

"Have you felt it before?" she asked, voice level despite their closeness. It was easy to be brave knowing he had no intention of hurting her.

"What, with Rayta? No. But she does a fun little thing with her tongue that I like, I'll teach it to you later."

Khaya huffed in disbelief. "Are you flirting with me, Prince Rehan?"

He smiled lazily and ambled towards a paper screen across the room. "I'm a Prince, Khayzuran. When I breathe women fall to their knees."

He started pulling off his qamis before disappearing behind the screen, very obviously intended. Khaya rolled her eyes and fiddled with her belt. Rehan emerged fully dressed and tossed her a bundle of black fabric.

"You can sleep in that."

He fell onto the bed and ran a hand through his hair, utterly deflated. Khaya looked away, feeling awkward, and walked to the screen despite already being half naked. The linen qamis fell past her knees, and she had to roll up the sleeves several times to use her hands, but it was good enough. She took small, soft steps to the empty side of the bed and slowly sat down. Rehan's limbs were splayed but there was still a wide gap between them. He stared at the canopy, motionless. The candles were almost burned out, but there was still a soft light filling the room. The sky outside was pitch black with night, and the midnight breeze began picking up.

Khaya lay down and willed herself to relax. He was miles away.

Slow waves of fatigue pulled her eyes closed, and as the last candle snuffed out she was almost asleep. A sudden thought struck her, and she was wide awake again.

"What is a cartographer?" she whispered into the darkness, then mentally slapped herself. He was probably asleep by now.

A soft giggle broke the silence. "Why didn't you ask the first time?" he whispered, and turned over to face her. He could just barely make out her silhouette, nose stiffly pointed to the canopy.

"Because," she hesitated, "I don't know."

He swallowed another giggle and sighed. "A cartographer is a map maker. They travel the land and chart it by eye or send people to do it for them and then put it all together."

"Like a giant puzzle," Khaya said.

He smiled. "Exactly."

A small silence filled the air, and after a while Khaya turned over to face Rehan. "Why would you do that for me? Send a cartographer I mean."

He knew what she was implying; he was a prince and she was a little better than a slave.

There were several possible answers, but he settled on Because I can.

"Why waste power on boring things like gold plates and fancy sword hilts when I can find your mother and thank her for creating you?"

Khaya laughed, and suddenly the space between them felt like nothing at all.

"Goodnight, Prince Rehan," she finally said.

"Goodnight, Khayzuran of Jorash." After a pause he whispered, "My saviour."

But she was already asleep.

_____

This chapter came out a lot longer than I thought it would but I like it. Sorry for the long wait. I was in Korea for a while so didn't have much time to write.