

# The Sultan's Heir

By

### Christina Bates

# Copyright

Copyright © 2016 by Christina Bates

All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means whatsoever without the prior written permission of the publisher, except for brief quotations for the purpose of reviews.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual people, places, or events is purely coincidental or fictionalized.

Published by Christina Bates

Smashwords Edition

Cover art by Madelene Martin

# Dedication

This book is dedicated to my hero, my inspiration, and the love of my life, my husband Shawn.

# Table of Contents

The Sultan's Heir

Copyright

Dedication

Summer 1205

Fall 1217

Winter 1218

Spring 1219

Fall 1219

Summer 1224

Spring 1225

Fall 1236

Spring 1244

The Desert Princess

About the Author

# Summer 1205

Erezhad looked down at his father, Rezhan, the sultan of Zaityra, sprawled across the sick bed inside his extravagant tent. Rezhan struggled to breathe, inhaling raggedly and exhaling weakly. The doctors had already told Erezhad that they had done all they could, but with his injury, the only thing left to do was try to ease the pain. As he looked down at the failing body of his father, he thought about the ferocity of the mind chained down inside.

His father had struggled and fought against everything in front of him in life. Rezhan had built his life from nothing. He had been a nomad, a Bedouin with no more royal blood than any commoner. The only good thing in his life had been the sultan's daughter falling in love with him. The sultan had refused to allow his daughter to marry a man of such low birth, but the sultan's daughter was already pregnant with Erezhad, and Rezhan vowed to fight for his future.

Rezhan united the Bedouin tribes, rallied the sheiks behind his banner, took the throne of Zaityra through force, and killed the father of his lover.

His rule was easily solidified through his heir and, though he became no less the tyrant, he became loved for his aggressive action to return Zaityra to glory. At first glance, Zaityra began to flourish once again, while in the shadows, Rezhan amassed Zaityra's army and held their collective sword at the people's throats.

The anger and rage that spewed forth from him and washed over everything in his path was now quelled by pain reducing herbs and drink.

Erezhad almost pitied him, but he could still feel his father's lash in the scars across his back whenever he bent and turned. He could still feel echoes of his childhood fear, looking up at his father, a towering mountain of hate, as he was trained like a soldier instead of being raised like a son.

Now as a grown man, although those things had faded into memory, he still had to beware the vicious bite of a man who had only been capable of showing him the back of his hand instead of the comfort of his arms. Besides, Rezhan only had himself to blame for why he was dying in Zaityra's neighboring land of Ronan.

Zaityra and Ronan were separated by the Red Sea cutting between them, but were connected by the Rynthe Mountains in the north. The Ronan people had been slowly building settlements out from their land through the pass at the base of the Rynthe Mountains until they had encroached upon Zaityran shepherds at the Zaityran desert border.

When the Ronan's built upon that land, the shepherds lost their access to the grass fields and the waters there. They told their sultan of their woes and he threw himself wholeheartedly into single minded vengeance. It was an easy task for him, the man who had united the nation with renewed vigor and purpose, to call for war.

By the time the Ronan military had learned of the invasion and assembled to stop the onslaught, the Zaityran soldiers were burning the city of Fiorens that lay just outside the mountain pass inside Ronan. The Ronan soldiers were vicious on their home soil and halted the Zaityran ranks in their place, but Sultan Rezhan had been no stranger to battle and no one could frighten him with an army at his back.

He was a strong man, a fighter without question, but his arrogance would bring forth his demise. He had stood at the forefront of the battle, even though he'd been advised not to be, when he was injured. As the enemy's blade pierced his body, his soldiers enveloped him, and many fought while others secured his retreat.

And then the doctors did their work. But even the strongest spirit could not keep the body alive. He would die, and if he was killed in battle, by Zaityran law, Ronan could claim the right of succession, placing their leader on Zaityra's throne.

Erezhad couldn't let his father take Zaityra with him to the grave. He had to do whatever he could to prevent it.

Sultan Rezhan would soon be High Sultan Rezhan as he faded into the next life and Erezhad would take his place as sultan of Zaityra.

His father's eyes opened to search around the room in a rare moment of lucidity and landed on Erezhad with hawk-like precision.

"Ready the men." He rasped hurriedly. "We can't wait for the enemy to re-group. We need to push forward." He began to sit up, ignorant of the pain through dulled senses, and Erezhad tried to lay him back down. He grabbed Erezhad as hard as he could, trying to fight to get up, but the strength he once had was fading fast. "You idiot! We have no time for rest!"

His breathing became worse the more he struggled and he began to wheeze and cough. Tiny droplets of blood splattered between them as he choked against his anguish and the wound in his lower chest began to seep blood into the bandages again. The doctor returned as his father fell back to the bed, sucking in breath like a fish on land.

Erezhad watched for a moment as the doctor gave his father something to ease the pain. As Rezhan drifted back into unconsciousness, Erezhad grabbed a clean cloth from the wash basin and wiped the blood from his own face, arms, and hands.

He wasn't sure what he had expected. Some final words of repentance, or wisdom, or maybe nothing at all, just a silent moment of understanding and acceptance, but no, that wasn't his father's way. Rezhan was a warrior and a nomad and that was all he would ever be.

He had pulled together the sheiks of Zaityra, rebuilt a crumbling empire, and created an army worthy of trampling over anything in its path. He had fought for everything and in the end he would die for nothing. At least that was how Erezhad saw it as he looked over his father's last moments.

He left the tent and looked out at what his father had accomplished. The Ronan people who had assured the sultan's anger hadn't stood a chance. The Zaityran army had sliced its way through the Ronan encampments in the mountain pass as easy as if it were culling the harvest, and before him, Erezhad saw the last vestiges of farmland and the town of Fiorens smoldering in the sunrise.

The smell of the burning city lingered on the air and stung at his nose and eyes. He could taste its ash on his tongue. Any fallen soldiers of their own were removed from the field to be returned to Zaityra for proper burial, but any Ronan soldier that died in battle was left to rot where he lay.

"My lord." The Zaityran commander broke Erezhad's reverie. Erezhad saw the man look at the smattering of blood on his clothes in concern. "What is the sultan's command?"

Erezhad looked at the sunrise, the flush of pink and orange chasing away the darkness and giving way to the light. What legacy would Erezhad leave for his future son? Would he ever have a son if he followed his father's orders?

"My lord?" The commander looked unsure.

Erezhad looked at the man's face and saw something of himself at that moment. He saw himself from years ago when he asked his father what he commanded. He had followed his father unquestionably then, trying to earn a respect that would never be given. The soldiers would follow him unquestionably now and he realized it wasn't the leader that was so important, but what the leader commanded.

He walked over to his tent and pulled out a piece of parchment, his quill, and ink. He brought it over to his father's table with his war map and laid it overtop to write his message. He knew a small amount of the Ronan language, enough to scrawl the needed words across the parchment. "Go to the Ronan camp and give them this message."

The man took the message and moved to obey, then stopped. Erezhad's father would have punished the man for it, but Erezhad had never been that way. He waited patiently.

"Do you think they will surrender, my lord?"

"Do you want to go home?" Erezhad responded.

Fear crossed the man's face. "I will do as the sultanate commands, my lord."

"You didn't answer my question."

The broad shouldered, weathered soldier almost squirmed. "I have a family at home, my lord. I will happily return to them when and if I am able."

"Remember, they feel the same way."

The soldier bowed his head and took off quickly.

Erezhad did not expect surrender from the Ronan Emperor. He didn't know what he expected from them, just like he didn't know what to expect from his father. Or maybe he did know and just didn't want to admit it. But he had to consider the Zaityran law that stated if the sultan was killed in battle then the man who bested him would succeed him, and what it would mean for Zaityra. Rezhan had taken over Zaityra from Erezhad's grandfather by killing him in combat. Now Erezhad would have that command and it was important that he do the right thing with the power he was being given.

Erezhad knew that he had to do whatever he could. He had to do what must be done to save their people and himself. On the eve of Erezhad's independence from his forced obedience, he would not lose his newfound freedom to his father's continued tyranny from beyond the grave.

***

Prince Mycenas ordered his men to release the messenger back to the Zaityran camp with his reply. His reply, not his father's. The emperor's sickness prevented him from going to the meeting with the sultan of Zaityra so it fell to Mycenas as prince of Ronan to go in his place, no matter that Mycenas was only fifteen. His father would never even have allowed Mycenas to go in his place, so Mycenas didn't tell him about it.

His father had readied for battle, but the stress of the fighting was too much for a man who had suffered a chronic illness for most of his life and he had been reduced to giving orders from his tent based on the information told to him by his commander and Mycenas.

Mycenas had done his best so far, but they had struggled to fight off the onslaught of the invading hoard and had been continuously pushed back. Very few that had settled at the foot of the Rynthe Mountains had made it out of there alive when the Zaityrans attacked. There was no point in arguing their choice of settled land now, even if the border had been vague after years of unregulated trade. And no point in arguing the regulations now, even if they were ignored in an effort to continue the easy trade that benefitted both lands.

The attack happened in the dead of night, allowing the Zaityran soldiers to push well into the pass before the Ronan army had been alerted and able to rally their defense. And the Zaityrans were near merciless in their push, so much so that the Ronans had to pull back and regroup or risk losing far too many to deeply defended soldiers and their ambushes in the mountain pass. They pulled back, the Zaityrans hot on their heels, and the soldiers became a protective shield for the city of Fiorens to allow the majority of civilians to escape to safety, but the Zaityrans set the city ablaze and the Ronan soldiers had to pull back again and lose more ground to their attackers.

Mycenas had to watch his people kill and be killed and he didn't know how he could stop it. He had seen Sultan Rezhan in battle, he fought viciously like a man possessed by a demon or a god, and it must have bolstered the Zaityran soldiers' morale just as much as it unsettled the Ronans for him to be in the mass of charging soldiers.

Mycenas hadn't eaten or rested much in the days since learning of the attack, between ensuring his father's orders were carried out, returning to him with new information, and watching over him in his sick bed. He would not complain, but he could see the concern in his men's eyes when they looked at him. Their emperor was unwell and the prince's face looked pale and haggard, with darkening shadows around his eyes and cheeks. How long would this fighting last? How long could he last without rest? How long until his body failed his spirit?

Most importantly, would his father's illness finally be too much for him to bear? If his father died, Mycenas would take the throne, but he knew his age would be an issue. The senate had the authority to appoint an emperor regent in his place, and he knew they would do it if given the chance. He had trained to be a leader and a warrior, but they still saw only a boy when they looked at him. It didn't matter, he knew his duty to his people and he would not fail them.

He did not want to surrender, but he also did not want any more of his people to suffer and die. If only he could just work out some kind of peaceful end to this whole thing.

He couldn't hide the tired, gaunt look his face had taken on or his youth from his foe, but he would do his best to make them work in his favor. He would face this demon of war and show him nothing except determination. And determined was exactly what he was, because only that would keep them from being trodden underfoot of the invading army.

***

Erezhad took a deep breath as he walked up to the tent set up for their meeting. The Zaityran Commander stood ready beside him. He stepped through the curtain and gave his eyes a moment to adjust to the darker interior.

Light softly filtered through the fabric curtain entrance and illuminated two chairs facing each other, a young man sitting in one, the other empty for himself, and a Ronan soldier flanking the boy.

Erezhad's thoughts ran through possible scenarios, but his face remained passive. He took the chair facing the boy and nodded curtly, noticing the dagger in the leather sheath strapped to the boy's chest. The boy responded by staring at him with sharp eyes dampened only by the dark circles beneath. Erezhad was a young man at twenty-two, but the boy before him couldn't be more than fifteen or so. He had dark brown mussed hair and dark brown eyes staring out from a tanned face.

"You are not the sultan of Zaityra." The boy stated flatly. "I've seen him in battle."

Erezhad nodded and pulled the Ronan words from his mind. "And you are a little young to be the emperor of Ronan."

"Then this conversation is over." The boy stood to leave.

"Wait." Erezhad held his hand up and the boy paused. He searched again for the right words. "I am the sultan's son, Prince Erezhad, and I think that you are Prince Mycenas of Ronan. Please, sit." Erezhad invited him easily.

Mycenas returned to his seat and went silent again.

Erezhad let his mind wander for a moment, thinking about the differences this created from the possible outcomes he had anticipated. He realized he would need to change tactics to fit the situation he now faced.

"I see that we have been tasked with this, maybe the most important moment of our lives." Silence followed his words. Mycenas would give him nothing to go off of apparently. "Would you mind if we spoke alone?"

The Ronan soldier beside the prince tightened his grip on his sword in response.

Erezhad turned to his soldier and spoke to him in his native Zaityran. "Wait outside, a few steps away please; I want our conversation to be private. And take my blade." He turned to the prince and the Ronan soldier, switching back to the Ronan language. "I will remain unarmed."

"I see you have as much gall as your father." Mycenas' face remained unchanged.

Erezhad chuckled. A joke no matter the intention served a purpose, he laughed and his laugh could help ease the tension. The Zaityran soldier left, though he looked a bit sour in doing so, and Mycenas lifted a hand that ordered the Ronan to leave.

Erezhad noted that the dagger resting in his vest remained. He wasn't stupid. Alone and unarmed, Erezhad could overpower him easily, though not as easily if Mycenas had a weapon to defend himself. It evened their situation nicely.

"You're right about my father. That is his way. I don't think it has to be mine." Erezhad relaxed in his chair, he wanted to do everything he could to put the boy at ease. He did it all to hide some of his real purpose, but Mycenas clearly kept himself from revealing anything to Erezhad.

He waited, letting the silence settle around them, but Mycenas never faltered in his gaze. Erezhad relaxed even more noticeably and donned a half smile. "Don't take this the wrong way and you don't have to answer, but have you ever been with a woman? It is the most amazing experience." Mycenas narrowed his eyes at him, but said nothing and Erezhad leaned his head back to stare at the ceiling of the tent. "All I can think about is going home, and there's this girl..." He let his voice trail off.

They sat for a few moments in silence. Since Mycenas still refused to offer anything, Erezhad continued. "I want to marry her. I think I only just decided that really. I'd thought it before, but I feel damn sure about it right now." His relaxed demeanor and frivolous conversation didn't seem to affect the boy at all. He took in a deep breath and sat up straight. "You know, nothing will change anything that's happened, right? If a disease spread through Zaityra and everyone died, this still would have happened and there's no changing that."

"I hope this isn't what you had expected to tell my father."

Erezhad laughed again and nodded. "You're right, it's not. I was going to tell him how the politics and land situation forced my father to reach out and take what our people needed, how the mountains and land between us are important to us as farmland and a water resource, and how our people felt encroached upon by Ronan settlements reaching to the Zaityran border and reacted in defense."

"Do you think my father would have believed that?"

"Do you?" Erezhad swallowed. "I want to propose an end to this."

"And I'm still waiting to hear it."

"Let us create a different future for ourselves and our people. If we can come to a settlement that both of us can agree on, then we can end this right now."

"You will remove your troops from Ronan soil."

It was a command without a hint of hesitation.

"Yes. And you could keep Ronan settlements away from the Zaityran border."

"The Ronan people will refrain from moving anywhere beyond the border of Fiorens into the mountains."

Erezhad nodded with a smile.

The prince continued. "And the Zaityran people will do the same on their side. The mountain region is to be a forbidden zone for both."

Erezhad looked at those sharp eyes. The dark circles beneath them were a clear lack of sleep. He was exhausted. Like a dog backed into a corner, he could bite if necessary. Erezhad knew that there was no room for negotiation in what the prince offered. The war will have been for nothing, his father would not have gained the land he sought, but he would soon be gone and his people would live unengaged in war. "Done."

# Fall 1217

"This is a terrible idea!" Erezhad shouted as he threw the scroll across his study.

Seraya walked over and picked it up, straightening it carefully. She pulled her long, wavy black hair away from her face and pushed it over her shoulder. "Maybe, maybe not."

Erezhad laughed. "You know I appreciate your help in these matters, but this is ridiculous and you know it."

She looked back at him with a wry smile, her green-blue eyes flashed like a fair weather storm. "I know that you've been initially unhappy with every proposal Emperor Mycenas has offered. And I don't doubt that he has reacted equally after reading the ones you've sent him."

"I offer the man updates to his laws! I offer him open trade! I offer him safety in our waters! And this is what I get in response." Erezhad slumped back in his chair and threw up his hands in defeat.

"The laws you talk about did not earn him all praise from his Senate, you know that. The open trade benefits us more than him, you know that too. And limiting our war power on the open seas while he limits his is a benefit to peace, but obviously in no one's favor."

Erezhad narrowed his eyes at his sister. "Whose side are you on?"

"The side of peace, which is why I know we will consider this."

He leaned forward with a sour face. "The man wants to put a Ronan soldier in our house, let alone have him be my personal guard."

"I understand your trepidation, but he is willing to accept a soldier of ours in return. And this is an opportunity for our soldiers to feel the hope of peace instead of just the pain of war."

"I doubt they will see it that way."

"They will when I choose the right soldier and they have the benefit of seeing it happen."

Erezhad ran his hand over his face and looked at her through the gaps between his fingers. She stood before him stately in her finery, serene with her loving and knowing soft smile, and radiated calm. "How can you manage to be so..." She waited patiently and he sighed. "So different from our father."

Her soft smile faded and she moved to come around to stand behind him as he sat at the desk. She put her hands on his shoulders and massaged gently. "You know why."

Erezhad nodded. He shouldn't have brought it up. It distressed her more than it did him anymore. As the first born, she had their father's anger until Erezhad was born. She still felt bad that she couldn't stop their father from hurting him since she was the older of the two. Erezhad had simply been happy that their father focused on him as he grew up and left her alone.

"Look, his idea is lofty and I'm afraid too much so to make it work. I simply cannot chance it and there are plenty of people who wouldn't let me anyway."

Seraya sighed. "I can't pretend that the world is not what it is, and I understand."

"If it were not me, then it might be different. We could still share information and work with one of his soldiers, I'm not absolutely opposed."

"Hmm." Seraya picked the scroll up from the desk and began reading again, walking absently around the desk.

"What?"

"Well, he says to have a personal guard in the palace, but he doesn't mention you by name."

"Yes, but he says a personal guard in the palace. I think we both know what he means."

"I beg your pardon, my lord. I see room for interpretation. 'A Ronan personal guard in the palace for the protection of the royal family.'" She stopped reading and looked squarely at him. "I am a member of the royal family."

"No."

Seraya opened her mouth to speak.

"N-O, Seraya. No. Absolutely not."

"You know as well as I do that-"

"I will never-"

"-the sheiks don't give a-"

"-and you will not convince me-"

"-camel's spit that I'm involved."

"-that you will be involved."

The two of them sighed, aggravated.

"I will be perfectly safe." Seraya continued. "I will still have my own Zaityran guard. I will just be taking on an extra. You know I have more patience than you, time than you, and my safety is not as important."

"It is to me." He responded firmly.

Seraya's soft smile returned and she went back to his side. "Yes, I know. I mean I'm not as much of a target and the sheiks will not mind if I take on this guard as much as they would if you did."

Erezhad groaned. "You know this is all because I agreed to his request for a unified language and agreed to the Ronan language."

"That was a difficult request, but it is a good idea, it helps with trade and it helps with peace. On the bright side, I'll have a good reason to keep at it. Or at least memorize my favorite orders." Seraya shrugged.

"Maybe, but what, by all the gods, is he going to ask for next?" Erezhad shook his head.

Seraya sat down across from him and began writing the response on fresh parchment. Erezhad kept her closely involved with every missive, treaty, and request that came and went. He also admired her handwriting much more than his own and always had her write out his responses. They knew each other so well that she could write a response that sounded exactly like what he would say and sometimes he liked her worded response even better than his own. He could dictate to some scribe, but he enjoyed the time with his sister and they had the ability to speak freely without anyone else with them.

Seraya's wavy black hair was like his own and their father's, but while Erezhad had sharp green eyes like their father, Seraya had the green-blue of their mother's. He could only remember her vaguely anymore; he had been so young when she had died. He was always sorry that their mother hadn't lived long enough to see Seraya grow up into a beautiful woman.

"There's something else I wanted to talk about with you."

"Mhmm." Seraya hummed as she continued writing.

"I've heard some talk lately. Actually, it's been going on for a while. About me not having an heir."

Seraya's hand stopped moving across the parchment, but she didn't look up at him.

"I thought the right thing to do was ignore it."

"And you were right." Seraya put down the quill and looked up at him. "I don't think you should address these stupid remarks."

"I agreed, initially, but I have four daughters now."

"Four lovely girls!" Seraya expressed fondly.

"Yes, and I love them absolutely. I just can't ignore what the people are saying forever."

Seraya's brow furrowed. "They prattle on like a flock of vultures. It's not right."

"They have the right to be concerned about their future."

"There's nothing to be concerned about! You have four strong, healthy daughters. You have four possible heirs."

He gave her a pitying smile and she scoffed. "It's not that I don't think them capable. They will all be taught to be capable at managing their households no matter how they choose to marry. But I have to agree with some of the talk. Even if I chose one of them as my heir, and they marry nobility no matter if it's Zaityran or Ronan or a foreign dignitary, their child will not be considered a direct heir of our line."

"It's the same!" She threw up her hands.

"As soon as they marry, the people will consider the man they choose to be my successor, not them."

"Ridiculous."

"It's the way it has always been. I can't change the thoughts of the people. They will consider the child an heir of the father's line and it will be as if his family line would be taking over the sultanate."

Seraya sat fuming in silence.

"Well, I wanted to know what you thought and I guess now I do."

She nodded as if it were obvious. "You know the Ronan Emperor doesn't even have any children yet."

"Well, he's younger than me, but you know he's facing some trouble with that among his people as well."

Seraya huffed. "So what do you want to do?"

Erezhad laughed. "I'm going to keep trying to have a son. Not much else I can do."

Seraya chuckled in response. "I'm sure you'll have a son. Remember, you were born after I was."

"I just hope I won't need your help addressing the people if I don't have a son."

It was Seraya's turn to look pitying.

"Oh don't look at me like that. Go back to writing my decrees for me."

# Winter 1218

Erezhad sat in his study after the sun went down; long enough that the tall candle had melted down to nothing but a nub with a weak, tiny flame. Although he had the curtains drawn over the windows, the flame flickered against the mediocre draft sneaking into the room.

He went to take another generous sip from his goblet and found it sadly empty. He reached for the jug and it lifted so easily that he wasn't surprised when he tipped it over and nothing came out.

He wobbled as he tried to stand, so he made extra effort with each step as he moved to the table against the side of the room to retrieve another jug. Back safely at his desk he set the jug down and dropped into his chair with a thud.

With the exertion over, his mind meandered back to where it had been before the wine had ran out, through his tumultuous history all the way to the present, to the point where he sat drinking himself stupid.

His youth had been dedicated to war and half destroyed by his dangerous father. Somehow he had survived both his father's life and his death, leaving him the ability to take the power given to him and use it the best he could. He had been able to put an end to the fighting, build up a sturdy truce and some decent trade with Ronan, and even marry and have children.

He loved all his children dearly. His first child was born less than a year after the end of the war, a daughter. A bundle of sweetness that proved to him how right he had been to put his people's safety above his father's power hungry desires. A few years later came his second daughter and then his third.

The Zaityran people continued to celebrate as he and his wife did at each wonderful, beautiful little girl born, but the years were passing and, as much as he loved his daughters, he needed a son, an heir. He and his wife knew they had to have a son next; they couldn't possibly have another girl. Yet he did have a fourth daughter, born ten years after the end of the war, and the people were getting restless.

They needed him to have an heir. They needed the certainty that came with it, the certainty that their future was safe in hands they trusted. They needed strong leadership. As much as he knew his daughters could marry extremely well, and marry their choosing of the sheiks' sons, having them be his only recourse for an heir would tip the balance of power among the sheiks. No, it had to be a son of his line.

Seraya had no husband, she hadn't ever fully trusted any man because of how their father had been, and it seemed her fate in life that her dedication to the Zaityran and Ronan alliance would leave her no time for a family. It was all up to him. Yet, now thirteen years after the end of the war, his wife had given birth earlier in the day to a beautiful child, their fifth daughter.

Erezhad's eyes focused on the jug on the desk as he grabbed it and poured more into his goblet. He wasn't about to let too much time and too many thoughts sharpen his senses when he was working so hard to dull them.

The door to Erezhad's study opened and the draft threatened the weak candle flame.

"I said I did not want to be disturbed." Erezhad's heavy voice left no room for a response.

Yet a response drifted back to him, a woman's lilting whisper. "I'm not here to disturb you, my lord."

He looked up, a moment passed, and his eyes confirmed what his ears had heard. A hint of moonlight filtered in through a window behind her and silhouetted the woman at his doorway. The voice tickled his memory, but the flickering flame did nothing to illuminate her. He sat waiting in his slowed state as she drifted closer.

And her sweet whispers continued. "I wish only to comfort my sultan."

"I'm a proud father five times over today, what comforting must I need?" As true as he tried to sound, the wine made him sound more derisive than he had intended.

"None for your gain, my lord. Only for your loss."

"What, may I ask, have I lost?"

"Nothing that cannot be regained, I assure you."

Erezhad shook his head, frustrated by the double talking shadow, and drained the last of his goblet. He swallowed the hard lump in his throat. "Are you a ghost sent to torture me with riddles?"

"I am what you need, nothing more, nothing less."

Erezhad laughed. "What is it then, that you think I need?"

The silhouette stopped a mere step away from the light. "An heir, my lord."

Erezhad narrowed his eyes as realization cleared the haze just enough. He moved the candle to the edge of the desk, pushing the light to where she stood. "Here to haunt me, just not a ghost. Why are you out of the harem, Zamaya?"

"I told you-"

"I heard you. And I am not amused." Erezhad sighed.

The harem women were a lingering cultural tradition that Erezhad had all but ended. They were musical and dancing entertainment for the sultanate and guests as well as pleasurable companions upon the sultan's request.

Erezhad abhorred the notion. His father's pleasures usually came at the expense of his mother's happiness. He had vowed to end the repulsive practice, but he would not fault the women for the sins of his father.

As harem women, they were revered, held up as idols by the people, desired by the sheiks. If desired, and the sultan generous, they could be gifted to a sheik, noble, or a foreign dignitary, as a trophy worth winning, with the knowledge that they would need to be cared for or face the sultan's wrath.

Should they lose favor with the sultan, he could discard them, and they would face ridicule and shame. They had no talents for working or caring for a home, and removed from the sultan's protection they were considered loose women even if they had never been bedded while living in the palace harem. Erezhad releasing them from their service to the palace would be tantamount to reducing them to destitution and opening them up to danger, essentially removing his protection and making them lambs to the slaughter.

The harem women understood that Erezhad was not going to be like his father. He made sure to fulfill their needs for a carefree life. They continued to entertain with music and dancing at events and parties he held, and if a noble or sheik inquired after them, he would ask them if they were interested. If the girl was interested, then he would arrange that they be released to the suitor. If the girl wasn't interested, then he would offer his apologies to the suitor, but insist that the girl needed to remain at the palace to entertain his guests.

They wanted for nothing. Except for Zamaya. Erezhad didn't know if Zamaya had ever been with his father, he tried not to think about it even after both his mother and father passed away. It didn't matter to Zamaya; she had made it abundantly clear that she wanted Erezhad. To be the sultan's favored mistress was, before Erezhad dismissed the traditions, highly sought after among the women. Erezhad made sure to politely decline Zamaya's advances over the years, but she didn't give up.

"I expect you to understand." He stood to lead her to the door, pouring himself more wine on the way.

"My lord, I do understand. I understand all too well. You are a good man, the kind of man our people deserve. But I worry that you deserve better than them."

Erezhad scoffed. "How so?"

"I hear them, as I'm sure you do. I hear them whispering about the future of the sultanate."

Erezhad winced and drank his goblet empty. Her words hit too close, even though her voice was silky soft.

"I don't like to hear them say these things about you."

Erezhad stood straight and found his voice harsher than he intended. "And what do they say?"

Zamaya bowed her head. "My lord."

"Tell me." He coaxed, his words dripping with restrained anger.

"They speak of heirs and of choosing another to lead us."

He threw his goblet across the room where it smashed into some delicate pottery. The broken shards danced across the floor beneath, resounding sweet chimes in defiance of the destruction.

She reached for him and her soft touch against his arm added to the wine's effects, draining him of his anger. "There is no fault with you in this."

"How can it not be?"

"A family line is a delicate balance and yet some women birth girls and some boys."

Erezhad tensed. "It's not her fault."

Zamaya squeezed his arm. "No, it's no one's fault. It is as the gods decree. They watch us and toy with us as they choose."

Erezhad rubbed his eyes. "So we are doomed to submit to fate."

"It has always been my lot in life." Zamaya whispered sadly.

Erezhad looked down at her and she looked up at him in response. Her features, high cheek bones, petite nose, almond shaped eyes, had always been beautiful, it was the reason she was chosen for the palace harem. But now her light hazel eyes, shining under thick, black lashes looked sad as well.

"I've always tried to do the best I could with what I've been given."

"Zamaya..." Erezhad began, but he didn't know what to say.

"Don't." She looked away from him. "I don't like the way you look at me. I'm not her and I understand your feelings."

He touched her arm gently and she shook her head.

"It's alright. I don't need to be her. I couldn't help you that way."

"Zamaya..."

"You need a son, my lord. You need an heir. And I can help you."

Erezhad pulled back and looked at her incredulously.

"The women in my family have a strong history of birthing boys, especially the first born."

"Zamaya!" He whispered vehemently.

"You only need one and we would only need one time. I am in the time that I can conceive easily."

"Zamaya!" His voice was louder and more adamant.

She still wouldn't look at him, her face down, her lower lip quivering. He couldn't hide the pity he felt for her.

"I have been branded into your service and you shun me. I receive your contempt and I remain quiet." She raised her face to look at him, eyes wet with fresh tears. "But I must also think of the sultanate. In service to you I am also in service to your family and your house and your future. Your future and the future of the sultanate are in danger of splitting apart." A tear slid down her cheek and she refused to wipe it away. "I offer you salvation, but because I offer you myself, you turn me away like a leper."

"Zamaya, I understand what you are trying to do, but I can't. I will not be like my father."

"Then you will lose everything just as he did." She responded strongly.

"So be it." He sat on his desk and his shoulders slumped.

Her hand whipped across his face so fast he barely saw it happen, but the pain from her strike forced a reaction from him. He grabbed her arms and pinned them against her sides in a flash. "How dare you!"

"How dare you!" She flashed back. "You are the sultan of Zaityra, yet you act worse than a slave. We may know our lot in life, but we continue to struggle to make it better. You act as if you've given up. The strongest man, the most important man... and you act like a coward!"

He shoved her away from him and she slammed into the wooden cabinet against the wall.

She grunted but didn't give up. "You stick to some standard you've set for yourself, but it's only pushed you into a corner. Your father was dedicated to fighting everything and you've dedicated yourself to giving in! By making sure you're nothing like him, you've made sure you're nothing like a sultan!"

He growled and grabbed her shoulders, pushing her against the cabinet again. "You have no right!"

"I have every right! I am branded to you and my life is to ensure yours is what you need it to be."

"By the gods, Zamaya, what do you know about what I need?"

"Do you really want to give up everything you've worked towards all these years? You created peace between us and Ronan, created stable leadership for Zaityra, and you can't tell me you're willing to give it all up so easily. I'm not asking you for anything. I'm offering something to you. I'm offering you a son to pass on your family line, to lead the sultanate in the future, to appease those who would destroy you. All you have to do is let me help you."

He let his hands drop from her shoulders and she quickly closed the gap between them. She grabbed the back of his head and pulled him into a kiss. He stumbled in his slowed state and when he tried to push her back, she held tight. He stepped forward and shoved her hard against the cabinet with his body. Her head hit the cabinet and the pain made her break the kiss.

He held her shoulders against the cabinet, trying to get some space between them, and he squeezed his eyes shut. The heady wine he had downed muddled his thoughts and Zamaya's fighting with him flushed him with anger and adrenaline.

She whispered to him. "Let me help you." Her words were thick with need. She slid her hand from the back of his head to his cheek. Her hand was warm and soft, the same as her body pressed against him. "Let me give you what you need." She pulled him tight to her and he leaned heavily against her and the cabinet. "Don't let them destroy you and everything you've made. Fight them." She lifted her chin and slid her soft lips along his. He brought his hand up and hit the cabinet with his fist. She kissed him again, sliding her hand again behind his head and pulling him to her.

He pulled away hard, turning around and running his hands through his hair. He went back to the desk and grabbed the wine jug, lifting it to his lips and tipping it high, he drank until his lungs burned and he had to pull it away to gasp for breath. She moved next to him, turned him around, and pulled him to her again, sliding one hand behind his head to pull him into a tight kiss and her other hand slid down his chest to his waist.

He set the jug down as his feelings warred with each other and his body burned. His lungs still burned for air, his chest burned for freedom from his constraints, and the rest of him burned for her. Her hand on his waist slid lower and he groaned. And he finally reached out to grab her. His mind went almost blank, empty of everything except her in his arms, her touch, her lips, her body pressing against him, filling him with need.

She pulled desperately at his clothes as he slid her free of her dress and he pulled her down to the rug on the floor. He was anything but gentle, but her response was only to urge him on.

When he finished, he pulled away from her, grabbed her dress and threw it at her. "Now get out."

She slid the dress on as she walked to the door. "My lord." She bowed her head and left the room. The sound of the door closing echoed in the room and in his mind long after she had left.

# Spring 1219

Seraya ran toward the sounds of shouting and smashing ringing down the hallway with Maximus following close behind.

"Sera, stop! It could be dangerous!"

She ignored his warnings and grabbed the door handle once she reached the room the sounds were coming from. Maximus grabbed her from behind and she wriggled like a wild animal that had been caught. She got an arm free and grabbed the door, swinging it open before he could stop her.

To their surprise, no one paid any attention to the Ronan guard in the doorway with his arms unceremoniously wrapped around the Zaityran noblewoman and together they gaped openly at the scene before them.

The sultana was screaming at the sultan.

Erezhad had his head bowed and he leaned both hands on his desk before him as Tirzah seethed before him.

"Did you think I wouldn't find out?" She continued and grabbed random scrap off the desk that she chucked at him.

He let it all hit him and scatter across the desk as it fell.

"You lying, deceiving...I hope you got what you wanted! I hope it was worth it!" She grabbed another priceless glass decoration and turned to throw it at the opposite wall. Seraya and Maximus ducked and it hit the wall next to the doorway. Tears streaming down her face, Tirzah saw them in the doorway and hissed with renewed vigor. "And you! Did you know?"

Maximus finally let go of Seraya. He looked down the hallways behind them before ushering the two of them inside and closing the door after him. Seraya stood wide eyed and couldn't move her mouth to speak. It didn't matter; Tirzah wasn't waiting for a response. She turned back to Erezhad and cleared half the desk onto the floor with one swipe of her hand.

"Was it here?" She pointed at the empty spot she made.

Seraya watched the papers, quills, and other detritus scatter across the floor. "Where's the rug?" She asked absently, grabbing onto any semblance of normal she could.

Tirzah whirled around, her eyes wide and filled with a wild rage. Seraya sank back against Maximus and Tirzah's eyes looked to the floor. Then she turned, slowly, back to Erezhad. Her voice reduced to an angry growl. "Were you trying to hide it? Or could you just not look at it anymore?" She stepped around the desk and continued to advance on Erezhad.

Erezhad stood his ground, but not out of any defiance to her; his head hung low in a defeat so deep he looked like he couldn't bring himself to stop a sword coming at him if he saw it coming.

They were interrupted by a knock at the door. Everyone was in so much shock that there was still a world outside the door that no one moved at first. Maximus stepped over and opened the door. In walked the harem girl Zamaya, whose face went from smiling to expressionless in the blink of an eye. Maximus closed the door on the guard that had escorted her and looked expectantly over to Erezhad and Tirzah.

Tirzah's eyes had narrowed to a hawk's predator gaze and she bared her teeth in a silent growl. "You. Plotting, manipulating, scheming..." She began searching for something in what was left on the desk.

Zamaya looked cautiously at everyone in turn, but no one moved or said anything.

Tirzah knocked the chair at the desk aside and rushed to the ground to grab something. Seraya gasped when she saw the tiny blade in her hand that Erezhad used for breaking wax seals. Tirzah turned and looked wild-eyed at Zamaya who immediately turned to Maximus.

"You wouldn't let her harm the son of the sultan!" She backed up and covered her growing stomach with her hands.

Maximus' eyes flicked to her stomach, to Erezhad, and then to the sultana. As soon as Tirzah rushed to attack Zamaya he stepped in front of her and grabbed her by the wrists. Maximus looked cautiously at Erezhad, but he only continued to stare at his desk.

It would normally mean death for Maximus to touch the sultana, but he had sworn the same oath to protect the family of the sultan as Zaityran soldiers did. That included protecting the sultan's children from the sultana if necessary. Maximus bent her wrist just enough and Tirzah cried out as the blade dropped from her hand. She began sobbing uncontrollably and collapsed in his arms.

Seraya walked over and wrapped her arms around Tirzah, helping her from the room. She spared a glance at the others on their way out, Erezhad still couldn't meet her eyes, Maximus looked like he felt he should be anywhere else, but Seraya thought she saw a smile half hidden on Zamaya's down turned face as the woman rubbed her stomach.

As she left the room she heard Erezhad whisper harshly to Maximus to return Zamaya to the harem.

Seraya took Tirzah to her room and carefully sedated her with a mixture of wine and herbs to calm the poor woman's hysterical sobbing and left the room as soon as she was asleep. Maximus stood outside the door, waiting for her.

She motioned for Maximus to follow her. Together they walked to Seraya's room and she looked around cautiously before she invited him to come inside and close the door behind them. It wasn't the first time she had allowed him inside her room without a slave present, but it was just as dangerous to him as grabbing the sultana if he was caught.

She sat on her bed and Maximus sat in her desk chair. Maximus had been her constant companion for almost two years after they had agreed to the Ronan proposal in an effort to earn trust. He had been a bit stiff and reserved at first, but Seraya hated too much pomp and circumstance, and eventually he had relaxed around her and had actually become the one who would take more liberties with what he said than she ever did. Never insulting, at least not to her or who she cared about. She'd come to appreciate his perspective, being so different from what she was accustomed to, and she felt comfortable discussing her personal thoughts with him.

She'd found that he was incredibly honest and quite smart. He had dark brown hair and soft blue eyes that sometimes looked gray when he was bored or sometimes flashed bright blue whenever he was excited about something.

She knew absolutely, that he would never betray her confidence. He had told her as much when he had first arrived, that the point of his position was to foster trust. She tested his resolve at first by telling him a few believable falsehoods and seeing if they spread. He held loyal to his word. No matter what she told him, he never shared a word of it with anyone else.

The last one she ever told him though, he made a face at her that showed he knew what she was doing, and then when she couldn't stop laughing, he laughed too. She trusted him after that and found that he was just as good with the truth as with any lie. Though that didn't help when she wasn't sure what the truth was.

"I don't know what to say. It's not like my brother." Seraya shook her head; half the words in her head couldn't make it out of her mouth.

"You know I won't tell anyone, it's not my purpose here."

Seraya shook her head harder. "That's not what I mean. I trust you. I just mean, it's not like him." She took a deep breath and sighed. "It was like our father to be with the harem women, he just made sure not to have any children with them. But my brother is nothing like him. He wants to be nothing like him. I don't understand."

"You've told me how important it is for him to have an heir. I've heard the same things you have."

"Even an illegitimate one? Besides that, the act itself is completely out of character for him."

"It depends on how he sees it and how the people see it. If it's a necessity, will they really focus on the child being illegitimate if it is a boy? Perhaps they'll just see that the sultan finally has a son, an heir."

Seraya threw her pillow across the room, frustrated. "Is that all a man can see?"

A smile tugged at one corner of Maximus' mouth. He got up, got her pillow, and brought it over to hand it back to her. "Men do have a tendency to be blinded by their own manhood."

Seraya faked a laugh and Maximus grinned ear to ear.

He went back to the desk. "But, for the people, it can be important to know that their leader has an heir to pass on their leadership to. If not and someone completely different took over, it could change their entire lives in one moment. Their hopes are that a good leader will pass on their knowledge to their heir and that people can live safely knowing their future is secure."

"I know all of that!"

"Are you sure? Because, as distasteful as you find this, and keep in mind you're not alone, you did see your brother's face did you not? This might have been his only recourse."

"His only- he has a wife!"

"With now five daughters. I'm not trying to upset you, but you said you didn't understand."

"I don't know how I feel about it." Seraya sighed, feeling the sad weight of her words.

Maximus came back to her and kneeled before her. "You love your brother's children. I don't doubt that you will love this child of his the same way."

Seraya managed a sheepish smile. "You're right, but... what about everyone else? The sultana... I don't know for sure that she won't actually try to kill Zamaya."

Maximus' brow furrowed. "I don't ignore possible threats and I know a woman can be as dangerous as a man, but even as angry as she is right now, I don't believe she would harm Erezhad's child, especially a possible heir."

"What if it turns out to be a girl?"

"Then Zamaya may have signed away her life to the gods."

"You don't think..."

"I think that if it's a girl, the girl's life will be spared, though her life will be very difficult, but I don't think Zamaya will receive the same pardon."

"And if it is a boy?"

"Then Erezhad's problems with the people will be over, but his problems in the palace will double."

"Yes, I think I can agree on that." Seraya rubbed her hands over her face and groaned.

"Something else troubling you?"

She sighed. "Yes. How could she have hidden being pregnant?"

Maximus made a somewhat knowing face. "Actually, I've noticed a few things that gave me the impression that something was going on with some of the guards in regard to the harem women. Nothing that I could prove though."

"Could that mean this child is not my brother's?"

"No. You saw his face. Besides, Zamaya is the only one that still held out hopes for your brother."

"You could still tell my brother."

"I have. And as long as they aren't hurt or unhappy, he doesn't really want to get involved. Besides, there's only so long anyone could hide a pregnancy and it looks like this was the limit."

"I suppose all we can do now is wait."

A knock on the door made Maximus stand up straight and step away from her.

Seraya looked to the door. "Who is it?"

"It's me, your grace."

They both relaxed and Seraya called to the door. "Come in Hestia."

As Hestia entered, Maximus bowed and left. He nodded to Hestia on his way out and the woman smiled. Few were as polite as Maximus was to slaves and Hestia appreciated it as much as the others did. It made Seraya happy that he was naturally that way because she was as well. Hestia was one of the slaves born into service of the sultanate and they had known each other their whole lives.

Hestia looked at Seraya and her face became more concerned. "M'lady, are you alright?"

"It's already being talked about isn't it?" She grimaced.

Hestia tried to make it not seem so bad. "No one speaks of matters above them. Everyone is simply happy for the sultan. They pray to the gods for a boy."

"That didn't exactly help the first five times."

"Your grace, you must stay positive." Hestia bustled around cleaning and preparing Seraya's things.

"You're right of course." Seraya got up and moved over to her desk. She pulled her diary from its hiding place behind her other books and sat down to write. "I hope it's a boy too."

"Still writing in that, are you?"

Seraya hummed in response. "I know the scribes are taking everything down, but I enjoy keeping a personal record. Years later I can look back and see the things my brother has done to push Zaityra forward into a peaceful age. I can look back on my own thoughts. It helps me think sometimes, helps me relax."

"Anything that you think is good for you, I agree with, you know that. Even that Ronan, if I may say so."

Seraya turned to look at Hestia in shock. "You may not!"

"I think I may."

"You're wrong."

"I think not."

"Hestia!"

She chuckled and stopped working to look at Seraya fully. She put her hands on her hips. "I'm not blind, it's clear he likes you and it's clear you like him. If you really want to keep that a secret, maybe you shouldn't have him in your room so much."

Seraya pursed her lips together. "Has anyone said anything?"

"No. No one knows but me."

Seraya sighed. "Look, it's not that he isn't attractive."

"Oh you don't have to tell me that; you couldn't hide those muscles under all the sand in Zaityra."

"Hestia!"

"All I'm saying is that I don't think you've chosen wrong."

Seraya laughed. "If only that were true, and I'm not saying I've chosen anything, but you know full well we couldn't be together even if we wanted to be."

"I think you both do. And I think your brother's deeds in making peace are a good start in the right direction."

"Well, I hope you're right about the peace. But I'm sure you're wrong about...the other thing."

Hestia scoffed. "You're a terrible liar."

# Fall 1219

Seraya and Maximus sat on the settee in the outer room while Zamaya struggled to give birth in the inner chamber. The settee had been a gift from the emperor of Ronan, a present to the sultan and sultana, but as the sultan's temporary mistress was giving birth in the other room, it didn't seem right for the sultan or sultana to make use of a seat made for two to sit happily together.

Erezhad bounced between pacing and sitting across from them, though even while sitting, he continuously tapped his fingers on his knee.

Seraya had seen him wait for the birth of all his children, and even though he was usually nervous, this felt different. It was to be expected though; they were currently waiting to be absolutely sure that the child Zamaya had carried to term was a boy.

It had been highly touted that she was carrying a boy, rumors at least half encouraged by Zamaya herself, and a lot hinged on it actually being the truth. Tirzah had refused to be present and chose instead to remain in her bed, as much of a protest as she could manage.

Seraya worried that, after the birth, Tirzah would take matters into her own hands. No matter if the child born was a boy or a girl, would Zamaya have forfeited her life? And how safe would the child be?

It had been a difficult term. As the days turned to weeks and then to months and the season changed, the sultana had been wracked by the widest range of emotions. She was torn between a bed ridden invalid filled with loathing and sobbing hysterics and an embodiment of the demon god of hate, spewing curses and threatening death.

Zamaya had been kept safe by the guards and Tirzah had been kept safe from herself partially by Seraya and the rest by a never ending parade of the sultana's handmaidens. They had all tried to bear it with the utmost discretion, but the rumors had still spread beyond the palace walls. But the people would speak no ill will toward the sultana or the sultan. They were simply overjoyed that the sultan was going to have a son, as the prevailing rumor was that the child would be a boy. There were some whispers about the child being illegitimate and some people who were sure it would only be another girl, but they were mostly drowned out by the high expectations of the majority.

Everyone tensed as more agonizing screams came from the inner chamber, but they quieted quickly and the silence was interrupted by a baby's cries. They stood and Erezhad went into the inner chamber to see for himself as Seraya waited patiently with Maximus, but Erezhad came back out almost as quickly as he went in. He closed the door behind him and leaned against it. Seraya opened her mouth to say something, but stopped when she saw a slow smile creep over her brother's features.

He finally looked up at them. "I have a son."

Maximus stepped forward with his hand outstretched. "Allow me to congratulate you, my lord."

He clasped his hand firmly. "Thank you." He turned to Seraya. "I'll need your help."

"Absolutely, anything you need." Seraya confirmed with a smile.

"I'll need you to get the Moon Room set up for Zamaya and my son."

"A-are you sure?" Seraya lived in the Sun Room, a room reserved for family of the sultan. The Moon Room however, was reserved for the sultan's mistress or a second wife if you went by the oldest traditions, but Erezhad had always shunned those ways despite them being continued by their father.

Erezhad nodded. "My wife will have nothing to do with him. It's probably best that he is nursed by his birth mother anyway. And I can't leave him in the harem. They could be set up in another room, but it's actually best that they take that room to solidify his legitimacy."

"You're right, I understand. I'll take care of it so you don't have to worry about a thing." Seraya moved to leave, but stopped at the door and turned back. "What's his name?"

Erezhad smiled almost sheepishly. "She wants to name him Ezhad."

# Summer 1224

"I'm not really interested in going to the Hasrath races, they're so barbaric, but my brother is taking Ezhad with him for his birthday. And Zamaya will be going with him because she believes the boy can't be without her. And the sultana will be going because she will not allow Zamaya to even be mistaken for more than she is. And so I simply can't leave my poor brother alone with his wife and the mother of his son."

"No, princess."

"It's been hard for both the women seeing as how they both want the other to die. And it's not good for Ezhad since the sultana can't even hide her distaste of him and his mother can't seem to hide her indifference to him besides how it has given her some fluffed up sense of importance."

"Yes, your grace."

"All I can do is try to keep them away from each other and keep Ezhad distracted from their ridiculous behavior while he grows up. He shouldn't have to shoulder their burden. Though, he is growing fast and doesn't need his mother as much anymore. I think soon enough my brother will finally be able to remove her from the palace. He will make sure she is taken care of as if she were still in the harem, but it absolutely won't do to put her back in there or keep her in the Moon Room or even in the palace at all once Ezhad doesn't need her. We only had to wait for him to reach an age where she didn't need to nurse or care for him at all times and he's already reached that. I could care for him as the sultana would not if his mother was not with him, but I know he is still a little too young to remove him from her. My brother agrees, but we also agree that by this time next year it will no longer be the case." Seraya took a deep breath. "Well, back to the races. I'll need the handmaidens to get my things together for the trip; I'll be too busy sorting everything out. At least we can travel by ship to the races which is more comfortable than having to caravan across the desert."

"Yes, M'lady."

"We'll need to make sure everything is taken care of while we're away."

"Yes, your ladyship."

"I mean, there's always been someone left at the palace to handle everything, but since we're all going this time, we have to make sure the entire city is properly ready for our absence, the guards at the palace are all prepared, any messages are redirected to us at the races, my brother's advisor and the captain of the guard can handle any issues that arise while we are away, and that everyone is prepared in case of an emergency, gods forbid."

"Yes, mistress."

Seraya stopped and turned to look at Maximus with a deadpan expression. "Are you even listening to me anymore?"

He responded with a wild smile and, seizing her wrists in his hands he pushed her against the wall, leaning in to kiss her neck.

"Maximus!" Her exclamation came out more as a rushed intake of breath.

He stopped and pulled back to look into her eyes. "I do love it when you say my name."

Seraya looked left and right down the hallway and hissed at him in a whisper amid giggles. "Max, what if someone sees?"

"You needn't worry; I have a soldier's hearing. No one walks these halls but us." Then he went back to kissing her neck.

"You're incorrigible. How will our son ever grow into a proud man with you as his father?"

Maximus pulled back quickly. He blinked. Several times. He looked down at her stomach. "A son...a child?" He looked back up into her eyes as they sparkled with contained joy. "Please don't toy with me, M'lady."

She faked looking affronted. "As if I would jest about such a thing."

She gasped in shock as he picked her up and swung her around. He placed her delicately back on her feet and kissed her forehead as they both laughed happily. "A son. Are you sure?"

"My lady tells me it will be a boy. She's helped birth many children so I believe her."

He sighed with a smile on his face and pulled her close to him. "It's wonderful. What about your brother though?"

She raised her eyebrows. "My brother will begrudge me nothing, especially not this."

He looked doubtful. "Not even a child whose father is Ronan? And what about me? I like being alive."

She giggled, but stopped when he looked a bit unamused. She put her hand against the side of his face. "My brother has done everything in his power to give our people peace. He has no hate for Ronan or you."

"All the same," He put his hand over hers. "I think it's best if people don't know who the father is."

She couldn't hide the sadness that crossed her face.

"If you marry, you're supposed to marry a noble. I'm nowhere near good enough for you."

"You are." She returned with simple finality.

"Your child will have every benefit in life, but only if I'm not the father." He brushed his hand gently over her stomach.

She looked down at her stomach. "Then... I will tell them that he is a gift from the gods."

"Will the people actually believe that?"

"They will." She stated with determination. "No one can go against my word except my brother and he won't." Maximus smiled, but looked surprised when Seraya lifted her hand to stop him. "But when the time is right, the people will know who his father is."

"Then for now we may enjoy our secret." He smiled. "And I will go back to kissing your neck." He grabbed her wrists and pushed her up against the wall to continue kissing her neck.

"Maximus, stop it!" She exclaimed in a whisper.

He laughed against her neck.

Then he stopped when he heard footsteps running down the hallway.

"Max..." She whispered, scared.

He listened intently. "No, it's a child's steps."

She sucked in a breath. "Ezhad."

"If he tells anyone..."

She pulled away from him and put up her hands to relax him. "Don't worry, I'll speak to him, he listens to me."

"Quickly." He urged.

She took off down the hall as fast as her dress would let her.

***

Ezhad rushed into the room and closed the door behind him, locking it.

"Ezhad!" Zamaya exclaimed in aggravation. "What is the matter with you? What's your hurry? And why do you lock my door?"

"Momma! I saw...something terrible." Ezhad fidgeted.

"Oh dear." She looked away from him and rolled her eyes, turning back to the mirror at her desk. "Was it a monster?" She mocked sarcastically.

"No, momma, no. It was... It was Auntie."

She saw the sour look her face made in the mirror before her. "Oh yes, I know the feeling."

"Momma, Auntie was in the hallway, and I saw her talking with someone so I didn't interrupt. I didn't interrupt momma!"

"Yes dear, that's good." She half listened while she went back to her reflection. "You're learning to be a great man and sultan, just like your father." She almost rolled her eyes at the last part of what she said.

"No momma! I mean, that's not why..."

Zamaya huffed. "Tell me dear," She said exasperated. "I surely don't want you to suffer."

"Well, she was talking with that man that follows her around everywhere."

Zamaya sighed, uncaring. "Yes, that Ronan."

"Yeah and I saw..."

"Just say it already!"

"I saw him attack her!" He blurted.

Her shocked expression looked back at her in the mirror. "Attack?" She blinked and turned around in her chair to face him again, narrowing her eyes. "Tell me what you saw."

"I saw them in the hallway, they were talking, and then he grabbed her and pushed her against the wall. He was hurting her momma!"

"What was he doing?"

Ezhad's face scrunched up. "I think he was biting her neck."

She raised her eyebrows. "I see." She sat back in her chair, deep in thought.

"Momma..." Ezhad still looked uncomfortable.

"Now, dear, I don't want you to worry anymore. I want you to go run along and play. Don't tell anyone what we've talked about, okay? I will take care of everything."

"Even Auntie?"

"Don't worry, dear." She smiled slyly as she thought it all over. "I will take care of Auntie."

"Thanks momma!" He already looked much happier, turned and unlatched the door, and ran off.

***

Seraya smiled as she spotted him. Little Ezhad with a mess of black hair atop his head and sharp green eyes like his father's. "Ezhad there you are! I've been looking all over for you."

"You have?" He looked unsure and Seraya was pretty sure she saw him craning to look at her neck.

"Yes. I heard you run off earlier." She kneeled next to him.

"You did?" His eyes grew wide.

"Yes, and I wanted to tell you that everything is alright." She said calmly, trying to reassure him.

He looked nervously at the ground.

"Ezhad, is everything alright with you?"

"Auntie I... I really like you."

His cute admonition warmed her. "Oh Ezhad I really like you too."

"Auntie, did he hurt you?" He looked almost ready to cry.

"Oh, Ezhad." She reached over and hugged him to her. "No, dearest. He didn't hurt me."

"Then what did he do to you?"

She smiled down at him. "Nothing. We were just talking."

Ezhad pulled out of her embrace. "I'm not stupid."

"No Ezhad, you're not. But we really were just talking. Sometimes adults talk differently to each other when no one else is around."

"They do?"

She nodded.

"And you're okay?"

She nodded again.

"Do they all talk like that?" He cocked his head to the side.

She smiled. "No, not all. It depends on the person. Now, since you know I'm alright. I want you to put it out of your mind, understand? No more worries and no one needs to know about all this alright?"

"Alright."

"Good. Because it's time for your next dance lesson, young man."

"Really?" His eyes lit up.

"Really." She took his hand in hers and began to walk towards the ballroom. "Ezhad?"

"Yes, Auntie?"

"How would you like someone else to play with?"

"I have you, Auntie."

"Yes, I know. But I mean, maybe another boy, younger than you?"

"Oh, I think that would be great."

"Alright. I'll see what I can do."

# Spring 1225

Zamaya lazed back across her bed as Ezhad continued his studies at their desk. She waited patiently every day for the past fortnight, until the right time. She went over the future events in her mind as if they were prophecies she had seen that were destined to come true. She'd been thinking about it since she had conceived her son. Everything had happened as she'd expected. She knew the gods looked upon her with favor and allowed her dreams to become truth.

Of course they were fickle and sometimes wanted to test their playthings. They must have felt she had become complacent in their gift to her. She had been blessed with beauty and brought to the harem as a young girl, given anything she would ever need, and put in the path of a sultan destined for greatness.

Alas, High Sultan Rezhan had a taste for every woman of the harem, but no want of any illegitimate children. It didn't matter anyway because he was succeeded by his son, the Sultan Erezhad, while Zamaya was still young.

Again she had a chance to achieve more, but her hopes were dashed when the sultan gave up the desires of the harem's purpose. She thought the gods had deserted her, that she was not their favorite to be raised up. But even as the years passed and she would become a woman of over twenty years, she did not want to give up so easily. So when the sultana birthed two girls in a row, Zamaya expressed her concern and her proposition to help to the sultan. He threw her out without a doubt or a care the first time.

By the fourth daughter, the voices of the people grew louder and he grew more pliable. He listened to her in near anguish before throwing her out. She could see the warring of gods and demons behind his eyes and she wanted so much to tell him that she knew the gods were with her, but he would not be moved. Until his fifth daughter. He would give her nothing else after that night, but it didn't matter, because the gods were with her, and she conceived her son.

Not long after Ezhad was born, sultan Erezhad's first daughter gave birth to a boy and some claimed that he had more right to the throne than the son of a harem woman. Ezhad was the first born son of the sultan and there should be no question to his right, but that doesn't stop the crows from cawing. Not only that, but the father of that boy is the third son of a sheik and no third son had any right to the power of the sultanate. Then the sultan's princess sister conceived a child. The rumor was that she would have a boy, a rumor no doubt spread by her and her circle. With no father spoken of, they said the child was a gift from the gods. And the crows became vultures, circling their prey.

The people spoke of this child as the true rightful ruler of the throne, as if each time a boy was born to the family they were more certain than the last, but Zamaya knew the truth. Even if it was a boy, the child was the son of a Ronan soldier, a man no more dignified than the dirt they trod upon. His child had no rights in Zaityra even if he bedded the whore princess.

Zamaya would not let them take what was rightfully hers. She knew what needed to be done.

And so she waited, every night, going over the events in her mind. She went over the events in her life that led her to this moment as well as the events, as she could see them, unfolding before her.

The knock on the door didn't entirely startle her, but she felt her heart begin to race immediately and she slowly turned to face it and stood up.

"Enter." Her voice was steadier than her erratic heart.

The door opened to a Zaityran guard loyal to her since her time in the harem and she forced herself to remain calm as he entered and closed the door behind him.

He came in calmly, carrying a pitcher of wine. "It's time, M'lady."

Ezhad didn't turn around. "Time for what, momma?"

Zamaya smiled. "Nothing for you dear." She turned back to the guard and took the pitcher. "Thank you, you know what to do."

He bowed and left, and Zamaya was left to sit and wait again. She placed the pitcher on the table next to her bed, and went through the events in her mind as if they were happening around her.

In a little bit, she would knock the pitcher over and it would smash on the floor, spilling the wine across the floor. They would call a maid to clean it up and she would remain in the room while everything else happened outside it.

In the same room that she had given birth to Ezhad, Seraya would be in labor with her own child and the Ronan guard would be with her. Another pitcher of wine would be brought to the sultan and sultana. They would drink to their nephew's birth and over the course of the next few hours they would slowly die. The guards would come to her, tell her the unfortunate news, and she would tell them about the wine she had spilled that she had almost drank. Then her guard would say that the wine had been ordered by the Ronan guard and she would order them to arrest him. They would also arrest Seraya as soon as the child was born for her complicity in an attempt to overthrow the sultanate and take over. If she had a boy it was easy enough for the child to die or be replaced by a girl who would have no right to the throne. After that they would be sentenced to death for their crimes. All while Zamaya took over as regent until Ezhad came of age to rule. And him she would pamper and spoil so that he would never care to rule so she would continue to carry that burden for him.

Zamaya reached for the pitcher and nudged it off the table, allowing it to smash across the floor.

And almost everything went the way she expected it to, until the guards couldn't find the Ronan or the princess in the inner chamber where they should be. Her guard had apologized profusely, swore up and down that the princess had gone into labor and that they went to the chamber for her to give birth. Zamaya wasn't sure she believed him except that she sent out all the guards to look for them and no one could find them anywhere.

So the princess had gone into labor and also into hiding. It didn't matter, they had to be found. She couldn't let them get away, her plans hinged on them not only being found guilty of the crime, but their child not surviving to be a threat to her rule. She made them widen the search. They needed to find them at all costs.

Zamaya remained in her room the entire time, pacing as the guards searched for them. Her patience was rewarded with the sound of a knock on her door.

"Enter." She called out.

Her guard had returned, sweating and covered with blood, nervous and shaking. "I'm sorry, sultana. They refused to surrender and we had no choice but to defend against the Ronan's attacks."

The guard fell to his knees, and the two men with him who were also spattered with blood, did as he did. Her heart hadn't stopped hammering in her chest the entire time, but now it began to calm. "I understand. Don't be afraid. You should be proud that you have protected the future of the sultanate. Sultan Ezhad is alive thanks to you all. High Sultan Erezhad would be grateful."

She took a few steps away and waited for a moment in silence before she turned back to them. "Please, take care of their burials and you may clean up. If you could then also bring me the sultan's advisor, we have much to discuss."

Two down, both Erezhad and Seraya, and five daughters to go.

# Fall 1236

Ezhad knocked on his mother's door. "Mother, can I come in?"

"Of course dear." Her voice rang out to him.

He opened the door to see a group of slave girls holding fabrics for her to choose from.

"I'll take the green one and the gold one. Now off with you, my son is here to see me." She shooed the girls from the room and turned to him. "My darling boy."

"My birthday is in just a few days, I'm hardly a boy."

"No, you've been a man for a while now, but you wouldn't begrudge your mother her baby boy, would you?"

He shook his head. "I still want to go to the Hasrath for my birthday. I haven't been able to go since I was a child."

She nodded reluctantly. "The races, yes, I understand. You know I only wanted to keep you safe."

"I know."

"Good, because I've readied a squad of soldiers to go with you."

He scoffed. "Mother, I'll be fine, a normal complement of guards will be fine."

Zamaya walked up to him and placed her hands on his cheeks. "I would lose my whole world if I lost you." She let go and turned to admire a few things the slave girls had left for her. "I know you'll be safe with them."

He cleared his throat. "I'm going to bring Zaphora with me."

Zamaya clicked her tongue. "Remember what I've told you; the harem girls are fine for your amusement, but not for marriage or children."

She didn't say it in an effort to insult his birth or herself, it was just a reminder of what propriety asked of the sultan. He had known what she would say and he always tried to change her way of thinking. Zaphora was beautiful beyond any woman he had ever seen and she was completely devoted to him. He thought she would make a perfect sultana and was considering marrying her. He only had to convince his mother that it was the right decision. "I can't condemn them without condemning you or myself."

"Nothing of the sort dear. Your father needed me to have you, but he had a wife. And I want you to have the best possible future, as I'm sure he would have. The sheiks will not allow you to marry her and any children you have out of marriage will have a harder life for it."

"Of course, I understand." He sighed and leaned against the wall. "You know with my birthday I'll be old enough to take over for you as sultan."

"Yes I know." Her voice was soft and she looked sad.

"What's wrong?"

"I worry so much for you. I've always feared that day."

"Why would you?"

"Because of what happened to your father. I worry that as soon as you take the throne and take a wife and have a son that they will just be waiting for the right moment to strike."

He walked over to her and put his arm around her shoulders. "Mother, that was Ronan and their spies. And you cut ties with them immediately. There was nothing you could do; they almost killed you too."

"Yes, but you don't know the sheiks like I do. They were very mad at your father for his attempts at peace, hopeful but foolish attempts as they were. And not happy that I did not retaliate. But I could not risk you, it was best to ensure our defenses. I could not hope to gain the support of all the sheiks to lead an assault against Ronan. They were more likely to find me unfit to rule and then they would have taken over and you would have lost everything."

He held her comfortingly. "It's alright, you took care of everything."

"I think them just as capable of attacking you. That's why I'm sending those soldiers with you. And it's why I think it's safer for you if I remain the sultana. If you take over, then all they have to do is remove you from power and they will have free reign. If I'm in their way, then even if they remove me, you will be able to take over. The people may follow them if they tried to remove one of us, but it would be more difficult for them to remove us both."

"I understand." He did understand; he just didn't want her to shoulder the entire burden.

"You have to be careful because they might also try to offer you their own daughters for marriage just to gain power through them." She wrapped her arms around him. "Your only safety right now is under my protection. When you find a wife that has no ties to them and is of a proper birth, then you can have children and ensure Zaityra's future. But before that, we must guard against many dangers."

Ezhad held her tight and tried not to sound disappointed. It didn't seem like she would ever approve of him marrying Zaphora. "I understand mother. Don't worry. Will you come to the Hasrath with me?"

"No. I will stay here and keep the sultanate matters under control. You needn't worry about anything but your birthday."

"Of course. I'll see you in a few days."

***

Ezhad left Zaphora in his tent to head out for the day in the Hasrath. They had arrived late in the night and he hadn't felt like leaving Zaphora or his bed unless it was something much more important than the sheiks. It was well past the morning though and he knew he should probably pay his respects.

The actual race wouldn't start until the next day so he had time to enjoy the event. Merchants were set up selling all manner of goods, from food to jewels, and there were tents set up with dancing girls and plenty of free flowing wine.

Even though his mother hadn't allowed him to refuse the squad of soldiers, he only allowed a few to come with him at a time. He headed straight to the sheiks' tent with everyone stopping what they were doing to bow to him as he passed.

It wasn't often he left the palace, though he had events at the palace for the sheiks to attend where they would see him. The people recognized him by his Madjai guards and his clothing if not his appearance.

He stepped into the sheiks' tent and looked around.

Sheik Amal almost spit out his wine. "Sultan Ezhad!"

"Glory to you, sheiks of Zaityra." Ezhad made the proper motion of respect, touching his hand to his forehead and then to his heart.

"Glory to you, Sultan Ezhad of Zaityra." They responded and made the same motion with their hands.

Everyone except sheik Sehran who spit on the ground at Ezhad's feet. Then he drunkenly broke into laughter. "I see no sultan here, just a child lost from his mother's teat."

Ezhad felt a flush of anger and narrowed his eyes at Sehran. "You should watch your tongue Sehran, lest someone cut it from your mouth."

A couple of the sheiks nearest to Sehran tried to tell him not to speak, but he waved them off.

"Harsh words, perhaps because she's not here to coddle you. And don't think we didn't see that other harem whore you brought with you. You certainly won't assure your legitimacy to the throne through her. Not that I wouldn't mind trying myself with that young girl."

"Sehran stop!" Sheik Amal tried to pull him away, but Sehran shoved him off.

Ezhad could feel his blood burning through his veins and it pounded in his ears. "You should listen Sehran, or you'll drink yourself into an early grave."

Sehran took another large swing from his drink. "Not that your bedding a whore is any different from what your father did. Although we shouldn't be surprised since you're only the spawn of a whore."

"What is your problem Sehran?" Ezhad's hands squeezed into fists and his knuckles had gone white.

Sheik Amal stepped in again. "My lord sultan, he's never quite gotten over the loss of his third son, Sallah, who was married to your sister when they were killed, and their son who also died."

Ezhad turned back to Sehran. "I grieve for my sister and their son just as much as you grieve for your son and grandson. You're not alone in that loss".

"My problem is with you! Your grandfather was a great man. When our sultan had lost his way, Rezhan united the Bedouin tribes with the sheiks and he took the throne of Zaityra through sheer force. He rebuilt our nation so it could thrive. When the Ronans crossed our border, he ripped through them like a wild dog through its prey. And then your father took over. And through him Zaityra was tainted by Ronan influence."

"My father sought to expand our borders not just by what he could take, but by what he could make work for us."

"Is that what your bitch mother told you? Because after she took over for your father, she did nothing in defense of your father's death or the death of your aunt and her son! She did nothing about the death of my son and his son-"

"She investigated their deaths and punished the murderers!"

"-or the deaths of your sisters-"

"-And my sisters' deaths were investigated, but they were accidents!"

"Accidents? Accidents! Anyone in between you or your whore mother and the throne have found themselves in an accident! And that's how we ended up with a woman on the throne to keep the place for a weak, illegitimate bastard!"

Ezhad snapped. His whole body flew at Sehran, not even bothering to pull his sword because he was so intent on breaking bones. They rolled across the floor as their fists swung and the sheiks tried to break them up.

Ezhad's guards rushed in and pulled them apart, but Ezhad pulled his sword. "You'll die for those words!"

Zaresh stepped forward and put his hands up to try to calm Ezhad down. "My lord, his words are disgraceful, but killing a drunkard does nothing to silence his voice."

"Let's find out!"

"I only suggest that you prove him wrong. We can settle this like civilized men."

"The Hasrath." Sehran nodded in agreement.

Zaresh turned to the other sheiks. "Ezhad can race and prove himself. If he wins, Sehran forfeits his life for his slander. If however, he loses-"

"I won't lose." Ezhad stated flatly.

"Then the challenge is accepted?"

Both Ezhad and Sehran nodded.

Then Ezhad turned and left the tent, putting some distance between himself and the man he still wanted to kill. He didn't want to be near anyone so, when he got back to his tent, he took his camel and rode out to the riverbank near the Hasrath.

He dropped down and sat next to the water, watching a lone ship pass by.

A sound behind him made him turn and he saw Zaresh coming to meet him. His guards moved to stop Zaresh and he turned to look back at the water. "No, it's fine, let him through. What do you want Zaresh?"

"My lord, I hoped we could speak about the race tomorrow."

"What about it?"

"As you know, the Hasrath has no rules. Once inside the race, the only thing that matters is who wins, not how."

"Your point?"

Zaresh shrugged and sat next to Ezhad. "A lot of people saw you arrive, including myself. I happened to notice how many guards you arrived with." Zaresh paused and when Ezhad didn't say anything he continued. "What I mean to say is, the race can be extremely dangerous, especially for someone as important as you. Sehran is angry enough to try to make sure that you do not win the race, in the most absolute terms."

Ezhad finally turned to look at Zaresh but didn't say anything.

Zaresh cleared his throat. "However, with enough riyal, we can tip the balance in your favor."

Ezhad narrowed his eyes. "What's your game, Zaresh? Why offer the race and then offer a way for me to win it?"

Zaresh smiled. "It does me little good to allow a fellow sheik to spew such damaging remarks against our lord. If he were killed for his words, it would only make his voice louder. But a challenge can settle the charges. And what could be better for me than helping my lord?"

"You want something then?" Ezhad looked back to the water.

"Not now, my lord. But the promise of a favor is little in comparison to assuring your position."

"What's to stop me from doing what you say without your help? I have riyal enough to pay for assistance in the race."

"Yes, but I wasn't offering the riyal. You only just arrived. Do you think you can find out who all the racers are before the morning? I happen to know each of them and which ones you can pay to step out of the race to substitute with your guards."

"By tomorrow then, because if I don't make it out of the race, my final order to my guards is to ensure that, not only Sehran, but you as well, join me at the bottom of that chasm."

***

The sun hadn't even peeked over the horizon when Ezhad had first woken to get ready for the race. Zaresh had been true to his word. He worked in secret and paid the racers he could to step down and had them replaced by Ezhad's guards. But neither Ezhad nor Zaresh were of the impression that Sehran hadn't done the same with the other racers. Five of Ezhad's guards would be defending him against nine unknown riders. Ezhad wasn't particularly fond of the odds.

He'd only ever been to the Hasrath one other time. As a young boy, he went with his father. He had looked down into the chasm filled with wonder as he watched the race. Now as he stood at the precipice, he stared down the moment that would decide his death or solidify his honor.

The desert sands were broken up by large, red-orange sandstones in this area and before him the rocks gave way to a deep chasm with an oval bottom. A black pit slashed through the center of the oval and it was impossible to see its true depth, but riders who fell down the pit never crawled back out.

He wasn't sure exactly how long ago the tradition of the races began, but he did know they were held every year and the winner received high honors. It was a matter of becoming the champion of the event, of destroying your opponents if necessary, to achieve greatness.

He scaled down the wooden structure of almost endless stairs, they creaked with age and the damage caused by the years of being beaten by the sun and sands. It was certainly possible to fall to your death before the race even began or, worse yet, after you had won the race. It was reasonably repaired as necessary, to make sure the race was the main event, but wood was hard to come by in the desert. The other racers were heading down as well, but there would be no fighting until the race began. The horses were brought down using a wooden palette and a pulley system that was better maintained than the stairs, but the riders weren't allowed to use it.

Ezhad had metal armor plates under his tunic to protect his chest and his back, they were thin, but they would work. He had a dagger tucked in each boot and another tucked in a sheath strapped to his chest, and last he had a whip that would hang off his saddle. He had nothing else, anything else would slow him down and the focus was on winning the race.

At the bottom, he pulled himself into his horse's saddle and moved to the race line. Next to him were some of his soldiers and past them were the men he didn't recognize. There were fifteen racers in total and they would be running five laps around the circuit. The horses stomped nervously as they were held in line, waiting for the horn to sound. Ezhad took a few deep breaths. He hadn't raced in the Hasrath before, but he had trained with horses and had raced outside of it before.

When he looked up from the bottom, he could see the people sitting around the edge above. The crowd had amassed considerably while he had climbed down and the roar of the crowd echoed down to him.

The crowd quieted down and he could vaguely hear a man calling out to the crowd; he would be saying the traditional open to the race. The only part Ezhad remembered from it was 'to those who are about to die, we salute you'.

The sound of the starting horn blared around them in the chasm and fifteen riders urged their horses forward at once. The horse hooves' thunderous beating echoed around him and it vibrated through his body. The racers struggled to push ahead of each other and slowly the line they had started in became a flowing mass reaching lengthways down the track. Ezhad found himself in the middle which was the best place to be if you wanted to win the race, but the worst place to be if half the racers were intent on killing you. Of course, losing the race might also be just as bad in his case, which is why everyone would focus on winning; beating him in the race would be an exceptional bonus to winning. His guards still held their positions to his sides and he hoped he had at least one behind him. For the moment, fighting was ignored as everyone set their pace and warily watched those around them.

They came up to the turn in the first lap, the horses jostling against each other as the racers fought for the inside line, and those on the inside fought to keep from falling into the pit below.

As he pulled out of the turn, he heard a scream from somewhere behind him. He wondered what was happening behind him, but he didn't dare look back. The group pulled into the straight run and barely spread out enough to breathe.

Ezhad saw two racers ahead of him begin to struggle against each other, one swung a leather riding crop at the other. He whipped against the man's face to throw him off and his response was to grab it and pull until it became an almost laughable game of tug of war. Then they were pulling into the turn at the end of the first lap and one final tug unseated the attacker. He fell onto the track, his body twisting, and was immediately trampled by the horses behind him. The crowd's raucous cheer echoed all around him as Ezhad looked away, pulled into the turn, and straightened into the second lap.

The racers headed down the stretch, the fighting seemingly forgotten, the only care being to get ahead of the others. Just as Ezhad was coming up to the turn, he felt the rider to his right crush into him. Ezhad looked to see one of the racers struggling with his guard to his right, and since they were heading into the turn, it was easier for the racer to shove them closer to the pit. Ezhad's guard to his left shoved back, trying to balance them and keep them from the pit, which only crushed Ezhad between them.

Their horses ran together, but the turn began to pull them away from each other as the left horse pulled forward and the right fell back. Ezhad felt himself leaning further left than he should and his guard to the left eased his speed enough to keep next to him and push him back. Another racer to the right saw what was happening and slammed into the guard at Ezhad's right. The shock pushed each of them in turn further left. Another racer who had thought to steal the inside track of the turn ended up taking the final hit as Ezhad's left guard got pushed into him and the racer's horse slipped against the edge of the pit. Horse and rider fell into the depths below in a mix of screams from both man and beast.

They pulled into the stretch and Ezhad looked to his right just in time to see his guard get his hand free to pull his dagger and stab the attacking racer in the neck. The image of the dagger jutting out from the man's neck and blood splattering out burned into Ezhad's mind. Now dead, the man fell off his horse, but the horse continued on as if his spirit still raced.

Ezhad shook his head and focused forward with the turn at the end of the second lap coming up before him.

He pulled into the turn, careful of the inside track, making sure both himself and his guard to his left weren't too close to the pit, and then straightened out into the third lap.

Ezhad could hear struggling behind him, but couldn't turn completely around to see what was happening. There was another scream behind him, followed by the crowd's cheering, which told him another racer had lost the battle, but he couldn't be sure if it was friend or foe. Ezhad focused on reaching the turn ahead, they would be halfway through the third lap already but still have most of the racers left.

He felt something heavy hit his back and heard the clang of metal against metal. Ezhad knew it was a dagger that hit the metal plate protecting his back that was deflected off.

He saw the guard to his right slow down and pull back, disappearing from his view. He heard more struggling behind him and more screaming that told him another racer had fallen into the pit.

One of the other racers pulled next to his right and swung at him. Ezhad leaned away, keeping his horse straight, and felt a blade slice against his arm. Blood seeped down his arm and darkly colored his green tunic. The guard to his left pulled a dagger to throw at the attacker, but another racer grabbed his wrist and they struggled dangerously close to the pit. Ezhad pulled the dagger from his right boot and slashed back at his attacker, making the man lean away.

They were pulling into the turn and Ezhad's guard to his left fell back as he continued to struggle with his attacker. Ezhad pulled ahead slightly of the man attacking him and he tried to watch both his left and his right as he pulled into the fourth lap.

Ezhad's attacker pulled back further and Ezhad struggled to keep checking on what he was doing. He could only catch glimpses as the attacker dropped back to the right side of Ezhad's guard, still struggling with the man on his other side, and joined the fight. If Ezhad slowed down to help his guard, he would lose too much ground in the fourth lap. Losing would be worse than death; he couldn't risk it.

The guard managed to fend them off for a bit, but being hit on both sides was too much and he was pulled from his horse. Another of Ezhad's guards managed to pull up next to the two attackers and he ran his horse into the two men as all of them reached the turn in the fourth lap. The two men's horses stumbled and the one on the inner edge fell into the pit along with his rider.

As they pulled into the stretch, the guard and the attacker behind Ezhad continued to struggle. The next time Ezhad chanced a glance over his shoulder, he saw the attacker bearing down on him and his guard was gone. He switched the dagger from his right hand to his left and kept looking between the racers ahead of him and the attacker coming up behind.

The attacker didn't seem to have any weapons left and he began swinging his fist at Ezhad. Ezhad tried to keep himself from getting hit, he held the blade downward and blocked the attacks, but a well-placed blow landed square against his jaw. He grunted, ducked the next swing easily, and slammed the dagger down into the attacker's leg. The man screamed and Ezhad pulled it back out and swung again. The dagger stuck into the man's chest, his face contorted in pain, and Ezhad shoved the dagger in as deep as he could before the body fell off the horse. The crowd erupted into more cheers that were almost deafening.

Coming up to the turn to start the fifth lap, Ezhad leaned into the inner edge, but was careful not to get close enough to fall into the pit. He pulled into the stretch and finally began to urge his horse to its limits. The racers ahead would have tired their horses out too much if they pushed for too long, and Ezhad started to close the gap between them.

With five racers left besides himself, the final lap around the circuit was going to be torture. Ezhad pulled the dagger from his left boot and swapped it to his right hand before urging his horse to come up on the left of one of the other racers. The racer tried to push his horse faster, but it was wearing out fast and slowing down instead.

The man began to panic; he grabbed a wooden haft hanging off his saddle and swung it out at Ezhad. The wooden haft had more attacking distance than Ezhad's dagger and he could only defend himself as he took hits against his shoulder and his back. He raised his arm in defense and the next hit knocked against his chest. The metal plate on his chest under his tunic took the brunt of the hit, but his ribs took the vibration and his breath got knocked out of him.

As he tried to recover, the man continued to slam the haft against his back. The metal plate against his back helped protect him and he bore the hits, waiting for a chance to strike back. He gripped the dagger tightly and, when the racer pulled the haft up to take another swing, Ezhad thrust the blade out and slammed it up under the man's chin. Blood splashed out over his hand and all over the man as the crowd roared their approval. The body immediately slouched, but it didn't fall off the horse. Ezhad let go and futilely tried to shake some of the blood off his hand while the horse continued to gallop ahead.

Ezhad was pulling up to the turn and another racer in front of him had slowed down enough that Ezhad could pass him in the turn if he could get around him. He pulled his last dagger from the sheath on his chest and held the blade between his fingers as he aimed the best he could while the horse galloped beneath him. He threw the dagger and it flew through the air between them. It hit its mark, sticking painfully into the man's back ahead of him. The man arched his back and tried to reach for the blade, but it was no use. A moment passed as Ezhad pulled up behind him on the left to take the inside track, and the man's body slumped forward. The man's horse veered away without anyone's control as Ezhad passed him.

Ezhad pulled out of the turn and faced down the last stretch of the final lap. He had caught up to the three other riders, but didn't have any weapon left except for his whip and he wanted to save that for an emergency. He watched as one of his guards nodded to him and then turned to take out the closest racer. The guard pulled a dagger and swung out, but he hit only air as the racer leaned back. The racer pulled out a curved blade from his side and swung back, but unlike the guard, his aim was true. The blade caught the guard in the neck and Ezhad looked away too late, he saw the guard's head fly away from his body.

Ezhad urged his horse forward, the three of them left were close to each other, but his last guard wasn't slowing down and had a full horse length ahead of him. The other racer pulled up next to his guard, to get the kill that would win him the race. Ezhad pulled his whip while the racer swung his sword and the guard dodged the attack. Ezhad lashed out his whip and the end wrapped around the racer's neck. Ezhad's guard looked from the attacker to Ezhad as Ezhad pulled hard and yanked the racer off his horse. The guard looked at Ezhad with a puzzled expression and he slowed just as they came around the turn. With Ezhad on the inside line, it was enough that as they passed over the line, Ezhad pulled through first with the guard barely a breath behind. The crowd went crazy above them, cheering and shouting for the winner. Ezhad and the guard slowed their horses and stopped, but Ezhad could still feel the vibration wracking his body.

He got down off the horse and looked up to see the crowd around the edge cheering, screaming, and even praising his name. He looked over and saw the guard walking over to the wood stairs and he ran to catch up to him. Although Ezhad won the race, technically it wasn't over until the winner reached the top.

Ezhad was almost up to him when he felt something slam into his side and the air got knocked out of him as his body hit the ground hard. He immediately felt a man's fists slamming into his body. Instinctively he tried to protect himself, curl up and bring his arms up to protect his face, but the man pinned down Ezhad's shoulders with his knees so he couldn't move. The metal plate protected his chest, but the attacker punched his face. Ezhad tasted his own blood in his mouth and he struggled harder against the man, but Ezhad was a young man versus the towering beast who punched him mercilessly.

The attack stopped and Ezhad opened his eyes to see his guard pulling the attacker off of him. Ezhad recognized the attacker as the rider that he had used his whip on to pull him off his horse. The attacker fought back against Ezhad's guard, but the guard read his attacks and dodged almost every one of them with ease.

Ezhad struggled to get up and catch his breath, and the attacker got a solid hit against the guard's jaw, splitting his lip. As soon as he felt his legs supporting him, Ezhad lunged at the attacker and slammed him to the ground. He put all his strength into each hit as he punched the man, but the man threw him off. The guard helped Ezhad up and Ezhad saw a dagger at the guard's waist. The attacker ran at them again and Ezhad pulled the dagger. As the attacker reached for Ezhad, Ezhad shoved his arm out and the dagger stuck sickeningly up under the man's ribcage. The man tried to suck in breath, but he choked and his legs began to give out under him. Ezhad let go and the man fell to his knees and then to his side. The crowd's cheers and applause assaulted Ezhad's exhausted senses.

Ezhad looked over at his guard. Black hair and green eyes just like his own. The guard had been actively trying to win the race and hadn't bothered to do anything to protect Ezhad until this fight. He wasn't sure if he could trust him. He didn't even know his name. He hadn't known the names of any of the guards that were with him.

They stood looking at each other, both struggling to catch their breath, green eyes sizing up what could be foe or friend. Ezhad spit some blood out onto the ground and the guard wiped some blood away from his split lip.

Ezhad finally spoke. "You tried to win the race."

The guard nodded.

"Did Sehran buy you out?"

The guard nodded again.

"Why did you save me?"

"You could see I was trying to win, why did you save me?"

The two of them continued to breathe heavily and Ezhad started to laugh. "What's your name?"

"Hadim."

Ezhad reached his hand out and Hadim took it cautiously. They shook hands and Ezhad let go. "So, what now?"

Hadim still looked cautious. "I think we're even."

"That depends, how did Sehran buy you out?"

Hadim narrowed his eyes. "He said your mother murdered his son and grandson."

"My mother investigated their deaths and found the bandits who robbed and murdered them. They were killed for their crime against the sultanate. My sister was married to his son, she died too. I was only about seven at the time it happened. I certainly had nothing to do with it, but we made sure the crime didn't go unanswered."

Hadim studied him, looking for the truth or a lie. "You're not lying."

Ezhad shook his head. "Did they mean something to you?"

Hadim looked up at the crowd who had begun chanting for them. "Their son was my friend."

"I'm sorry. It's been so long, I don't even remember if I met him as a child."

Hadim looked back at him. "Then we're even.

***

Ezhad rolled his shoulders, trying to soothe his tired muscles as he walked into the palace and headed to his room. Even after hours of Zaphora massaging his back, he still felt stiff.

Word of the race would have reached home of course, but he wasn't surprised that his mother didn't greet him at the door. She always gave him plenty of space to be his own man. She would be furious that he had gotten into the race even though he had been goaded into it, but she wouldn't do anything until he went to her. And right now, he was interested only in sleeping in his plush bed.

He had left the Hasrath as a champion. He owed Zaresh a favor for what he did, Zaresh said he would collect it when the time was right, and he had made a friend in Hadim. Hadim would continue on as one of Ezhad's personal guard, though Ezhad would probably never be able to trust him completely, but he liked the guy anyway. He wasn't sure why, but when Hadim asked that Sehran simply be stripped of his title as sheik and banished, he had agreed. It was actually the better thing to do. The people saw Ezhad show mercy and it made sure that Sehran wouldn't be seen as any kind of martyr. He'd seen enough death anyway.

Ezhad went into his room and closed the door behind him. He stretched as well as he could and then fell unceremoniously on his bed still fully clothed.

The door to his room opened and Ezhad groaned. He looked up to see the slave woman Hestia come into the room and close the door behind her. He looked at her, confused at why she entered his room without permission; Hestia never deviated from respectful behavior towards the sultanate.

She kneeled in front of the bed and bowed her head. "Mercy my lord sultan." She sounded close to tears.

"Mercy? Hestia, there's no need for mercy, just let me sleep." He let his head drop back onto the pillow and expected her to see herself out.

"Mercy my lord, for what I must tell you."

He picked his head back up. What could an exemplary slave possibly need mercy for? She'd never even accidentally done anything wrong. He sighed, got up, and walked over to sit down in his chair. She immediately followed him and kneeled before him again.

"Alright Hestia, go ahead and tell me why you ask for mercy."

# Spring 1244

Mycenas paced angrily back and forth in his study, the parchment missive from Zaityra clenched in his right hand. He could barely see past his rage, but he stopped and opened the missive to read it again, unable to believe what was written on it. The words dripped with the man's egotistical, vain, self-absorbed, pompous, self-serving arrogance. The sultan of Zaityra, Ezhad, was finally reaching out after Zaityra's self-imposed twenty year silence. And there wasn't even a hint of humility or etiquette even though he was addressing the emperor of Ronan. Mycenas certainly wasn't the conceited type that Ezhad seemed to be, but he should still be addressed in the polite and proper way, if nothing else it would have shown the man's character. The lack of decorum showed it nonetheless though and told him everything he ever wanted to know. It was a shame that High Sultan Erezhad's son had lost his father's guidance at such a young age. If Erezhad had lived to raise the boy, then Ezhad wouldn't act this way.

Mycenas sighed and dropped himself into his chair. He gripped the missive tightly in his hand and then tortured himself by reading it over again.

It started with a boastful introduction of Ezhad and the land and people he commanded, followed by more boasting about how he reached out for the good of the people of Zaityran and Ronan, with the rest of it aimed directly at Althea, Mycenas' only child and princess of Ronan.

He crumpled the parchment as if he were trying to crush it out of existence and threw it across the room. Althea was only fourteen, Ezhad would be in his mid-twenties, and Mycenas was no fool, he knew there was only one reason Ezhad would be asking about her, a young girl that he had never even met. He hadn't even tried to hide it either. It was astonishing that Ezhad had been bold enough to write this letter, or he was simply oblivious to his own stupidity.

Mycenas ran his hands over his face. If only Althea's mother were still alive, maybe things would have been different. She would have been much better at bringing Althea to court and finding a noble boy that would be worthy of her. Then Althea would be betrothed and couldn't be bothered by the likes of this Ezhad. Mycenas did bring Althea to court and tried to do what would be his wife's charge, but it always seemed to go awry.

Althea was smart and spirited and he was so proud of her, but he wondered if it was a good idea to allow her such freedom. She needed the proper guidance from a noble woman. And he had tried to involve her with other girls her age at court and introduce her to the noble ladies, but none of them could be called close friends. Of course she was still young, but soon she should at least have a betrothed, and that would only happen if she formed an attachment with a decent gentleman. Unfortunately, she didn't like any of the young men introduced to her and he feared that her spirited nature made her too obstinate to settle on a suitor.

He shook his head, trying to focus on the missive Ezhad sent. More than one thing about it didn't sit right with him. It also brought his own shortcomings to the surface, which certainly didn't please him. Those years ago when he'd gotten the message that Sultan Erezhad had died, he had mourned not only a fellow leader but a friend. Receiving no further information from Zaityra, he had sent out his condolences and tried to make contact with whoever took over in his place since Ezhad was a boy of about five or six, but he had received no response. He waited with frayed nerves for years, wondering what had happened and what their intentions were, but still nothing came out of Zaityra and he trusted the rumors he received that there simply were no intentions toward Ronan from Zaityra. He could have done more, but he didn't.

Then finally his wife had given birth to their first child, and their last, she passed away shortly after the birth. He still acutely felt the pain of her loss. In the years following, he had mostly retreated from everything. He still did his duty to his people and tried to care for his daughter the best he could, but he had relied quite a bit on the people he trusted to delegate to. His ambivalence to his duties lasted a long time and only recently did the dark cloud around him begin to clear.

His only happiness came from seeing his daughter being introduced at court and joining in society gatherings this year. More than ever before he wanted to make sure that her future would be secure and that he would be passing on to her a safe and prosperous Ronan. That meant dealing with Zaityra in a much better way than he had and this letter was proof of that.

He reached over and rang the bell to call in his guard.

"I need you to send for Quintus."

The guard bowed and left.

In the meantime, Mycenas pulled out a fresh piece of parchment and dipped his quill into the inkwell and thought about what he would write to Ezhad in response.

By the time Quintus arrived, Mycenas' study floor was littered with crumpled and ripped up sheets of parchment, a couple were completely blotted out with ink that had been splashed across them.

Quintus' face reflected his confusion as he took in the room. "My lord, what is going on?"

Mycenas sighed and looked up from his latest attempt at civility. "I received the most ridiculous letter and I'm trying to respond to it in a way that befits my station."

"I see. What kind of letter?"

Mycenas stood up and looked around. He spotted the original and retrieved it from the floor so he could hand it to Quintus before going back to his desk. He watched Quintus read it and saw the same emotions cross his features as the ones that he had experienced earlier.

"What a pompous ass." Quintus said flatly when he had finished.

"My thoughts exactly."

"He sounds worse than Proconsul Crassus. I can see why you're having trouble forming a response, but I hope you didn't call me here to help with that letter. I'm a soldier, sir, not a lord."

Mycenas' brow furrowed. "You've advised me before and I trust your opinion greatly."

"Well, for this one you might want your actual advisor."

"Yes, I'll hear from him as well, but that's not entirely why I called for you. I do think you'll give me your honest thoughts, but I had another reason. I think I've sat back on this for far too long, obviously. We've relied entirely on rumors and hearsay." Mycenas took a deep breath. "I want to send someone into Zaityra to get some real information. I think this letter shows how necessary that really is. I want to send in a soldier, someone who could take care of himself in a difficult situation if needed. I want him to get as close as he can get to the sultan, to find out as much as he can."

Quintus raised his eyebrows. "That would be quite the task. Who exactly do you have in mind?"

Mycenas cleared his throat. "Altair." He waited quietly for Quintus to say something, but the man held silent, his expression unchanged. "I know how you might feel about your son going. If you have any suggestions for another, I'll hear them."

Quintus grabbed the chair in front of the desk and sat down. "No. He's a good choice. He could pass as a Zaityran and he's a strong soldier. He was always going to take over for me as your family's personal guard so he's been trained to be among the nobles in the palace just as I was. And he's young; he doesn't have a family other than my wife and I. And you know we'll do as you command."

"No." Mycenas stopped him. "I won't command this. I know I could and I know it's important, but I will leave the decision to him."

"Thank you, my lord." Quintus bowed his head. "If you don't mind, I would like to tell him."

"Yes, of course. After you speak to him, have him come see me."

Mycenas watched Quintus leave. He sighed deeply as he looked about the disaster the room had become and he wondered if he was doing the right thing.

***

Altair spent the entire ride to the palace thinking about what his father had said. If he agreed, he would go to Zaityra, begin a new life, and try to get as close as he could to the sultan in an effort to send information of their true intentions back to Ronan. He would be a spy. He wasn't sure if he could do it, but the emperor wanted to talk to him about it.

Altair pulled back on his horse's reins as he and his father arrived at the palace and he threw his leg over, dropping to the ground. He thought about how he was supposed to start shadowing his father at the palace since he had completed every aspect of his training. He had been training to take over for his father as the emperor's personal guard. Though, he wouldn't be Emperor Mycenas' personal guard. His father would remain the emperor's guard while Altair would become the personal guard of the princess and her husband who would be the future emperor.

His father had become Emperor Mycenas' guard in the same way as a young man. It fostered a close friendship and a level of trust. But now Altair's future depended on his decision. If he did go to Zaityra, another would be chosen and Altair would never have that position. He'd been training for it his whole life; learning about an emperor's duties and court manners on top of a soldier's training. Of course, it was possible that he would only be gone for a year or a few and they would either leave the position open for him or give him a different position inside the palace when he returned.

A stable boy came around and took the reins of both their horses and they were free to head to the front steps of the palace. He passed two guards at the front doors that saluted to his father and allowed them through. He walked by three more who were patrolling inside. There were always a few more patrolling the exterior, at least one with the emperor at all times, and another with the princess at all times. They were all members of the Praetorian Guard, the emperor's personal guards, and the top soldiers of Ronan's military who protected the emperor and his family. And outside of the Praetorian Guard, there were the Vigiles who were firefighters and protectors of Ronan citizens. He could end up with any of those other positions, they just weren't as important as being Praetor, the emperor's personal guard, the position his father had.

His father was Praetor Quintus Aurelius, commander of the Praetorian Guard and Ronan's military. That position needed to be earned, which is what Altair would be doing if he started in the palace under his father's guidance. He couldn't earn it in Zaityra.

They got to the emperor's study and the guard allowed him to knock on the door.

"Come in." The emperor's voice rang through the door; he always sounded strong and confident.

They went in and closed the door behind them. The room looked just as he'd seen it before, always neat and orderly. The emperor sat behind his desk, bookshelves on either side of the room were crammed with tomes of history and war, an ornate rug covered the floor, plush drapes were pulled back from the large window behind the emperor, and parchment lay on his desk ready for official decrees.

"Please, sit down." The emperor offered with his hand outstretched.

His father leaned against the wall next to the doorway. Altair sat and found himself at a loss for words.

"Altair, your father told you what I'm planning, correct?"

"Yes, my lord."

"I understand how big of a task this is and that is why I want you to be able to decide if you want to undertake it. But I want to explain it more fully, so you understand why it is being asked of you."

"Yes, my lord."

The emperor took a deep breath and steepled his fingers together as he looked across the desk at him. "We have continued on after losing contact with Zaityra's leaders with the understanding that the work we did together to create peace between us is intact. We've had no indication otherwise, no reason to suspect any difficulty. And yet, it's been wrong of us to not take action in assuring our security. I can expect if I see a snake, that it may or may not bite, but I cannot expect only one or the other, I must be aware that both are possibilities. Do you understand?"

"Yes, my lord."

"If you go, I have a man in Zaityra who will take you in for a time so you can adjust, but after that it will be up to you to find a way to retrieve information from the sultan."

Altair cleared his throat. "My lord, if I may?"

"Please, anything you need."

"Who is the man?"

"His name is Marcus Rall. He is captain of a vessel that transports cargo between Ronan and Zaityra."

Altair didn't hide the confusion from his face. "But we have no open trade with Zaityra right now."

The emperor chuckled. "That's right, we don't. Rall operates as a smuggler and black market trader."

Altair shifted in his seat. "Who is his Ronan contact?"

"Proconsul Crassus, governor of the port town of Tiberius."

"My lord," Altair could barely contain himself. "How can you allow this if you know of it?"

"I'm glad to see the illegality of it offend you. However, sometimes as a ruler, you have to pick your battles. Crassus is a bit malcontent, partly due to certain political issues and partly due to his own personal issues."

Quintus interrupted abruptly. "Frankly, he wasn't entirely happy about the treaties with Zaityra over the years or in how Mycenas handled it all. On the personal front, he married a woman who unfortunately hasn't been able to have any children. He spends too much money even without children, and without them there's no possibility for any future financial assistance for himself. And the lack of an heir means he could lose his position as governor and then as proconsul. Which hasn't stopped him from trying to weasel a consul position or being openly against Mycenas' decisions."

Mycenas gave Quintus a wry smile over his candor. "I've allowed him to continue and think that I do not know for multiple reasons. One being that it is not technically illegal seeing as how we do have treaties in place, even though contact with Zaityra has ended. Another being that Rall informs me of everything; it's better to allow Crassus to bend the law in a form that I may watch over. Also, the continuation of trade is useful, Crassus gets something to keep himself at least slightly contented, and I don't have to be directly involved, but we can reap the benefits."

"I see."

Mycenas tilted his head a bit. "Does this worry you?"

Altair's brow furrowed. "No. No, I understand, it makes sense. So Rall would get me into Zaityra?"

"He would give you a whole new life."

"How long would I be in Zaityra?"

"That is something I can't answer. It will depend on the situation and how it goes."

Altair nodded. He had thought so, but now he didn't know what else to ask.

Mycenas looked over at Quintus again and it looked like a silent understanding went between them. The emperor opened a drawer in his desk and pulled out a sheet of parchment that looked like it had really taken a beating, crumpled and torn. "As you can tell, I'm being completely honest with you about everything. Even with things only certain people know. I know I can trust you as I trust your father."

"Thank you, my lord."

"This is a message I received from Zaityra today. The first in almost twenty years." Mycenas handed it to him.

Altair took the page and began reading. Slowly his brow furrowed. He looked up at Mycenas and back at the page. Then back at Mycenas.

"Yes, that is the message I received from Sultan Ezhad. I think it's important that you know what I know about the man before you decide."

Altair slowly nodded, understanding the state of the page. "I see."

Mycenas cleared his throat. "I'm sure you do." He paused and Altair handed back the letter. Mycenas looked at it and sighed before stuffing it back into the desk drawer. "There's only one more thing before you make your decision."

"Yes?"

"You should talk to my daughter. When I am gone, she will be the empress and you will be guarding her if you choose not to go. You've met, but she is very spirited, if you two can't stand each other then maybe it helps you make your decision." The emperor laughed and shrugged. "She's out in the fields, riding. Go ahead and take over for the guard with her now and take some time to think about the choices before you."

Altair nodded. He left his father and the emperor and headed back outside.

He took a moment to enjoy the weather while the stable boy brought his horse. The spring breeze played softly over the short grass and whispered amidst the leaves on the trees. It cooled him as he stood in the warmth of the clear sunny day coming to a close. The sun slowly drifted down toward the horizon.

Ronan was a beautiful land, filled with green fields, forests, lakes, rivers, and plenty of wildlife. Zaityra was a desert land, drowning in golden sand, broken by dry clay rocks jutting out in sparse areas. A lone, strong river came from the Rynthe Mountains and flowed through Zaityra leaving a swath of life in its path with greenery and fruit laden plants. He had learned about Zaityra more than most Ronans as part of his soldier's training, but he'd never seen it in person.

The stable boy returned and Altair hooked his foot in the stirrup, pulled himself up, and headed off to where he could see the princess riding not far from the palace.

He'd met the princess before though they had never spent any real time talking to each other. She always looked like the other noble girls and ladies, appropriately dressed and with the proper countenance, but he had seen a bit more of her actual personality at times. He had seen her hide a yawn during a particularly boring conversation at a noble's house and had seen her chuckle later on when a particularly overzealous suitor tripped over himself trying to dance with her. She paid polite attention as the suitors were introduced, but he could sense her interest wane as they spoke endlessly about themselves. She seemed happier leaving those events than she ever did arriving, yet never for a lack of politeness on her part.

She seemed wildly different from the other noble girls. He couldn't help but overhear their conversations as a guard and he often heard most noble girls gossiping about almost everything, but she never did. Even most country girls would spend plenty of time gossiping or speaking of things that he preferred to ignore. But during the times the princess spoke in hushed voices with only her father, she spoke of certain nobles in a way that he struggled not to laugh, or of her preference to horseback riding to anything that the nobles offered. Her carefree demeanor surprised him, not to mention her beauty.

It was easy for noble girls to be pretty, but just as easy for their personalities to destroy any notion of them being beautiful. The princess however had a beautiful quality that he didn't see often with the girls he had met. Not for the lack of his mother trying to introduce him to as many as she knew.

The horse trotted an easy pace and Altair arrived quickly to where the guard watched over the princess.

"Altair, hey, what are you doing here?"

"Hey Demerus, I've been sent to take over for the rest of the day it seems."

Demerus let out a sigh. "Oh, that's good to hear. The princess is unrelenting and my rear is sore."

"Think she'll be much longer?"

"Not sure, today is the first day she's been allowed to ride without her riding teacher. But I'm done, if you don't mind."

"Not at all, my father's back at the palace with the emperor if you want to see him."

"Absolutely, thanks." Demerus tugged the reins and trotted off back to the palace.

Altair turned his attention to the princess. She was so happy riding that she hadn't even noticed the exchange. Her long brown hair swished around as she ran the horse across the field. He could hear her laughter drifting to him on the breeze, it sounded light and sweet.

He thought about this being what his life could be like if he chose to stay instead of go and he took a deep breath. He would be relatively safe in Ronan, but if he went to Zaityra he would be putting himself in danger. Of course if he didn't go, someone else would have to go instead and then they would be in danger. And what if it went wrong and the sultan found out they were a spy? What if everyone the emperor asked refused? He shook his head. He had to decide on only one stipulation. Did he want to do it?

She slowed her horse and trotted off to the right. It looked like she might be just about done and he wondered what he might say to her.

Altair cocked his head to the side as he saw her horse back up unnaturally. Then it jerked around quickly and ran full speed in the opposite direction. Altair immediately urged his horse forward in a run to try to help her. He saw her pull back on her reins, but she did it too hard, making the horse rear back and she yelped as she fell off. Her horse took off and Altair slowed as he came up to her.

He swung his leg over and dropped down. "M'lady are you alright?"

She sucked in a breath in surprise when she looked up at him. "Who are you? Where's Demerus?" She asked, sounding scared.

Though they had met, she clearly didn't remember him. Altair smiled anyway. "I'm Altair, Quintus' son. I took over for Demerus and sent him back to the palace."

She looked cautious. "Prove it, what is Demerus' middle name?"

Altair cocked his head to the side and his smile widened. "You know his middle name?" Even though he knew she was different from most nobles, he was surprised that she bothered to know the middle name of one of her guards.

"I do and you are not a friend if you do not." She stated surely.

"Well, that is a trick question, for Demerus doesn't actually tell anyone his middle name. But lucky me, I grew up with the clod. His middle name is Isolde for his sister. And her middle name is Demerus, so no matter how far apart they are, they are always together."

She nodded reluctantly.

He kneeled next to her. "So what would you have done had I been a foe and not a friend?"

One side of her mouth upturned in a somewhat wicked smile and she reached, pulling the hem of her dress up just enough to show him the thin dagger there in a small leather sheath on her good ankle.

Altair raised his eyebrows. "And who gave you that?"

"Demerus."

"I'm sure your father doesn't want you to have it."

"That's why I don't tell him, but it is helpful to have, you must agree."

He shook his head. "Are you alright?"

She pulled her attention off him and back to her leg. "I'm not sure, my ankle hurts pretty bad."

He reached for her ankle and she pulled away quickly. "What do you think you're doing?"

"Checking to see if it's broken." He said, unsure.

"You can't touch me!" She sounded affronted.

Altair chuckled. "Well I can't tell if it's broken just by looking at it."

She bit her lip and looked down at her leg. She winced as she tried to move it and he smiled.

She lowered her head and nodded without looking at him.

He reached again and gently touched her calf instead of her ankle so he wouldn't cause her pain. She drew in a breath and he paused. Her calf wasn't injured and he realized she had reacted to him touching her. He remembered she was young and no one was allowed to touch her. He hadn't thought of that; he only wanted to make sure the ankle wasn't broken. He reached for her ankle with his other hand and she whimpered softly.

"I haven't even touched it yet."

"Yes, but I know you're going to."

He stifled laughter as he looked at her ankle. "How old are you?"

"I'm fifteen, almost sixteen." She said pointedly.

He touched the ankle then and she made a pained noise, his question forgotten. He let go of the ankle and touched her foot.

"You don't look much older than me. How old are you?" She tried to distract herself.

"Nineteen, not almost twenty." He quipped. He gently turned her foot around a few different ways and she pressed her lips together and whimpered. "Ok, it looks like it's not broken. You can't walk though." He looked around and couldn't see her horse. "And your horse has deserted you so you can ride back to the palace with me."

"No, I... I don't think I want to."

"You'll be with me, he won't buck."

"If it's not broken, then I'll just rest and when it feels better I'll walk back."

"Oh, well that could be a few days." He stood up and looked down at her. She looked concerned. He looked up at the sky and took a deep breath. "Well, see you in a few days then." He turned and grabbed his horse's reins.

"Hey! You can't just leave me here."

He looked back at her and smiled. "Change your mind?"

She narrowed her eyes at him in response.

He kneeled next to her again. "How heavy are you?"

"How dare you!" She said, the indignation fully returned.

He slid his left arm behind her back and his right under her knees and lifted her up into his arms. She yelped, grabbing his shoulders to hold on, and he chuckled as he turned to walk back to the palace.

"You can't carry me the whole way."

"Yeah, I guess eventually I might drop you."

"You wouldn't dare."

He smiled in response.

"Your horse is actually following us." She noticed over his shoulder.

"Yes, I've trained with him for years now."

"I've lost mine." She sounded sad.

"Don't worry, they'll get it back. It looked like it got scared by a snake. It'll probably come back on its own anyway. It knows where it gets food and care."

She didn't say anything after that and Altair looked at her as he carried her. She had light skin, but her cheeks were flushed from her riding in the sun. She had dark brown eyes under thick black lashes, a delicately shaped face, and light pink lips. She was petite with a ladylike figure. He'd been around plenty of girls in the nearby towns and he had to admit that she was the prettiest by far.

He looked ahead and tried not to think about it. It wasn't exactly appropriate for him to be holding her, but the circumstances made it necessary. She certainly made him laugh though, unlike most girls. He had found country girls to be a little dull and none of the noble girls acted like she did. Noble women were usually snobby and demeaning to the lower class and even the guards, but she was nice and considerate of them, even interested in their lives. Where the noble girls were quiet and stiff like decorated statues, she was bold and funny and exciting. She was everything he thought the princess should be.

"Wait." She said and he stopped. "This was silly of me. I shouldn't have been so difficult. If you can help me up on your horse, we can ride the rest of the way."

"I'm alright, I can carry you."

"No, it's not right for me to make it more difficult for you to do your job. I'll be fine."

He gently set her feet down and she kept from putting pressure on her hurt foot. The horse walked up next to them and stopped.

"He really is very well trained." She said smiling.

Altair put his hands around her waist. "Ready?" She nodded and he lifted her up. She grabbed the saddle and wiggled herself up onto it in a sidesaddle position. He grabbed the pummel and the back of the saddle, stuck his foot into the stirrup and pulled himself up.

As he swung his leg over and sat into the saddle he realized she had to sit in his lap and now they were much closer than he was supposed to be to a woman unless he was married to her, let alone the princess. He tapped the sides of the horse with his heels and took the trip slowly back to the palace.

When they reached the palace, he helped her off the horse, and then had to pick her back up into his arms to bring her inside. He told the guard at the door that they needed the palace doctor and barely got her into the entry room and set her down on the settee when the doctor came running in and pushed him aside.

"What happened?"

"It's ok," She answered quickly trying to calm him. "It's just my ankle. He says it's probably not broken."

"Well what does he know, he's not a doctor! Let me take a look." The doctor fussed over her, ignoring Altair completely.

Altair stepped aside so the doctor could tend to her. He heard Althea telling the doctor what happened and how Altair had been helpful as he slowly crept from the room.

He walked back outside the palace and sat on the front steps, remembering that he had a decision to make.

If he stayed he would be the personal guard of Althea. He certainly didn't want the arrogant Sultan Ezhad to get near her. She was beautiful, sweet, and innocent. He was bound by duty and honor to care about her and protect her, but he had to be careful not to develop any other feelings for her. He still felt a little warm from where he'd held her. He shook his head. That wasn't a helpful thought. Stay and he would be her guard, and her husband's. She had to marry a noble who would become the next emperor.

Leave and his life would change. He would be a spy, but he was still a soldier and he had been trained as a soldier. He had basically been training for this mission his whole life.

If he stayed here, he would be a glorified statue, just like those nobles he'd seen. If he left he'd be putting his training to use spying on the sultan of Zaityra.

Altair's brow furrowed. He thought again of the letter the emperor had shown him from the sultan. The message that spoke of Althea made him want to put more distance between her and the sultan.

He heard someone walk out of the palace behind him and he turned to see the emperor and his father.

"Looks like everything is ok, thanks to you. I'm extremely grateful." Mycenas thanked him happily and Quintus nodded proudly.

Altair took a deep breath. "I've decided. I'll take the mission."

THE ADVENTURE CONTINUES IN

### The Desert Princess

Read on for a sneak preview of Althea's journey –

Available Now!

Excerpt copyright © 2016 by Christina Bates

# The Desert Princess

Chapter 1

### Fall 1248

Princess Althea peeked out past the soft curtains, down into the walled garden behind the palace, and watched the guard slowly make his way through his rounds. Her eyes roved the pond, the flower beds, the bushes and trees swaying in the beginnings of the approaching autumn breeze, and the whole while, her body tingled with excitement. Not for the garden, but for the area beyond.

If she raised her eyes above the wall to the northeast, she could see the land reach out to the cliff's edge in the moonlight and see the water below reaching out to the horizon. If she looked further east, and if she was on her balcony instead of hiding behind the curtains inside her room, she would see the cliff side continue far out of view. To the west, she didn't need to be out on her balcony to see the Rynthe Mountains reaching up into the starry night sky.

The guard finally walked along the palace's outer wall near where her room sat high above and then disappeared out of view as he passed it. She quietly unlatched the glass door and slipped out into the cool night. The rough linen of her borrowed dress scratched at her skin as the breeze caressed her. Her clothes were all fine, soft fabrics of the highest quality, but she certainly couldn't blend in with commoners in any of that, so she had borrowed each piece of clothing she now wore from her servants. She borrowed a plain, brown dress, equally plain, rough sandals, and a small unadorned pouch to hold her coins, tied at her waist with a simple cord.

She sucked in a deep breath, feeling like she could taste her freedom on the night wind, and then tried not to feel nauseous as she looked down over the balcony. She had always taken great enjoyment from the view of the gardens below, but now that she had to climb down three floors, it felt a little different. It still didn't deter her, she took a deep breath and grabbed the trellis attached to the palace wall directly next to the balcony and swung her leg over the railing. She tucked her foot into the first comfortable notch and held on tight as she swung her other leg over and it found purchase against the metal and vines.

She let out a relieved breath as the trellis held her weight. She had tested it before by pulling on it from her balcony, but it was still a relief that it held when her body depended on it. She started her descent and smiled at the image she must be displaying, a dark figure climbing a palace wall, silhouetted against the bright white moonflowers and its lush green vines, an image that thankfully no one could see.

She made her way as carefully and as quickly as she could. The tickling touch of the grass against her sandaled feet as she reached the ground sent another excited shiver through her as she got closer to reaching her goal. She brushed her hands together, rubbing the soreness from the metal climb away as she turned and dashed to the large oak tree by the outer wall. She wasted no time as she grabbed the lowest branch and began her ascent.

There was no need to hold a breath during this part, she had been climbing this tree since she was just a child, and at nineteen, she couldn't even count how many times she had. Not the type of thing her father, the guards, the maids, or her teachers liked for the young princess to do, but they had gotten tired of trying to stop her over the years.

Her foot slipped on some moss, but her hands held tightly where they grabbed, and she breathed a sigh of relief that she hadn't cried out. She had always liked the freedom of it, doing something bold and brave by herself. At least that's what she had imagined as a young princess. That description didn't seem far from reality as she reached the large branch that reached over to the outer wall. Bold and brave, she tried to remind herself as she began to walk carefully along the thick branch to get to the wall.

The branch bowed slightly as her steps took her closer to the end of it and she silently swore she'd never eat another pastry if it just held a little longer. The next part she had never tried before. She took a few quick breaths, aimed herself carefully, and as close to the end of the branch as she could get, she jumped out to the top of the wall.

Her right foot landed, but her left foot slipped off the edge. She reached out quickly and grabbed the top of the wall to keep herself upright and balanced. Her heart hammered in her chest, but she didn't fall and she pulled her left foot up. She suffered only a little scare and a scratched shin. She smiled as she slowly stood upright. The wall reached halfway up to where her room was so the view below wasn't quite as far, but her heart raced just the same as she stood there with nothing except the wind surrounding her and a foot's purchase beneath her.

She was so close to freedom now that every one of her senses felt on fire. She listened to the rustle of the leaves and the ocean far below the cliff side, tasted and smelled the salty sea air as it filled her lungs fit to burst, felt the cool breeze caress her, and delighted in the nighttime view all around her. It all looked the same but it all looked so fresh and beautiful and new at the same time.

The moonlight danced over all it could reach, the only problem was that it wasn't reaching below the wall beneath her, so she couldn't see if what she knew should be there, was there. And it was a long way down. But it had to be there. She sat down on the wall and tried to ignore her heart beating against her chest and her brain trying to tell her to stop. She said a silent prayer and pushed herself off the edge.

With her arms wrapped around herself and her legs tucked in, she landed with a soft thump in a pillow of hay so thick that it puffed into the air around her at her fall and she sank into the middle. She blew a few pieces away from her mouth and rubbed the back of her neck which felt a little sore as well as her bottom. She looked up into the night sky and saw the tree branches above her where she had just been.

So far, her plan was working just as she had hoped. She had been with the stable boy earlier in the day and as soon as the cart was right there she had stumbled and faked a sprained ankle. It took very little convincing to get the guard and the stable boy to help her back inside the palace where she gave the stable boy other things to do for the rest of the day and made him and the guard promise to leave the hay right where they had left it so that she could help him finish the task the next day. They knew she loved the horses and always helped out with them and they had enough hay until the next day without a problem. She climbed out of the hay cart and brushed futilely at the pieces stuck to her dress.

Now there was only one thing between her and her freedom in Ronan: the stables, situated between the mountains and the palace's outer wall. She jogged quietly until she was close and hid in the dark shadows of the wall until she could see the front of the stables and the guard that sat at the doorway. She strained to see him and listen intently as she snuck closer. She saw him as the moonlight drifted through the clouds. He sat with his arms in his lap and his head leaned down on his chest. As she waited, she heard the sweet sounds of snoring coming from him.

She quietly tip-toed up to the front of the stables and looked down at the guard as he continued to sleep. Next to him rested the pitcher and his cup, filled with wine that she had added some sleeping herb to earlier, before the handmaiden picked it up to deliver it to him. She silently apologized to him and went into the stables. She went down the row until she reached the horse she was looking for and tried to get the horse out as quietly as she could. She didn't bother saddling the mare, just climbed up the step ladder to get onto its back and carefully threaded her fingers into its mane before leading it out of the stall and down the row until she moved past the still sleeping guard.

She urged the horse into a trot and headed into the woods that divided the palace from the neighboring town of Fiorens to the west. She would eventually need to go further south, but she would have to stay somewhere for the night and Fiorens was closest.

Fiorens lay beneath the Rynthe mountains and next to the forbidden mountain pass between their land of Ronan and the neighboring desert land of Zaityra. It was a small town, not so many people wanted to live there after the battle of Rynthe almost fifty years ago when the Zaityran Sultan Rezhan had marched his army through the pass, burning half the village before her father had been able to stop them and work out a treaty to appease the Zaityrans and end the fighting.

The treaty had brought them together to form an uneasy alliance for talk and trade, but it had only lasted about twenty years before Zaityra went silent, breaking off all contact and leaving them alone for the following twenty plus years.

That battle and the history of contention between Ronan and Zaityra, was the reason she had to do all of this. It was the reason her father would hardly ever let her leave the palace. She had been allowed to ride her horses in the palace fields, but the only other reason she went out was to attend a noble event where she had to meet suitors. She'd only ever seen Ronan through the window of her carriage.

And oh how she hated those stuffy ballrooms filled to the brim with pompous attitudes and uncomfortable restrictions. She had to mind everything from how she looked, to what manner in which she stood, to how she addressed the different ranks, to showing no expression except a smile the entire time, and it was all so tiring. While she had to worry about all of that, she saw the other young girls whispering together or the young men talking and laughing, but she wasn't allowed to join either of them.

If she tried to speak to other girls, she was told that she needed to meet the 'right' people and was introduced to the nobles' wives as examples of proper women. Not that the other girls wanted to talk to her anyway. She could tell that whenever she was around, the boys ignored the other girls for her because she was the princess and the other girls were resentful of her for it. And she couldn't speak to just any boy in particular unless she had been introduced to them first and she always had to be introduced to the 'right' suitors. Any of whom she'd only spoken to for a short time and only to not see them again for months later during which time she would find out that they were courting other noble young ladies. And from those 'right' suitors she was supposed to pick one to be her husband and be the future emperor of Ronan.

Her father had only gotten increasingly frustrated with her since she was no closer to choosing a husband than she had been three years ago. He would favor whichever one had the best bloodline, or the most money, or the most land, or the most family, or whichever one was the best at kissing up to him.

She knew her father loved her, but he should know that she couldn't make that kind of decision based on any of those things. After her mother had died when she was born, he had never remarried. He thought of the suitors' attributes as security for her future, but she saw them only as detractors of any true value the men might offer.

All of the suitors spoke to her of their virtues and values that they could offer her, but they were all possessions that the men had, not anything that showed that they were the right man not only for her, but also for the throne of Ronan. How could she not be allowed to make any decisions whatsoever except for the one that would affect all of Ronan and be the last decision she would ever have to make? Because once she chose the man who would become the emperor, he would take over any decision needing to be made and she would return to being a prisoner of the palace. Sure, she knew she was well cared for, but she was anything but free. The people of Ronan were actually free while she was not, and she envied them.

She was happiest out in the palace garden, by the lake, or riding her horses in the fields around the palace. Her only company was the palace guards and handmaidens, but they were the closest thing she ever had to friends. They still treated her like a princess, but they also treated her like family that they cared for, even if it was because they were paid to.

Althea shook her head, trying to clear her thoughts and bring herself back into the feeling of being free, riding through the woods as moonlight filtered through the leaves. She wasn't trying to escape and never return; she just wanted to prove to her father that she was capable of so much more. That she didn't have to marry one of their selected suitors. That she could go out into Ronan and be among the people that she was supposed to help rule in the future. She wanted to meet them and know what their lives were like. How else was she supposed to understand their needs?

Her teachers had taught her so much about Ronan, but being told what riding a horse was like was nothing compared to actually doing it. They couldn't teach her things that she just needed to do for herself. And she was going to prove to all of them that she could do more for herself than they allowed.

She took care crossing the river that flowed out from the mountains, picking the path delicately. If she looked south, through the thick of trees, she could just make out the fields and the lone road leading the palace to the Fiorens town and farmland.

South of the field and the road lay the port town of Tiberius where she would be heading in the morning. East of Tiberius and south of the palace was Venicia, the heart of Ronan's military might, from the common Vigiles that protected the Ronan people to the Praetorian Guard who were dedicated to the protection of the royal family. They were all trained there and then stationed all over Ronan as needed. That was why she was carefully trudging through the woods and staying away from the road. She didn't want to run into any guards who would recognize her.

Althea pushed through the last of the branches and brambles, and freeing herself from the thickets she could see the light ahead of her in the darkness. A small, single light became a few spread out on the land, the flickering fires of Fiorens. She felt her heart begin to race, felt herself flush with an uneasy excitement. When she was close enough to the village to walk in, but far enough away that no one could see her yet, she slowed the horse down and jumped off.

She couldn't bring the mare with her; the mare's breeding would be a clear sign of the emperor's ownership. She would have to pay for travel the rest of the way. She rubbed the horse's nose and made it turn around before giving it a pat on the rump so it would run off.

Althea took a steadying breath and turned to face the village. She had never mingled with common people before, besides her handmaidens and the palace guards. She only had contact with the Ronan nobles, proconsuls and consuls of Ronan's provinces, their wives, and their children. And either they came to the palace or she visited their grand homes, otherwise she was in a carriage viewing Ronan through glass. The good thing about it was that no one would know who she was and the bad thing was that she didn't know how to do anything in a village. How would she get herself a room at an inn and who was it acceptable to talk to or what would she talk about to them if she did? There was no going back now that the horse was gone. She felt a bit apprehensive, but willed her body to take one step forward and then another.

She walked to the village entrance, a large archway with a burning torch adorning each side in welcome. The sounds of nighttime insects and the creaking of wood were the only things she heard and she saw no one around. She hoped she would be able to find the inn and that it wasn't too late for her to get a room. Althea stepped up to the archway and smiled as she passed under it and into the village.

"Who goes thar?" A gruff voice demanded.

Althea screamed and jumped back.

"Shh!" The man held up a hand to calm her down. In his other hand he held a lantern and raised it to get a good look at her in the dark. It lit his features in an odd way that spooked her. He was an old man, his long, scraggly hair and beard graying, his skin dark and haggard. "People'r tryin' ta sleep. Now, who'r ya and what'r ya doin' here?"

Althea realized she was shaking and tried to calm herself. She knew she was going to run into people, she just couldn't believe how much he had startled her. "I... I'm traveling and I need a room to spend the night."

"How many of ya?"

She swallowed. "Just myself."

The man squinted at her and looked her up and down and then looked behind her expecting to see someone else anyway. He cocked his head to the side. "Jus' you? Jus' walkin'? Alone in the dark?"

She didn't know what to say so she just looked at him as he sized her up.

"Oh all right. Ya don't look dangerous o' course, so fine. Go ahead." He turned to go back to the chair he had been on behind the archway and mumbled to himself. "Crazy women now-a-days, travelin' alone. Whut's tha world comin' to anyway?"

Althea cleared her throat. "Excuse me."

The man sat down and looked up at her. "Huh?"

"Uh, could you tell me where the inn is for me to stay the night?"

He grumbled. "Tha' way. Says 'Inn' on tha sign." He said shaking his head.

Althea was taken aback and nodded stupidly. "Of course, thank you." She mumbled and started walking down the road. She passed only a few people, one walking briskly to their destination, one huddled over against a building in the dark that she almost missed completely until they coughed, and a man and woman speaking in hushed voices leaning against another building.

Her teachers had taught her about everywhere in Ronan, but she felt so small walking alone down the road with the buildings towering over her and surrounding her in the night. There were only a few that still had a candle lit inside this late in the night, but up ahead was a large building with a few small steps leading up to the door. Light poured from its dirty, clouded windows and quite a bit more noise of laughter and talk than she expected so late at night could be heard as she got closer. She started up the steps, but stopped when she saw the sign that could barely be read. She strained to read the words 'Dragon's Breath Tavern' through the dirt and age.

She was about to turn around and continue down the road when the doors suddenly burst open and three men toppled out, their laughter echoing in the quiet street. One stopped when he saw her and squinted trying to get a good look at her in the dark as the door closed behind him and the light disappeared. She bowed her head quickly and stepped back. She didn't want to be afraid; she just didn't really know what to do. No one should recognize her, but she still felt she should hide her face.

"Oh? What's that there? A lovely girl. Well come join us then. We could use the company of a fair maiden in the cold night."

She turned to walk past the tavern, but one of the other men took a few steps forward and grabbed her arm.

"Don't go maiden. We just walk to talk."

"Let me go." She barely heard herself say it was so quiet with fear.

"Come on. We can dance..." The one who held her arm tried to pull her closer.

Another grabbed him and made him let her go. "You can't have her all to yourself, tribune. Maybe you can have her when I'm done with her." The man laughed and reached for Althea. In the shadows, she was having trouble making out his face, but she thought she actually recognized him.

Light poured over them again as the door of the tavern opened wide. A woman's voice called out. "Cousin! I'm so glad you've finally arrived. Gentlemen, this is my cousin who works at the palace as a handmaiden to the princess."

The men stopped and backed away from Althea, shielding their eyes from the light. "We just wanted to bring her in for a dance, you know? Welcome her to Fiorens." The tribune mumbled.

The feminine figure in the light of the doorway put her hands on her hips. "Oh no, I'm afraid we've no time for that. We must go home. My family will be worried since we're running later than expected. Good night gentlemen, I hope you get some sleep soon." She stepped quickly down to Althea, grabbed her by the arm and walked with her briskly down the road.

When they were out of earshot Althea looked at the girl. "Thank you."

"It's no problem at all. You're not from here right? Or you wouldn't have been at the tavern so late."

"Right, I was trying to find the inn."

"Oh. Well, we just passed it. They're closed already for the night so I guess you'll have to come with me. I can't very well just leave you in the road or back there with them now, can I?"

"I really appreciate your help, but I don't understand. That kind of behavior from those men was unacceptable. They put their hands on me. And I almost thought one of them was Crassus, the proconsul of Tiberius."

"He was. What's your name? Where do you live?"

"I... I am traveling, but I've seen him before. That kind of behavior from a proconsul is deplorable. I certainly wouldn't have danced with him. They had no manners at all."

The girl looked at her. "Danced? I suppose that's one way of putting it. No manners is right, but he is a powerful man that gets whatever he wants despite decency and laws."

"Ridiculous, the Vigiles uphold the laws across Ronan."

"Well sure, if the world worked the way it should. But one of those men was the Fiorens' tribune who oversees the Vigiles here. You didn't see him acting any different. Unfortunately, they let his indiscretions slip by in exchange for money or favors."

Althea stopped. "Impossible!"

"Shh!" The girl shushed her and looked around them before pulling her further. "Look, I've seen it done. I saw Crassus making a deal with a Zaityran smuggler one night not that long ago. A man by the name of Rall I think it was. Not all are corrupt but it only takes a few. Besides what are we to do about it?"

"Someone should tell the emperor. He could do something about it."

The girl laughed. "The emperor? Sure we'll just walk up to the palace and say 'Hey I've got to chat with the emperor.' We'll be let right in."

Althea's brow furrowed in the dark. No one ever came to the palace; that was true. People brought their problems to their proconsul and the proconsul brought them to her father's attention as necessary. The proconsuls were always held in high regard and well trusted.

"So you did nothing?" Althea said disappointed.

"No. Actually, I did try to tell the Vigiles and the tribune and even tried to tell a member of the Praetorian Guard. And as you can see, he's now drinking with the tribune and a member of the Vigiles in the tavern that I work at and making me fetch the wine. He knows I saw him and knows I told them, but he flaunts that nothing will come of it." The girl sighed in the dark. "The only reason he hasn't done anything to me after I tried to expose his affairs is because my family owns the farmland here, north of Fiorens. If he openly tried to do anything to me, my family wouldn't take it well and we supply Fiorens, a lot of the north, and the emperor's palace directly. But I don't like the way he treats me or looks at me now. Anyway, this is the stable. You dropped your horse off here when you got here, right?"

"No, I didn't bring a horse."

"You traveled here without a horse? Well, I'm sure my horse can carry us both. We don't have too far to go. I don't live in the village; I live at my family's farm. You can stay the night there with us and in the morning you can head back and it'll be safer for you to travel wherever you want to go in the day."

"That would be fine. Thank you again."

"Don't mention it. My name's Linnea by the way. What's yours?"

"Althea."

"Ah, another one named after the princess eh? Well, that's alright, it's a pretty name."

Althea hadn't thought about it and inwardly sighed with relief that Linnea came out with her own understanding. She should probably use a different name from now on. Linnea gave the boy at the stables some coins and he brought out her horse saddled and ready to go.

The girls took off into the night, following the road north of the village, the cold night air whipped at them as their surroundings slipped past them in the soft light. It didn't take long before they could see the fields laid out ahead of them and then the farmhouse just past it down the dirt road. Althea could see a carriage ahead of them on the road to the house. Linnea slowed the horse to a trot and turned to the stables.

Althea dismounted the horse first. "That carriage out there..."

Linnea nodded. "It's fine. He's a merchant I've been seeing lately. I was supposed to meet him tonight, but the regent and his men made me stay later at the tavern to serve them. I'll just tell him I'll see him tomorrow so we can get you settled. Would you mind taking care of the horse while I go talk to him?"

"Not at all." Althea smiled and led the horse into an open pen and began removing his saddle and bridle.

She left the stables after she settled the horse into its stall. It was darker out as thick clouds blocked the moonlight and she could only see a shadowy image of the carriage. She heard a strange noise she couldn't identify and, not sure if she was intruding on Linnea and her suitor, she moved quietly to some nearby bushes and took a peek while she waited.

As some of the clouds drifted in the night air and moonlight again shined down through the darkness, what Althea saw made her feel ill. There was a muscular man with dark skin behind Linnea with his hand over her mouth and his other arm around her. He was lifting her off the ground and walking her over to the carriage as she kicked and struggled to free herself. There was another man standing by the carriage. He was a thin spindly looking man with long hair and a hooked nose.

The thin man spoke vehemently to the big man. "Come on, stop her struggling and hurry up."

Althea knew she had to do something. She didn't even stop to think; she ran out into the field and kicked the big man behind his knee. His knee buckled and he fell forward losing his grip on Linnea. Althea grabbed Linnea's arm and started running toward the house pulling her along.

"Get them!" The thin man hissed.

They stumbled, but Althea pulled hard on Linnea to keep moving and get away from the men. They needed to get help from the house and it was far enough away that they couldn't be heard yet. Then Althea heard horse hooves behind her. She didn't look back, but she could hear them getting closer every second.

She felt a strong hand grab the back of her dress and pull up hard. She was thrown over the horse and had the wind knocked out of her with each strut as the pommel dug into her stomach. Since she was slung over the horse she couldn't see, but she heard Linnea yelp and hit the ground.

The horse stopped hard and Althea pushed herself back and down onto the ground. She tried to keep her feet under herself and look around for Linnea. She saw her unmoving on the ground and ran over and tried to shake her awake.

A shadow fell over her, eclipsing the moonlight, and when she looked up, she only caught a glimpse of the large man swing his arm toward her. There was a hard strike against the side of her head, stars dazzled behind her eyes, and then everything was fading... and then nothing.

### Thank you so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed it. Every review helps and I'd love to know what you think so please leave a review at your favorite retailer.

### Thank you!

### \- Christina Bates

# About the Author

Christina Bates is an avid reader, video gamer, and watcher of TV shows – all the things that can transport us to other worlds. She loves adventure in all its forms and her goal is to travel the world. Until her goal is in reach, you can find her traveling through as many fantasy worlds as she can, even if she has to make them herself.

After years of stories taking shape in her head, she put her fingers to her keyboard and began to type away, creating The Sultan's Heir and The Desert Princess. She lives in Florida with her husband and continues to daydream her next story adventure.

You can connect with Christina on Facebook and on Goodreads where she loves hearing from her readers.

