Hot Arabian Nights

‘So it’s a throne room?’

‘That is one use. I will show it to you after we have eaten.’

He sank on to one of the velvet cushions scattered beside the low marble table, but Julia continued to examine the room. As one of the first chambers which visitors encountered, it was opulent, designed to both intimidate and impress, but Julia, Azhar noticed with amusement, was rather entranced than awed, running her fingers along the ornate mosaic patterning on the walls, gazing for almost a full minute, her neck craned, at the stained glass of the domed ceiling, circling around the twelve pillars which formed the portico to the Divan itself, trailing her fingers through the fountain in the centre of the of the room before finally joining him at the table, occupying the cushion beside him and eyeing the fruit and pastries with undisguised relish.

‘I’m ravenous,’ she said. ‘I have never eaten such delicious food in my life as has been served to me here. I shall go back to Cornwall with a huge tummy.’

She patted her patently concave belly, and bit into a pastry. ‘Almonds, of course, there are always almonds. And raisins. And—chicken?’

‘Guinea fowl.’ There was a stray flake of pastry on the corner of her mouth. Azhar watched, fascinated, as she licked it before popping the remainder of the pastry into her mouth, closing her eyes so as to savour it.

He shifted uncomfortably on the cushion. Did she know what she did to him? She plucked another sweetmeat from the platter, a pastry tube coated in sugar and cinnamon. Azhar’s shaft stiffened. She could have no possible idea of the visions she was conjuring, he doubted she had ever even caressed a male member. He poured himself a cooling glass of sherbet and took a long drink.

‘Delicious!’ Julia said, quite oblivious of the effect she was having. ‘May I have some sherbet? I’m hot.’

And he was on fire. ‘Let me cool you down,’ Azhar said, taking a small lump of ice from the silver chafing dish and sliding it into her mouth. Her lips formed into a perfect ‘oh’ of surprise, and Azhar surrendered to the impulse to cover them with his own.

Cold ice, the warmth of her lips, the softness of her tongue, the heat from his body, made him shiver with delight. Though he longed to devour her, he savoured her, holding himself rigid, restricting the contact to their lips and their tongues. She smelled of jasmine. The ice melted, and he reached blindly for another piece. Julia opened her mouth, her eyes slumberous, her cheeks flushed, and when he covered her lips with his, kissed him back with a fierceness that threatened to overpower the fragile grip he had on his self-control.

The next lump of ice, he trailed down the column of her throat, easing her back on the cushions, unfastening her tunic buttons to push the garment aside. Her skin was milky white. Her nipples were pale-pink peaks. He let the ice melt on them, watching her shudder, aware of those big beguiling eyes of hers fixed on him, then he took one of the icy cold buds in his mouth and sucked hard.

Her moan made his groin tighten. The second nipple, delightfully hard, swapped ice for fire as he enveloped it with his lips. Still she watched him, her eyes glittering, her hair, free from her headscarf, glinting fire in the dappled light from the stained-glass ceiling. He knew that she longed to touch him, but he knew that she would not, without a cue. She learned quickly. And she was untutored. The combination of voluptuary and innocent was intoxicating. That they were indulging in such carnal pleasure here, right next to the Divan, added an extra frisson to Azhar’s enjoyment.

He opened the last of the buttons which held her tunic together. Another lump of ice, teasing down her body, pooling in the dip of her naval. He licked it dry. He undid the sash of her pantaloons.

‘Azhar, someone might come.’

He laughed. ‘That is not a possibility, Julia, it is a certainty,’ he said, tilting her bottom up to swiftly remove the garment.

‘Azhar!’

‘Julia, we will not be disturbed. No one dares enter without my permission.’ He took one final piece of ice from the dish.

‘What are you going to do with that?’

She had no idea. The knowledge that he would be the one to initiate her only heightened his desire. Smiling wickedly, Azhar put the ice on his tongue, knelt between her legs, and slid his tongue inside her.

She arched up under him. He lifted her higher, his hands cupping her rear. The ice had already melted, but it had served its purpose. She was wet, hot and already swollen. The last time he had lingered, this time he brought her to a climax swiftly, licking over her and into her and then over her, the sweet rush of her orgasm making him pulse in response, his tongue sweeping over her as her climax ebbed, bringing another rush, and then a final one. Her hands were digging into his shoulders. The soft flesh at the top of her thighs was damp. She lay sprawled on the scarlet cushions, her hair spread like a halo around her, her breasts heaving delightfully, her face suffused with colour. And her eyes, cloudy with sated passion, still fixed on him.

It was a primal response, this surge of male pride that he had given her such pleasure, but he relished it. His shaft jutted painfully in the constraints of his trousers. He could not remember ever feeling so aroused. Five, six strokes inside the slick heat of her, would be all it would take. But Azhar wanted much more than five or six strokes. He could wait, even if it meant tipping the last of the ice down his front. He looked at Julia, all creamy flesh and pink nipples and dark auburn curls between her legs, and he realised what he needed most was to stop looking at her.

He got to his feet, reaching for her hand to pull her upright. ‘I will leave you to—to rearrange yourself,’ he said.

‘But what about you?’

‘I too need to rearrange myself,’ Azhar said wryly.

‘No, I meant...’

‘I know what you meant. This was simply another staging post on our journey of discovery, Julia. Not one I had planned, but I promise you, a most delightful way station for me as well as you.’

* * *

Julia was eyeing the pastries with intent when Azhar returned, his hair wet, the flush faded from his skin. It was foolish to feel shy but she did, and even more foolish to be embarrassed by the appetite their lovemaking had given her, but she was.

‘Eat, please,’ Azhar said, when she turned resolutely away from the table. ‘But avoid the cinnamon-and-sugar ones, for the sake of my sanity.’

She studied him from under her lashes as she took sustenance. Would anyone be able to tell what they had just shared, by looking at them? Azhar, staring off into space, his plate of food all but untouched, looked his usual remote self, while she felt as if the wild, sensual creature she had become must still surely be etched on her face, even if she had rearranged her clothing and subdued her hair under her scarf.

She nibbled on a sugared almond and poured herself another glass of sherbet. Fifteen minutes ago Azhar had been flushed with passion. Not long before that, his face had been set, his eyes dark with anger. Though it still seemed incomprehensible to her that he could walk away from all this, she did understand his desire for freedom. Bad enough being wed to Daniel, but to marry a kingdom...

Bad enough! Julia set down her sherbet glass carefully. Her marriage was not bad. She had not been unhappy, and she knew of worse, far worse marriages. But she had not been happy either. Azhar had likened Qaryma to a gilded cage. Julia smiled at the notion of describing her marriage in such a way, yet there was no doubt she had felt confined by it. The promises she had made to Daniel constrained her still, though in a way, they had also helped her grasp her freedom. Without the impetus of completing his book she would not have come here, would not have tested her resourcefulness, would never have discovered the sensual side of her nature which had been subdued for so long. Would never have met Azhar.

Looking at him, recalling what had passed between them right here less than an hour before, she felt the most delightful shiver. She was not yet free, but the process of claiming her freedom was proving far more enjoyable than she could ever have imagined.

* * *

Azhar ushered her through the marble pillars. ‘Why are there no guards?’ Julia asked.

‘Because I had them stand down while we are here.’

‘Oh. What about the Second Court, did you have that cleared too?’

‘Not cleared, it is the main thoroughfare through the palace, but I asked that only those with urgent business be allowed to pass through.’

‘Asked or commanded?’

Azhar shrugged. ‘To most here it amounts to the same thing.’ He lifted the heavy iron bar that held the double doors together, and threw them wide. ‘The Divan.’

The room was about fifty feet long with a domed roof crowned by a gold crescent in the very centre. Gold constellations were painted on the ceiling, and the floor was worked in an intricate pattern of turquoise-and-gold mosaic. In contrast, the walls were stark white relieved only by a thin band of gold and turquoise. Aside from the huge carved chair upholstered with cloth of gold, the vast space was completely empty.

‘My brother and I used to play in here as children,’ Azhar said. ‘We used to race with our wooden horses, stage mock fights with our wooden scimitars.’

‘So you were close when you were younger, then?’

‘There are only two years between us,’ Azhar replied. ‘Our mother died in childbirth two years after Kamal was born, and our father never took another wife.’

‘Is that unusual?’ Julia asked in surprise. ‘Wasn’t he lonely?’

‘My father married as all kings of Qaryma marry, for the sake of an heir. Since my mother provided him with two, he did not feel the need to take another wife. As to whether he was lonely—if you mean did he take lovers then the answer is yes. He enjoyed the company of women in that way. It is one of the few things we have in common.’

‘Two things,’ Julia said, before she could stop herself. ‘You both take lovers, but neither of you offers love.’

The look he drew her was measured. ‘As you say. And what about you, Julia?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Do you still have room in your heart for love?’

‘If by that, do you mean will I ever marry again, the answer is an unequivocal no. My freedom is not quite so hard-earned as yours, but it is every bit as precious,’ Julia said. ‘But we are not here to talk about me. Tell me more of the Council meetings that take place here.’

‘Under my father they convened three times a week, though Kamal has reduced it to once. Membership is hereditary, representing the oldest families in the kingdom, although the King also has the authority to invest a man with specialist knowledge or skills. The Chief Overseer in charge of the diamond mines, for example.’

‘So the Council which meets now is the one your father selected?’

‘Kamal has nominated a number of younger men. A number of my father’s associates have stepped down.’

Azhar was pinching the bridge of his nose. It was a habit he had when he was unhappy about something, Julia had noticed. ‘That may be a good thing. Younger men often have a more progressive outlook,’ she suggested.

‘Or they may be more easily swayed. Although the King of Qaryma wields absolute power, it is easier to rule with the Council on your side. My brother has always been overly fond of getting his own way. He does not take well to having his will thwarted, but nor is he particularly strong-willed.’ Azhar grimaced. ‘A compliant Council is an ideal solution.’

An ideal solution for a weak ruler. Julia braced herself, for she understood now how very much he did not want to hear her question. ‘Are you quite certain that you wish to hand over your kingdom to such a man? Can you trust Kamal?’

‘Have you seen enough?’ Azhar walked away, holding open double doors at the other end of the Divan. ‘These will take us out to the Third Court. I am not ignoring your question, Julia,’ he said, as she passed him. ‘I am considering how best to answer it.’

The Third Court was about half the size of the Second, and a very different space. Two large pavilions sat adjacent to each other. There was a fountain in each corner, a low, precisely trimmed maze, and more mosaic paths. ‘This court is reserved for the royal family,’ Azhar said. ‘Those gates in the wall lead to what was once the old-style harem complete with concubines and eunuchs. My mother had it opened up, and turned into what is simply the women’s quarters. Some of her former maidservants still reside there along with Kamal’s wife.’

‘I’m surprised that someone as obviously greedy as your brother has only one.’

‘He may have his faults but he is still my brother. I would appreciate it if you kept such thoughts to yourself. Apart from anything else if overheard they might be considered treasonous.’

‘My apologies, it was a poor attempt at humour,’ Julia said contritely. ‘Where are we now?’

‘This building is the library,’ Azhar said, opening the door of the largest pavilion which on closer inspection was cruciform in shape. ‘We will be comfortable in there.’

The door to the library was panelled in bronze. Glass-fronted bookcases lined the walls of each of the arms of the cruciform, while light poured in through the windows set into the domed roof at the centre, where a huge round couch was placed. Azhar sat down here, indicating that Julia should join him.

He stretched his long legs out in front of him and folded his arms. ‘You asked if Kamal and I were close. You would imagine that we would be so, with only two years between us, no mother, no other siblings, but we were not. I was a typical boy in many ways. I liked to ride—horses and camels—I liked to fight with my sword and my fists, I liked to swim and to run. Kamal—well, Kamal has always been indolent. Unfortunately, our father was a man who valued what he called masculine prowess. In my father’s eyes, Kamal was less of a boy because he did not shine as I did at such things. I never—how do you say it—rubbed his face in it?’

‘Nose.’

‘Nose. Well, I never did that, but it didn’t matter. Kamal was jealous. I think there was a part of him that wished to emulate me. And he relied on me too, to play the big brother, even though he would rather he was the elder brother, you know? He was always outreaching himself, relying on me to bail him out when he came unstuck. Like the occasion when he took liberties with the sister of one of our friends, and her brothers set upon him.’

‘He must have resented you,’ Julia said.

‘That has not changed,’ Azhar said wearily.

‘It must have been difficult for him to stomach,’ she added, thinking that that had not changed either. ‘Taller, stronger, faster.’ Much more attractive.

‘And my worst crime of all. Older.’

‘The heir, by accident of birth. A heinous crime indeed,’ Julia agreed wryly.

‘I know, but I believe Kamal really does believe it is my fault.’

‘You don’t like him much, do you?’

Azhar winced. ‘I try not to let it show, but he is not stupid. Weak and petty and indolent, but far from stupid. I am not blinded by my determination to abdicate, Julia. All Kamal needs is the incentive to improve. Once he knows that Qaryma is his, that I truly am out of his life for ever, then he will prove himself.’

But she was beginning to suspect that Azhar was blinded. Like her, he craved his freedom, but there the similarities ended. Daniel was dead. Azhar’s love of his kingdom had merely been buried. He was an honourable man with a strong sense of duty. This notion he had, that he could set Qaryma to rights and Kamal too, it was a most laudable intention, but it was impossible.

Julia’s toes curled inside her slippers, but honesty was what Azhar had requested of her, and true to herself was what she had resolved to be. ‘You have set yourself a herculean task if you plan to remedy things in just three short weeks, and—and I think you should ask yourself why,’ she said carefully. ‘No matter how much you deny it, you care for your kingdom, and you know in your heart that your brother is not fit to rule—will never be half the man that you are. You may quell your conscience by shoring things up, by remedying whatever problems you uncover. That may permit you to enjoy your freedom for a few more years, but it will be what it has always been—a mirage. You will be obliged to come back eventually. I am so sorry, Azhar, but whether you like it or not, the one thing you cannot abdicate from is your conscience.’

Azhar got to his feet. He was angry, she could see the pulse beating in his throat, but he was making a huge effort not to show it. ‘I will not permit you to condemn me to a lifetime of captivity until you understand what that would entail. And the price I have to pay. Come with me.’

‘Where are we going?’

He strode out of the library, across the Third Court to yet another set of iron gates, which he opened with a huge key, ushering her through a passageway to a door, which he then heaved open. ‘The Fourth Court,’ Azhar declared.

* * *

It was a square formed by three high walls and one low parapet. In the centre was a kiosk, but it was the gardens which drew Julia’s attention, for they were laid out not at all in the formal style of the Third Court, but in a riot of colour, more in the style of an English cottage garden than the garden of an Arabian king.

The space was surprisingly intimate. Aromatic herbs planted at the edges of the winding mosaic paths scented the air as her tunic brushed against them. The parapet looked out over Al-Qaryma to the oasis and the desert beyond, the same view as the large garden, but from a higher viewpoint. That wall there must form the boundary between the two. Rushing from one path to the next, she found a tantalising mixture of flowers and shrubs, some exotic, some quintessentially English, all jostling for space, and living happily together in a way she would not have given any credence to had she not seen it for herself.

‘It is as if someone has commanded the East to merge with the West,’ Julia exclaimed. ‘A secret garden, whose is it?’

‘The Fourth Court is exclusively for the use of the King of Qaryma.’

Julia’s eyes widened. ‘Your father’s private quarters?’ While she had been running from path to path, Azhar had remained quite still at the door of the Court. This was no magical garden for him. It was his father’s inner sanctum. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘I should not have allowed myself to get so carried away.’

Azhar shrugged. ‘I had forgotten,’ he said. ‘I don’t remember it being so—’ He broke off making a vague gesture. ‘Seeing it through your eyes, I can see it is—I can understand your surprise.’

‘Who tends to it?’

Another shrug. ‘The palace has an army of gardeners. There is an entrance door in the connecting wall to the main garden where you have been working.’

Julia hadn’t noticed a door, and she had spent hours and hours in the other garden, but now was hardly the time to ask if it was possible to...

‘I’ll have someone give you the key,’ Azhar said, as if he had read her mind. ‘If you really want to paint this, that is. I doubt there are any new species for you to catalogue.’

‘It is the unexpectedness of it that appeals to me. I had not thought—that is, I thought your father—all this, it does not really equate with the man I imagined.’

‘No?’

Azhar’s expression was unreadable, but there were tiny lines of tension around his eyes, and the pulse still throbbed at his throat, a sure sign that he was discomfited. She touched his arm lightly but he turned away towards the building which stood in the centre of the Court. ‘This is the Royal Kiosk,’ he said.

The kiosk had two storeys, the broad roof overhanging to form an arcade which surrounded the building. A huge gilded dome emerged from the centre of the roof, with a small minaret sitting incongruously beside it. The marbled exterior was, like the kiosk in the main garden, alabaster white, throwing the brilliant colours of the tall stained-glass windows, six on each storey on the façade alone, into stark relief.

Azhar opened the double door with another key and stepped aside for Julia to enter. The room was breathtaking in its beauty and of staggering size, for it was double height, taking up the entire length of the kiosk, the ceiling arching up into the gilded dome at the centre of the roof giving it a cathedral-like ambiance. Light streamed in, vivid rays of emerald, red and blue, dancing over the intricate mosaic floor. The walls were tiled to the first-floor level, in rich glazed colours that gleamed, as if they had been polished. From the dome hung the biggest chandelier Julia had ever seen, on a very long chain, set over the marble table chased with gold which stood in the very centre of the room. At the furthest end, set into a window embrasure, was an enormous divan. There was no other furniture in the huge space.

‘Another throne room,’ Julia said, her voice hushed.

‘This is where my father conducted his private audiences. He signed his official papers and royal decrees at that table. This is the room from which he ruled and wielded power.’

Julia turned in circle, her head back, gazing up at the dome. ‘When you said this was your father’s private quarters, I imagined something more intimate.’

Azhar’s smile was twisted. ‘There are some anterooms at the rear of the kiosk, it is bigger than it looks from the outside, but this room is where my father spent most of his time.’

Julia shuddered. It was an intimidating space for one man to occupy, but then she supposed that was the point. ‘Well, now I can at least understand the garden,’ she said. ‘Of course it is a very clever design trick,’ she added, when Azhar looked at her questioningly, ‘It seems so wild, uncontrolled, so natural and yet that can only be achieved by meticulous planning.’

Azhar was prowling restlessly around the room, stopping every now and then, his eyes drawn to the divan. Judging from his stormy expression, his memories were extremely unpleasant. ‘My father liked to control everything, even nature,’ he said bitterly. ‘It was in this very room that I last saw him. It was here that he informed me that if I left I would never be welcomed back. Growing up, my father tried to shape me and cultivate me like that garden out there. Tame any wildness, impose order. As I grew older the constraints became unbearable, but the more I protested, the more repressive he became. I am a man of action, have always been a man of action, yet he would not let me do anything. He wanted to control every minute of every hour of my time. Growing up here as heir, Julia, my life was not my own.’

He spoke with such passion, she couldn’t help but empathise. Her marriage bonds were as nothing to the bonds a king-in-waiting must bear. ‘I can see now why you felt you had no option but to leave.’

‘He gave me no option. I was desperate to go earlier, but until I was twenty-one I could not do so without his permission. At the time, all I wanted was the taste of freedom, not to leave Qaryma for ever, but to be free to leave for a period and then return. He would not grant me even temporary freedom.’

‘Perhaps because he knew that once you tasted freedom you wouldn’t come back,’ Julia said.

Azhar shrugged. ‘It is impossible now to know whether that was true. If I had left at sixteen or seventeen or even twenty, with my father’s good wishes, without the need to make my own way, to pay my own way, I would not have started my business. I would not have sown the seeds of the life which I have grown for myself outside Qaryma. I would in all likelihood have returned, but I cannot be certain.’

‘Your father was a fool, if you ask me,’ Julia said. ‘I’m sorry if that is treasonous, but it’s true. He should have known that trying to keep you in Qaryma was a recipe for disaster. There is nothing more tempting than forbidden fruit. His behaviour more or less guaranteed your departure.’