Ilyas

This was intolerable treatment, whether for prince or slave.

I hunched in the back of the cell, the stone wall digging into my spine and the flagstone digging into my buttocks. Light filtered through the door’s grill and skittered in front of me, never reaching my toes.

The cell was cold, dark, and dank, with every possible horrible sensation but slime. Not even mould could tolerate this cell.

But no matter how horrible, the cell still paled in comparison to the knowledge that Mehdi had successfully schemed behind my back, or so Jem claimed. I’d known for months that the oldest of my brothers, Mehdi, grew restless. He whispered to my court allies, who turned around and reported the meetings to me. If I’d left him alone, he would have started visiting mercenary dens, but I didn’t bother waiting to confirm my suspicions. I knew what Mehdi’s restlessness meant. I’d grown up fending off my younger brothers’ attempts to assassinate me, and my twenty-first birthday had approached. Few princes survived that long.

I couldn’t allow that kin-killer to take the throne. Our younger brothers, maybe, if not for the part where I’d be dead. But not Mehdi. Never Mehdi.

The only question was when he’d launch his plot, and that detail was too important to leave in his hands. In the palace courtyards, within Mehdi’s hearing, I brayed to my allies about this brilliant little weaver shop I’d just discovered, and about the beautiful indigo and silver silk I had commissioned. Wearing that silk would be like wearing the night sky itself. The only trouble was that it was in a rather seedy part of the city, with slums on one side and a den of cut-throats on the other.

The shop was real, and I could only wish the silk was too. The silk would have made it worth putting up with the rotting, acidic stench wafting down from the leather tanning vats. In a season-old cape and my black hair barren of jewels, I arrived at the shop completely alone. Just me and the tramps hunched over begging bowls or curled up against the walls.

I lingered in the alley, checking over my shoulder for any shadows, before approaching the carpet-covered entrance. The carpet was thrown open. Three mercenaries with drawn sabres flooded out, and another four cut off my rear escape.

Mehdi ducked out of the shop, keeping well behind his men. “Oh Ilyas, your vanity will be the death of you. You didn’t even arm yourself.”

I shrugged. “You’re not worth me staining my hands.”

Mehdi furrowed his brow.

“Their hands, however…” I nodded to the side.

The beggars leapt to their feet, throwing off ragged blankets and revealing steel armour and sharp swords. My mercenaries trounced his, and I dragged Mehdi back to the palace by his ear.

I should have slit his throat in the alley. Everyone had expected me too. One less prince in competition for what was rightfully mine. But I didn’t. I wouldn’t lower myself to Mehdi’s level.

Instead, I humiliated him in front of our father and the whole Nuriyite court, explaining in exacting detail how I had thwarted him at every turn. Mehdi could say nothing in his defence, only dig his toe into the flagstone grouting.

Nuriya might encourage her princes to fight to the death for her throne, but it wasn’t exactly legal. The king only waved away the punishment for the successful, and Mehdi had failed. In front of the entire court, Father ordered Mehdi to turn over to me three trunks of gold and his most prized possession.

I left the court, certain that I’d stunted Mehdi for the time being, and provided ample warning for my other brothers. Worse, I left cocky, feeling secure in my current safety. If there was one thing Mehdi had taught me, it was to never drop my guard, and never trust anyone or anything. Not even my brother’s defeat.

The prized possession had turned out to be a slave. I returned to my bedchamber through my harem, eager for a moment’s privacy, but found the servants had already delivered him.

He shouldn’t have stolen my attention. As soon as I entered, my other pleasure slaves hurried to their feet, hands reaching to fawn over me, compliments falling from their lips like rain. Each as beautiful as the jewels I adorned them with, each eager to earn the privilege of decorating my bed.

During all this, the slave knelt in the corner with his head bowed. He had no flattery, no jewels or silks to complement his face, no displays of his limberness, and no fondling touches for me. Only his exotic beauty, white hair falling over an equally white face. Yet he had stolen my breath away.

The frigid cell hurtled back around me as I dug my nails into my knees, forcing myself out of my memories. I shouldn’t even remember the slave’s name, but it had branded itself into my mind. Jem.

Court politics dictated that I shun my prize. I’d proved myself Mehdi’s better, and I would not accept his scraps. Jem had been a trophy, his only purpose to embarrass himself and Mehdi as he begged at my feet, his hands reaching out for the gift of a single touch, so I might I reject him at each attempt. He wasn’t even castrated, and I spread that knowledge through the court. Mehdi must have fallen in love with his slave, I told them all. He probably wanked himself each night to the fantasy of the slave bending him over. How weak and submissive Mehdi truly was.

But Jem just knelt in the corner, while my other pleasure slaves jockeyed for the silks and jewels and other gifts I bestowed upon them. And why shouldn’t they care more for trinkets than me? Their only tether to me was that I owned them. My so-called friends, on the other hand, should have cared about me. Instead, they jockeyed like my slaves, only caring about what favours I might do them.

Jem waited for me, and I dreamed he’d be different if I drew him into my bedchamber. Instead of him fantasising about jewellery as he sucked me off, I could speak to him and he would listen. I’d make love to him, and he’d serve me, and not his own interests. He might be my tawam rohi. My soul mate. The one person in Nuriya I could place my trust in…

And look how that turned out. I slammed my hand against the cell wall. I’d let my hopes lull me into a sense of false comfort, distracted by Jem and furious at my brother for keeping him from me, when I knew better. Mehdi had taught me that valuable lesson. I’d trusted him once, too.

I gripped my bicep, digging my fingers in, giving myself a sharp pain to focus. I would escape — for whomever had orchestrated this surely couldn’t have planned so far ahead — and then make my way back to Nuriya, leaving behind this godforsaken land. For gods’ sake, it was miles and miles of snow and ice.

My stomach whined loudly. I hugged my knees to my chest. They hadn’t even fed me. Completely intolerable treatment. I whispered the tawam rohi incantation to myself.

Footsteps echoed down the hallway along with the jingling of keys. I gathered the coat and scarves together and plumped them into a seat from which I could hold my head high. This slave would never see my head bowed.

The lock turned and the door opened, revealing nothing. Just empty space. I sniffed, raising my chin.

The slave stepped in. He’d taken the opportunity to change into a worn robe which half-heartedly attempted to be blue, and his snow-white hair was neatly brushed. He should have looked like a beggar. He should have looked like a snowbank. My breath caught in my chest, and my heart throbbed against my ribcage. He was still my white diamond, surrounded by rough rock.

I clenched my jaw. Not mine, never mine, and certainly not a diamond.

He carried a black plate, and stopping a few feet from me, he offered it. I deigned to lower my eyes, examining the contents before my upper lip twisted. He hadn’t fed me all day, and this was what he brought me? A piece of hard bread, half the size of my fist, and a smaller rounder piece beside it. I would have fed goats better. Even Jem, ignored and disdained, would have eaten far better in my harem.

I reached up as if to take it. Jem pushed it into my hands. I slapped the tray away, and it skittered across the stone, the bread smashing on the ground. Oh, so it was softer than it appeared.

Jem’s expression didn’t change, but his nostrils flared. He was angry, for once. Good.

I waited for him to strike me. To drag me out of the cell and whip me for my disobedience. As master, I wouldn’t have waited so long. Discipline must be quick and fierce when dealing with slaves. Leaving the cell would provide opportunities.

But this was a slave I dealt with, not a master, and I’d remind him of that fact every chance he offered. He knelt beside the wall, picking up the bread crumbs. Bits of dust stuck to them.

“Leave it,” I ordered.

“Someone else might want to eat it.”

Impertinence from the slave? “I very much doubt it.”

Jem flicked his gaze back at me, his eyes as emotionless as ever. I made myself sneer. If I’d rolled him under me, my thighs pressed between his, only to have that blank expression stare up at me? I’d have lost my wood. Definitely. I might as well jump into a snow bank, and rolled around—

Heat pooled in my lap. The lie hadn’t sunk in.

“You know,” I said, to ignore the ache between my thighs, “just because you plan to sell me doesn’t mean you should treat me as a slave.”

That evoked an expression. His eyes widened, as if I’d surprised him, followed by a bark of laughter.

“I am Prince Heir Ilyas of Nuriya,” I said, “and I am due your respect and dignity. I will take a bath and a silk tick for the night.” Preferably with Jem in it. I shook my head. “I’m sure somewhere in this hick town there must be something approaching appropriate. I will ‘slum’ if I must, but these are my minimum requirements.”

I readied myself to snap back at his inevitable sally that this was only a temporary setback.

“It’s too cold,” Jem said instead.

“What?” I sputtered before I caught myself. “Explain yourself.”

“It’s too cold for a bath. You would catch your death.”

“Don’t you dare lie to me. I can plainly see you’ve bathed.”

“You’re too delicate.” He glanced down at the ruined bread. “You shivered all the way from the Sentei port in this fine spring weather.”

“Spring?!” I blurted the word before I could stop myself. I straightened. “You may fall for something so risible, but I’m no backwater rube.”

He furrowed his brow. “Risi…Risible?”

“Risible.” Couldn’t he even properly speak the trade language? “It means so utterly ridiculous that you might die laughing at it, and you’re making my point. You might believe it, but I know better.”

“Weather changes in different parts of the world,” he said. “It’s ‘risible’ to believe there’d be monsoons this far north.”

I glared at him, then turned away, fully intending to pretend he wasn’t there.

He set the metal plate next to me, and when I raised my hand to fling it away again, he said, “You will have nothing else to eat.”

My hand froze, my upper lip turning up to sneer at him. As if I would touch dirt-streaked bread.

He stood. “I will see about a bowl of hot water and a tick. It won’t be silk-covered. There’s no silk in Lumi.”

“Fine. Then your finest fabric.” I waved him to leave with an imperious hand.

“Yes, Your Highness.” He gave me a bow, short and mocking, but it made no difference. That day he mocked me, the next he’d sink back into his usual position, and then into my arms.

Mehdi had been right. I was obsessed with one thing. Jem had abducted me to sell as a slave, and I only noticed the curve of his cheekbone, the silky slide of those white locks. What would his hair feel like sliding through my fingers? Damnation, I’d done it again. I pinched my nose, not caring if Jem saw.

If he did, he kept his mouth shut and left to find me a new, more sumptuous room, and something to eat that a goat wouldn’t turn its nose up at. The cell door closed heavily behind him, the lock sliding into place.