The evening was hot and sultry, and the garden smelled heavy with the honey smell of roses. Iskander was reading on an open balcony on the ground floor, insects and night birds were singing in the background. The Sheikh liked the sounds of the night. Three bright candles were burning in front of him, protected from the wind by thick glass. It was light on the balcony, and the man was seen well from the garden, but this time it was he who saw Jallal in the dark. The boy was sitting right on the grass, his head hanging down, holding a flower in his hands. Iskander put down his book, went down to the garden, and approached his son. Jallal looked up at the father, and there was bitterness in his eyes, and a kind of puzzled resentment, the boy was upset about something, and it wasn't hard to guess about what.

“Dad, we won, didn't we?” Jallal asked bitterly.

“Yes,” Iskander sat down on the grass beside him.

“Lima said she wouldn't date a slave. Aisha said it was because Lima is a savage and doesn’t understand anything about men. But she understands, I can see in her eyes she does!”

Iskander chuckled. O Elokh, give me the patience to bear this also.

“Then maybe you shouldn't talk to her?” Iskander asked hopefully.

Jallal sprang to his feet, raising his hand to the sky.

“How can I tear her out of my heart?! She's the most beautiful woman I've ever seen! She has eyes like yours!... What kind of savage is she? But when I tell her about her eyes, she closes them or runs away. She despises us so much that she won't even listen to anything.”

“My dear, to despise is the only thing that remains for defeated.”

“But I don't want her to despise me! We didn't do anything wrong with the northerners after the victory! We don't even proselyte them as long as they don't know anything about Elokh. We allow them to remain pagans, and it is written in the Nazikhat* that a madhamian slave is better than a free infidel...why should they despise us?”

“No matter how we treat the vanquished, we still impose our will on them, and if the northerners won, you would also despise them. Most likely, she repeats the views of her parents.”

Jallal sighed.

“But Elokh doesn't do anything for nothing! Why did they come? Why does she have eyes like yours, and Enefrey is like her father?”

Iskander sighed. For him, this mystery of Elokh was also insoluble.

“He is Hevding's son-in-law and his confidant. Hevding sent him to strengthen the friendships.”

“But they don't want to be friends! They should have sent those who want to. There are many... kings in the North, they could only send friendly northerners. I know,” Jallal chuckled, “I have already been told that Hevding is a member of the most respected family in Iceland. So they sent his family to the Sultan…”

“You know what,” the man stretched out on the grass, not afraid to stain his white clothes, propped his head on his hand. “To please a girl, you need to take care of her. I think it would be nice for her if you took an interest in what she lives on. And, first of all, I would have learned the language she speaks.”

“Yes, I know” frowned with annoyance Jallal, “I’ve already asked Enefrey…”

Iskander let out a smile.

“And, of course, to protect her from abusers, although I would think better before I start courting such an arrogant woman.”

“She’s kind, in fact…I can see how Elokh has given her a shining heart. It's like a halo of light around her.”

Iskander sighed, and Jallal was repeating his way. The love for a woman of this kind hadn’t brought him happiness, and it was unlikely that it would bring to Jallal either. The Sheikh would have been happy to protect his son from this family. But if Jallal sent home tomorrow, he wouldn’t understand. And, for sure, will be back to seek meetings with the daughter of Tristakinnia. If Iskander were him he would have done this also.

“Well, Elokh is merciful and all-seeing. Loved ones are won over.”

The boy sighed miserably, waved the hand with the torn flower, there was a large scratch just above Jallal's wrist.

“Was it an abuser, or did you fight with her brother?”

“Ah?” the Boy looked at his hand and said decisively, “I scratched by a bush.”

“He’s already an adult, understands that men's problems need to be solved by yourself,” thought Iskander.

“It would be good not to quarrel with her brother, because this may be an excuse to keep you out of the family, and the girl may be afraid to contradict the will of the men of her kin. Such things, love a woman, respect her kin.”

Jallal's dark eyes flashed, and he almost blurted it out, wanting to say that Aivaz had attacked first and for no reason. But Jallal didn’t break the unspoken agreement between the boys. This is how men learn their dignity.

“Perhaps Elokh will blunt the bitterness of defeat, and they won’t so painfully assert the distinction of their kin,” the boy sighed.

The Sheikh stroked his son's head warmly.

“Elokh helps the persistent. But if you decide that it is not worth the cost, no one will blame you.”

Jallal wanted to protest, but again restrained himself and nodded curtly.

“Go and rest, and perhaps Elokh will come to you in your dream,” Iskander smiled.

Jallal trudged toward the Palace.

The man lifted his head to the sky, letting the warm south wind blow across his face. The wind almost palpably threw the familiar laughter of the younger son into Iskander's face. Enefrey? So late? The Sheikh followed his son's voice. Behind the dark emerald wall of flowering bushes, near the fountain, Enefrey stood elegantly and proudly, laughing warmly, as if to something cheerful. Aivaz was standing next to him, leaning possessively over him, leaning on the stone of the fountain. Aivaz looked predatory and carnivorous. The northerner was already a warrior and had probably known the caresses of women at his age. He wasn't old enough to be responsible for the pleasures, but that didn't stop him from getting them. And, most likely, his father, Frey, appeased for molestation for Iskander, and for Frey it was probably the process growing up. Iskander realized that was not a kindred spirit warrior that luring Aivaz to Enefrey. Iskander went to the fountain and nodded to the boys.

Aivaz looked at Iskander with a predatory wariness, slightly blocking Enefrey, as if he was going to protect him from any encroachments of the parent. Enefrey waitingly his heavenly eyes up on the father.

“It's time for the warriors to sleep.”

“Night is hunting time,” said Aivaz.

“There is nothing to hunt for in the Sultan's garden,” Iskander said.

“We're coming, dad.”

“Good night,” Iskander said.

“The same to you,” said Aivaz, looking at Enefrey with a kind of masterly tenderness, “Let's go.”

The Sheikh restrained himself from going to check whether the children were going to the same or different bedrooms. Enefrey was not upset by hanging up with the northerner, but he was still a child and could not always see the difference between good and bad.

“Good night, dad,” Enefrey sensually ran his hand on the waist father's passing him by. Iskander filled up with the usual tenderness and emotion, which was immediately replaced by annoyance. How can one not desire him?!

Iskander returned to the balcony. Frey was sitting in his chair, reading his book. Nonsense, Frey didn’t know larabavic enough to read books.

“Do you like looking at pictures?” Iskander asked.

Frey twitched the corner of his mouth and gave the Sheikh a familiar, predatory look.

“I thought you were fucking dead. I'm glad you're alive, Iska,” the savage said, his voice was hard and indifferent.

Iskander took the book from Frey's hands and walked away. It was better not to react to the barbarian's caustic attacks. The Sheikh went to his room, decided to read there. The warm darkness of the room embraced Iskander, and the Sheikh closed his eyes and exhaled, Tristakinnia, she was back in his life with Frey. The man walked confidently to the bed, fell heavily on the silk, the fabric pleasantly kissed his body. He wanted Tristakinnia to lie next to him, so he could take off her light dress, could caress her, and she would moan a lot, and whisper his name, his full name, the name of the owner. Iskander pulled back his trousers, exposing his excited penis, and squeezed it with his palm. Beautiful Tristakinnia was moaning under him, writhing and screaming. The Sheikh moved his hand, stopped, and tightened his grip on his penis. Began to move sharper in Tristakinnia, she painfully cried out, shamelessly taking the power of Iskander. Pleasure swept over the Sheikh's body, and he pressed closer to the womb, trying to enter the woman with the scrotum. Tristakinnia opened her eyes, the bright Mediterranean sea was splashing in them, a cruel smile cut her beautiful face, and Iskander could almost feel Frey's hard, predatory body in his arms. The Sheikh shuddered, a sharp pleasure spread through his body, and Iskander poured out. The man groaned in annoyance, how long this Shaitan would haunt him! And for some reason just now he remembered Frey's words: “you will die mine, and after death you will be mine, your God will give you to me, because you are mine, and in seven lifetimes, you still will be mine.” Iskander shuddered again.

“That won't happen!” Iskander said softly into the night as he settled back in bed and fell asleep.

*The Holy book of Itwat