Trigger warning: Abuse, harassment, blood, murder, child abuse.

FOUR YEARS BEFORE AYYUR'S DEPARTURE.

qiyan: refers to a social class of women, trained as entertainers, which existed in the pre-modern Islamic world.

Whispers were cradling him softly, like a mother soothing her crying child. His eyes were fixed on the plate of sweet dates, a mosquito buzzing around, eager to taste his blood, believing it as sweet as the dates.

With a lift of his chin, Samir noticed his interlocutor's tense shoulders.

Three golden rings wrapped his thick fingers as he nervously swirled the metal of his ring, his mouth twitching in rhythm with the music. He looked around, a bead of sweat slowly sliding down his thick beard, hiding an atrocious and enormous chin.

The young boy poured him another cup of wine, eyes fluttering as his finger touched the old man's. Abu Ahmad, a wealthy merchant from Karkh, decided to leave everything behind to set up his quarters in Grana after falling in love with the brothel.

The room was filled with wealthy men. All were busily engaged with pretty and young women, their hands lingered way too close to their knees, a vicious and hungry look in their eyes.

The lute filled the room, accompanied by the sound of a young woman kneeling, tapping her thigh in rhythm with the instrument, a pearl among the shells, her sun-kissed skin glowing under the candlelight. Brown and thick curls hid her beautiful green eyes as she fluttered a beautiful and feathered fan, her hand adorned with a single diamond on her index finger.

"Zumurud," Abu Ahmad murmured to the man sitting in front of him in a pleased tone. "The best qayna of the house, she has such a beautiful smile."

"Can't really tell with an atrocious fan of hers." Mumbled the veiled man, unimpressed as he took one date.

Samir's eyes twitched to the man who stood straight in front of Abu Ahmad, one hand on his knee as the other held the fruit, his eyes focused. A clean jellaba made out of the smoothest beige fabric coming from the east, his whole head covered with a white scarf and yet, Samir could see the braid hanging on the shoulder, different stones of jewellery around the braid. Samir wondered if he was a filthy man too.

"Do not be like that, Sayyidi Amir! How can you say that? Everything from her toes to teeth, she's pretty!"

Clack. Zumurud's fan struck.

Samir shivered, immediately ducking his head to follow the other boys bringing food to the different tables seated in a circle around Zumurud's little wooden stage. The boys were wearing the same linen clothes. A tunic accompanied by small trousers, the same anxious darkening circles under their terrified eyes. They were too young to be here, too young to serve filthy drunk men.

"What is this?" Amir murmured with a terrible sensation growing in the pit of his stomach. Abu Ahmad looked down, his cheekbones turning red from embarrassment, not feeling strong enough to explain what was going to start.

Amir heard the sound of an old man laughing; the old man's hand slammed against his thigh before gripping Samir's waist. One hand held a rose wine, his other hand moved dangerously down, lingering in a place where he shouldn't.

Wealthy men were above the rules of society, when money was more sacred than dignity. Samir had learned it since he entered this qiyan's house.

Kidnapped, stolen.. Nobody knew.

They only remembered the young boy, his feet and hands covered in bruises. Clothes destroyed as if hands yanked it, eyes with no trace of soul as Samir analysed the qiyan's house. Grandiose, carved with intricate geometrical figures that remembered home, Samir shivered with fear. Women stood on balconies of the courtyard, looking at him with pitiful eyes, understanding the painful marks on his body. An old man approached, holding his cane. His wrinkles felt embedded in his dark skin, his fingers filled with different rings that reminded him his mother.

"Boys aren't allowed. Especially little boys. Zumurud take him out. Now."

But Zumurud never took him out.

She kept him under her wing, protecting him as much as she could from the dirty hands of the filthy rich men... Tried.

"Zumurud!" The old man screamed above the instruments, lifting himself with an annoying laugh. "Is it truly the time for singing about the Hakeem Ibn Walid's beauty? Be a sweet thing and sing about how I crushed those bastards of Grana!"

Amir's eyes twitched to the man.

Only one person could dare to insult the emirate without fearing for his life. Abderhman Al Marqi, governor of Malaqah and cousin to the Sultan Hakeem Ibn Walid. He believed himself above the man for a reason only those closest to the Sultan knew about, a debt that Hakeem owed to Abderhman. An eye for an eye.

Known for holding his seat for more than thirty years, the governor liked his gold rare and pure, a good cup of rose wine and the terrifying urge to sit on the throne. His wrath knew no limits, his enjoyment of starving his people and becoming richer and richer was known even by the emirate's enemies.

"A terrifying man he is.." Abu Ahmad murmured to Amir as if they sharing the latest gossip over tea. "I have heard he likes them young and.."

Abu Ahmad didn't dare finishing his sentence, his eyes simply landing on Samir who poured more tea in the governor's cup before offering him some honeyed cakes. Amir noticed the scars on his wrists, he noticed the way Samir stood, the way he held his bowls in a lithe movement of wrist, as if he was more used to receiving those bowls than giving them.

When Samir approached their table, the young boy softly put the goat cheese right in front of Ahmad who smiled, his stomach already calling for a bite.

"What is your name, boy?" Amir finally spoke, his dark eyes focused on Abderhman Al Marqi, his hand gripping his knee so hard he knew the pain would stay for hours.

"Three silver coins to know my name." Samir murmured with an ease Amir recognised as a habit.

"Abu Ahmad, three silver coins if you please."

"But.. But I wanted a smile from Zumurud.." Abu Ahmad stopped pouting the moment he saw the terrifying look of a man who didn't like to hear no when requesting something. Abu Ahmad mumbled words that only he could understand before placing three silver coins on the wooden table. The young boy grabbed them faster than a blink, already putting them into his right sleeve.

"You asked what my name was," Samir whispered as he straightened up, looking Amir in the eye. The boy had straight, short blonde and thick black lashes framing his deep blue eyes. "You didn't ask if I had a name." he said before bowing his head politely.

Amir laughed.

Hard and loud.

Amir, do not turn

back and see your

dead mother,

Amir, do not turn

back.

"Why are you always coming back and never seeking someone?" Asked Samir one day.

"Do I have to?" Amir asked with amusement, grabbing his tea.

"Can I see your face?" Samir leaned, elbow against his knee.

"Absolutely not. It's a secret."

"A secret?" He pouted. "I thought we were friends."

"Even friends have secrets."

Samir remembered those words,

soft and vulnerable from a man who looked strong enough to know how to fight. Samir had noticed over the weeks that Amir liked to eat dates. Those that were not strong but melted on the tongue. He noticed Amir tapping his knee when Zumurud would come to sing on the stage and would be terribly bored when Hakima was reciting old poetry.

He noticed that Amir never indulged anyone sexually. Never would his hand grab someone's waist; never would his eyes look at someone with the filthy and lustful need of the other men.

"Abu Ahmad doesn't talk to me," Amir whispered to Samir. "He didn't like Zumurud smiling at me."

"Well, it's because everyone believes you're pretty under your veil." The young boy said as he put down the different plates before Amir laughed wholeheartedly, making Samir blush softly.

The young boy sat near Amir and for the first time in his little life, Samir was comfortable around a man.

"I would like to buy Samir."

Zumurud's eyes twitched with immediate anger, her hand clasping her feathered fan before finding her perfect smile. Abderhman Al Marqi, the governor was sitting in front of her, wearing his expensive clothes and rings. His white beard was hiding his face but Zumurud could see the red cheeks he was hiding. Drunk. He must have indulged too much rose wine, his favourite.

"That's not possible." Zumurud's voice was low, her tainted rose lips stretching into a formal smile. "You see, Samir is only eight and cannot leave the house until he's an adult."

"Oh please.." The governor scoffed. "A brothel having deontology." He leaned back, a lustful smile on his lips. "Zumurud, let us not.."

"Sayyidi," Zumurud cut him off. "Those are the rules of the qiyan."

"Your master didn't teach you well, what a shame." The governor laughed. "I've heard he became a respectful man now.. Teaching the future sultan of Faz, it is better to be the head of sluts with no shame."

Zumurud smiled.

Hands trembling as the need to slice his throat grew more urgent, her heart was beating in a painful rhythm that felt like endless knives poking at her chest. All she wanted was to wrap her hands around his neck and twist it, the need to see his eyes begging for help, his face turning white as he was unable to breathe. She wanted to kill him for his disgusting hands, his disgusting eyes and his atrocious eyes.

She thought of Samir, the young little boy who came to her, his whole body destroyed with marks and bruises. She remembered the night she had refused her master's orders, her soft hands pouring water on Samir's blonde hair, gently helping him out of his torn clothes before her eyes widened in fear.

"Oh, dear.." Zumurud whispered, tears filling her eyes as she saw his back carved with a word out of his flesh. Something that no little boy should carry. Her gasp didn't finish when her eyes landed on his buttocks, filled with dried blood and the young woman couldn't stop but cry as her hands didn't dare touch him.

"Oh little thing.." Zumurud cried out louder. "Oh poor boy.."

That night, Zumurud promised herself she would do everything to protect Samir..

"You'll be a good girl to me, Zumurud right? Bring me Samir in two days."

Even if she had to die.

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

I have decided to cut this very long chapter in two parts, as I believe it's a pretty dark little arc.

It was needed to introduce you to more of the story.

I have struggled pretty much with this one and I believe that in the future maybe, a rewrite will be needed!

But to be honest, I love Amir. I love Zumurud. I love Samir. I WANTED YOU ALL TO DISCOVER THEM!!!!!!!

Like always, please tell me your opinions!