• Home
  • /
  • Stories Hub
  • /
  • NonConsent/Reluctance
  • /
  • Scheherazade and the King Ch. 09

Scheherazade and the King Ch. 09

1234567

Cas watched the harbour of Side from the balcony of a small inn on the waterfront. He sipped slowly on a glass of raki, his host never letting it run dry so long as he placed another coin on the table. As the Raja had made its way slowly along the meandering rivers that transected Babylonia and connected the Persian Gulf with the Mediterranean Sea, he had raced on horse and camel in an effort to beat the ship to Side.

He swirled the clear liquor in his glass, his dark eyes transfixed on the horizon for any sign of the Raja.

By all accounts he had arrived in time to meet her — none of the merchants could recall seeing a ship of her description in port over the past few days.

So where is she? What if I have it wrong? What if her captain decides to bypass Side and head for Phaselis? Or worse, what if doesn't intend to make port on the mainland at all? What if he steers her to Kourion or Knossos?

He set his drink down on the table a bit louder than he intended and the noise brought the innkeeper rushing to his table. He ordered a fish supper to appease the old man.

Cas kept his eyes fixed on the skyline as he ate his meal. The sun dipped closer and closer to the horizon and soon the fishermen were sailing into harbour to unload their catch. The harbourmaster announced the arrival of each ship with the mighty blow of a trumpet and, at each sounding, Cas sat up to see whether the ship that had arrived was the one he was waiting for. Ship after ship entered the harbour but none of them were the Raja. He set his knife and fork down and leaned back in his chair dejectedly. Unless he was wrong, the Raja should have made it to Side by now.

Nevertheless, he watched and waited as the sky grew dim around the few glowing clouds that remained of the sunset. Finally, he heard the harbourmaster sound the trumpet once more. He squinted his eyes, trying to make out the features of the dark ship on the horizon.

He paid for his meal and left the inn. He walked past the docks and climbed the stone steps that led to the top of the wall that guarded the harbour. Though he strained to see the ship in the growing dusk, he felt certain that it was the Raja.

As the first stars appeared in the firmament, the port lights were lit, bathing the docks in the warm glow of lamplight. Cas pulled his collar higher against a sudden breath of chilly night air.

He wondered whether the crew of the Raja had treated their prisoner with respect. The captain of the ship used to be Namaar — he is a good man, a reputable man — but naval captains could be transferred at the commander-in-chief's discretion. There was no guarantee that he was still the captain of the Raja and, even if he was, no guarantee that his crew would behave as honourably as their leader.

Cas' fingers rapped against the stone impatiently as he waited for the ship to draw closer to the harbour. The sooner he got aboard that ship, the better chance he had of finding the girl alive.

It seemed to take hours for the ship to navigate into port. He held his breath, waiting for the moment the name of the ship would be illuminated by the harbour lamps. Finally, he let out a sigh of relief — the ship was the Raja.

He quickly made his way down the stairs to linger in the shadows of an alley nearby. The sailors would be disembarking soon and he had to be ready to slip aboard. Sure enough, he soon heard raucous voices coming from the direction of the port and growing louder by the second. A group of rowdy sailors dressed in the King's uniform passed the alleyway, drawn to the closest tavern as moths to a flame.

Cas slipped out of the alley and followed the band of soldiers, looking for a sailor that was of similar height and build to him. He trailed into the bar after them, picking a seat where he could observe the group. They went through four rounds of raki with ease, their banter becoming more and more boisterous as the liquor took effect.

Finally he noticed a suitable candidate stumble away from the table, staggering towards the door that lead into the back alley. Cas downed the rest of his drink, swilling the liquor in his mouth to make his breath smell stronger, set a coin down on the table and walked out the front door. He glanced around and, seeing no one, ran quickly and quietly around the back of the building. He waited until the soldier had finished relieving himself and then crept up behind him, wrapping his strong hands around his neck. Cas was careful not to kill him. The man would probably have no recollection of what had happened and the splitting headache he awoke with would easily be mistaken for a hangover. He pulled the sailor's clothes off and threw his cloak over the body. He dressed quickly, mussing up his hair to match the soldier's dishevelled locks before stumbling back in the direction of the ship. He clambered aboard the ship, pretending to be blind drunk. The few men who remained aboard the ship laughed at him and clapped him on the back as teetered past them and clumsily made his way below deck.

When he was safely out of sight, he straightened his back and grabbed a lantern from overhead to light his way through the ship. Eventually he reached the trapdoor that led into the brig and gently slid the bolt out of place.

++++++++

Scheherazade knew the ship was at port. She could hear the timbers creak as they leaned against the dock with each rolling wave. She could guess what would happen next... the men would disembark to satisfy their thirst for drink and other vices, then they would return and it would be a matter of time before her tormenter reappeared through the hatch.

But this time he will be drunk...

The thought should have made her shudder but she could not muster a physical response.

It was her second day without water and her third without food. At first, the hunger and thirst had been unbearable and even the fetid water sloshing around her ankles had seemed tempting but, now, her entire body felt numb. So, when she heard the hatch bolt move, she merely closed her eyes.

"Scheherazade?"

The girl's eyes fluttered open at the unfamiliar voice and she looked warily at the figure advancing through the gloom.

"Who are you?" She asked hoarsely.

"You don't know me but my name is Cas, I'm a friend of Shahzaman's."

"That doesn't look like the clothing of a rebel," the girl said.

"It's not. We're docked in Side. I borrowed it off one of the drunkards crewing this ship when they stopped into a tavern," he said.

The young soldier knelt before the cell, taking in Scheherazade's drooping eyelids and sunken cheeks.

"Haven't they fed you?" He asked sharply.

"I was offered food and water but at a price I was not willing to pay."

Cas ran his hand over his face: "Fucking hell..."

"It doesn't matter," she murmured, eying him almost idly. "I'm going to die anyway."

Cas unhooked the flask of water at his waist and held it to her through the bars.

"Here. Drink it slowly."

The girl did not stir: "Who did you say you were?"

"I'm Cas, I'm one of Shahzaman's men."

"Why are you here?"

"I'm here to rescue you."

"Rescue me?" She repeated bitterly, closing her eyes. "A fugitive traitor?"

"What did Shariyar tell you?"

"Enough to know that I deserve whatever death they have planned for me."

"What did he tell you?" Cas asked again measuredly.

"I saw the wanted notice," she said, her voice betraying none of the heartbreak she felt. "I am a criminal."

"That notice does not tell the whole story."

She opened her eyes, looked at him thoughtfully and then cocked her head: "What did you say your name was?"

Cas sighed and sat back on his heels. The girl was delirious with hunger and thirst.

He held out the flask to her once more: "Come, you need to drink some water. I'll see what food I can scrounge up for you. You need to eat."

Scheherazade stood up slowly, one pale hand grasping the bars of the cell to steady herself as she walked with slow, deliberate steps towards the soldier. She sank to her knees in front of him and took the flask.

She opened the cap and looked hard at the water inside.

"Why should I?" The girl asked quietly. "So I will have the strength to walk to my own execution?"

"You need to drink."

She tipped the water out with a shrug and tossed the empty flask back through the bars.

"Go away."

"Scheherazade, listen to me," he said calmly. "Shahzaman has gone to speak with Shariyar. They will come for you."

"Ha!" The girl eyed him with derision: "You're a fool if you think anything but death awaits Shahzaman... or me."

"Then I am a fool," he said. "And what harm could there be in indulging a fool a little hope?"

"Hope used to be my greatest ally," the girl said. "But she has deserted me now too... and rightly so."

"You don't understand, Scheherazade," Cas said. "You aren't who you think you are."

"Do you honestly expect me to believe that I am not the woman in that poster?" She snapped, her blue eyes flashing.

Cas sighed, trying to come up with the right words to explain the truth of the situation.

"I've been having dreams," the girl said quietly. "Dreams of places I cannot remember when I wake. But I know my feet have tread the footsteps of a memory. I know I am that woman."

As she spoke, she absent-mindedly fingered a silver coin woven into her locks. Cas caught sight of the trio of dolphins stamped onto its surface and smiled slightly.

"Yes, you are her. Beyond a doubt. But that woman is not a traitor. That woman gave her life to save her people from ruin at the hands of a pirate."

He saw the girl's eyes narrow.

"A pirate?"

Cas nodded.

"What was the pirate's name?"

"I think you know the answer to that question."

Scheherazade felt as though she could only half-understand the words he was saying. The confusion must have been evident in her expression because the soldier rose to his feet.

"I am going to get you some more water and something to eat. Then I will tell you everything I know."

She looked at him silently, pondering the earnest lines the creased his forehead, the pleading look that made his dark eyes shine. His square jaw was lined with stubble and curls of dark hair spilled from the neckline of his shirt. His lips were slightly parted and she could see his teeth gleaming in the lamplight. His incisors were slightly longer than the rest of his teeth and they gave him a wolfish look that set her instinctively on edge. But she also noticed that he had lines at the sides of his mouth...

"Not many soldiers wear a smile as much as your face tells me you do," she said finally.

His lips curved into a broad smile at her words and then he chuckled self-consciously, running a hand through his hair and down the back of his neck.

"I have been accused of being too optimistic in the face of near-certain death," he said. "But, as long as I have life in my limbs, I find there is always reason to smile."

Scheherazade's own lips curled in the ghost of a smile.

"Will you promise to eat and drink some water?"

The girl rolled her shoulders: "Fine."

++++++++

Even with the tip of Shahzaman's sword pressing against his throat, it only took Shariyar a second or two to gather his wits. He stepped backwards and drew his own sword from its scabbard. At first, Shahzaman appeared to be holding only one sword between his hands but, when his brother drew his weapon, Shazaman pulled his hands apart to reveal the twin blades he carried.

"You look like you've seen a ghost, Shariyar," Shahzaman said, his tone bordering on dangerous.

"Unfortunately for you, I know that you are made of naught but flesh."

"I am not here to kill you. I am not here for your crown. I am not here for revenge."

"Then what are you here for?" Shariyar said tersely.

"I'm here to help you save that girl."

"What does she have to do with you?"

"Put down your sword, brother."

Shariyar sprung at him suddenly, his sword arcing through the air: "Traitor!"

Shahzaman swung his blades upwards to block Shariyar's sword and deflected the power of the blow, forcing him to stumble forwards.

The prince stepped back, twisting his wrists to loosen his joints as he waited for Shariyar to strike again: "I didn't think it was possible, but your swordsmanship has gotten even worse."

Shariyar lunged at him again, fire in his eyes. Shahzaman sprang to meet his blow, both of his blades joining to act as one as he deftly fended off Shariyar's powerful strike.

Shariyar's attacks were forceful but they were also slow. Shahzaman was lighter on his feet and his twin swords moved more like extensions of his own arms than inanimate objects.

Before the king could launch another attack, Shahzaman was behind him, swiping at the backs of his knees with his swords. The wounds were enough to force Shariyar temporarily to his knees but not severe enough to cause lasting damage. Shahzaman made sure of that.

"I'll only tell you once more, Shariyar — put your blade down!"

"If you think I am going to surrender without a fight then you are sorely mistaken."

"And if you think you are going to win this fight then you are sorely mistaken."

Shariyar growled and roared to his feet, launching another violent attack at his brother.

Shahzaman quickly clasped his twin blades together and used them as one to parry the strike. Shariyar moved to strike again but the prince was faster and he quickly found himself on the defensive again, sparring blow after blow from the prince's flashing swords.

Shariyar found enough space to draw his sword back above his head but, before he could bring it down upon Shahzaman, the prince crossed his swords and blocked Shariyar's blade in the air. The two men grunted as they strained against each other. Panic rose ever so slightly in Shariyar's eyes — just enough for Shahzaman to see. He pushed his brother's sword away with renewed strength and delivered a powerful kick to his chest. Shariyar fell backwards, his sword spinning from his hands and across the floor. He scrambled backwards as his brother approached, steel glinting in his hands and in his eyes.

"If you were a wise man, you would quit now, Shariyar."

"When have you ever known me to be wise?"

The prince chuckled darkly as his brother's back met the wall: "Nowhere to go."

Shariyar's hand went to his boot and he pulled out the dagger he concealed there.

Shahzaman's eyes narrowed: "That knife belonged to our father. You dare to use it against me?"

"I am not going to my death without a fight."

"I told you: I did not come here to kill you."

"Then why are you standing over me with a sword in each hand?"

"Because the last time I was in your presence unarmed you did this to me!" The prince's scarred visage twisted in rage. "I did not come here to kill you but that does not mean that I don't want to. I am fighting against every fibre in my being right now. Every instinct I have is screaming at me to take back the pound of flesh you wrongfully stole from me."

"I was not wrong."

"You have been wrong about everything! Look at my face, brother, look at what you did to me! I am a monster because of you."

"I heard you talking about your lover. About how I would kill you both if I found out."

"I wasn't talking about Nasrin!"

"Don't you fucking lie to me!" Shariyar cried as he whipped the dagger at Shahzaman.

The prince dodged the blade with ease and swiped one of his own swords at Shariyar in retaliation, ensuring the steel caught just enough flesh to bite. The king winced and clutched his bleeding arm to his chest.

"I was not lying to you then and I am not lying to you now."

"I overheard you talking about her," Shariyar sneered. "About how I would kill you both if I found out. About how you had to wait until I was gone before you could be together."

"It wasn't Nasrin!"

One of Shahzaman's swords flashed again and Shariyar snarled as blood blossomed along one of his legs.

"Who else could it have been? The things you said... it had to have been her!"

"Oh my lover has dark hair and the most beautiful eyes I have ever seen. My lover has skin like velvet and lips like honey. And my heart has ached since the day you drove us apart. You made my face monstrous. You made my existence miserable. And goddammit, whatever happens tonight, I swear on my soul that I am never letting you get between us again!"

The prince breathed in and out deeply to calm himself. He cocked his head at his brother: "You tried to make me tell you my lover's name. Do you remember?"

Shariyar looked away.

The tip of Shahzaman's sword caught his cheek this time, leaving a thin line of red along his face.

"I asked you a question."

"I remember," Shariyar snarled, blood dripping down his jaw.

"You tortured me within an inch of my life and I still would not tell you. You made me scream the name of every god I knew, but not the one I worship."

"Stop speaking in riddles Shahzaman."

"I will speak however I fucking please."

Another line of red suddenly appeared on Shariyar's neck and he gasped in pain.

"Death by a thousand cuts, Shariyar, that's what you deserve." The prince said, smiling dangerously down on his brother.

"By my count you have nine hundred and ninety-five to go," he growled.

"Oh, I thought I only had nine hundred and ninety-four left," the prince said with a dark smile. He slashed his blade across Shariyar's chest and a grim smile played on his lips as blood stained the king's tunic.

"I thought you weren't here to kill me."

The prince sat down on his heels in front of Shariyar and pointed the tip of his sword at his brother's heart.

"I am here to help rescue Yanamari."

"What does she matter to you?"

"If that girl dies, her whole kingdom will go to ruin. And that will mean not one more life, but several thousands more, will be ruined because of you!"

The anger in Shariyar's eyes abated briefly: "I did not mean to put her in danger. I thought she was a traitor. A criminal."

"A mistake you have made before."

And, just like that, the fire returned to Shariyar's eyes.

"If you weren't fucking Nasrin then who were you fucking? If you are so innocent in all of this then why wouldn't you tell me her name?"

A knock sounded suddenly on the door and, before either man could answer, Jafar pushed into the room.

"Jafar, help —"

But before the king could finish his sentence, Shahzaman put some weight against his sword and Shariyar gasped as the blade broke the skin.

"Close the door, Jafar," Shahzaman ordered quietly.

The vizier's green eyes were wide as he took in the blade pressed dangerously against Shariyar's chest. He pushed his back against the door and the lock clicked shut behind him.

"Good. Now come here."

Jafar looked at Shahzaman sharply but did as he was commanded. He stopped in front of the prince and looked at him expectantly.

"Take off your belt," he ordered.

Jafar's brow furrowed.

"Do it," the prince said, rising to his feet.

The vizier unbuckled the clasp of his belt and slowly pulled it free.

"Would you be so kind as to bind Shariyar's hands for me?"

Jafar walked towards the king and bent down before him. Shariyar held up his wrists out, his eyes shooting daggers at Shahzaman the whole time.

"Make sure it's tight."

The vizier wrapped the leather around Shariyar's wrists and buckled it securely in place. He stood up and looked at Shahzaman expectantly.

The prince chuckled as he moved his sword away from Shariyar's chest and instead pointed it at Jafar.

"Don't hurt him," the king growled.

"Come here, Jafar," the prince said, taking a step backwards. He sheathed his spare sword and beckoned the vizier closer.

1234567
  • Index
  • /
  • Home
  • /
  • Stories Hub
  • /
  • NonConsent/Reluctance
  • /
  • Scheherazade and the King Ch. 09

All contents © Copyright 1996-2023. Literotica is a registered trademark.

Desktop versionT.O.S.PrivacyReport a ProblemSupport

Version ⁨1.0.2+795cd7d.adb84bd⁩

We are testing a new version of this page. It was made in 13 milliseconds