One

 

"Make way for the Sultan!"

Briska's heart stopped for a moment, before it started again, beating faster than before. No one noticed, for such a reaction was normal. Every woman in the king's harem undoubtedly experienced the same stuttering of her heart, because for every minor wife and concubine, a night in the Sultan's bed was a path to power, prestige, or perhaps a pretty present. Maybe even pleasure, if the Sultan liked the girl enough.

Not for Briska, though. It was fear, not anticipation, that quickened her heartbeat. For the Sultana had no need for more power or prestige, and her dowry had been such that it eclipsed the Sultan's own fortune, so she wanted for nothing gold could buy.

"Where is my queen?"

Briska allowed herself to smile, as her fear evaporated. Only one man called her that, in this land of strange titles and stranger customs.

"She is in her apartments, Your Majesty," one of the other girls said. "I will fetch her for you."

"No need. I know the way."

Briska smiled even more broadly. She carefully closed the door to her daughter's chamber, so that little Maram would not be woken by any sounds they made, before heading to the arched entrance to her apartments to greet her visitor.

He stepped inside, and she inclined her head. "Majesty."

He closed the doors behind him, shutting out the curious horde, before he lifted his head. Gone was the regal mien he wore for everyone else – he grinned fiercely and his face transformed from the cold monarch into the passionate lover she wished she could spend every moment with. "My queen."

She threw herself at him, her lips warming from his kiss as her body moulded to his, a prelude to a more intimate union once they managed to get their clothes off.

He tasted of wine and spices, kissing her as though he wished to consume the moment and make it a part of him forever. Then his teeth grazed her lip, drawing blood.

Briska gasped, her desire transforming into a spell that engulfed them both. He just laughed, as though he'd intended this all along.

He licked his bleeding lip – he'd bitten himself, too – and his magic came into play, far more powerful than her own. Her clothes vanished, and an enchanted breeze wafted across her skin, caressing her like the skilled lover who stood before her. The man who commanded the very air itself.

"I am yours," she whispered, letting the air currents lift her and carry her to the bed.

He stood at the end, surveying her, his eyes dark with desire. "Mine to worship," he said, kneeling on the bed between her legs.

The next breeze to caress her came from his parted lips, whispering inside her of all the magic he could work with merely his mouth.

And then words failed her, for the language they shared was one of touch and pleasure, until they both lay, satisfied and exhausted, in each other's arms.

"Mine to love," he said, pressing his lips to her breast.

"And I love you, Amani, as I have never loved any man before, nor will I, no matter what the future holds."

He drew in a sharp breath. "Not even...?"

Briska shook her head, smiling. "No, not even him. No one makes my body and soul sing as you do. Love has a magic all its own, more powerful even than yours."

He laughed softly. "The most powerful sorcerer in the world, a slave to love. And I would not have it any other way. But even a sorcerer must sleep, which I will not do in any bed I share with you, so I must leave you, my queen." He kissed her lips, the soft brush of goodbye, before he rose from the bed and cocked his head, listening. "Does the harem never sleep? It sounds noisier out there than when I arrived!"

Briska pulled on a robe, wishing she had the magic to be able to dress and undress at will, like he did. But she would never possess his power. "Perhaps one of the concubines has gone into labour. A few of the pregnant ones are close to their time. Heaven only knows why babies choose to arrive in the middle of the night. Why, even Maram – "

"Make way for the Sultan!"

For the second time that night, Briska's heart stopped with fear. A fear she would not give in to, as she drew herself up with all the fortitude of the queen she was. "Go!" she hissed, giving Amani a push. "Magic yourself invisible or – "

Too late. The doors flew open, and the Sultan stood beneath the arch, his stoic face revealing nothing but the cold fury of a man who knew no mercy.