The Bodyguard
I sagged against the wall. Bahir had left what felt like hours ago.
Pinpricks of tears driven by desperation and anger and hopelessness stung my eyes, but when the door creaked open, I startled upright and wiped my fingers across my face to clear away any fallen drops.
The servant girl from before stood in the doorway.
She played with her hands, glancing at me and her shoes until finally mustering her courage.
“Shahdokht Farani, I am Esana, as you must have heard Shahzadeh Bahir say.”
I nodded. Her nervousness hadn’t diminished.
She continued looking down. I wondered if it was me she feared.
I was from the South. Who knew what the Northerners told their people about us.
That we were murderous monsters, no doubt.
Pity welled in my chest, and I grew determined to be kind to this servant girl, even if I wasn’t to anyone else.
“Please follow me, Shahdokht.”
The corridors were silver and open. Windows dotted the walls every so often, shimmery curtains blowing before each one.
By appearance, it looked so freeing, and yet one step out of the gilded prison would be a plummet to certain death.
It was a dark sort of beauty, wielding a coldness that seeped into my skin the farther we went.
A grand double-doored entrance stood at the end of the hall, but Esana stopped. She motioned to her right.
“The shahzada’s quarters are that way.”
I stared down the ominous corridor. Esana continued forward until we reached the double doors.
Two guards stood before them, their eyes and faces glued to the ground at our approach.
Even in the South, we had heard of the Northerners’ brutal torture of any who looked upon the shah’s harem—the gouging of the eyes, castration, and even death.
“Wazko,” Esana ordered in a sharp voice. Open.
The thick doors scraped the ground as they groaned open.
I stepped inside, an immediate alteration from the hall we had just been in.
Whereas the hall before had felt cold and empty, this one was full of life.
Women dressed in the same apparel as Esana rushed back and forth through open doors on either side of the corridor.
Lanterns hung like stars above us, making the room sparkle.
“The harem,” Esana informed me. “Some call it the casr”—castle—“because it is so large. The harem takes up most of the west wing of the palace and contains about three hundred occupants.”
My brows rose at that information. “That’s a lot of women.”
Esana gave me a sidelong glance. “Most are servants and tutors.”
A woman sidled up beside us, an enormous book tucked under her arm. She scanned me briefly, and her mouth twisted in dissatisfaction before she turned to Esana. “The next group of candidates wasn’t to arrive until next week. You must send this girl back or wait until Banu Kerma returns.”
“This is no mere candidate, Gulla. This is Shahdokht Farani. Shahzadeh Bahir’s intended.”
Gulla paled, looking at me again. She lowered her upper body in a half bow, red streaming over her cheeks. “I apologize, Shahdokht. Banu Kerma did not tell me of your arrival.”
I didn’t reply, and Esana motioned me forward. I felt Gulla’s stare on my back.
“Every month, a new group of women volunteer or are chosen for the harem. They are sent here and are evaluated by Gulla and Banu Kerma before they are allowed to go further. If not chosen, sometimes they are allowed to stay on and perform other tasks for the harem.”
She pointed out the open doors we passed.
The first revealed a group of women in flowing dresses dancing and squealing.
The next held large canvases. Woman sat before them, painting elaborate designs.
Some more sat toward the back, embroidering, while others did calligraphy.
We passed a kitchen. My belly rumbled at the delicious scents wafting from it.
Then there was a healer’s room and a bathing chamber before Esana stopped before the largest of all.
“This is the lounging hall. The jawahar and their servants rest here, spend their spare time, and socialize.”
The space was wide and filled with women reclining on long cushions.
Some were singing, their lilting voices filling the air, as others beat their hands on small drums. One woman danced in the center, spinning in entrancing circles while the others watched.
Some ladies’ eyes found me. Whispers flitted among them, and they all turned to stare as Esana ushered me onward.
I followed her into yet another wide corridor.
Doors lined either side of the hall, mirroring each other.
“This is where you will stay,” Esana said. “Each room belongs to one of the chosen women.”
“Chosen.” I nearly spat the word. For me, imprisoned was far more suitable.
Esana blinked, ignoring the venom in my voice.
She continued down the corridor, and I kept pace with her as she explained further.
“The bronze-handled doors belong to the new jawahar. When they please the shah or shahzadeh, they are gifted better rooms. The silver rooms are the farthest most have gotten. Shahzadeh Bahir’s jawahar, Mahnaz, was recently granted a silver room. ”
“Jawahar?”
Esana cleared her throat. “Jewels. The women chosen by the shah and shahzadeh.”
I swallowed my disgust. “And the mothers of the heirs. Are they also called jewels?”
“They are referred to as malikeh madar.” Queen mother. “And there is only one heir.” A warning bloomed in her eyes. “Shahzadeh Bahir.”
She opened a silver-knobbed door and guided me inside.
A large four-poster bed shielded by a brocade curtain centered the room.
A vanity and stone fireplace rested on either side.
Plush carpet covered the floor. Silver furnishings were everywhere, numbing my eyes.
Some may have considered it a perfect room, but I noticed the window was sealed shut and barred by wood. It was perfect confinement.
“You brought me to a silver room,” I said, turning to Esana. “I thought these were for the worthy jawahar who proved themselves.”
She nodded. “You have, Shahdokht. You are the first bride this palace has seen.”
The words stunned me and sank in with the realization. Farani would be the first wedded woman in the North’s lineage—or rather me, in her place.
Esana left me alone soon after and I explored the room.
Other than the beauty brushes and mirrors, I found nothing suitable to use as a weapon.
I gave up and sank onto the bed, resting my head on the softest pillow I had ever felt.
But sleep wouldn’t claim me—not with my mind spinning this way.
I was in a foreign palace, in a strange bed, with an unknown fate.
The sheets rustled as I tossed and turned.
I drifted for a moment, plunging into nightmares at once. Horrible twisted memories.
I cowered behind my father. Kahraman lowered his head, his proud features pleading as he begged his brother. My heart fractured to see my father so defeated, and for a moment, I hated my uncle for first banishing him and now making us live through the torture of separation from my brother.
“Spare Eskender. He is too young to face battle.”
Sultan Kasim wavered, and then the doors swung open, revealing a messenger.
“Commander Zafar’s forces were slayed.”
The group my brother had been entrusted to.
He’d been so young. His timid features were a hazy mirror in my memory.
It was the first time I had seen my father entirely shattered.
He’d fallen, collapsing and grasping his chest as he shook with convulsions.
I’d been torn between aiding my father and confronting the messenger in hopes that the words that had emerged from his mouth were simply lies.
My father’s banishment, my mother’s death, his loss of reputation hadn’t torn him to pieces as much as the loss of his son.
I shot up on the bed. Sweat stuck to me.
I was overheated by the heavy garments I had worn since my capture.
The candles waned, and the sudden stillness was broken when the door opened.
A line of servant women entered. They stopped before the bed, all staring at me with beady eyes.
Esana appeared before them and clapped her hands.
“All right, ladies, we must prepare Shahdokht Farani for her wedding.”
I’d barely opened my mouth before I was hauled from the bed and taken to a smaller room attached to mine.
A tub was filled with steaming water, and then deft fingers removed my clothes and hands shoved me in.
I no longer had the energy to protest and only hissed when the burning water touched my skin.
The servants scrubbed me until I was red and possibly shredded several layers.
They washed my hair with rose-scented soap.
The warm decisive hands working over my body would have been a pleasant massage if I hadn’t been uncomfortable with all the eyes probing me.
I had assisted Farani many times with her baths.
She’d loved it, calling it her favorite occasion, and even took naps in the steaming water. I smiled at the memory.
My smile faded as I was tugged from the bath and patted dry.
A servant frowned and lifted my arm before reaching for my silver ring.
I tore my arm from her grasp and shook my head.
The door to the small chamber opened, and I startled.
A tall woman clothed in a beautiful dress of turquoise and silver floated inside.
The atmosphere changed at her entry. Heads bowed, and whispers of the queen mother rang about.
Lines creased her forehead, and gray hairs mixed in with the inky strands pulled back from her head.
A thick scarf hung from the humongous crown perched above her hair.