The Bodyguard
Days passed in a blur. Ever since my bold refusal to assist the shah, I had holed myself up in my room in the harem.
Esana was my sole company, entering to help me dress and bring meals.
After I’d darted from the table, I had expected Shahzadeh Dayyan to chase me down and demand an apology or punish me in some way, but I had seen no sign of him.
I did not know if I should worry or be relieved at his lack of appearance.
Esana’s lilting voice drew me from my thoughts as she continued reciting poetry from a book she had retrieved from the library. I had yet to explore that part of the harem.
“And when her gaze faces the horizon, the dagger in my chest never lessens. But when her gaze meets mine, I am dragged to shore, and the dagger is pulled free.” Esana smiled, glancing up from the book. “This is one of Shahzadeh Dayyan’s entries.”
I leaned forward in my chair, my attention fully snared. Esana and I sat beside each other on comfortable cushions. A steaming pot of chai rested before our glasses.
“This is the royal poetry book. Every shahzadeh and shahdokht is required to pen at least one poem to add to it.”
I reached for it, stunned such a bloodthirsty prince could come up with a poem. She relinquished it without protest, her grin broadening as she watched me scan the page.
And when her gaze faces the horizon,
the dagger in my chest never lessens.
But when her gaze meets mine,
I am dragged to shore, and the dagger is pulled free.
Though I am left bleeding in her wake,
my memory remains alive in her every breath.
My touch exists in the locks of her hair.
Where cities reside in a single strand,
I am alive.
I thought to feign disinterest but admitted the truth instead. “It’s beautiful.”
She tilted her head. “You are surprised.”
“I wasn’t expecting it from him. Though the violent passion matches him. He can only speak through poetry if it contains blood and death.”
Esana seemed unconvinced. I was unwilling to reveal how much a single poem had sent me into spiraling thoughts. Who was Shahzadeh Dayyan?
“You should see this one.” Esana pointed at the next entry.
Rosebud lips
call to me.
I raised a brow, and she nodded. “Shahzadeh Bahir’s entry. And he had assistance from his tutor.”
My lips clamped together, but I couldn’t help the laugh bubbling in my chest. It burst free, and Esana’s eyes creased before she joined me. We laughed until we reached out to each other, grasping arms to regain our composure. After our mirth died down, our smiles lingered.
“You are not what they said of you,” Esana said.
I pulled back, unsure how to respond.
“We were raised to believe all the Southerners yearned for our lands and lives.”
“The assumptions were based on the actions of a few,” I said. “The majority of us seek peace. The North and South tell their people what is needed to remove mercy from their hearts. That is the only way the war can continue. By believing each other to be monsters.”
“And you?”
I tilted my head in question.
“Do you still see us as monsters? Do you still view Shahzadeh Dayyan as one?”
I hesitated. Dayyan had played a large role in the South’s downfall. I could never see him as anything other than a ruthless executioner. My duty was to fell him and his brother. To bring the North’s cruelty to an end.
“I believe the leaders are corrupted. But I have faith in the North’s people.” I squeezed her hand.
“I understand,” Esana said. “You feel trapped here. Sometimes I wish I could return to my hometown and reunite with my family. But . . .” She shrugged.
“What prevents you?”
“My family owed debts. They were going to enlist my young brother in the army if we couldn’t pay them.” She teared up. “I couldn’t lose him to the war, so I came to the palace, accepting twenty years of unpaid servitude to secure forgiveness for my family.”
The weight of her sacrifice hung heavily on her shoulders. I stared at her with compassion. “You gave up your life for them.”
“Better me than them. I am thankful I had this opportunity.” She lowered her head. “Even if it is to serve in the harem.”
“You couldn’t choose a position?”
She shook her head. “I took whatever I could. And so I endure the insults of the jawahar and bear their orders.”
“They are terrible, aren’t they?”
“You have seen nothing, Shahdokht.” She sighed. “But I pity them as much as I despise them. Just as you were raised to be shahdokht and I was raised to serve, they were raised to be jawahar.”
I winced, the lie ringing against my ears.
“They were taught from childhood that their beauty was the sole thing that mattered. That their survival depended on catching the shah’s or shahzada’s eyes.
And they would only remain worthy of recognition if they birthed an heir.
For such a position, they will fight tooth and nail.
” Her gaze was far away as she no doubt recalled some instances of their wildness.
“And any they see as a threat, they do away with.” Worry pinched her features as she looked at me.
“And now I am that threat,” I stated.
“As Shahzadeh Dayyan’s wife, you have gained a height they can never reach. They can only attempt to drag you down.”
A knock on the door startled us. Esana went to open it, and a tall graceful older woman swept inside. She gave a cursory glance to Esana before her gaze found me.
“Shahdokht, I am Banu Atefeh. It is time for a lesson.”
“Lesson?”
“As long as you are a part of this harem, you will abide by the rules. Every other day at midafternoon, you will attend my lessons. You will learn how to behave in this palace, from common matters to pleasing your shahzadeh.” She said everything in a straightforward and strict manner.
My mouth worked as I wondered if I could refuse.
She swept out as quickly as she’d come, clearly not expecting a denial of any sort.
Esana assisted me with my chadar before guiding me to the lesson chamber.
I caught sight of the women lined against the wall as soon as I entered.
Candles sat on every available shelf, bathing the interior in an orange glow.
Banu Atefeh stood across from the row of women.
Her hands were placed on her elbows, her fingers tapping the thick fabric of her sleeves.
She motioned me with her head toward the line. Eyes traced me as I joined the end.
“Your little knife stunt will not go unanswered, Southerner,” came a seething whisper from beside me.
I contained the urge to roll my eyes. It was just my luck to end up next to Mahnaz.
“This is the room of arts. There are many arts. The main ones we will focus on in my class are dancing, poetry, calligraphy, embroidery, and beautiful manners,” Banu Atefeh said.
“Stand tall before me, shoulders pushed back but not too far to appear proud—enough to carry yourself with grace and still convey a charming meekness. When sitting, you will position your arms like so.” She motioned to her fingers resting lightly over her elbows.
I followed her instructions, noting the other women were already in the position she demonstrated.
She split the twelve women, including me, into three groups. I gritted my teeth as I was paired with Mahnaz and two other women.
“For today’s class, you will practice calligraphy. I am sure you know the basics.” Her eyes seemed to settle on me when she said that. “You will find the tools needed before you.”
I followed the other women’s lead, crossing my legs beneath me as I settled onto a toshak.
The others reached for their calligraphy brushes.
I lifted the brush as they did and dipped it into the inkwell just so, but that was as far as I could copy them.
Once the end of the brush grazed the parchment, my lack of skill was revealed.
Sweat dribbled down my neck as Banu Atefeh paced around each group, examining the work.
She was nearing us. My muscles tightened.
Farani was trained in calligraphy. She could craft the most beautiful words with each delicate swipe of her hand. But I was not Farani.
“Well done, Mahnaz.”
Banu Atefeh’s praise lifted my head. Mahnaz’s simpering smile spread wide before she glanced over my work.
Then she laughed, covering her mouth as if to stifle the sound.
The other women followed her gaze, and more snickers rang about.
Banu Atefeh raised her hand, and they fell silent.
She stepped beside me, staring down at the parchment.
“Were you not taught calligraphy, Shahdokht?”
I steeled my spine, meeting Banu Atefeh’s questioning gaze. “We focused more on other arts.”
“Such as?”
I racked my mind for things I could do. “Dancing and singing.” I paused. “Among others.”
A few more snickers darted among the women. Banu Atefeh’s brows continued to lower in disapproval. Then she waved at me to stand.
“Well then, Shahdokht, sing us a song.”
I rose, hiding my fidgeting hands within my skirt.
Eyes watched me, burning into my skin, and awaited my humiliation with glee.
I blocked them out. I was not here, but far away.
My father was stroking the top of my head, whispering bedtime stories.
My brother, Eskender, in the bed across from mine, begged our father to continue even as sleepiness tugged at us both.
I pleaded as well until he relented to singing us the lullaby he’d written for us.
“The world was dark. The way was shuttered by a blanket of night.”
My voice emerged hoarse and pained. The air stiffened as the entire chamber fell silent. I continued singing, falling into that familiar comfort the words brought.
“A dark world lurked above,
shuttering the way,
the night a cold blanket.
The soldiers were restless, the leaders plotting,
the enemy scheming.
Darkness prevailed,
but the children . . . the children looked upward.
They saw the sky.
It was ablaze with stars.”
A tear slipped down my cheek as I whispered the final word. The women watched me, slack-jawed. Banu Atefeh blinked quickly, erasing the moisture growing in her eyes. She cleared her throat.
“Your voice can be worked on, but it is a start. Singing and dancing will win you attention, but will it benefit the children you produce? Of course not. You must learn everything else as well.”
I felt Mahnaz’s glare as we moved on to other subjects.
Banu Atefeh informed us of the biggest things to the smallest. From ways to speak in a political matter to how to adjust our chadars.
There were at least ten smiles for different occasions with an exact lip tilt for every setting.
My mouth felt foreign to me once we had gone through them all.
“Banu Atefeh,” Mahnaz said, her venomous voice seeping with false sincerity. “We have gone over these. Perhaps you should schedule a private lesson with the Southern princess. It seems she is in more need of tutelage.”
She turned her smirk on me after her disparaging words. I lifted a brow in return, unfazed.
“A review is always good for the mind, Jawahar Mahnaz,” Banu Atefeh said firmly. “But now let us move on to how to please your shahzadeh.”
My stomach twisted at the eager way the women soaked up her following words.
“When he sees you, keep your gaze lowered and look up through your lashes. Present the picture of shyness.”
Several women practiced. Mahnaz swiveled to me. “Won’t you try, Southerner? Perhaps you have some talent hidden somewhere?”
I faced her, opening my mouth to respond, when another woman spoke up.
“She must have talent. After all, both shahzada are spinning around her little finger.”
Giggles broke out, and the woman continued, spurred on by the other reactions. “I heard they even fought over her at the breakfast table.”
Mahnaz whirled, backhanding the woman across the face. Her ring-clad fingers tore the woman’s skin and blood spurted forward. All humor elapsed, and shock mounted.
“Watch your mouth.” Mahnaz shook with fury.
Banu Atefeh’s face was contorted. “Mahnaz! What is this behavior?”
The woman Mahnaz had slapped held a hand to her mouth to collect the red blood pooling into her palm.
“The lesson is over,” Banu Atefeh said. “All of you, to your chambers.”
The women filed out, and I moved to follow.
“Wait, Mahnaz,” Banu Atefeh called. “You will tend to Liana to make up for your mistake.”
The woman, Liana, shook her head, her fear evident. Mahnaz gritted her teeth before sweeping toward her. I ducked out of the chamber, horrified by how controlled Mahnaz was by her jealousy. If she could be so callous with so many witnesses, what would she do without any around?