"Sahayl?"
"Bahadur," Sahayl greeted, smiling as he looked up from the reports he was reading over. "I heard quite the racket out there. Did they drag you into their sparring?" He looked wistful. "I miss having the time to spar. I swear the moment I finish one task, three more take its place."
He paused, frowning suddenly, and set his papers aside. "Is something wrong?"
"I’m…not certain. It happened rather quickly, and now I wonder if it’s what you would have wanted."
"What I would have wanted?" Sahayl stood up from the low table he sat behind and crossed the large tent to Bahadur. "What’s wrong?"
Bahadur held out the ring Wafai had given him – too small, at present, for his finger. He would need to have it altered to fit him. But it was his…assuming Sahayl wanted him to have it.
"Wafai…" Sahayl said softly, touching the ring lying in Bahadur’s palm. "Where is he?"
"Checking the perimeter."
"That coward. No doubt this is revenge for my going to Tavamara." Sahayl finally looked up at him. "You truly want this responsibility?"
"Yes," Bahadur said. "I am hardly worthy, my Sandstorm Prince—"
"You’re worth a great deal to me," Sahayl interrupted, "and Wafai would never have chosen you as his replacement if he did not think you were worthy." He smiled, dark eyes lightening with amusement. "I wonder if this was in Shihab’s plans."
Bahadur chuckled. "I do not think your shadowfire could have anticipated this, for all that he seems sure of everything else." He faltered suddenly, recalling exactly what Shihab had said
– that he should be in Sahayl’s harem alongside Shihab and Isra.
"You needn’t be troubled by what he says," Sahayl said. "I am still confused as to why they have assumed such roles. I doubt a warhorse wants to live his life trapped in a palace."
Tonight was full of surprises. First he was invited to spar, when until that point Ghost had treated him with a sort of careful respect, then he was made Sahayl’s protector…now Sahayl seemed to be saying that he didn’t mind what Shihab had said at all. Unexpected.
Only a blind fool would not find Sahayl attractive, and watching him with Isra and Shihab had made him painfully aware of his somewhat outside status. He was also painfully curious –
and how strange, to want three men at once. It was something he should feel guilty about…and it occurred to him, suddenly, that of course Sahayl would feel the same. Shihab and Isra had been raised differently, for all that Isra at least had been raised in the Desert. It was normal to them…very much not for sons of the Desert. A man might take a lover, but never more than one at a time, and all such things ceased upon marriage.
Bahadur held the ring tight in one fist and started to speak, though he had no idea what he was going to say – when a soldier came bursting into the tent, blood smearing the front of his robes. "Sandstorm Prince! Wafai has caught an ambush party and says your help is needed, for he fears reinforcements will be coming."
"At once," Sahayl said, striding from the tent at the same time Kahlil appeared from his own, quickly joining up with his warlord and handing out the necessary commands. In a matter of minutes everyone was ready and Sahayl mounted Bloodmoon, then led the soldiers from camp toward the coordinates obtained from the soldier Wafai had sent back.
It wasn’t far away, and before he could see the battle Bahadur could hear it. Battle cries, screams of pain, the wind carrying the stench of blood. They crested a dune and looked down into the sands below – Tribes fought one another in dizzying confusion, but Bahadur was able to pick out which of those were merely dressed as Tribe.
A second later they were in the thick of the battle themselves, and Bahadur cut through heathens and traitorous Tribes alike, hating that someday Jackal would be at the end of his blade. That was their choice though.
He snarled as a man came behind Sahayl, gutting the cowardly bastard before turning to attack another. On it went, tiring, exhausting, gruesome work, and this time with the added worry of protecting Sahayl.
The battle didn’t last. Realizing it was all over, Sahayl slowly relaxed, then cleaned his sword and sheathed it. "Your arm," he said with a frown, striding over to Bahadur and touching his fingers to Bahadur’s arm.
They came away bloody and for the first time Bahadur realized he’d been wounded – and that it hurt. Still, he’d had worse. "A minor cut, my prince."
Sahayl’s frowned deepened. "All the same, my warhorse…" He trailed off as Wafai and Kahlil approached them. "What happened? Also, have someone fetch a healer here."
Nodding, Kahlil turned away to fetch the healer himself.
"We are glad to know you’re all right, my Prince."
"Of course I’m fine, my protector was beside me the entire time." He glared at Wafai.
Wafai smirked. "Good."
Rolling his eyes, Sahayl motioned. "Saa, what a mess we have here. Tell me how it came about, Wafai."
"I and several men went to run the perimeters, intending to do a bit of scouting while we were out. We came across a group of fifteen or so men obviously doing similar work of their own.
One got away, I am ashamed to say, which was when I feared reinforcements would be coming. We should not linger here overlong, in case they send even more."
Sahayl sighed. "Saa, we will have to move the camp as well."
Kahlil returned several minutes later, trailed by not only a healer but four soldiers struggling to drag along two prisoners. They were heavily cloaked, making it impossible to tell if they were heathen or Desert.
They were also putting up quite the struggle.
"We found them not too far away, hiding." Kahlil’s frown said better than words what he thought of that. "They are heathens, though fluent in our language, and should just be killed but—" He snarled as the leftmost one broke free of his captors and bolted toward the nearby horses. Kahlil sprinted after him, grabbing the man roughly and punching him hard, sending the heathen to the ground with a muffled groan.
The other one began to struggle wildly in the grip of his own captors. "Don’t hurt her, Goddess damn you! She hasn’t done anything wrong!"
A shocked silence fell, and the prisoner moaned as he realized what he’d just said.
"Surely not," Sahayl said, striding over the unconscious prisoner and kneeling. Carefully he tugged at the well-knotted face and head wraps, tossing them aside and drawing a sharp breath. "By the Lady…"
Bahadur stood over him, equally shocked. A woman. Her skin was deeply tanned, giving it an almost golden tone, a pretty contrast to her bright gold hair. She also looked worn, strained, even unconscious. "What sort of barbaric heathens would send a woman into war?"
he demanded, turning around to glare at the other prisoner.
The soldiers had stripped this one of his covering, and Bahadur was relieved to see this one was a man – though not much of one, to allow a woman to be thrown into war. He looked much like the woman, a slightly crooked nose and less curly hair the only real differences between them. So they were somehow related.
"We aren’t barbaric," the man snapped. "I’ve been trying to make her go home since I found her in camp. I’d finally convinced her to give up her scheming and return home when we were caught up in the ambush party."
Sahayl slowly stood. "Bring them to camp," he said. "Take them to my tent, and treat the woman with care."
"Yes, my Prince," Kahlil said.
Bahadur stood patiently as the healer finally approached and bandaged his arm. It would have been fine on its own, but some of the tension eased from Sahayl’s face as he saw the wound tended, and for that Bahadur would endure the scratchy bandages.
"Saa, what a day. Wafai, we shall have to move camp."
"It will be done," Wafai replied. "Have you a new location in mind, Sandstorm Prince?"
Sahayl frowned in thought a moment, then gave a slight nod and rattled off a string of coordinates that made little sense to Bahadur – the Ghost way of traversing and marking the Desert was something he had yet to learn.
"Shall I set some soldiers to escort you back to camp?" Wafai asked.
"No," Sahayl said. "I would like some quiet. Bahadur is enough."
"As you wish," Wafai replied, obviously displeased but realizing the futility of arguing. "I will see you back at camp then, Sandstorm Prince, Bahadur."
Sahayl mounted his horse and Bahadur swiftly did the same, allowing Sahayl to lead them away from the battlefield and back toward camp. It was quiet, the Desert seemingly empty, Sahayl obviously having chosen a quieter route for them to take.
"How is your arm, my warhorse?"
"It will be stiff for a bit, but that’s all," Bahadur replied. He didn’t think anyone had ever cared about his injuries before. Certainly no one in Jackal would have even noticed such a trivial wound. There was no reason his Prince should care at all; Sahayl had far more important things to worry about. "Such a trivial scratch is hardly worth my prince’s notice."
Sahayl stopped short, forcing Bahadur to do the same. "Everything concerning you is worth my notice. I am truly grateful to Jackal for being foolish enough to let you go." Those dark gold eyes locked with his, so very fine. "You are my warhorse, and now my protector."
Silence fell, and stretched, their locked gazes never wavering. So hard, to take that last step that they both clearly wanted to take. Strange that it was so hard…Bahadur smiled faintly to think that were Isra or Shihab here, they would have taken matters into their own hands.
Finally Sahayl dropped his gaze, uncertainty flickering across his face for a moment – and Bahadur realized suddenly that Sahayl was more anxious than he about such things. Of course he would be, and Bahadur felt like an idiot.
That killed the last of his own hesitation, and he reached out to cup the back of Sahayl’s head, instantly seeing why the other two always seemed so taken with Sahayl’s hair, and leaned down to take his mouth. He smiled at the faint taste of almonds, undoubtedly from the sweets of which Sahayl was so fond. The flavor blended with a warmer, spicy-sweet flavor that could only be Sahayl himself.
Sahayl moaned softly, and then hands landed on Bahadur’s shoulders, digging into his robes a moment before arms finally slid around his neck, pulling him closer. Bahadur finally broke the kiss, bringing his free hand up to brush his thumb across Sahayl’s kiss-damp lips. "I am honored my prince would want me," he said softly.
"I never thought to have one lover," Sahayl said, pleased and amused. "Never mind three.
Ikram told me it would be best to eventually form a harem…I’m confused as to how I actually acquired one…or how one acquired me, perhaps."
Bahadur laughed. "Be grateful Shihab is most definitely on your side, hmm?"
"Definitely."
"As to three lovers…" Bahadur grinned, feeling better than he had in a long time. "If you’re at a loss, you could always ask your brother for advice."
Sahayl blinked, then glowered, cheeks heating. "That’s not even funny."
Bahadur chuckled and dipped his head for another taste of the mouth to which he was already addicted. "No wonder you have Isra tamed – as tamed as that one ever gets, anyway."
"I dare you to tell Isra you consider him tamed," Sahayl said with a chuckle.
"I am not that foolish," Bahadur said. "We’ll tell Shihab to do it."
Sahayl laughed and this time he initiated the next kiss, and Bahadur was dumbfounded this man had been alone for so long. The Desert was full of idiots, but that worked to his favor so he would hardly complain.
"We had best get you back to camp before Wafai comes after us," Bahadur said at last.
"Yes," Sahayl said with a sigh "It is a pity we must move, and that they will already have broken everything down by the time we return."
Bahadur chuckled at the slight heat that colored Sahayl’s dark skin and could not resist stealing one last kiss before they finally continued on their way.
Twenty Four
Sahayl tried to make his thoughts focus on all the problems he would have to address once they reached camp, but all his mind could settle upon was his harem.
Harem.
Even when Ikram had spoken to him on the matter, emphasized the necessity…he had not thought he’d actually manage it. The Desert did not do such things. A man had a lover for a time, then a wife. Now he had three lovers and eventually he would take a wife…who would herself have three lovers.
Being a Prince was, to say the least, quite strange.
He did not dare a look at Bahadur, knowing he would just stare. His warhorse was quite fine, and Sahayl would not ever understand what Jackal had been thinking to so mistreat him.
The camp came into view, already half-dismantled. Sahayl dismounted and handed his reins off to the soldier that came running up. A second later Bahadur fell into step beside him, and Sahayl could not resist looking up at him and offering a smile that Bahadur instantly returned.
Wafai came running up to him. "The prisoners?" Sahayl asked as he reached them.
"They’re fine. We are keeping it quiet that the one is female."
"Good," Sahayl said. "See they are well-treated; they did not strike me as genuine soldiers. I wonder why they were hiding…"
Wafai snorted. "Cowardly heathens, what do you expect?"
Sahayl merely smiled and did not point out that the Tribes had always made an art of hiding in the Desert. "When will we be ready to move out?"
"Perhaps another hour, my Sandstorm Prince."
"Excellent. Thank you, Wafai. And you are still in trouble for handing over the role of protector without my permission."
Wafai snorted. "Well, you are still in trouble for becoming a Prince without my permission."
He bowed low and moved away to tend to his duties.
Bahadur laughed softly. "I feel sorry for anyone who tries to cross that Advisor."
Sahayl grinned, but before he could reply the Wasp Amir approached – but before he could speak, a ruckus came from the entrance to the camp and a familiar looking horse bolted right past the guards and made straight for Sahayl.
"Sahayl!" Isra gasped his name, clearly out of breath, face and head coverings plastered with sweat to his skin. He tore them off—then abruptly threw himself off his horse and at Sahayl, the move sending them both crashing to the ground.