Sahayl’s brows went. "Thought of what?"
Shihab grinned. "The Princess is unmarried."
The words took a moment to fully register – then Sahayl could only stare.
Isra slammed a hand down on the table; if smacking the stone with such force hurt, he gave no indication. "He cannot simply go and marry a heathen! We are trying to strengthen the Desert, not ruin it completely!"
Sahayl frowned. "I see the merits of what you say, shadowfire, but I do not see how it is possible. Isra is correct – it will create more problems. The Tribes are barely willing to obey me; they will lose all faith if I marry a heathen after becoming a Prince of Tavamara."
"Shrewd Sheiks will not, and a good Sheik will control his Tribe," Shihab said with a shrug.
"The Desert is part of Tavamara but still largely independent. Marrying her will cease hostilities with Gollen, which will unbalance the other two countries. Gollen is the weakest of the three, but still vital. A trinity would be necessary to even attempt to overthrow Tavamara.
Gollen would be stupid to reject such an alliance. As to the Tribes – as I said, any half-intelligent Sheik would see the benefits of having allies on both sides of the Desert. Those that don’t like it will get used to it. That is the way of things. The King caused a minor scandal with his wife and the palace is still in a fervor over the royal harems. You will be seen as the sanest of the lot by Tavamara and the Sands will obey." He smiled. "A Sandstorm is a hard thing to resist."
"We will see," Sahayl said, the entire thing making him uncomfortable, not least of all because he was speaking of such a serious matter about a woman who had no idea the discussion was taking place and likely would rather not marry a savage. "You are troublesome, shadowfire."
"But the very best kind of trouble," Shihab said, flashing a grin. "Now, why don’t you tell me how it is that Bahadur is now wearing the ring of your protector?"
Isra started and looked Bahadur’s hand, the ring on his small finger – it still needed resizing before it fit him properly. "How in the sands did I miss that our entire journey home?"
Bahadur chuckled. "You were too busy leaping off your horse to molest our Sandstorm Prince, desert rose?"
"Shut up!" Isra hissed, but it was too late.
"Do tell," Shihab said.
Laughing, keeping hold of Isra so he did not knock the wine over making a lunge across the table, Sahayl told Shihab precisely how Isra had warned him that Wasp was a traitor. By the end, Shihab was on the floor laughing while Isra attempted to beat him senseless.
Sahayl started to try and stop them, but was stopped when Bahadur tugged him close, shaking his head. "Let them be – trying to kill each other is, I think, one of their greatest pleasures."
"Saa, you are probably right," Sahayl said with a smile. He stared at Bahadur, those fine pale gold eyes, smelling the heat of the sun on his warhorse’s skin. Leaning forward was as easy as breathing, reaching up to bury a hand in Bahadur’s short, thick hair.
The arm that wrapped around his waist to pull him even closer was strong and sure, as hot as the sun even through all the layers of cloth. Sahayl knew he was no weakling, but Bahadur’s strength was stunning.
Not nearly so stunning as his mouth though, and part of him still felt guilty that he took such pleasure in three different men – but the rest of him was quite pleased Bahadur had joined his harem.
Sahayl moaned softly as Bahadur consumed him, loving the way the desert spice wine complimented the darker, rough flavor of his warhorse. His protector. A soft sound, almost like a growl, drove him to break the kiss. He turned to see Isra and Shihab watching them avidly.
"I knew that would be a fine sight," Shihab said. "Do it again." He made that growling sound again, and beside him Isra looked just as eager.
Cheeks heating, Sahayl shook his head slowly. "There is work to be done, shadowfire. I have dallied here long enough."
Shihab sighed, but conceded with one of his mischievous smiles. "I can wait until bedtime, then."
"Who, precisely, owns this harem?" Bahadur muttered.
Sahayl laughed and did not bother to answer.
Twenty Five
Isra pointedly ignored his honored uncle as the man sniggered, instead holding a wine dish to Sahayl’s mouth.
Around the table he knew the other Sheiks were dying of curiosity, wondering if this was some Tavamaran custom or if their new Prince was simply strange.
For the most part, the formal banquet was normal. The wide array of food was native to the Sands, so too the Desert Spice wine. They sat around a long, low table in one of the smaller, private dining rooms, Sahayl at the head of the table to preside over everything. Somewhere, somehow, fine cushions and pillows had been brought, even tapestries and other hangings to dress up the walls still in desperate need of repair.
The only oddity was the way in which he attended Sahayl, holding up bits of food and wine for him, sitting close enough that there was no mistaking the intimacy between them –
though he knew by now that everyone must know what role he, Shihab, and Bahadur had assumed in regards to Sahayl.
Shihab had wanted very much for them to appear as a true harem should – bare-chested, dressed in the pants and skirt ensemble that concubines had worn for centuries. Sahayl had negated that idea, saying it would be enough they were waiting on him, never mind doing it half-naked.
Those gathered did appear to be quite confused, not certain whether they should be offended on Sahayl’s behalf or offended by Sahayl…most took their cue from Jabbar, as all knew he was Isra’s uncle, and from Zulfiqar, whose daughter was married to Sahayl’s Advisor. As those two seemed wholly unfazed, so the rest decided to be.
Sahayl’s shoulders were set with the slightest bit of tension, but otherwise his discomfiture with such things did not show – and it was not something the Sheiks would see, except perhaps Zulfiqar.
Isra sipped from the wine dish before setting it down.
Around the table sat the Sheiks they had decided could best be trusted – Cobra, Falcon, Scorpion, Fox, Sandcat, and a last surprising addition, Spider, who had quietly but steadily set to proving the worth of his Tribe.
In addition to the Sheiks, Noor, Kahlil, Wafai, and the heathens were also in attendance.
When had he started to actively enjoy this role? After the war settled, he would never be completely free again. He schooled his expression to hide his roiling thoughts and poured more wine, offering Sahayl one last sip before he started speaking.
"Honored Sheiks, Sons of the Lady of the Sands, I thank you for joining me tonight."
The Sheiks looked at one another, before Jabbar laughed and spoke. "I think it is we who should be honored, Sandstorm Prince. Many a Sheik tonight will not be pleased to have not received this invitation. We are honored you find us worthy of your time."
Isra wished he could smile at his uncle – such polite, humble words from a man who had no cause to give them to someone as young as Sahayl.
If these six Tribes were willing to support Sahayl in his role as Prince of the Desert, then his place was secure. Many Tribes would follow suit behind these six, and those that rebelled could be effectively put in their place.
He darted a quick look at Shihab, seated nearby between Zulfiqar and the Sand Cat Sheik.
"Why have you called us here, Highness?" The Spider Sheik asked. Though they had arrived late to the Broken Palace, persuaded by Sand Cat, they had quickly proven to be useful.
Inked into the Spider Sheik’s neck was the Tribe’s namesake – a spider nearly the size of a man’s hand, hairy and the color of sand, inked with remarkable skill and detail. "Has there been further…disruption…"
A weighted silence fell as each recalled the seizure of Wasp and their expulsion from the Broken Palace. When challenged, the Sheik and Amir had not bothered to deny it. Not when surrounded by threats, for no one else had chosen to side with them against the new Sandstorm Prince.
Even now they waited to see if Wasp and their heathen comrades would attempt an attack.
Unlikely, but then again they still were not certain of the number of heathens in the Sands.
Sahayl motioned to Cordelia and Rook, formally introducing them and explaining how they’d come to be there. Ordinarily a woman would not be made to sit alone with so many unfamiliar men – but her presence was necessary. "We are hoping by way of these two we can somehow make an attempt at peace with at least one heathen nation."
Isra almost snickered, and offered more wine, letting his fingers just barely brush Sahayl’s face, soothing the nervousness he knew Sahayl was feeling. On Sahayl’s other side, he knew Bahadur was soothing in his own way, surprisingly gentle for a man so large.
As he once more set the dish down, Cordelia opened her mouth – then shut it with a snap.
Sahayl motioned. "You may speak, Princess, if you’ve something to say. I hope you have been well since your arrival at our home." He smiled. "Saa, there is much work yet to be done, but it is still a fine palace."
Cordelia smiled. "It’s beautiful. I hope someday all the mosaics can be restored." She reached up to tuck back a strand of her bright gold hair. Rafiqa had promptly taken charge of the Princess upon her arrival, and currently Cordelia wore a pale pink dress in the Desert style, fitted closely down to the hips, flaring out slightly the rest of the way, embroidered with delicate patterns in white thread. She looked very much like a princess, if heathen. "Perhaps I am presumptuous, Sandstorm Prince, but…I do not know how you intend to go about obtaining peace with Gollen…" She matched his gaze boldly, chin tilting up as though in defiance. "I am a heathen, but a royal heathen, and were you to marry me—"
Beside her Rook groaned. "Princess!"
Shihab laughed, cutting off anything else Rook might have said.
Around the table the men chuckled, talking briefly amongst themselves.
"Well I guess that answers that," Wafai said dryly. "You get into a lot of trouble back home, don’t you, Princess?"
"Yes, she does," Rook said with a sigh. "One would think all this running about the Desert would have tamed her a bit…" He sighed again. "I see you have already thought of marriage as a potential solution to our ongoing hostility problem."
Sahayl nodded. "This dinner was arranged as the best way to discuss the matter, and to find another solution if marriage did not work."
Cordelia smiled, and Isra noticed the slightest bit of shyness in it. "My father will not be amenable at first, I am certain, but once he is made to see reason – so long as you are amenable, Sandstorm Prince, I gladly will offer my hand to you."
"Are you certain this is wise, Highness?" Zulfiqar asked. "I realize it is the nature of a sandstorm to sweep across the Desert, but the heathens are rocks which degrade only slowly."
Sahayl nodded to acknowledge the point. "Yet I feel it is our best chance. Though as sons of the Lady we are used to bloodshed – I would prefer not to go that route unless we have no other choice. This marriage will end Tavamara’s hostilities with Gollen, and the remaining two counties will have a much more difficult time continuing the war."
Around the table the men began to talk and debate, but rather than the fury and tension Isra had expected – much of the arguing was interspersed with laughter, playful jests. No small amount of wine. He almost smirked. If anything demonstrated that the Desert belonged with Tavamara rather than the heathens, it was the blatant love of wine. He could not wait until it was possible to begin importing a variety.
Isra offered up more wine to Sahayl as he sat back, content to let the debate wage without him for a while. Sahayl smiled faintly as he accepted the wine, and despite his outward calm Isra knew he was still discomfited by such gestures.
Such a pity this was a formal banquet. Sahayl’s lips were wet with wine and Isra wanted badly to lick it away, soothe the tension from those shoulders in the most pleasurable of ways.
He mentally rolled his eyes at himself, at the change that had come over him since he had fallen beneath the force of the Sandstorm.
Sahayl must have sensed something in his mood, for the glance Isra got was one of gentle inquiry. For reply, Isra simply held the wine dish up again, holding it so that as he pulled it away again, he could brush his fingers briefly across those fine, damp lips.
Comprehension flashed in dark gold eyes, turning into a heat that Sahayl could not entirely bank. Isra smirked, no small part of his satisfaction stemming from the fact he was the one who’d first sampled that heat.
Before he could taunt Sahayl further, the Sheiks drew their Prince back into the conversation.
"I think you are going to make your life more difficult than it already is," Zulfiqar said at last,
"but we six will certainly support you."
The Spider Sheik gave a brief smirk. "Which means that likely everyone else will support you as well – or they will not be so foolish as not to kick up too much sand about it. Those Tribes which have not succumbs to the heathens owe you much, my Sandstorm Prince."
Isra saw the tension in Sahayl’s shoulders ease. "I thank you, my Sheiks."
"We are your Sheiks, my Sandstorm Prince," Jabbar said. "It is our duty and honor to support you. The Sands speak only good things about you." He shifted his gaze to Isra. "The Sands also say very amusing things about you, my nephew."
Isra rolled his eyes. "The Sands need to learn to mind their own business and stop gossiping like women on laundry day." He scowled and poured more wine. "The Wasp Amir was too close, I had to do something without arousing suspicion."
Laughter erupted around the table as those who knew recounted to those who did not the way Isra had thrown himself from his horse to kiss Sahayl madly in the sand. He rolled his eyes at all of them, then shot his uncle a nasty look.
Jabbar merely grinned in reply.
"Do not make me give the Sands something new to gossip about, honored Uncle," Isra said.
He grinned, barring his teeth. "My honored Aunt will not care for what the Sands tell her."