“I would love nothing more. I’m in the middle of trying to finish up a big project before Christmas, but maybe I can work from home these next few days… if I can convince my boss, that is,” I said, meeting his eyes and smiling. I felt blissfully complete with Damien Pierce sitting on my barstool looking at me. It was dreamlike to say the least.
I poured the remaining wine into our glasses and gestured toward the living room. We both sat on the sofa and enjoyed our drinks while we chatted. I felt like we could talk for hours and never get tired or run out of things to say. With both our glasses finally empty, I showed Damien into the bedroom and told him to make himself at home.
“Do you mind if I take a shower real quick?”
“Why would I mind? Do you mind if I join you?” he asked, chuckling.
“I don’t mind at all,” I replied, giving him my best come-hither look.
I went into my en-suite bathroom and turned the water on, getting it to just the right temperature before undressing and getting in. Damien waited a few moments before pulling back the shower curtain and joining me. I saw the hunger return in his eyes and it sent a pleasant shiver through my whole body. I felt as though our souls were actually yearning to be together, trying to make up for the centuries of lost time. However, Damien and I were still discovering one another physically… and with much pleasure.
I stared at his body unabashedly as he stepped into the shower, my eyes taking all of him in. An involuntary smile spread across my face. He looked up at me just then, and blushed uncharacteristically. I watched the water drip down his broad shoulders and chest. He looked so incredibly sexy, that I couldn’t help myself any longer and reached out to caress his stomach, letting my fingers gently trail down lower and lower, but he suddenly grabbed my wrist softly to stop me. I looked up at him questioningly.
“Turn around,” was all he said.
“Okay?” I obeyed nonetheless.
He swiftly removed my detachable shower-head and angled it so the water sprayed onto my shoulders, trailing down my back; the pulsing water exquisitely massaging my muscles. He slowly brought it around, angling the spray of water between my thighs. I let a soft moan escape my lips.
He continued moving the shower head back and forth, the pulsing water tickling with every stroke, as he kissed and gently bit my neck, my ear… I was dangerously close to the edge and knew I would succumb to the overwhelming pleasure at any moment. As if sensing my need, he slowly entered me from behind and we both gasped with pleasure. As he moved within me, he never let go of the shower head; it’s constant pressure still stimulating me. It took only seconds before I climaxed, panting and clutching onto his thigh, pulling him closer and deeper inside me. He followed me then, letting the shower head finally fall from his grip as he wrapped both arms around my hips and pulled me closer to him. We stayed where we were for a moment, catching our breath before he slid his hands from my hips and up my abdomen. He turned me around then and grabbed me by the waist, holding me against the length of his body. I rested my forehead on him, breathing deeply.
“My God…” was all he managed to say. He reached behind him and turned off the water, all the while continuing to kiss my neck and shoulders. He grabbed my chin with his fingers and gently tilted my head up to meet his face. His eyes were smoldering.
“That was amazing,” I told him, my voice hoarse. “You’re amazing.” I kissed his mouth and gently bit his bottom lip, which caused him to respond with an even deeper kiss. I chuckled lightly and he pulled away, looking at me.
“You and I better call it a night before we pass out from exhaustion,” Damien remarked.
“I think you may be right,” I laughed, planting one last feather-light kiss on his mouth before stepping out of the shower and grabbing our towels.
We dried off and as I dressed in my pajamas, I realized he didn’t have any clothes for the night. “I’m sorry that I don’t really have any clothing to offer you. I have a few baggy t-shirts, but I think they will still be too small and tight for you. I don’t even own any ex-boyfriend sweatshirts to offer…”
“And I’m glad, because I don’t think I’d feel comfortable wearing them,” he laughed. He climbed onto my bed wearing just his boxer briefs. “Don’t worry, I’ll be fine sleeping like this.”
Every moment I had spent with him was beyond my wildest dreams, but seeing him laying on my bed, practically naked, was a fantasy come true. I climbed into bed with him and pulled the soft down coverlet over us. He pulled me close to his body so that we were spooning, and gently kissed my ear.
“I think I’m in danger of falling in love with you,” I blurted out.
“Would it really be so dangerous? I think being together is in the cards. It’s our fate Madelyn, and I’m happy fate picked you,” he admitted. I smiled contentedly as he held me in his arms. Before I knew it, my eyelids closed and the sweet peace of sleep swept over us.
CHAPTER 31
DELHI, INDIA 1739
Satvi somberly waited while Hasanti began wrapping her in a fresh white sari and matching dupatta to signify the mourning of her supposed beloved husband and warrior prince. His remains had been brought days ago with news that the Persians had overtaken all of the warriors in the Battle of Karnal, leaving little hope for the Mughal Empire. It seemed ridiculous to be donning a widow’s attire when there were bigger issues at hand for their people, but nonetheless, she would have to become accustomed to this attire and the shunning that lay in her future once her husband was ceremoniously burned without the respect of his widow burning alongside him. If given the gift of life after their husband’s death, widows were seen as undesirable, leading a life of poverty with only bowls of rice as nourishment and vermin as their sole companions.
She looked around her dressing room and admired the beauty she would soon leave behind. Fabrics of all colors and sizes were artfully draped about the room, filling the space with a medley of crimson, jade, aqua, gold, and coral. Paisley, stripes, and florals caught her eye, but she had collected so many patterns and styles during her time here that they were only the start of her collection. Each piece of fabric spoke to her in a way that only Indian textiles could. The extensive dyeing techniques and luxurious fabrics created in her country were well-beyond that of any European or Asian nation and ships filled with silk, cotton, and a variation of both would sail out frequently in exchange for spices.
India was becoming the largest exporter of textiles and Satvi was almost sure she had acquired almost every new textile fashioned before it was sent out to sea for a profit. Her eyes fell upon her favorite. The silk brocade was rich with a deep purple accentuated by a gold floral pattern lined with gold dots. The fabric flowed down in panels and created a border for the arches leading out to the balcony. Satvi had hidden behind those panels many times as she waited for Namesh to edge his way through the courtyard and gently splash the water in the bubbling fountain below her room. It was his signal that Hasanti had reached him and they would be graced with a few precious moments to themselves while the King and his guard were tending to matters of war. They would escape quickly and spend as much time together as possible before returning to their opposing roles of princess and servant. These escapades had been much easier once the prince had left for battle shortly after they were wed.
Satvi’s mind returned to the present and she watched as her devoted dasa, Hasanti, worked in silence, making the chore of dressing one’s mistress into an art form. She would gracefully fold the layers of cloth over her hand while gently enclosing the bottom half in her other hand. The cloth would then arc around Satvi’s waist, over her shoulder, while the material glimmered in the sunlight streaming from the window. It was a dance they knew well and one that they now, in the final days of their friendship, relished. The dupatta was next and its placement brought to light another duty Satvi had to endure as a new widow and recluse.
“Do you think I will look very different once my head is shaved?” asked Satvi as she laced her fi
ngers through her long, ebony hair.
Hasanti looked up at the face of her dear friend and smiled, “A beauty such as yours will never be diminished by a mere haircut.”
“You flatter me only because you know of my future.”
“I flatter you because you are my beautiful friend and have been my constant companion for years.”
“Fitting that you would speak of companionship and loyalty on this day,” uttered Shah Balraj.
“My lord, what a surprise.” Satvi was taken aback by the King’s sudden presence in her chamber. The fact that he had come to seek her out instead of having a servant summon her as he had always done, made Satvi uneasy. She looked up at the man that stood before her. Since the day she had arrived, the King had been fair and treated her kindly in that he was neither cruel nor misleading in his requests of his son’s new wife. But there was something about his expression today that sent shivers down her spine. His large, adorned figure spanned the width of the door frame and it appeared as though each muscle was held taut as if welcoming an attack. He would have appeared regal if it wasn’t for the look of cold steel in his eyes. He had never appeared as menacing as he did now and Satvi felt a lump settle in the pit of her stomach. His gaze held hers so fiercely that she barely noticed the royal guards that stood right outside her door.
“I have come to escort you to the sacrificial burning of Prince Almir,” he stated as if he were making a royal proclamation instead of telling her she was going with him to burn his son’s body and possibly burn alongside him in the process.
“It’s today?! My lord, there hasn’t even been an announcement. How will the subjects be present at the ritual if they have not even been made privy to the time or location? Surely, you do not intend to sacrifice Prince Almir’s body to the gods after his heroic efforts at war without having his loyal subjects present to give their blessings and say their farewells?” Satvi rambled while thoughts of her own fate raced through her mind. She thought she had been prepared to inform the king of her decision to let Prince Almir burn alone, but as he stood before her, there was no way she could possibly tell this man that his son would not receive the respect of her dying with him even though they had no children for her to watch over and her family had been lost to her the day she wed. She was figuratively and quite possibly literally playing with fire. The fear of what was to come ran through her like an electric current, singeing the very depths of her soul.
“You dare question my authority in regards to my only son? You, who have disgraced his name and paraded around as a maiden while he was at war, fighting for the land and riches that on your wedding day you vowed to honor and protect? You, who have not even wept at the news that your husband was killed while protecting our people from the army of the Persian Empire, an empire whose rulers are only days away from ascending on our land to ravage what is rightfully ours. I hope you are prepared for the decision you must now make.” The words oozed out of him with disdain, but his stoic demeanor contradicted the emotion attached to them. “Guards, remove this woman at once. We leave for the funeral pyre forthwith.”
With that, Shah Balraj departed and the men seized Satvi, her fear showing in her large eyes as they shepherded her down the massive hall to her unknown future. Hasanti, as invisible as the other servants in the palace and ignored as such, came out of the shadows where she had absorbed every word. She peered out of the room, hoping that none of the guards or loyal servants were present. She could only pray that no one had taken notice of her -the only witness to what had just transpired. She inched her way down the hall until she reached the common area where she cast her eyes down and broke out into a hurried walk, fast enough to gain some ground, but not fast enough to draw too much attention. She had to find Namesh and tell him what had happened. She did not know what the king had in store for Satvi, but she also did not like his cold treatment of her friend or the way his words cut through her like a sharpened guillotine.
***
The palace was eerily quiet on this day. The city mourned the loss of their prince and awaited the burning of his body as a tribute to the life he lived and the sacrifices he made when he set out for battle. The announcement of his cremation would surely be made soon, so all Namesh had to do was busy himself with the unusual and mundane tasks given to him today. For some reason, the house steward had rearranged the chores for the day and several servants had been assigned new tasks, and were sent to different areas of the palace. Namesh had been given the duty of polishing the statues, walls, and floors on the east side - a task typically assigned to female servants. It was a strange request, but the house steward was in no mood to be questioned. Namesh had peacefully taken his assignment and moved his way to the east wing, trying even harder not to draw attention to himself. It was a skill he had mastered at an early age when life’s troubles proved to be too daunting for a young boy. He had already thrown buckets of water over the lattice outside the vast windows so the cross breeze coming through would be cooled by the water, thus lowering the temperature in the palace. Now, he found himself polishing the marble and stone statues dedicated to their beloved deities as he murmured a prayer to each one in relation to the power they possessed. He prayed for Brahma to renew their life forces, Vishnu to preserve their love, Shiva to destroy the negativity that surrounds them, Ganapati to remove the obstacles blocking their chances for a true and happy life, and so forth. With each prayer, Namesh felt a renewed sense of hope, but nagging thoughts of Satvi and the effect Prince Almir’s death would have on her kept plaguing him. Shockingly, no one had reached out to him with news of the direction Shah Balraj was headed in terms of Satvi’s future. Palace servants always find a way of conveying information with one another about the world around them without the royal family having any inclination. Namesh figured he would have heard some news or gossip by now, but the palace walls were silent, void of the typical vibrations of servant life.
According to Hindu customs, the king had only two options: he could allow her to become a Sati, burning herself upon Prince Almir’s funeral pyre to show her wifely devotion and earn the gift of divination, or he could allow her to choose her own life and live as a recluse, shying away from all civilization and living in poverty as a lost memory of the princess she once was. As undesirable as the latter sounded, Namesh knew that choosing to live a solitary life would be the only way Satvi could escape death. They would find a way to be together once the repercussions of her decision were overshadowed by the next royal announcement. They could just disappear and head away from the feuding territories to create a life in a city where no one would recognize them. Namesh even had their new names chosen: Harshman and Aadhya, which loosely translated to joyous beginning. That is what they will have if it’s the last thing Namesh achieved in this life.
***
Hours later, Hasanti still had not found Namesh. She quickly made her way to where the carriages, or tangas, were kept knowing that as the princess’ only driver the chances of Namesh being there were far better than anywhere else, especially since Satvi would be taken away to solitude once she refused to burn.
When she found the tanga abandoned, she searched the vast gardens and even went as far as the fields hoping she would find him there. His usual chores were being completed by servants she had never seen before let alone spoken to and being so new to their positions, they were of no help to Hasanti when she asked them where Namesh had been sent today. She was tired, dirty, and defeated when she skulked into the palace to try to find anyone that could be of use to her. Her sheer determination was the only thing keeping her going and her head was reeling as she thought of what Satvi might be enduring at this moment.
Deep in thought, she rounded the corner and collided with none other than Namesh as he mindlessly polished a stone statue in the corridor.
“What are you doing here? Where have you been? I have been searching everywhere for you!” shouted Hasanti.
“I was ordered to keep to this side of the palace a
nd stay out of the way. The house steward said he was to rearrange the chores of all the princess’ servants in preparation for the aftermath of the cremation. What’s happening?” Namesh finally took notice of the alarm in Hasanti’s eyes and realization sunk in. “Where is she? Where have they taken her,” he cried out as he grabbed Hasanti by the arms and felt her trembling.
“I don’t know! The royal guards escorted her out of the palace hours ago. I couldn’t find you.” Hasanti suddenly shattered in defeat as the sobs that had threatened the minute Satvi had been dragged out of the room, came pouring out of her.
Namesh rushed out of the palace as discreetly as possible and darted in the direction of the stream. He had been keeping a close eye on the ground activities since the announcement of Prince Almir’s death and had noticed several guards headed in that direction the previous morning. It wasn’t much, but it was the only clue he had as to where the funeral pyre was being constructed. His feet pounded on the hard, dirt road and his strides were so full of purpose that the ground erupted in a cloud of dust with every step. When he reached the field of vetiver grass, he cut through it and continued his pace effortlessly.
He knew the path to the stream well. It was a place where he and Satvi met with the help of Hasanti serving as an accomplice, distracting anyone who inquired of the princess’ whereabouts. They would lay at the bank and tie strands of grass together, making little ropes. Satvi used to say that each strand was a piece of their hearts and every time they intertwined them, it reinforced their love. Namesh couldn’t begin to count how many ropes they had fused together during their lazy afternoons of conversation and love-making. The memory came so abruptly, that tears started to burn against Namesh’s cheeks as he raced to whom he could only describe as his heart on the other side of the field. The burning of his tears and the sting of the long, rigid blades of the five foot vetivert tufts he ran through, were no match to the pain he felt within. He was desperate to reach Satvi before her dreaded fate.
Eternally Bound Page 18