The Harem Master

by Megan Derr

  Table of Contents

  The Harem Master

  Book Details

  Kormor

  Tavamara

  One

  Two

  Three

  Four

  Five

  Six

  Seven

  Eight

  Nine

  Ten

  Eleven

  Twelve

  Thirteen

  Fourteen

  Fifteen

  Sixteen

  Seventeen

  Eighteen

  Nineteen

  Twenty

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  The

  Harem Master

  MEGAN DERR

  Lord Demir has spent his life trying to appease a brutal, selfish king, and keep the concubines under his care alive—and now he is on the verge of losing everything. The council wants to abolish the harems, there are no heirs to the throne, and foreigner ambassadors control the Steward. One wrong move will tip tensions into civil war.

  Crown Prince Ihsan returns to find his home in turmoil, and the royal court so full of vipers it's impossible to say which of them will strike first. Removing his father from the throne, one way or another, should be a simple matter. Staying alive and proving himself a worthy king, however, will be far more difficult.

  Crown Princess Euren has spent the last five years in hiding so that she could not be used against her father or Ihsan. But she is the daughter of a soldier, never meant to wear a crown, never trained to fight battles where words are the weapon of choice. If she hopes to keep herself and her loved ones alive, she'll have to learn fast.

  Note: This story contains polyamory.

  Book Details

  The Harem Master

  Tales of Tavamara 3

  By Megan Derr

  Published by Less Than Three Press LLC

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner without written permission of the publisher, except for the purpose of reviews.

  Edited by Samantha M. Derr

  Cover designed by Aisha Akeju

  This book is a work of fiction and all names, characters, places, and incidents are fictional or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual people, places, or events is coincidental.

  First Edition May 2015

  Copyright © 2015 by Megan Derr

  Printed in the United States of America

  Digital ISBN 9781620044124

  Print ISBN 9781620044131

  One

  Demir removed Nur's clothes from the cabinet and put them in the large basket already half-full of items that would first be offered up to the rest of the harem and after that donated to charity. His jewelry went into a special, beautifully carved chest with other precious items to be returned to Nur's family along with fifty gold pieces. Blood money.

  His mouth tightened, but he said nothing. What was there to say? To whom would he say it? Everyone already knew and they were either too scared to act or did not care—rather, preferred circumstances precisely as they were.

  When he was done with the clothes, Demir went through Nur's shoes and added all but two pairs to the basket. The remaining two would go straight on to charity, too worn out to be further used by concubines, which was probably why they'd been buried beneath everything else.

  All that remained were the few decorative items that had added a bit of uniqueness to the otherwise lifeless cell. King Kagan wanted his concubines to look beautiful at all times but did not care how they lived. Did not care that they lived at all once he was done amusing himself. How had such a sacred practice turned so ugly? Demir had asked himself that question a thousand times, but he still had no answer.

  Finished packing up Nur's belongings, Demir motioned for the servants who had accompanied him to carry out the baskets: one for sharing, one for charity, one for throwing out. He carried the chest himself, setting it on the hall floor briefly to lock the door and hang a cluster of white silk flowers he'd brought with him, delivered only an hour ago. They would stay there for six months, or until he was forced to take them down to make room for a new concubine. Because Divine knew His Majesty would probably not bother to wait the full six months of mourning.

  Retrieving the chest, he motioned for the servants to take the baskets to where the concubines could look through them later, and the charity one to a storeroom until it was ready to be taken into the city.

  Carrying the chest, he returned to the front entrance of the harem hall, formally known as the Jeweled Garden. Though called a hall, it was really more a wing of the palace. Those who entered stepped into the enormous front hall. Directly across from the entrance were two doors: one led to his office, the other to his private quarters. To the left of the entrance was the section of the hall reserved for the concubines of the queen and princesses. To the right of the entrance was the section reserved for the concubines of the king and princes. Currently, the only concubines occupying it were Kagan's and a few of the late queen's who had remained after her death. His Majesty's children had never had the chance to form their own harems.

  When they reached the entry hall, he handed the chest off to waiting guards, who bowed low before taking it away to give to Nur's family.

  Demir watched them, then looked around the entrance hall, ensuring all was well—as well as could be expected, anyway.

  The entrance to the Jeweled Garden was a wide archway framed by columns painted dark red. The walls were red as well, further decorated with gold stripes laid to form a diamond pattern. The floor was comprised of tiles of red, blue, green, and gold. On each side of the wide entry hall were three circular nooks, framed by columns that matched the entrance, set in the floor with steps leading down into them. Each was lined with padded benches, a small table in the middle for trays of wine and food.

  Only one nook was occupied, a far cry from when he was a boy and the harem hall was a bustling, happy place. Concubines studying, practicing, entertaining guests, always ready to serve their king and queen. Since Kagan had come to power, it had become a place where the concubines hid and waited, did only what they must, many of them wishing they were anywhere else, never having been given a choice in the matter.

  The remaining ten guards stood stone-faced, posture tense instead of simply at attention. They were dressed all in black but with red sashes across their chests that marked them as serving the royal harems. Three concubines were huddled together in one of the inset circular benches along one side of the room, a guard standing in front of them. They cried quietly together, and Demir recognized them as those who had lived immediately beside and across from Nur.

  It would not do for the wrong person to wander into the harem hall and see them crying. Demir caught the eye of the guard standing protectively in front of them. "Take them to the garden for a little while, have wine brought. If they still are too distressed to return to their rooms, they can sleep in mine tonight."

  "Yes, Lord Demir," the guard replied and bowed before turning and attending to the concubines.

  Demir returned to his office and settled behind his desk, looking over the paperwork, sorting out what needed to be done. He paused as he came to the schedule for that evening, frowning at the note Ruth, his head guard, had left.

  The frown turned into a scowl as he read the note. Merciful Divine preserve him, he was going to kill His Majesty. King Kagan had demanded dancers for the Festival of Winter Stars. For three months he had done nothing but harangue Demir endlessly about the dancing. Now he was demanding dueling instead? With singing to follow. Divine grant him patience.

  Standing again, Demir returned to the concubines' living quarters. "In the practice hall, now!"

  Twenty-
four concubines in all followed him out of the living quarters and back to the main hall, then down another hallway to the practice rooms. All the way at the end was the primary practice hall, nearly as large as the grand dining room.

  Fifteen of the concubines were dancers, meant to perform in three groups at certain intervals throughout the long, elaborate banquet. They had been practicing the Starlight Dances for months. Demir half-hoped they rioted. Unfortunately, like him, they were long used to their cruel, mercurial king.

  When they were assembled, Demir stood on the small dais against the wall, looking out over his concubines, chest aching with the recent loss of Nur and the dread of which one the king would kill next. They were beautiful, all of them, and worked so hard to be excellent concubines despite the fact they'd nearly all been forced into the life.

  Each one snatched from his life because the king took a fancy and wanted another flower for his garden. Too many killed because they had been easy targets for the king's anger.

  "His Majesty has sent me a note ordering that instead of the dance, we are to prepare a duel. Dancers, be certain you are ready anyway. I have no doubt he will change his mind again at the last moment. Duelists, practice the routines we used for the summer festivities, add whatever variations you are comfortable with. Where are my singers?"

  "Here, Your Majesty," called a familiar voice from the back belonging to a tall, beautiful woman with hair that nearly reached the floor, swaying heavily with jeweled beads and tiny bells at the end.

  Normally on the death of their monarch, concubines were released from service. But most of the twenty women who had formed the late queen's harem had remained, partly because His Majesty was fond of their singing and dancing, but also because the life of a concubine offered more security than striking out on their own after so many years in the palace. And every day they waited in dread that their time would run out, that they would be cast out, or worse draw his ire and be killed.

  And no one could do anything because there was no heir. Crown Prince Ihsan had gone to war, against all laws, five years ago and had not been heard from in nearly four. Prince Altan had been exiled by the king eight years ago, and two years ago his only daughter, Princess Zehra, had become pregnant out of wedlock and was executed for the crime.

  Demir still remembered how she had trembled in his arms before boarding the ship he'd bribed to take her away. Smuggling her out had not been easy, but the danger had been worth it. He prayed every day that she was safe and happy.

  If only Ihsan or Altan would return; either of them had to be better than King Kagan. But the likelihood of that was practically non-existent. Altan had been exiled at age fifteen. If alive, he would be twenty-three, only three years past the age of adulthood, and in exile it was unlikely he had learned anything of what it took to rule a country. Crown Prince Ihsan would be recently turned twenty-six, but he'd been at war the past five years, and not communicated with the palace for four of those. Nor had anyone heard from his wife, Princess Euren, who would legally be allowed to take the throne though it wouldn't make anyone happy to have someone not a blood member of the royal line as their monarch. Though no formal pronouncement had ever been made, the entire palace believed Prince Ihsan dead. If he was alive, there was a strong chance he'd abandoned Tavamara entirely. The only way there would be an heir to the throne was for Kagan to marry again, which seemed unlikely.

  Demir left the concubines to begin their practice and slipped away again. He wanted to quit the whole miserable, wretched day when he saw Steward Bulut standing in the entrance hall. His garish robes looked unseemly even against the myriad colors of the entrance hall.

  The robes were bright red, drawing out the yellow tones in Bulut's skin in a way that made it look unhealthy. They were heavily embroidered in gold, green, and orange thread, the wide cuffs of his outer robe decorated with beadwork and gold tassels. He wore enough rings on his fingers to rival the concubines, who seldom went anywhere without being heavily draped in jewels.

  And he was looking at Demir the same way he always did: like he was a piece of meat Bulut couldn't wait to devour. "Good day, Steward. How can I help you?"

  "I came to be certain you were aware of His Majesty's desired changes for the banquet tonight?"

  "Yes, Steward," Demir replied. "The duelists are practicing now, and the rest are preparing should there be further changes. We will not disappoint."

  Bulut nodded. "Good. Walk with me, I want to speak with you about another matter."

  "As you wish, Steward." He followed Bulut out of the relative safety of the harem hall, walking with him through the palace.

  The palace was built roughly as a series of three rectangles, one inside the other. Since it had been erected, much had been added on and changed, but that original structure remained intact. Precious few were allowed within the innermost rectangle, which housed the royal family, the harems, and private amenities for the royal family.

  When he was a child, the inner sanctum had been a lively, happy place. Demir had loved his lessons, the time he spent shadowing his mother or father. As he'd gotten older, started to learn what he would need to know to someday inherit the role of Harem Master, he had looked forward to the honor. But then the king and queen had died of illness, and Kagan's vindictiveness, the meanness that had been curbed and mitigated by his parents, had come to the fore and worsened.

  Being Harem Master had turned so stressful for his mother, she had retired early—and nearly taken Demir with her, upset at the thought of abandoning him to the nightmare their sacred position had become. Demir had refused; he would not abandon the harem just because it had turned into a difficult, sometimes dangerous duty.

  In the years since Demir had assumed the role, the problems had increased tenfold. His only true goal now was to keep as many of the concubines alive as possible until age or assassin took Kagan's life. Hopefully whoever replaced Kagan would prove wiser and kinder.

  He held his tongue as Bulut continued on in silence. It was rude to speak first when with a superior, and Bulut loved to trip people up.

  The silence held until they came to the little fish pond in a pretty, open area meant for relaxing and talking. It smelled of fresh water and bright greens, the sweet honey flowers scattered about. Bulut sat on one of the lush padded benches tucked against the wall, just out of sight of anyone who might happen to stroll past the room no matter what direction they came from.

  Stomach churning, Demir sat down next to him, putting as much space between them as he could without appearing rude. He tensed when Bulut rested a hand on his arm and began to stroke the lines of his tattoos. They had taken a long time to complete. Each arm, starting just below the wrist, was covered in a colorful swirl of flowers and vines, birds and clouds, fish and water, all the way up to and across his shoulders, joining at his collar bone and the top of his spine in the back. His family had always borne impressive tattoos, for as long as they had served the rulers of Tavamara. The Harem Masters were meant to be as impressive as the jewels they protected and cared for. And like those jewels, they weren't supposed to be touched save by their monarch or with permission, but Bulut ignored that rule like he did so many others.

  "The council will be discussing whether or not to abolish the practice of harems," Bulut said. "It has long been a source of contention from our foreign visitors, and Tavamara needs to look good to the wider world. In light of recent tragedies, the idea has even more appeal."

  Demir drew a breath and held it, counted to twenty, and then let it out slowly. He was long used to the whining and whispering from foreigners about the harems, but that they were whining loudly enough to convince the court to get rid of them… He was not inclined toward violence, but right then he wanted to hit something. When he was relatively certain his voice would come out even, he replied, "I would rather be a disgrace to the rest of the world than dishonor the Divine and all those who have come before. There is nothing to be ashamed of in passion and devotion."

>   "There is no passion and devotion in His Majesty's harem; there hasn't been for a long time," Bulut said, still stroking Demir's arm, fingers lingering in a possessive fashion that left Demir cold. "It's greed and gluttony and lust. It's embarrassing and serves no point. The matter is to be discussed in earnest at the next full meeting. All the councilors currently not in residence will be arriving throughout the week."

  "It will never pass. The people will regard the king as weak and unloved, especially with the queen dead and his children lost." A worthy ruler was one surrounded by passion and devotion, by men or women who spent their lives serving. A good monarch was one with a loving spouse at their side, happy children behind them, and devoted concubines around them.

  They had not had a good monarch in too long. Even the late king had simply been passable, his harem weak and perfunctory, but at least they had more or less wanted to be in the harem. Kings so cruel as to force men to be their concubines should have been a thing of the past.

  "Oh, I think it will," Bulut said. "People are tired of seeing money wasted on pretty boys who do nothing but dance and swing swords all day. Tired of their young men being snatched away to become jewels. And today makes how many you have buried this month alone?"

  "Four," Demir replied. Four men, two of them only seventeen, none of them properly of age. It was disgusting. Demir had grown up with stories of the great harems, fierce soldiers and powerful lords and ladies who cast aside everything to spend their lives loving their kings or queens. Harems that lived in happiness and harmony, not a constant state of fear. His ancestors had been masters of those great harems. If the council had their way, it sounded like Demir would be the last Harem Master, dismissed because of shame. "I do not think doing away with the harems is right. Tavamara is not other nations; we should not have to be like them to be accepted. We should stand proud of what we are, what we believe, and fix what has gone wrong—not sweep it out the door to be quickly forgotten."

  Bulut's fingers climbed higher, thick and heavy, too warm as they brushed Demir's shoulder, his throat, up to his cheek. Demir held carefully still, focused on his breathing, thinking of the hot bath he would have later to scrub away the residue of Bulut's touch. "The council will do what is best for Tavamara. Sometimes a tradition becomes outdated. It is sad, but the way of things. Only the Merciful Divine are eternal. But I knew you would be concerned and that is why I came to speak to you now."