by Seja Majeed
‘He’ll hurt you if you go any closer.’
‘No, he won’t. Animals are no different to men; all they need is a little bit of affection to make them do anything you want,’ said Sulaf. She reached out her arm, wanting to touch him. ‘Every heart can be tamed if it willingly chooses to surrender,’ she said, grabbing the reins.
‘Don’t!’ shouted Marmicus. But he couldn’t stop her in time. Orisus reared, jerking his head back, and the reins with it, and Sulaf slipped, falling to the ground. The fall was sudden and painful. She looked up, seeing a flash of hooves above her, her body at his mercy. Marmicus jumped up quickly, reaching to pull Orisus back before he trampled her. ‘I told you to let him be; ill-tempered hearts can never be tamed,’ said Marmicus, as he pulled the horse away and wrapped the reins around a tree. ‘Are you hurt? Give me your hand; let me help you up.’
‘I’m fine, just a little shocked,’ Sulaf said. She slid her hand through his, clasping it tightly, and an energy passed through her, one of undeniable lust and desire. Touching him was worth the fall.
‘You’re lucky he didn’t land on you. Even if he had, he’s not the one to blame; you always cause trouble wherever you go,’ Marmicus said. But he knew exactly why she had done it; it had been to prove her courage.
‘I think you’ll find it was Orisus who was the troublemaker here. What horse doesn’t like to be touched? They are meant to be ridden.’
Marmicus shook his head. Sulaf’s stubborn nature never failed to amaze him; she had not changed. Either way, he was glad she had come. He looked out over the valley, breathing in the fresh air and feeling calmed by its serenity. This place did wonders for his mind.
‘I’ve seen so many kingdoms and palaces, but if I could choose to spend the rest of my life in any place in the world, I would choose to live here, away from the troubles of men, and the spoils of kings,’ said Marmicus.
‘There was a time when you hated this place,’ said Sulaf.
‘I didn’t understand the world then; now I do,’ said Marmicus, looking at her. For a moment he forgot she knew almost everything about him; now and then he would always be reminded. ‘How’s your son? Is he still practising his sword fighting?’
‘He doesn’t miss a day of training, and every part of his body is now bruised, thanks to you. I should never have introduced you to each other; you’re all he can talk about, even when he sleeps.’ Sulaf placed her hand on his arm, as if wanting to thank him for spending time with her son. Marmicus looked at her, saying nothing, but responding to her sensual touch. ‘You would have been a good father. I hope you know that, Marmicus.’
Sulaf may have failed to hypnotise his horse, but Marmicus had certainly fallen for her magic. He looked at her, staring deeply into her eyes. Although he didn’t say anything, he silently gave her permission to do what she had always wanted to do. He looked at her lips, as if hypnotised by them, and for the first time he wanted her to kiss him. Right now, at this moment, he had neither the wish nor the willpower to refuse her.
‘How do you know?’ whispered Marmicus, still looking at her lips.
Sulaf drew closer and tilted her head, recognising that he wanted her.
‘Just a woman’s intuition,’ she whispered, as her lips touched his. They brushed against each other softly, and then more passionately. Sulaf closed her eyes; she could feel his strong hands around her face, and feel his lips moving against hers. Their mouths opened and closed as they touched and tasted each other, savouring the moment. The colours of the world disappeared, leaving only a tingling sensation inside her that made her feel alive. Is this really happening? she thought, as she felt him breathe against her ear as he kissed it. Her heart pounded. Every second was bliss.
‘I’ve always been yours,’ Sulaf murmured as she wrapped her arms around his neck, hoping that their kiss would lead to much more. She knew she was exploiting his vulnerability but she didn’t care; this was what she wanted …
***
Sulaf pulled at his shirt, wanting him to follow her onto the ground; there was no better place for her to cement her affections than here, where they grew up together. Marmicus looked at her, knowing exactly what she wanted from him. He followed her, lying on top of her as she stretched out on the grass. He knew he didn’t love her, but selfishly he wanted to feel loved by her. Sulaf was powerfully seductive and confident; they were traits that few men could resist. She ran her hands across his chest, and up through his hair, biting her lips as she did so. Marmicus wanted to feel her body against his. He missed the closeness; the feeling was new and different and meant nothing emotionally to him, but at this moment it felt good. Sulaf moaned as he ran his hand up her thigh, and began to kiss her neck, enjoying the sounds she made when he did.
‘Take me now; make love to me as I’ve dreamt you would,’ Sulaf said, only to regret her words. Marmicus stopped kissing her and pushed himself back, breathing heavily. His rational mind had broken free of her hypnotic clutches.
‘Desire can never replace love; if that’s what you want, I can’t give it to you,’ whispered Marmicus as he drew his lips away from hers; and he looked at her, waiting for her answer.
‘Then don’t love me, just desire me,’ Sulaf whispered, pulling him back and kissing him again, secretly hoping her words would satisfy him.
‘I can’t, not now,’ said Marmicus. He slowly untangled Sulaf’s arms from around his neck; a cold and humiliating gesture in the circumstances.
‘I’m offering you my heart without any expectation of receiving yours.’
‘I can’t take your love and offer you nothing in return; you might not hate me now, but you would later.’
‘No I wouldn’t,’ said Sulaf, trying to stop him from getting up. ‘I’m offering you my body and heart freely – are you too perfect to accept it when every other man would? What’s been taken can never be brought back to life. Marmicus, you love the princess, but she’s dead and so too is her love for you. I’m giving you my body and heart instead – take them.’ A rush of raw emotions left her reacting without restraint. Marmicus walked towards his stallion, saying nothing, not even acknowledging what she had said.
‘Well? Won’t you say anything?’
‘It is not about perfection; it’s about principle. I don’t want to be the man who ends up hurting you.’
‘Principled men can’t exist in this world. If they do, they either lose their convictions along the way or are killed fighting for them. It’s in our nature to be human; to desire things we can’t have or to love things by half-measure. You make yourself inhuman by what you expect from others and yourself. I don’t need you to love me; all I need is for you to want me.’
‘Maybe you’re right, maybe truly principled men don’t exist, but it’s better to be a visionary or idealist than to be a man or woman who believes in nothing and settles for less. I’ve always been the former. I thought you knew that.’
Marmicus mounted his horse in one swift motion, gripping the leather reins tightly in his hands, wanting to leave her. ‘You’ll find someone worthy of you. One day he’ll cherish you and love you, the way you deserve to be loved; but I can never be that man for you. I’m a warrior who’s already sacrificed his heart in the name of someone else. And, as you said, what’s been taken away can never be brought back to life. Your heart can never restore mine, and my heart can never offer you the love you wish for. All I can offer you is my friendship; it’s up to you if you want to take it.’
The Gallant Warrior rode away, leaving Sulaf to pick up the pieces of her heart. Unrequited love had stabbed her in the chest, showing no remorse or consideration for her feelings. She felt cheap and used; bitter and jealous. Marmicus had glorified the princess to the point that nothing could tarnish her; she was absolutely perfect to him, and Sulaf was nothing but filth by comparison. Even though he was trying to protect her, what he had done to her then had hurt her more than he could possibly have imagined. She was never perfect, Marmicus, thought Sulaf. I know you love
me; I can feel it – you just need to realise it. I’ll journey to the Black Mountain for you, and when I’m there, I’ll make sure I greet the oracle with your heart in my hands …
39
Past memories of love have a way of strengthening the soul whenever it is faced with times of calamity; Larsa pressed the letter against her lips as if she were clutching her last hope in her hands. She imagined Marmicus holding the papyrus just as she did, touching the soft paper against his fingertips, reading every single word that was written on it. She wondered how he would react to the news of her pregnancy. Would his eyes well up from happiness, or would it make him even more worried about her safety?
‘Nothing can harm us as long as our hearts are bound together,’ Larsa whispered. She kissed the letter, cherishing this brief, and well-earned, moment of happiness; that is, until she realised she was no longer alone. Larsa rushed from the balcony, her hands trembling. She looked around the room, trying to find a safe place to hide the papyrus. Everything seemed too exposed and open; if anyone found it she would risk losing the one thing that kept her fighting to survive.
‘Too frightened to sleep, princess?’ said Nafridos, looking at her. He was surprised to find the princess awake at this late hour. Larsa still clutched the papyrus, hiding it behind her back.
‘What do you want?’ asked Larsa. She stood still, secretly praying that he would not come any closer.
‘What every man wants from a beautiful woman at night,’ he said, resting his back against the door, looking her up and down.
‘If you touch me before your emperor does, you’ll die, so leave before he finds out; or else, come closer. Either way, I’ll be happy to know that I’m the reason you die.’
Nafridos laughed, admiring the fact that she was calling his bluff; it was good to be on the receiving end of a woman’s power. She was right, though – as long as Jaquzan wanted an heir from her she was protected, making her off-limits to any man, including him.
‘Touch you, princess? I’m a grown man; we hunger for much more than that,’ said Nafridos, walking to her. Larsa’s hands sweated as she watched him approach. She thought what she said would have stopped him, but it had the opposite effect; it enticed him. Larsa tried her best to act normally, but she felt her body shake with every step he took. The papyrus was still in her hands; there was only one thing she could do. Larsa dropped it behind her back, praying and hoping that it would fall where he would not see it.
‘What a man can’t have, he desires more,’ Nafridos said, stopping in front of her. He raised his hand. At first Larsa thought he wanted to hit her, but instead he stroked her cheek, looking at her with burning desire. ‘Be careful who you choose to side with, princess; it’s better to side with no one than to make an enemy of everyone. The emperor may be my cousin, but my loyalty only lasts up to a point. If I can’t have you today, then I’ll have you tomorrow.’
Larsa said nothing. All she could think about was the papyrus and how she could potentially lose everything. At last, Nafridos turned away; the tight knot in the pit of her stomach disappeared immediately, only for it to come back in a matter of moments. As Nafridos walked away, he saw a flicker of gold like that of a flame on the floor. Lying upon the stone floor was the epistle that contained of all her hope: the papyrus, a letter that had been written with love – words poured onto it with passion – and inspired by hope. The wind from the open balcony had carelessly blown it towards her enemy’s feet …
40
The Dark Warrior had seen the papyrus. The folded sheet lay in front of his feet; nothing could conceal its existence now. Help me please, goddess Ishtar; save my infant, please. Nafridos reached for the papyrus, his fingers outstretched, ready to clasp the golden sheet. Remembering his words, Larsa realised she possessed something of a distraction. With no time to spare, she prepared to enter the battlefield, with her beauty as her only weapon.
Larsa remembered her father’s words: Power is a simple game of exploitation and tactic; find out your enemy’s weakness before he finds out yours, Larsa. Be sure to understand it well. Once you’ve learnt your enemy’s flaws, be aware of your strengths, and use every method to break him by exploiting them. Eventually the lion will kneel before you in surrender and you’ll be his master.
‘You’re right, I shouldn’t make an enemy of you, not when you could be the most powerful man in Assyria,’ said the princess. She walked to him and stopped in front of the papyrus. She stood on it. Nafridos looked up. Her white dress and dark hair blew in the wind. She looked like a goddess, but something had changed about her; her eyes were filled with a darkness that he had never seen in her before.
‘Let me help you become what you’re capable of being,’ she said. ‘All I ask is one thing in return.’
‘What’s that?’ Nafridos whispered, drawn to her like a moth to a flame.
‘I’m a slave who needs her freedom. Give it to me, and I’ll thank you with more than words,’ Larsa promised. She came to him like a glorious feline seeking affection; she seductively lifted his chin up with her fingertip, making sure he looked only at her face. Following the pull of her beauty, Nafridos rose. The plan was working; he was distracted from the papyrus, looking only at her. He desired her more than he could ever have imagined, which left him unable to think with clarity – precisely what she had intended.
‘What about the Gallant Warrior?’
‘My love for him has turned into hatred. How can I love someone who has chosen to leave me here alone?’
‘Then you give me permission to kill him,’ said Nafridos.
‘Yes,’ she whispered, looking into his eyes.
‘How do I know you’re not deceiving me, princess?’ asked Nafridos.
‘I have no reason to deceive you,’ she whispered. ‘But I do have every reason to support you. There’s an ancient proverb in my kingdom which says, “allegiance lies in the heart of the sword”. Grant me my freedom and I promise you that I’ll offer you my heart, my body and the allegiance of my sword.’ The princess was attempting to lure him with her lips, pronouncing every word and syllable. Larsa knew that words would make no difference to a man who communicated only with actions; she had to convince him by some other means, and she knew what method would do the trick. She grabbed his head, pulling him forward, and kissed him on the lips, wanting to blind him to her true intentions. Her purity meshed with his brutal aura as water mixes with oil. Forgive me, Marmicus, it’s the only way I can save our child, she thought, as her lips locked with his. The vision of her butchered servants came to her mind, filling her with guilt and disgust. Nafridos opened his eyes, watching her for a moment as she kissed him. He wanted to know if she was enjoying it; it seemed that she was. She let go abruptly, leaving him crazy for more. Nafridos licked his lips like a dog satisfied after a meal, and wiped his mouth. He knew he would have to wait.
‘Do you know what I’ll do to you if I find out you’re lying to me?’ whispered Nafridos. His warm breath flowed against her skin as he kissed her neck and licked her ear; she felt her skin almost rupture with revulsion, but she hid her feelings well.
‘What?’ Larsa said, her voice still filled with false pleasure.
‘I’ll cut out your tongue so you won’t be able to tell another lie. I’d like to think of it as a service to every man who has been deceived by a woman. Do you understand?’
‘Yes,’ Larsa whispered. She was under his control and at his mercy. But despite his vulgar words she showed no sign of turning back. Instead, she looked into his eyes and smiled. Larsa knew that if she hesitated for the briefest moment Nafridos would distrust her, with consequences beyond imagining.
‘Good girl,’ he said, stroking her face; then he walked away, still tasting the sweetness of her purity. Fortunately for Larsa, her ploy had worked. However, it had come at a price: her self-respect. She burst into tears, collapsing to the floor. Forgive me, Marmicus …
41
In a bid to revive his friendship with the Gallan
t Warrior, King Nelaaz of Aram had finally come up with a strategic plan that could potentially erase his past mistakes. He had thought long and hard about what he could do to regain Marmicus’s allegiance and trust, and after many hours of twiddling his thumbs and sweating profusely, he had thought of a plan that was exceptionally tactful, considering the size of his intellect.
However, formulating a plan was very different to implementing one; to have influence you need to be influential, and to be influential you need someone with standing to support you in your enterprise. This was precisely why the king had called upon the Grand Priest of Ursar and the young Priest of Xidrica to help him in his bid to persuade Marmicus. The hard part was trying to convince them to follow him into his personal battle.
‘Give me more air; I’m bathing in my wretched sweat,’ the chubby king demanded. The servants waved the ostrich fans; over time their skinny arms had developed muscles the size of watermelons. King Nelaaz patted a cloth over his forehead and used the same material under his armpits. The Grand Priest of Ursa looked at him with revulsion.
‘Why are you still here? You were ordered to leave this kingdom; I see you’ve disobeyed even those simple orders,’ snorted the Grand Priest. He sat down, the Priest of Xidrica following suit. They had no idea why King Nelaaz had wished to see them both.
‘I won’t leave this kingdom, not until I’ve restored my friendship with the Gallant Warrior, and made amends for my mistake,’ said King Nelaaz, shooing away his servants, wanting space to talk openly without unnecessary eyes and ears listening in.
‘Do you take us for fools?’ said the Grand Priest. ‘You don’t care about your treachery! The truth is, you need Marmicus to protect you from the savages who are waiting to kill you in your own kingdom; your concerns have nothing to do with making amends.’ He stroked his white beard; the sight of the king perspiring in front of him left him feeling sick. He would have preferred the sweaty king to keep the servants next to him, fanning him, rather than have to watch him melt in the heat.