The Harem Wife

The Wedding

It had been three weeks since her father's announcement of her future. Her marriage to the desert king. Her chance at a life she'd only ever dreamed was possible.

The man she'd met and nursed back to health at the well, the man who'd disappeared in the night, the man who'd stolen her heart as well as a barrel of oasis water, would be her husband.

It had taken no time at all to agree to the king's demand for her hand, but it had taken two weeks to prepare for the wedding. While her father had seemed strangely resigned, her mother had nearly caught fire when she'd collapsed near the fire pit at hearing the news. Sabaji had hoped her mother would be happy for her, proud of her for attaining something as exulted as the hand of the khan but—once again—her hopes were shredded.

Her mother, along with her sisters, spat vitriol upon her. At first, they believed the missive a joke, a prank sent by a neighboring oasis, but once they looked upon the royal seal on the small scroll, gazed upon the crest of the Khan of Tamir on the breast of the messenger falcon, they knew the truth. However, that only made them worse. Then began the spitefulness. The comments on how someone as ugly and fat as Sabaji would never please the king. How the king would tire of her quickly and even refuse to bed her, taking out his lusts on his consorts.

How she would be the laughing stock of the kingdom, a jest in jewels, a farce in fine clothes. A clown beneath a crown.

That had stung more than anything, because Sabaji knew full well that Kamal was a rugged, beautiful man—a king—who could have any woman he wanted for his khaneesa. But he'd chosen her.

She wasn't fool enough to think he actually somehow saw her veiled face, desired her, and set out to claim her. No. She had to believe that he remembered a young girl from the well, that he'd sought her out, learned her name and family, and finally deigned to grant that favor he'd offered her in exchange for her help, in the dark of night, so long ago.

Marriage to a khan as a favor for some water, bandages, and an hour of conversation?

Sighing, she pushed aside her thoughts to focus on what was before her.

Her wedding day.

Dressed in the traditional wedding carb of crimson khanka over golden dhoti, her hands decorated in intricate, deep brown tattoos, and her ankles, wrists, and neck adorned with golden chains, she was an eager and yet anxious bride. Yes, she was used to being the focus of unwanted stares, leering, and mean comments, but today...she didn't mind so much. They could watch, they could leer, they could comment, but she'd still be standing before her king, her husband, when it was all over. For the chance at all she'd ever dreamed about, she'd take all their hatred and scorn.

Soon it was time for the wedding to begin. As her parents were already seated in the temple, she was escorted to the temple hall by two servant women who were chattering excitedly among themselves, going on about the great honor it was to aid the future khaneesa.

At the mouth of the great central hall of the temple, where the priests to Gamil, Kadir, and Hanshi worshipped and made offering to the desert gods, Sabaji stopped and stared.

The room was packed with people, colors of silks myriad. Bright, colorful, and all staring at her.

Nervous, she checked to make sure her veil was securely in place, thankful that it was—glad that a veil was part of her wedding garb and not just a beacon for sneers as per usual. The veil was meant to provide modesty and mystery during the ceremony but, that night, in their room, Kamal would remove the veil and look upon her face.

If he didn't already, would he remember her from the well?

Would he remember their time together beneath the blanket of stars? Would he finally gift her with the kiss he promised her...and would that kiss turn into something more?