The Desert Falcon

Chapter 7, Harem Life

The next several days greeted me with the surprise of my servant Fatimah. The eunuch guarding my temporary residence, had guided her to me and I was met with wide eyes of surprise. She threw herself into me, hugging me in relief, before she pulled away.

"I cannot believe it!" Fatimah cried. "You are alive!"

I chuckled a laugh. "Am I supposed to be dead?"

"Your father and Rahim were so worried! We thought you had perished in the desert after you had stolen his horse! Or that the sultan had ordered for your execution! But when we had not heard of any such death sentence, we figured something else must have befallen."

I gave her a look, as I guided her to sit upon the cushions just beside me. Fatimah did not seem so distracted by her surroundings, as she sat gingerly. "So your assumption was that I was to die in one way and if not, I would die in under more horrible circumstances? Also why are you here?"

Fatimah shrugged. "I do not know. I was summoned by one of the sultan's chiefs to attend to you in the harem. I did not argue. My parents believe this is an honor. They think the sultan has chosen you as one of his women."

I began to piece together the puzzle. "The sultan thinks you are my servant?"

Fatimah looked to me. "I suppose so." She looked off around her, distracted by the richness of the apartments I resided in. Like me, I had never seen anything so opulent in my life and I understood Fatimah's wonder.

"And let me guess, your parents did not disabuse them of the notion, thinking this opportunity will bring them greater coin to support them?" I asked her.

Fatimah looked sheepish and cast her eyes downward. "I tried to tell them—"

"It is alright," I assured her with a sigh, as her attention drew up to me in surprise. "I can tell him when I see him..."

Fatimah and I spent the rest of the afternoon talking. She marveled at everything around her, until I pointed out that this was all a façade. The sultan would get bored of me soon and chose another to gift such a lavish abode to. I warned her not to get used to all of this and that this was just another gilded cage.

"You look quite stunning," Fatimah commented, admiring the rich, exquisite tunic I wore.

I glanced down, noting my clothing. I opted to wear loose pants, that cinched at the waist and a long-robed tunic, except the bodice was cut low, showing off the curvature of my bosom. The intricate beading along the tunic, highlighted my delicate waist, showing off my shape. It was the most practical thing I could find in the boudoir, allowing me a measure of movement. I could not bear to wear the heavy pleated skirt or the indecent top that highlighted not only my bosom, but my stomach as well.

I glanced at her wondering if she was comfortable in her own clothing. I went to get up, heading for the boudoir and said, "Would you like to don on something? I think we can find something for you..."

Fatimah rushed immediately. "No! No! I am to serve you."

I looked to her, my brow furrowing. I frowned. "You are not my servant, Fatimah..."

"She certainly looks to be one."

Fatimah and I turned to face the door as a woman, dressed in rich silks entered the domain, as if it was her right. She was sensuous in her movements, her hands decorated in henna, jewelry adorning her neck and wrists, as she swept about the room observing her surroundings. She was dressed in an alluring purple-pink pleated skirt, with gold stitching and beading, paired with a short top, while a swath of a rich, deep purple cloth laid over one shoulder. Her dark brown hair was ornately done, with jewels interspersed within and her light brown eyes held the two of us entranced.