The Desert Falcon

Chapter 17, Heralding Victories

Author's Note/Warning:  Please be Advised this Chapter is Dark.  I am especially giving this warning because the nature of this chapter can be triggering for some.   Please take precautions.

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Sunlight filtered into the room, awakening me. I was aware I was in the Sultan's bed, completely naked. I felt a familiar soreness between my legs and even my own body lingered with a sense of physical exhaustion.

The events of last night drifted into my mind as it began to piece together the carnal acts that we engaged in. My back was cradled against his torso, an arm thrown around my waist in a possessive hold, pulling me closer to the shelter of his warmth. The early morning chill permeated the air and as gently as I could, I began to maneuver myself from beneath his arm.

The maneuvering took several moments, before I was safely able to extract myself without waking him. I could not bear the morning humiliation. I could recall my every movement and even my ardent participation in the coupling. At the time I had done so in an effort to prove that he did not command my body, but I had little inkling as to whether he perceived it that way.

I located my clothes, donning them on quickly, despite the provocative nature of the attire for the early morning hours. I did not hear the call for Morning Prayer, which meant it was early indeed. I could not seem to adjust the midriff-baring blouse accordingly, for no matter how I positioned my choli, it seemed to disagree with my desire to cover the tops of my bosoms. I winced every time I moved, for my anklet seemed to give away every step I took. The soft silence that befell the room was pierced by the jingle of my jewelry. I feared to even observe the broken shards of my bracelets on the Sultan's bed, left damaged by his restraint of me.

My hair had come undone and I quickly loosened the tangled strands. The Sultan carried no hair combs for me to accomplish the task, so I settled for my hands, which was a feat in and of itself.

"M'ashallah," a voice spoke.

I quickly whipped around, my hair shifting behind me in my hurried momentum. My gaze shifted to the Sultan lounged upon the cushions of the bed, observing me carefully with a heated lust. I was thankful he had somehow donned on loose tunic pants. What was disturbing however, was the quickness with which he went about doing so. I had not heard him move at all.

Sheikh Rashid stood up, completely naked from the waist up, discarding the sheets before him, as he approached me in his unhurried way. I stood tensing, my heart beating fast, as I glanced at him. A sense of fear took place, as I felt caught within his realm. I was at his mercy and he had caught me once more attempting to sneak out, before the rest of the palace came to life. He stopped just before me, as he reached out to play with the silky strands of my hair.

"You have such silky hair," Sheikh Rashid spoke in awe. "It is a sight to behold. It pleases me greatly to see it uncovered when you come to me."

"It is not appropriate," I answered him once more, but there lied my lack of conviction. In truth, I did not so much as care for the modesty of covering one's head, but it was out of respect for those who sought to cling to the teachings of such modesty that I covered myself up for. If I had it my way, I would go without, but with the way the world was, it was oftentimes not safe. I utilized the covering more for the freedom to go out at odd hours than for the honor of my family.

Perhaps, that made me a liar, but I realized it was none of anyone's business but my own should I chose to don on the covering or go without. There were other women who chose to go without, mainly those of the upper, wealthier class, for their glorious hair was a sign of their wealth and class. I remembered Sarai and her mother would do so.