The Kadin - Bertrice Small [47]
On trembling legs, Cyra allowed herself to be handed out of the litter, and, reluctantly pushing the door open, she entered the prince’s chambers.
It was a pleasant medium-sized room, with a tiled stove in a corner, its fire glowing softly. The walls were hung with thick Kir-Shehr carpets in hues of blue, green, and red. Highly polished brass lamps cast a warm glow, and beneath her feet which seemed to have turned to ice, she felt the softness of another rug.
The room was Spartan in its furnishings, yet rich in its accessories. To the left was a raised marble dais the color of cream, upon which rested a square bed with gold-colored velvet hangings. By the door sat a large wooden chest banded in gilded leather. In a far corner was a low, round table surrounded by multicolored silk cushions. A tall silver censer filled with fragrant burning aloes stood by the bed Directly in front of her, the room opened into a private garden facing the sea. His voice came to her from the garden.
“Come here to me, Cyra.”
Entering the garden, she fell to her knees, her head touching the ground. He raised her up and gravely kissed her on the forehead.
“Never prostrate yourself before me again. It is the act of a menial slave, not an intelligent woman.”
“Thank you, my lord.”
He led her to the balustrade overlooking the sea. “The moon on the water cannot rival your beauty, my dove.”
“Thank you, my lord.”
He scrutinized her closely. “By the Prophet’s beard, they have decked you in the traditional finery, have they not?”
“Yes, my lord.”
A smile on his lips, he fingered the veils, and she shivered.
“Are you cold?”
“Yes, my lord.”
“No wonder. These garments are meant to reveal, not to warm.” He laughed softly. “At the foot of the bed is a woolen robe. Wrap yourself in it”
Reentering the bedchamber, she removed the six veils that covered her and slipped into the soft, white wool robe. It fastened beneath her breasts and fit as if it had been made for her. Moving to return to the garden, she saw the prince standing in the doorway watching her. He, too, wore a long, loose woolen robe.
“Warmer now?”
“Yes, my lord.”
“So far this evening you have said Yes, my lord’ three times, and Thank you, my lord’ twice. You have been much more articulate on other occasions.”
Looking at him, she whispered, her voice close to tears, “I am sorry, my lord.”
He gazed at her a moment A devilish look entered his eyes, and he moved swiftly toward her. Sobbing, she ran from him, to be stopped suddenly by the sound of his laughter.
“I thought so,” he said. “You are still frightened of me. Rest easy, my sweet Cyra. I have yet to force a woman—though once I was tempted.”
“Oh, my lord. I am so ashamed! Please forgive me.”
Moving to her side, he gently put his arm about her. “Come and sit by me, little virgin.” Drawing her down on a pile of cushions, he continued. “Now listen to me. Do you know why I went away after our meeting at the pool?”
“I thought you were displeased with me.”
“No, I was not angry. I was afraid Afraid that if I stayed near you, I should forget my promise to you and possess you by force. Do you smell the aloes, my little one? And do you see through the windows a full moon? Did I not promise you these? Mine are not the actions of a man bent on rape, my precious little fool.”
“I did not think, my lord”
“Which, I have noted, is very unlike you, Cyra. Could it be that you perhaps return some of that which I feel for you?”
He turned her toward him. Her head was lowered hut he could see the blush on her checks.
“Look at me.”
Shyly she raised her face to his, and he was blinded by her shining eyes. Allah, he intoned wordlessly, Allah give me the strength not