The harem buzzed with whispers that morning. Servants moved quickly, their movements marked by an air of anticipation.
Something was different. Something had changed.
Jahima watched from the silk lounge near the fountain, her hair perfect, her gold bangles catching the light. She sipped rosewater slowly, deliberately, pretending not to notice the stir around her, but she noticed everything.
When two palace attendants crossed the threshold and made their way directly to Aneesa's quarters, every woman in the courtyard paused.
Jahima straightened, lips parting. They did not knock. They simply entered.
Moments later, they emerged with a folded robe, a scroll case, a worn pouch of pressed flowers, and the small silver hair comb Aneesa often wore tucked beneath her veil.
Zaynah, the head of the harem, met them at the door, brow furrowed.
"What is this?" she demanded.
One of the attendants handed her a sealed letter. Zaynah read in silence, her eyes widening slightly. Then narrowing. She turned to the women of the harem; voice clipped and formal.
"By order of the Malika, Aneesa bint Omar is to be removed from the harem. She will be relocated to the royal wing of the Alhambra, under royal protection, and granted the provisional title of Advisor to the Crown."
There was an instant ripple of gasps.
"She is not to be addressed as a concubine," Zaynah continued. "Nor to be summoned or spoken to without direct invitation. Her position now supersedes the harem."
The courtyard fell into stunned silence, and then, slowly, every head turned to Jahima. Her goblet was still raised in her hand, but her knuckles were white around it.
She smiled. A tight, poisonous grin, and set it down with perfect grace.
"Well," she said, "isn't that fascinating."
Another concubine dared to whisper, "Aneesa... Advisor? She's not even from the court."
"She's from a bookshop," another added, disbelief tinged with awe. Jahima rose, silk dancing around her ankles.
"Perhaps the rest of us should start selling parchment and humility," she said, eyes dark. "Apparently, ambition no longer requires lineage."
She turned to Zaynah. "And what of the prince? Did he request this…ascension?"
Zaynah hesitated. "The Malika speaks for the crown."
That was answer enough.
Jahima's smile faltered. She turned away without another word, more steadfast in her conviction to destroy Aneesa with the evidence she left behind.
-----
The Malika's wing of the Alhambra was nothing like the harem. It was quiet...almost too quiet. No laughter. No gossip. No perfumed competition. Just long corridors of scented air, velvet cushions, and courtyards carved in ornate stone, lined with intricate transcriptions in Arabic.
Aneesa's new chamber was small but beautiful, with arched windows, a low carved bed covered in fresh linen, and a desk she hadn't yet touched.
There were no guards posted outside her door, but she knew she was always watched.
Still, as the sun dipped behind the courtyard walls, casting the mosaic tiles in gold, she felt something she hadn't in weeks.
Room to breathe.
She smiled and fell onto the bed, allowing herself to live in the moment. Grateful for the fate she once thought would be her ruin.
Tariq entered silently as if the walls already knew him. He wore no royal robe, just a linen tunic, sleeves rolled to the elbow. His eyes were soft and searching when he saw Aneesa lying on the bed; her robe accidentally bunched at her thighs.
"I wanted to see how you were settling in," he said, walking toward her.
She clumsily sat up and fixed her robe before answering in surprise, "You're here."
"I am here," he smiled.
Stepping into her as she reached for him without thinking, their lips touched effortlessly. The kiss was slower this time. Less storm, more gravity. Their hands found their way, like memory.
He laid her gently on the bed. His lips trailed down her throat as he slipped her robe from her shoulders, using his large hands to caress her breasts, gently tugging at her nipples.
"Tariq," she moaned as he buried his face in her chest; teasing her with his tounge, he sucked firmly.
"Every time you utter my name, I want to explore all of you," he said as he held her in his mouth. Aneesa naturally parted her legs to receive him, and he stopped to stare at her flushed face.
He chuckled devilishly.
"Are you so eager to have me?" he asked with a mischievous smile. Aneesa felt embarrassed and moved to close her legs, but he forced them back open, holding them apart firmly.
"No," he said, scolding her, "Don't deny me."
He then took her hand, placing it between her legs.
"Feel how wet you are? Why would you deny yourself?"
His words made Aneesa open wider as he held her hand with his own, their hands now rubbing her wetness together. He moved faster, her moans grew louder, and when she was on the edge of her release, he removed his hand and watched hungrily as she continued.
She lost herself in the pleasure, no longer ashamed.
Yes," he said, "Just like that."
Aneesa opened her eyes to see him bare-chested, body like stone, his manhood large and eager to be inside her. In the darkness of the room, his eyes seemed to glow brighter as hers rolled back in her head. She moaned and shook in her climax, and he pushed into her depths.
"Tariq," she moaned, arching her hips to pull him deeper inside her most sensitive part.
She moaned and squirmed as he filled her slowly.
"You squeeze me so…," he said, almost lost for words. "Relax…so that I may give you all of me."
Aneesa allowed her hips to ease, and he began rubbing at her button to soften the tension, causing her desire to pool between her legs even more.
"That's it," he said, encouraging her as he went deeper. Then faster, eventually losing control of his own need to fill her. He growled, and she moaned his name louder. The sounds of their bodies crashing together echoed in her chamber.
This time, there was no shame.
Only the rhythm of two people choosing each other, fully and without hiding.