Content Warning: This chapter depicts non-consensual advances, which some readers may find distressing. Reader discretion is advised.
--------
The stars over the Alhambra had burned low the night Jahima first stepped into the Harem's borders, slippered feet silent as seemed to float across the stone.
She was seventeen, newly anointed, perfumed in rare oils, draped in a sheer green robe meant only for the Emir's eyes. The Malika herself had selected her because of her ambition. A gift, she was told, to keep the Emir occupied, focused, and satisfied.
But he never called for her. Day after day, she performed this ritual to ready herself for his bed, and she was not summoned.
Not once.
At first, she pretended indifference while jealousy bloomed like mold under her skin. After several weeks, that jealousy changed to anger and resentment. He hadn't summoned her, but he also summoned no one else in the Harem. She knew this for sure.
Jahima's mind raced with a million questions. How could he gaze upon her beauty and not desire her? Was he shy? Was he impotent? Did he prefer something else?
That night, Jahima decided to make herself unforgettable and create the opportunity she needed to capture the Emir's attention once and for all. She did not come here to be a concubine. She came here to ascend to a station beyond her family's meager title. She would have what she wanted even if she had to take it.
The guard who gave her access to the Emir's chamber had done so for a price. Gold and flattery went far with men who lived beneath greatness. She passed him silently, her hands steady despite the hammering in her chest. Her skin bathed in moonlight, and a trail of jasmine lingered in the air behind her.
The chamber door creaked open. The fire in the furnace was burning but weak.
Tariq slept on his back, fully nude, one arm draped across a book on the floor. A small linen blanket covered him at the waist. She gazed at his firm chest, his skin dark, rich, glistening with a thin veil of sweat.
Had he worked himself to sleep? She thought, standing over Tariq, trying to still her anxious breath.
He looked mortal this way. Less like an Emir. More like helpless prey.
She lowered herself beside him, fingers gliding over his chest as he stirred, mumbling in his sleep.
"Tariq," she whispered.
He barely moved. His lips parted slightly.
"Tariq…" she whispered, pressing her crimson lips softly to his neck.
He smiled but did not wake. His manhood did stir, and she watched it grow as she gently glided her fingertips across it before slowly moving the blanket. The sight caught her off guard. It was large and thick. She could barely wrap her fingers fully around it.
He stirred again, and she stopped.
"I miss..." he mumbled.
Was he awake?
Jahima slid to her knees, determined to seize the moment by providing him with pleasure he would not easily forget.
She wrapped her lips around his manhood, and he moaned as she gently slid him deeper inside of her mouth, unable to take his entire length before he pushed against her throat. She sucked sweetly, and his body responded in kind.
His hand found the back of her head, and he grasped tightly at her hair. Pressing himself deep enough that she lost her breath. She pulled back in a gasp for air, and a hand caught her wrist hard.
The Emir shoved her back, and she landed in a heap on the rug, gasping.
"What are you doing here?" he hissed, voice sharp as broken glass. Eyes blazing like a roaring fire.
"I.." she stammered, adjusting her robe. "You never summoned me. I thought…"
"You thought wrong," he snapped, standing over her, still fully erect.
She got onto her knees and bowed deeply before him. "Please allow me to pleasure you," she begged.
"You still carry on. Do you not realize you should not be here, let alone touching me without my permission?"
"I was chosen for you. I…" Jahima said, looking up at the Emir, who was now draped in the linen sheet she had removed.
"I. Don't. Want. You," he said, purposefully exaggerating every word to cut her deeply.
Jahima's throat tightened in embarrassment, and she rose to her feet in defiance. "Then what do you want? Men?"
His eyes flashed. He was still and silent. Even as she stood, he towered over her.
"You are not a question I need to answer," he said. "But let me be clear: try this again, and you'll be dragged from this palace in shame. Learn your place or lose it."
A humiliated rage bubbled behind her eyes.
"You'll regret this," she spat as he shoved her out of his chamber door and slammed the door into her face.
The guard quickly grabbed Jahima, and she was hurriedly rushed back to the Harem's door. She felt, for the first time, utterly hopeless about her decision. She straightened her robe, fixed her hair, and put on the facade she would wear every day thereafter. If she were not the chosen one in his eyes, she would be in the eyes of the Harem.