Adora told Murad that the entire palace would not be finished in time for their child’s birth. But before he could complain she explained that the baby would still be birthed in the palace, for her own court was to be finished first. The child she carried would be the first Ottoman to be born in Europe.
Adora soothed Murad gently. “You are not,” she told him, “putting up a tent, my lord. Palaces take time to build if they are built to endure. When you and I have long since disappeared from men’s memories, I would have those walking the earth then point to your palace and say, ‘and that is the Island Serai, built by Sultan Murad, son of Orkhan Ghazi. It was the first royal residence built by the Ottomans in Europe, and in it was born the first European Ottoman sultan.’ If your palace is well built, my lord, it will endure forever, a monument to you. But if you force the workmen to build quickly, your palace will not endure longer than your own life span.”
He smiled lovingly at her. “Being full with my seed has not dulled your clever Greek powers of reasoning.”
“I had not heard that carrying a child in the womb shut off the brain, my lord.” Damn! Would he never learn?
He laughed. “Your pretty tongue is as always, my dove, over-saucy.”
She laughed back. “Would you truly have me be as those vapid creatures who populate your bed these nights?” She lowered her eyes and slipped awkwardly to her knees. “Yeth, my lord,” she lisped in a brutally stunning imitation of one of his favorites, “whatever my lord sath. Each word from hith mouth ith a dewdrop of withdom, my lord.”
Murad pulled Adora up and made a wry face. “How can I fault Ali Yahya?” he asked. “Every girl in my harem is exquisite. One is lovelier than the other. But, Allah! They are as stupid as a flock of sheep!”
She teased him without mercy. “But surely that is what you want, my lord. You are always faulting me for my intelligence, saying it is not suitable to a beautiful woman. Now you fault these lovely girls because they lack brains. You are a fickle man, my lord. There is no pleasing you.”
“If you were not so fat with my son, impudent slave, I should beat you,” he growled. But his eyes were merry and his hand on her rounded belly was gentle. Then his voice roughened, and he said, “You are misshapen with the child. Your nose is too long, your mouth too small. Your hair is lank. And yet, you are the most beautiful, exciting woman I have ever seen! What sorcery is this that you practice on me, Theadora of Byzantium?”
Her violet eyes glittered, and he was not sure she wasn’t holding back tears. This touched him, for she was such a proud little creature. “I practice no sorcery, my lord,” she said softly, “unless there is something magical in my love for you.”
“Little witch,” he said low, catching her hand and kissing the palm.
Her marvelous violet eyes caught his, and for the briefest, eeriest second he believed she could read his thoughts. But then she took his hand and placed it on her belly. “The child moves, my love. Can you feel him?”
Beneath his fingers he felt first what seemed a gentle fluttering, but then suddenly the center of his palm was kicked hard. He started, staring down at his hand in wonder, almost as if he expected to see a footprint. She laughed happily.
“He is surely your headstrong son,” she said.
He tenderly drew her into his arms and stroked her swollen breasts.
“Don’t!”
He looked sharply at her, and she blushingly confessed, “It makes me hunger for you, my lord, and you know that it is now forbidden me.”
“I hunger for you too, Adora,” he answered gravely. “Be patient, my dove, and soon we will share a bed again.” And he held her close until, safe in the warmth of his arms, she fell asleep. Only then did he lower her carefully to the pillows. Rising, he pulled the coverlet over her.
He stood for a moment gazing down at her. Then he walked slowly from the room and sought the spyhole that looked down into the common room of the harem. It was early, and his maidens were still up and chattering. They were, he mused, a nice collection. He must remember to compliment Ali Yahya’s good taste. His eye fell on two girls in particular. One was a lovely, fair-skinned, little blonde from northern Greece with large sky blue eyes. Her pretty, round breasts had saucy pink nipples. The other was a tall, dark-skinned beauty from beyond the Sahara Desert.
Watching his women secretly amused him, and he wondered what they would say if they knew he observed them. Nothing, he answered himself. They would say absolutely nothing. They would giggle, pose, and preen, but they would say nothing for there was not half an intelligent thought among them. Their main aim in life was to attract his attention first, and then please him. Why that did not delight him he did not understand.
A beautiful, complacent female offered no challenge. Adora had certainly spoiled him for other women! He had, he chuckled to himself, grown quite used to being fought with-verbally, mentally, and physically-even up to the very moment of surrender. And he found it far more exciting than mere sexual skill. The maidens of his harem cared if they pleased him, fearing not to. Adora loved him, but she feared him not a whit.
He felt a familiar stirring, and acknowledged his need for a woman. No, by Allah! No simple woman but Adora satisfied him anymore. He would send for two maidens, the black maiden and the golden Greek girl. Perhaps together they could quench the fire in his aching loins.
He signaled a slave and commanded him to fetch Ali Yahya. The chief eunuch arrived quickly, and the sultan instructed him. Face impassive, the eunuch bowed low from the waist.
“It shall be as you wish, my lord,” he said. All the while he chuckled inwardly, knowing his plan to gain power was working. Murad was unhappy because the princess was denied him, and he sought to sate himself with two women. Ali Yahya entered the harem knowing full well that, above him, the sultan observed him through the spyhole.
Murad watched carefully, observing the reactions of the two women he had chosen. Their reactions would give him an indication of their characters. The blonde, as he had guessed, was shy. She blushed a pretty pink, her hands flying up to her cheeks, her small mouth making a little “O” of surprised delight, and her blue eyes widening with just a touch of fear.
The dark girl, on the other hand, looked haughtily up at Ali Yahya and smiled seductively. Flicking a scornful glance at the Greek, she said something that caused the other to flush beet red. The chief eunuch tapped the dark one lightly on the cheek in an admonishing gesture, but the black girl simply laughed.
The sultan’s lips drew back in a wolfish smile. A soft kitten and a fierce tigress, he mused to himself. Perhaps the evening would not prove disappointing after all.
The two maidens were brought to him, and the eunuch disrobed them so he might gaze upon them. Side by side they were magnificent-ebony and ivory together.
He looked to the dark girl. “Pleasure me, Leila.” Lying back among the cushions of the bed he allowed her to open his robe and fondle him. The dark girl bent her head and took him in her mouth, her tongue tracing sensual patterns until his root began to swell and fill her mouth.
“Aisha!” The little blond started. “Come!” And the Greek girl lay near him. He spoke again. Leaning over him, she placed a full breast in his open mouth. Sucking on the soft flesh, conscious of the pleasure the dark girl was giving him, he willfully pushed all thought of Theadora from his troubled mind. It was her duty and her privilege to bear his child. It was his right to sate his desires with other women. It was the way of their world, had been since the beginning of that world, and would be until the end of time.