The King's Harem

The only sound in the grand hall was the music of strings, plucked with confidence by strong, knowing hands. Here gentle, there hard, played by memory, the hands moving as if of their own will, the eyes of the man playing closed.

His hair was midnight dark, bound into a long tail by intermittent gold clasps; when he stood, it would stop just short of the floor. Matching gold wound in a thick band around his neck, and though he had matching clasps for his wrists, they had been discarded to avoid interfering with the strings.

When they opened, his eyes would be the color of wet sand, strikingly pale against the cinnamon of his skin. Dressed in black pants and an overlaid floor-length skirt but completely topless, he was one of the most striking men in the room. More than a few said that beauty was what had spared the musician the fate that had befallen his traitorous family. Once the music stopped, those same rumors would resume. He had always ignored them and he would continue to do so; only the words of four men mattered and he knew they did nothing more than listen to the music and admire him while he played. If they whispered anything at all, it was of how they would show their appreciation later.

The thought almost made him smile, but the expression was unfit for the bitter-sweet song of the strings. As the piece came to an end, he wove it into another, the bitter falling away and leaving only the sweet. And as he played, the corners of his mouth tilted ever so faintly, and only the four who knew him well saw that he smiled. He knew they smiled back.

As the music faded away, there was a breath of absolute silence, and he opened his eyes just enough to see those four. The hall filled with applause—some of it genuine, some of it begrudgingly given. No one there dared not clap for the finest musician in the palace.

Especially since he was also the man who had been the first to be taken into the king's harem.

Gingerly, he set his instrument down and bowed to his king, then rose gracefully as the applause reached a crescendo before finally fading away.

"Thank you, Nandakumar." The king was still applauding, stopping only as he descended his dais to take Nandakumar's hands in his own. "Your playing is as magnificent as always."

Nandakumar bowed his head. "It is always a pleasure to play for my king." The corners of his mouth tilted up again, the formality amusing them both.

"And a pleasure it is to hear you play." The king motioned for him to return to his spot on the dais, and after seeing his instrument into trusted hands, Nandakumar did so.

On the raised dais that was reserved for royalty and rare guests was a long, low table. All around the floor were soft, deep pillows for sitting or lounging. At the center was the king's seat, and beside him sat his queen. Around the table sat three men and two women.

Nandakumar took his seat between a man with dark skin and short hair, and a man with fair skin and pale blonde hair. Though his expression never changed, he enjoyed and returned their touches of thanks and appreciation, unseen by others in the gently muted light of the grand hall.

Music far less skilled than his filled the hall and Nandakumar almost felt sorry for the poor young girl who had to follow after him. He sipped wine from a shallow dish, humming in pleasure. Fingers traced the length of his thigh; Beynum expressing his amusement. They never agreed on wine, a long joke between them that a musician should prefer bitter wines and a former pirate the sweet ones.

Nandakumar listened to the entertainment distantly, instinctively noting what was worthwhile and dismissing what was not. Throughout it all he exchanged looks and touches with his companions and king, speaking in soft tones with the queen and her own ladies. He could see it relaxed them, the women still not entirely comfortable with their new life.

Gradually the evening passed, and Nandakumar returned to their chambers with Beynum, leaving Aikhadour and Witcher to escort their king and the queen.

Reaching, the private chambers of the king and his harem, the silence at last broke.

"That last girl, eh?" Beynum said, his restrained smile breaking into a shameless grin. "Enough to make me wish I were deaf."

Nandakumar lifted a brow. "Then however would you hear my music?"

"If anyone could work the miracle of curing deafness, Nanda, it would be you." Beynum laughed. "If only because the idea of someone not hearing your music is wholly intolerable."

"It is intolerable," Nanda replied, sniffing in contempt. "Certainly I don't play so people can look at me."

Beynum laughed again and embraced him loosely from behind, bare chest pressed to Nanda's back, voice in his ear. "You don't like to be looked at, Nanda?"

"Not by that lot," Nanda said in disgust. "It makes me feel dirty, to have their eyes upon me."

A hand brushed the heavy tail of his hair aside, and warm lips explored the back of his neck beneath the gold band, trailing along one shoulder. "Then come and I'll clean you. Hmm, Nanda?"

"If you insist, pirate."

Beynum laughed and turned him around, leaning down to steal a slow, deep kiss.

They broke apart as laughter and chatter spilled into the main chamber, the source of it three men: King Shahjahan and the remaining members of his harem, Witcher and Aikhadour.

Nanda slid from Beynum's arms as the king approached, twining his arms around Shahjahan's neck to accept his expected kiss. "You play as perfectly as always, Nanda. Thank you."

"My pleasure."

Shahjahan laughed as his arms slid along Nanda's body before dropping away. "And what mischief were you and Bey about to get yourselves into?"

"A bath is mischief now?" Bey asked.

Shah laughed and beckoned Bey forward, leaning up to kiss him in greeting. "Where you go, Bey, mischief walks hand in hand. And my well-behaved Nanda has not been so since you joined us."

Bey only grinned and stole another kiss from his king. Then he took Nanda's hand, and together they led the way to the baths where all five men could finally begin to relax.

*~*~*

"Nandakumar, is it not?"

Nanda looked up, startled that someone had been listening to him play. When he realized who had been listening, it was hard to remember how to speak. "Y-Yes, Majesty." He set his instrument aside and bent to touch his forehead to the floor.

King Shahjahan crossed the room, stopping a few feet from him. "Sit up, please. That's a nomadic piece, is it not? Something about stars?"

"Yes, Majesty." Nanda smiled faintly, little more than an uplifting of the corners of his mouth. "It's called The Road of Stars, and is played as a travel song."

"You play it very well."

Nanda kowtowed again. "Your Majesty honors me."

"I've heard quite a few rumors about the talented musician in our midst, but I have been too busy to discern their truth. Having heard you for myself, I can see the rumors do not do you justice."

"Majesty." It was all he could manage. His own family saw him only as a nuisance; the instructors teaching only what his parents were willing to pay. Nanda almost wished someone else were around to bear witness, to see the king praise him.

But … something in him also wanted to keep this meeting secret and precious.

"You should play tonight. I am surprised you have not been presented already."

Nanda looked at the floor to avoid staring at the king, whom he had always enjoyed looking at far too much for a mere youngest son—one who had chosen to go the path of an artisan on top of that. In a family known for its political acumen, he had always been something of a disappointment. "My noble parents were planning to present me in two months, Majesty."

"During the Spring Carnival." Shahjahan laughed. "A well-executed move, of course. I should have expected no less." He nodded. "Very well, then. I shall not upset the plan. But I enjoyed your playing very much, Nandakumar. It was a bright spot in days that have been very dark."

"My honor and pleasure, Majesty." Nanda bowed again, sure his beating heart was going to break right through his chest.

"I would ask for another song, but alas I will be missed before much longer, and I do not want to spoil the carnival surprise."

Nanda spoke before he gave himself time to think about it. "I-is there a song Your Majesty would like to hear when I am presented?" He couldn't bring himself to look up.

"You have not already decided what songs you will play?"

"It would be an honor to adjust my selections to suit what will please my king."

Shahjahan laughed softly, and Nanda froze as he heard and felt the king kneel in front of him. Fingers touched his face, curling under his chin and indicating Nanda should sit up. "It is probably silly to ask if you know a song, for I sense you know all the usual and more besides—perhaps only the royal musicians would know the nomadic pieces so well as you obviously do. But if you know In the Garden, I would greatly appreciate it."

It took every bit of his upbringing not to show his astonishment. Disbelief. There was no way … "O-of course, Majesty. It will be my honor."

The hand lingered, tilted his face up a bit for a closer inspection. "And your pleasure?"

"Yes," Nandakumar whispered.

The king smiled. "Then I bid you good day, Nandakumar. We will speak again after the Spring Carnival." Shahjahan's fingers slid slowly away, and a moment later he was gone.

Nanda touched fingers to his too-warm cheek, another to his chest, willing his heart to slow down. But it wouldn't. In the Garden was ostensibly a song about a man admiring all the flowers in his garden, but it wasn't generally performed because it was blatantly a song about a king admiring his harem. Though he would be playing only, not singing, everyone would know the tune and exactly what was being implied.

The late king had been dead four months; Spring Carnival was two months away. Six months total, bringing the mourning period to an end.

King Shahjahan would be able to take him as a concubine.

If that was what he had been implying. It had seemed the obvious implication, but now he would worry himself to death about it. Shaking his head, feeling the waves of hair that seemed to grow inches every night—grown to aggravate his brother, who was constantly embarrassed by his pretty, musical sibling—Nanda drew a deep breath and resumed practicing. He had not played In the Garden as often as he played more acceptable songs, and usually only when he was alone, as he had thought he'd been earlier.

He didn't even want to think about the humiliation if the king had chanced upon him playing that. Well, it was all right now. He hoped.

Two months suddenly seemed very far away.