The Sultan and the Storyteller by Lichelle Slater

Four

I quickly recovered and sucked in a breath. I knew what a wedding should entail. I had been to three weddings of my friends or neighbors in my life, though this year there should have been more. Friends my age should have been courting openly and getting engaged, had it not been for the man who stood before me.

Although his amber eyes were stunning, they held no joy in them.

Family and friends should have sat in the chairs lining the rug. Kiara and Jade should have been two of the women holding the canopy under which Sultan Zayne stood. Instead, servants held the four poles and the room was empty, save Kiara standing alone to the right, her chin held high and lips tightened to stifle her emotions and appear brave.

Zayne’s gaze wandered over my body and lingered at the curves of my hips up to my breasts, and finally stopped at my face.

I clung to my anger and met the sultan’s gaze with a glare. The sternness in his face shifted to brief embarrassment, of which I was proud. I could never fall in love with a vulture like him.

My father stepped up to my side. “I am saddened I must be at your side tonight,” he whispered, though his volume was pointless in the silence of the empty throne room. I could practically hear the spider in the corner of the window spinning its web.

“And yet, you do nothing to stop him.” I glanced sideways at the man who should have kept me safe. I didn’t know exactly how much power my father had in the sultan’s court, but I imagined it was a lot and if he truly pleaded, my life could be spared.

Setting my jaw, I held Sultan Zayne’s gaze and walked down the aisle. I didn’t care that the minstrels hadn’t started the song, I just wanted the wedding over with.

Sultan Zayne was caught off guard and he glanced at the small group of musicians still getting situated to his right. I smirked. At least the sultan didn’t get a choice in everything that would happen that night.

I stopped three paces away from my future husband.

Without glancing at the minstrels again, Sultan Zayne lifted his hand to stop their first notes, and then said, “I am—”

“Sultan Zayne. Yes, I know who you are. Everyone does.”

His left brow lifted ever so slightly. “It appears your father has explained your role tonight.”

“I’m afraid not. My father isn’t exactly forthcoming in regard to information coming from the palace. Why are you murdering your wives? Why demand women be ripped from their homes? There is speculation you do so to prevent them from being disloyal to you like your first wife was.”

He blinked in stunned silence, his eyes wide, and a thrill rushed into my heart at seeing him so uncomfortable.

My father tensed beside me.

From the corner of my eye, Kiara’s hand flew to her lips and I could have sworn she was stifling a smile.

The already quiet room seemed to have the air sucked out of it, and I could practically feel everyone holding their breath. The worst he could do for my brazenness was have me killed.

Sultan Zayne narrowed his eyes and sucked in a breath to compose himself. “As the sultan of Sheblom, by law I must have a wife at my side to retain the throne.”

“Then why do you keep killing them?” I nipped.

His stunning amber eyes darkened. He offered his hand silently, and I rested my fingers lightly on his and gave him a fake smile. He turned, guiding me to turn with him. “You couldn’t possibly understand,” he said under his breath.

We walked to the couch that rested on a low dais just beyond the end of the rug. At least he had the grace to wait for me to sit. He lowered himself down to my side with his spine straight.

My father led the ceremony. Every part of it was memorized. I should have paid more attention, but there was only one way of keeping myself alive that night—weave a tale to put the sultan to sleep. If I could survive his wrath this night, perhaps I could stop the downfall of my kingdom. But to do so also meant accepting my deadly powers.

Zayne took my chin, jarring me from the phrasing I was trying to figure out for the story. “We must seal the marriage with a kiss.” He leaned forward and pressed his lips to mine.

We were bound together as husband and wife.

The kiss didn’t linger and it wasn’t romantic. Zayne didn’t hold my shoulders, and no touch lingered on my face. I was just a transaction to him, another reassurance he could maintain the throne another day.

He stood and pulled to my feet, not releasing my hand even when I tried to pull away. His grip remained tight, but not uncomfortably so, as we walked side by side across the golden rug and out of the throne room.

I had just enough time to give Kiara one last look. Her bottom lip quivered, but her brows were pinched in a determined look.

I couldn’t control my body’s trembling as we neared an enormous set of double doors curved like the windows. He was taking me to his—our—marriage bed. A room near the center of the palace.

I halted and he unintentionally jerked on my arm.

Sultan Zayne stopped and looked at me. His eyes softened just a bit and he reached his other hand out to open the door and reveal his room to me.

“Do you enjoy this part?” I asked, not hiding the disgust in my voice.

“Taking a new wife to my bed each night?” His voice matched my tone. “If you must know the truth, no. It doesn’t give me pleasure bringing woman after woman into these chambers. I find no joy listening to their sobs and pleas, or seeing them leave their families. It has been far too long since I have entered my room without seeing my bed littered with petal corpses.”

My brows pinched. It was my turn to be surprised. He felt the same way about the flowers as I did, and yet it was by his own actions they were there in the first place.

Unable to escape, I entered the room and he closed the door behind us.

“You claim not to want this and yet you are the one who chooses someone new each day. You are the one who kills.”

He didn’t cast me a second look while he walked over to the bed and pulled back the covers, spilling jasmine petals onto the floor. “Shall I help you out of your dress or would you like to remove it alone?”

I lifted my chin defiantly. “Neither.”

Zayne’s shoulders lifted and fell with a sudden breath and he briefly closed his eyes. He approached me and removed the turban from his head. “I don’t plan on bedding you, if that is what makes you hesitate. Your nightgown is on your side of the bed.”

I crossed my arms over my chest. “You want me to believe you haven’t touched a single woman you married?”

“It hurts less after they’re gone,” he replied with a shrug. “You are very different from any other woman I have—”

“Murdered?” I growled through gritted teeth.

“I was going to say met.” He frowned at me, a look that suited his dark eyes.

“You use up women and then—”

He seized me by the arm and pulled me to his chest. “I do not use any woman. Do not speak of that which you don’t know.”

“If you told me why you kill your wives, perhaps I could help,” I said firmly, and glared up at him. “You’re hurting me.”

Zayne studied my eyes. “What could you possibly do to help me? You’re nothing but a woman.”

I lifted my chin and held my face just inches from his. “You underestimate the power of women.”

He snorted. “I know the power of women. They seduce, lie, and betray.” He shoved me away.

“Is that all you think of us?”

He cocked a brow, challenging my look with one that held anger.

As much as I hated to admit it, Zayne intrigued me. Why he was he like this? How had he become a cruel, unforgivable man with nothing but emptiness inside? That’s what I saw when I looked into his amber eyes.

Emptiness.

Tell your story, my heart urged. Removing the scarf from my head, I walked around the bed, putting it between me and my husband. I hadn’t told a story in years. Did I even still have the power to do so?

I had to try. If I didn’t try, I would die. If I did try and no longer had magic, I would die regardless. But if I did have magic and it worked . . .

I cleared my throat. “There once was a sultan, powerful like you. As strong and determined, but also foolish.” I stopped beside the window and pushed it open to allow a breeze to take away the suffocating smell of the jasmine flowers. The tip of my tongue tingled with a long-forgotten taste of magic, like the blacksmith shop down by the docks. I drew a breath to try and keep my heart calm, then turned to face the sultan.

Sultan Zayne sat on the edge of the bed, watching me, listening to me. “What is your point?”

“He was married through an arranged marriage. Neither he nor his queen were very fond of each other at first, but he made a promise to her that they would see far-off lands. Lands of rolling hills covered in foliage with trees as tall as this palace.”

“Even if we left now, how would we make it anywhere green before you . . .” But he didn’t finish his sentence.

My magic tingled down my tongue and into my stomach, begging me to tap into it. I was so close, and saying the wrong thing now would cause even bigger problems, so I carefully chose my next words. “The night of their wedding, he fell asleep dreaming of these distant lands. For the first time in weeks, he fell into a peaceful slumber, one so deep he couldn’t wake to kill his wife, and he remained at rest until the dawn of the next day.”

Zayne yawned and collapsed on the bed. The magic of my words had sent him to sleep.

I let out a shaky breath and rested my hands on my stomach.

It had actually worked!

I sank heavily onto the chaise beside the window, legs trembling as the electricity of magic faded from my limbs.

Memories of my mother filled my mind, of her beside the fireplace telling us stories while the flames danced on the floor before us. I loved her stories. She would show us a new scroll or book she’d traded for, and each was the story of someone’s journey across the seas, encounters with mythical beasts, or struggles to vanquish evil. My favorite stories were those she shared about the lands across the sea that were more than dust. Lands called Ashwrya and Fidsa, covered in nothing but vegetation. I had once vowed to visit those lands.

But as I sat by the window watching my husband sleep and praying I had done enough to stop him from killing me, I didn’t know if I would ever see lands of green.

My mother was the one who had identified my tales as more than just words. I had told stories of rain reviving harvests, and each time rain poured on our valley that night. When I told stories of animals or of making new friends, they came true.

Beyond the window, the sun had set. The lamplight, meant to be romantic, threw eerie shadows into the dark corners of the room. I blew out each flame until the only light remaining came from the lamp beside the bed where I was to sleep. I lingered at the edge of the bed a long time, watching Zayne to make sure he slumbered peacefully.

Suddenly, the hairs on the back of my neck stood on end and a tingling crawled up my spine like a snake slithering up my back. I whipped around, expecting to see someone standing behind me. The tickle of fear gripped my throat.

But no one was there.

Instinct told me someone was present, just not physically. I sensed movement from the doorway to the sultan’s side of the bed, without being able to see a thing. My breath froze in my throat. The being, whoever—or whatever—it was, I couldn’t say.

My lungs began to burn.

And then, as quickly as it had appeared, the presence was gone.

The feeling of fear and darkness left with it.

I gasped a breath and lifted the lamp with trembling hands. After a quick survey of the room and adjoining bathroom, I ensured I was alone with my husband. Perhaps my nerves had played tricks on me—a nervous mind struggling to accept its place here.

Not even I believed that story.