The Trial
She was the cool air that kissed the ruddy cheeks of children as they ran lost through stygian wilds. She was the song that sailors hummed as they pulled tautly at the shroud of their ship while scaling upward toward the crow’s nest. She was the cup of coffee before a long day. She was the nails raking down a young groom’s back while his blushing bride was out of town. She was the fire that burned in the hearts of warriors just before they were run through by sword or dagger or spear or stave. She was the taste of summer mornings, hot and sticky sweet. She was the howl of wolves as they tore across the tundra. She was the last uncertain steps of a death row convict on their way to the electric chair.
She was so much, too much, and not enough.
By the graces of some unknown divinity hailing far from the hellish recesses of her homeland, Bress of the Abaasy stood in the heart of the Djinn sultanate with a look of pure elation brightening her pale features. Ivory and statuesque, with curved horns nestled within the spirals of her snowy curls, a peek of pointed porcelains between a slip of rosy lips was enough to keep the residing Sultan at arm’s reach. He wanted her. She could tell by the uneasy shift of his thighs beneath his ornate robes, adjusting and repositioning himself until few present in the court were capable of misconstruing his squirming at even a glance. When his bottom lip seemed to quiver in anticipation as he spoke her name, low and warm from the base of his throat, she knew he was hers. She need only to take him.
“Bress,”
How he must cherish that singular syllable as it crosses the threshold of his tongue, she mused, but I appreciate his true desires implore him to usher it between heaving breaths while making languid thrusts of his hips. I recognize a kindred sinner when I see them. Talk, Sultan, while you are still able.
“Your presence in our kingdom has provided Jannah with a glimpse of the power the Abaasy hold over their victims and, with it, you coaxed countless acts of disobedience and disrespect from Djinn who previously swore fealty to my throne. As is stands, you are accused of laying claim to the lands of our forefathers by the practice of deception and trickery. This is beyond treasonous- it is blasphemy. You are allowed to defend yourself, so I implore you to do so delicately.” Arms crossing, the Sultan wore a stern mask as though it might counteract the uncertain snaking of his hips.
Without hesitation, she took a step forward in her dress of gossamer, the sheerness of which was dutifully ignored as it was constituted as proper attire for a Demon. The nobles were fortunate she chose to wear anything at all. However, even the legendary lengths of Djinn diplomacy at work weren’t capable of keeping the less seasoned members of the court from gawking.
“These accusations are baseless. Greatly exaggerated whispers of gossip. Your court is here, united at either of your sides, ready and willing to give their very lives were you to ask it of them. I am humbled by these charges even if they are incorrect because they inflate the powers I was given by blood and the abilities I have mastered through years of study. Without a contract, I am nothing. Ask these men and women you have anointed if I am their muse of worship. Ask your advisers if their decisions rely on my opinions. Ask your Sultana if she seeks my counsel.”
Taking a few steps closer, Bress closed in on the handful of steps elevating the Sultan from where she had the floor.
“I am nothing. In the shadow of your majesty, I am an insect. None hold the power of the throne, the devotion of the people or the command of the might of Jannah’s military other than you. You, Malik. You, Shah. You, Sultan. You, Murad.” It was the last of her speech that drew a barely audible sigh of satisfaction from the Sultan, but she allowed him only a few brief seconds to linger over the fact she dared to state his true name. “I will apologize for anything you wish, but these accusations are… beneath you.”
And as she stepped away with a jingle of gold and platinum circlets dancing at her ankles, she knew there was no threat - only opportunity - and she meant to take it by any means necessary.
Ending up beneath Murad was a bonus.
BDRP Admin. Writer. Villain. Personal Blog.
I tried running from the memory and the mourning.
I tried running from the memory and the mourning.
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