[quote=@persianversion] Najla would not defend herself against the accusations Ketill put forward. Perhaps he would see her surprise when he mentioned how Tahir beat him for days, but besides this, Najla gave no indication that she had been unaware of her cousin’s nature. Even if his opinion had mattered to her, Ketill would not think better of her for it, this she knew. He had disliked her the moment she had first been given to him, for little reason besides the God she worshipped. She had given him many more reasons since then, which was precisely why his next words were received with a confused frown. She folded her arms across her chest, studying the smile on his face, as if trying to determine if he was mocking her. He had to be mocking her. Had he been another man, Najla might have assumed that he was simply grateful to be free of this estate, but she knew him and that cursed smile all too well. The last time she had seen it, he had been willing to throw away his life for her pain, and Najla was not convinced that a year had lessened that desire. Still, there was little she could do for it. Whether it was due to pity or a broken promise, she had made Ketill hers. She would not renege on her promise of mercy for a perceived slight, and so she felt her arms unfold and her frown lighten somewhat. [i]“May God will it as you do.” [/i] The phrase was spoken almost thoughtlessly, a formal acceptance of his wishes that she would have to recite many times over after this day. The more sincere well-wishers would see this spoken with a smile, gracious nods of the head, or gratitude, but she would offer none to Ketill. There was simply nothing else to offer him. Instead, she would give him his first command, and nothing more, before turning to leave. [i]“Rest. We’ll leave once you’ve healed.”[/i] Perhaps she had found herself eager to leave Tahir’s estate, or perhaps it was meant as an incentive for Ketill to keep quiet for as long as he could. They would not beat him unnecessarily now, but her name could not keep him safe from everything, especially not himself. Najla turned then, rejoining her cousin where he had been waiting for her, the confusion entirely lifted off her expression once she had reached him. She took Tahir’s arm again, forcing a smile onto her face as she did so. [i]<“Could you spare someone to look at his wounds? I’m afraid if I return him like this, he’ll frighten all the children in the capital.”> <“I would, but I have few here. They refuse to touch him, and I would order none to betray their God by aiding an infidel.”>[/i] [i]Yet he would look upon their beating with pride? Is our God not the mercy of all mankind, even if Ketill seems more beast than man?[/i] Najla would not speak her concerns, and her growing distaste for her cousins actions would not be noticeable to him as they left Ketill alone once more, but these concerns remained. Tahir had always preached service to the Sawarim, and while Najla had always shared his distaste for those that did not serve her God, she could not see the service he sought in beating slaves. She knew it was considered a service to capture and convert the infidels, but would that not be better reached through other, gentler, means? Would it not be a greater disservice to act in this service cruelly and thoughtlessly, which drove one even further from the will of God? That was an answer she’d have to seek in temples, pouring over holy writings, and speaking to those who devoted their lives to preaching their understandings of Gods words. Whether Tahir had unknowingly betrayed his God, she would not yet, if ever, know. However, Najla had called for the same mercy she had received, and by refusing to deliver her promise, Tahir had knowingly betrayed her. [i]<“Then a salve at least. None need to aid him, but allow him the means to do it himself.”>[/i] Her voice was slightly softer here, for a part of her knew Tahir was lying. Even if he had far fewer healers on his estate than in the palace, he had wives and children, and thus midwives available. Najla could picture no woman willing to deliver a child but too afraid to touch a Servant’s chest. Tahir only knew that the Servant would heal regardless, and likely did not care to ensure his recovery was pleasant or swift, and now Najla knew he was willing to lie to her to ensure that it wasn’t. [i]<“I will order them myself, if you would not. I’m simply worried my wedding gift will not make it to the wedding itself.”>[/i] [i]<“No, that is reasonable, I will have them find him a salve of sorts. After all, if he were to die, I would have to be the one to buy you another gift.”>[/i] Najla laughed at that, gripping her cousin’s arm tighter as they continued to walk through the halls together. It would be easier to ignore his actions when Ketill was not around to remind her of them, and she hoped that one day it might be forgotten altogether. Her next words were the lightest she had spoken since she had seen Ketill again, clearly joking and spoken with a grin on her lips. [i]<“Of course cousin, I know your pockets could not take such a strain.”>[/i] [hr] It would only be a few days before Najla left Tahir’s estate, her old company of guards and a new slave in tow. The way she treated Ketill would be rather telling, for Najla had not visited him again in her time at Tahir’s estate, relying on the words of the slavemasters to determine when they could leave. She would hardly look upon Ketill when they travelled, let alone speak to him. It would seem that she was preoccupied with other matters, excited by the thought of her coming wedding, but above all, Najla worried she was bringing a violent slave to the court. She was already disobeying her Sultan, and if Ketill was to prove that she had been wrong to do so, she’d have no choice but to end his life, or send him back to her cousin. Her mind was preoccupied with this notion even as they returned to the palace, and Najla allowed the palace servants to handle Ketill, as she immediately set about arranging a meeting with her uncle. This would be nothing like their previous encounters regarding Ketill, for none of the court would be sitting around, to be impressed by their display of control over the Servant’s fate. This would be behind closed doors, only a few family and advisors present, as Najla would try to convince her uncle that she did not disobey him. This proved to be a far more pressing matter for Najla than Ketill’s adjustment into the palace, and so he would be turned over to the palace servants to be settled in. She’d given them orders to make him presentable enough to work in the Sultan’s palace, and so he’d be fed, allowed to clean himself, and given a new set of clothes, similar to what the house slaves wore, though he was clearly not intended to become one. In fact, Najla had not bothered to give Ketill a task at all, leaving it to be decided by those that controlled the palace slaves. They would likely use him as a labor force, the blacksmiths within the palace could surely use his help, but it was unlikely they’d allow Ketill near there. Najla had assumed he’d be put to work in the gardens, where he would not be hidden from palace guests, but so long as he wasn’t being beaten, she did not care where he worked. If his treatment upon his arrival was meant to be any indication of his future at the palace, it would certainly be easier, and rather free of Najla’s presence. He would be denied no necessity, and as he was a Sultana’s property now, none would lay a hand on him, at least not without reason. She would call upon him the second day after their arrival, when her uncle had read his sons letter, and set aside time to meet with her regarding its contents. Ketill would be escorted to her room by a palace servant, only for the pair to be joined by a guard by the entrance to the wing. Whether this had been at Najla’s command or an unspoken precaution was unclear, but all three would be allowed in after Najla’s voice answered the servants knock with a quick command. Ketill had been paraded around some of the most splendid sights of the palace, and while his first glimpse of Najla’s true life at court would certainly not be comparable, it was still full of comforts most never dreamed of leaving. Her room was situated in a wing meant for the Sultan’s family, and though Najla lived closeby to the male members of her family, her living quarters were only surrounded by other unmarried women, namely her cousins and younger sister. Though not a stated law, men were typically only allowed here if they were family, or by invitation, and Najla could only hope that Ketill’s presence would not make her family uncomfortable. Even if it did, she doubted any would speak on it, for most of the women were far worse at hiding their personal affairs than Najla had been. Najla’s room would look similar to many of her families, far too large for a single person, with large arched windows thrown open to the view of a lush courtyard a floor below. Her room was colored in warm reds, browns, and golds, and meticulously kept, though clearly not by Najla’s doing, all but for her desk. That was strewn with papers Najla did not deem important enough to hide, candles ready to be burnt, and books she’d searched through once and thrown aside. She kept a few religious works in her room, all hidden away on shelves but for a small gilded book of complied teachings of the Sawarim beside her bed, a gift from her brother Jalil years before. It was a far cry from the illiterate slave she’d been for so long, though Najla seemed quite at home as she sat behind her desk, thumbing through the pages of some randomly retrieved work aimlessly. It was obvious she wasn’t reading it, but she was too anxious to sit still and needed something to occupy her hands, if not her thoughts. When Ketill entered, Najla would dismiss the servant with a quick word, though the guard would remain, before looking back up at Ketill. The servant seemed worried to leave Ketill here, likely believing he’d be the one to blame if Ketill slit her throat, but Najla did not share his fear. At least, not with the guard present. [i]“You look better.”[/i] She commented, closing the book softly in her hands. Najla stood as she spoke, for they would not linger in her room. She was not dressed as finely as she had been to meet the Sultan the last time she had asked for Ketill’s life, and the only gold on her body was that thin circlet that wrapped around her head. [i]“If you feel that your wounds still ache, you may see a healer. The servants have been instructed to deny you nothing within reason.”[/i] [i]At least, if I haven’t brought you here to die.[/i] Najla paused speaking just long enough to move out from behind her desk, but resumed as she walked slowly towards Ketill. [i]“I hope you’re not going to see the Sultan today, but I am bringing you regardless, so as not to make my uncle wait if he desires to see you. If he does, kneel.”[/i] She stopped at this, looking up at Ketill as she did. Though her words were a command, she did not speak it harshly, but as if she was offering him advice. Indeed, it would have been obvious advice to any other man, but not this one. [i]“Don’t try to get your revenge by humiliating me. If you do, I will return here, and sleep as easily as if you had never lived. You will die.”[/i] Najla continued to speak as she walked past him then, swinging the door to her room open as she finished her words, clearly intending for Ketill to follow. [i]“I may be the only person in Al-Tirazi who does not want that for you, despite whatever you may believe. You do not have to pretend you are loyal to me, just do not act without sense.”[/i] With that, Najla walked out of her bedroom and down the hallway, Ketill and the guard in tow. She would lead Ketill to the Sultan’s private council chambers, only to leave him standing outside with the guards. Still, Najla would have preferred to come alone, and it was alone that she entered the council chambers, to see her uncle, father, and brother Harith around a table with several of the Sultan’s advisors. Osman was notably absent from this session, as Najla’s family wished to speak to her regarding the match before they could offer it. If Tahir had suggested her marriage be used for some noticeable political advantage, she would not be granted such a courtesy but expected to agree without question. Perhaps she would have, yet Najla found herself grateful that she’d never need to know. The large wooden doors of the chambers shut behind her, and Najla bowed her head to those seated at the table. Depending on their family names, the men either stood or bowed their heads towards her, but her uncle remained motionless, staring at her from his seat at the head of the table, though he did offer her a smile. She could see a letter in his hand, the same she had watched Tahir sign at his estate, and as she sat down to the left of her brother Harith, her uncle’s smile gave her some sense of relief. [i]<“So you know of Tahir’s proposal?”>[/i] [i]<“Yes, Great Sultan. He discussed it with me upon my visit, to make sure I held no concerns.”>[/i] [i]<“Do you?”>[/i] [i]<“No, none. He is a good man, and has served you well, Sultan. I will be able to remain with my family, and raise my sons alongside those of my cousins and brothers. I could ask for nothing else from a match.”>[/i] They would discuss it further, but only briefly. Najla’s own input mattered little now, she knew that since Tahir had recommended it, the Sultan’s counselors had already discussed the matter, and were likely in favor of it. Perhaps the few lower-born advisors hoped that by granting Osman a Sultana, they’d be offered the same in turn. Najla knew that Osman had been prepared to be called by the Sultan today, and so they had likely decided that this match should occur, even without her input, but Najla did not care. She was getting what she wanted regardless, her perceived powerlessness in the situation was of little concern to her. The discussion quickly turned to the celebrations. While Osman would still need to complete the more formal proposal, which simply meant she’d sit around while he presented gift after gift to her parents, they were already moving on to the thought of a large engagement party. After all, the Sultan’s niece and brother-in-law were to be married, and they would need to match the celebrations to their stature. It was during this discussion that the Sultan would send a slave to fetch Osman. Najla had assumed this meant the discussions would be nearly over, but it seemed her cousin had left something for her to clarify. [i]<“Tahir wrote here that he has already given you your gift so-”>[/i] The Sultan smiled slightly at this, clearly amused by his sons words as he reread them [i]<“so that you cannot lie to claim another. What is this gift he has given you?”>[/i] Najla paused for a moment, glancing around the table of advisors before she gathered the words to reply. She had been hoping Tahir would have explained his gift in greater detail, but it seemed he had been rather focused on the marriage itself. Now, she’d have to be the one to do it. [i]<“The same you granted him a year ago, uncle, and only under the condition of your approval.”>[/i] Their discussion had been light before, but the tension around the table grew at her words, though none spoke. The advisors eyed each other nervously, and though Najla did not look up at her brother, she could feel his body tense beside her. Instead, her eyes were firmly on her uncle, who glanced over at her father before speaking, his words harsher than all those he had spoken before. [i]<“You asked once Najla, and I refused for the sake of your safety. Does my son wish to cause you harm by offering you the Servant again, or were my words unwise?”>[/i] [i]<“Neither, Sultan. You were correct to refuse me his life then, just as you were right to grant it to Tahir. He was a brute, he still is, but now he is a tamed beast. Your son took a Servant and gifted me a slave.”>[/i] [i]<“Upon my approval.”>[/i] [i]<“Yes uncle, only upon your approval.”>[/i] [i]<“Why do you want him, Najla?”>[/i] The question came from her father, his tone softer than his brothers, though just as confused. He seemed to speak almost entirely out of worry for her well-being, rather than anger at the sense that he’d been slighted. [i]<“What use is he to you?”>[/i] [i]<“I admit, he is of little use to me, but to the Sawarim, he means a great deal. I have contacts in the Redsand I owe entirely to the reputation Ketill’s presence has brought. Now that Tahir has tamed him, he is of no threat to me or the Sultanate, and I want our people to see that.”>[/i] Their discussion of the Servant would have been completed far sooner if it hadn’t been for the Sultan’s advisors. While her father and brother had eased up to the idea, especially after her uncle had been convinced that it was never intended as disobedience from his niece or son, some of the advisors continually spouted doubts. They would not relent until Najla grew tired of their carefully spoken words and boringly cautious doubts, and asked if they doubted their Princes word or his inability to best a Servant. Faced with the notion that they were insulting their Prince, their objections were quickly hushed, and they would find few more as the discussion continued. [hr] As their talk stretched on, it seemed Ketill was to be left to wait, accompanied only by the guards that waited by the doorways, their eyes trained cautiously on him. There were many present in this hallway, as was to be expected when the Sultan sat behind the doorway, but it still seemed that Ketill’s presence made them uneasy. None would speak to him even if they could, their talk remained among themselves. It came in hushed whispers or louder words to some of the slaves or servants that passed by, until the longer silence was finally broken by the sound of footsteps from down the hall, followed by a figure approaching. He was dressed finely in a dark tunic and turban, not as splendidly as those of the Sultan’s family, but it was clear from his appearance and walk that he was ranked far higher than most of the others that had scurried through the hall while Ketill waited. Once he caught sight of Ketill, the figure halted some ways before him, a deep frown appearing on his face even as he spoke to one of the guards. [i]<“They have not finished speaking?”>[/i] [i]<“No, my lord. I believe they will call you in when they have finished.”>[/i] [i]<“And the dog?”>[/i] Osman gestured at Ketill, to which the guard only glanced at the Servant before turning his gaze back to Osman. [i]<“It came with Sultana Najla. She has asked him to wait here.”>[/i] At this, Osman nodded in thanks and walked away from the guard, his eyes firmly on Ketill. It was no surprise to him that Ketill had been brought to the court, for Najla had mentioned the wedding gift to Osman when she notified him of Tahir’s approval. She knew her lover well, and did not wish to anger him by keeping a secret from him. However, it seemed that while he had been easily sated, or at least distracted, with the prospect of their marriage when they spoke before, Osman would not try to hide his hatred of the situation, and the Servant, now. [i]“You are grateful, Servant?”[/i] His voice was low, his eyes burning as his gaze bore into Ketills. His accent was far thicker than Najla’s, for whatever he had learned of Ketill’s tongue had been through his own efforts in the court, without the aid of tutors or a year in captivity. [i]“At my home, we skin beasts, not tame.”[/i] He stepped forward as he continued to speak, stopping before Ketill as he spoke his next sentence. Osman’s hand rested on the hilt of the curved sword at his hip, one he had used for little other than decoration since his arrival in Al-Tirazi. [i]“And we do not enslave rapists, not until we make eunuchs.”[/i] [i]“You are grateful then, that you are in Najla’s home so she can forbid it? I do not know why she has, or why she disobeyed the Sultan to bring you back here. Tell me. Did you bargain with her? Did you cast a sorcerer’s trick?”[/i] Osman’s eyes glinted, and he smiled cruelly at Ketill before speaking his next words, clearly amused by the thought. [i]“Did you beg, Servant?”[/i] [hr] The large doors of the council chamber would swing open, only to reveal a far smaller figure between them. Those within the chamber had not asked to see the newly ‘tamed’ Ketill, for Najla had not mentioned he was waiting just behind the doors, and they would be eager to finish their business. Najla was grateful for this, but above that, she had been granted her husband. When Najla exited alone, this notion kept a wide, careless smile on her face, one that would quickly drop to a frown as a guard shut the door behind her and she looked up to see her betrothed standing before the Servant. Before she could get close enough to hear their words, Osman would have turned to see who exited, and upon catching sight of Najla, his frown only deepened. He turned away from the Servant then, closing the distance between Najla and him in a few angry strides. Osman stopped before her, leaning down and speaking in an angered whisper, just hushed enough so neither the guards nor Ketill could hear his words. [i]<“Did you leave me to wait beside the Servant so that I would feel like a dog waiting for its mistress as well?”>[/i] [i]<“No.”>[/i] Najla crossed her arms across her chest, not even sparing a glance at Ketill as she locked her gaze onto that of her lovers, unflinching though she could see the rage that had built up in his gaze. [i]<“I left the Servant here to wait. You were called upon by the Sultan himself, to be granted a Sultana, but you were early. Are those comparable?”>[/i] [i]<“Najla, do not think that I-”> <”Enough, please.”>[/i] Her words were spoken through clenched teeth, interrupting his swiftly. Though Osman seemed angered by the interruption, at her plea he straightened up, looking down at his betrothed without another word. Najla took a breath then, finally breaking the tension by reaching out to take his hand. She did not seem to care that her back was to the guards at the door, that the others only had to turn their heads to see, or that her family could open those doors behind her at any moment. Her gaze did not leave Osman’s as she raised his hand to her lips, kissing his fingers softly. [i]<“You know I would never insult you. You will be my husband soon, I hold no one higher.”>[/i] Najla clasped his hand tightly to her chest for a moment, hoping to ease his anger, before she lowered his hand and released it. [i]<“I would have given all that I have for this. We have a future together, finally. All you have to do is say yes and all that I am will be yours.”>[/i] Though angry, Osman was not a fool. He was being promised a Sultana now, even if he did not love her, Osman would never allow his anger to cloud his judgement today. He had always been an ambitious man, Najla knew this well, for it was a fact that had only ever brought him closer to her. His anger would surface one more tonight, but Najla believed that in private he would be easily convinced to forget whatever slight he felt he’d faced. She watched calmly as he finally drew his gaze from her, glancing at the doors behind her. [i]<“Later, then. I should not keep the Sultan waiting. Sultana.”>[/i] At her title, he bowed his head to her, but Najla would not have a chance to react before he headed past her, pausing just enough to allow the guards to open the door for him to move through. Najla would not see this, for she had already turned back, motioning for Ketill to follow her as she moved through the hallway again. Najla had seen enough of her new slave for the day it seemed, and was eager to send him off under the watchful eye of the palace servants again. It would be obvious by her attitude that she believed Ketill to be the sole cause of Osman’s anger, and her words would confirm this instantly. [i]“Why is it so hard for you to stay quiet? What did you say to him?”[/i] [hr] It would only be a couple of weeks before Osman and Najla were officially betrothed. For that to happen, Osman had to formally propose before her parents and other members of her family. In Sawarim tradition, he'd offer a series of gifts to her family, and it would be Najla’s father, not her, who agreed to the match. All the while, Najla sat between her sisters and was forced to listen their cursed teasing, thanking God for the thick veil that hid her childish giggles. Her family had questioned why she did not bring Ketill to this ceremony, but Najla left him to sleep that night, insisting she did not have a use for him. Indeed, all those present were family, either hers or Osman’s, for his family had left for the capital immediately after receiving the news. There was no one to impress with his presence, but above all, Najla did not trust placing Ketill and Osman so close together. She could not keep them apart forever, as she knew that Ketill would have to be present at the engagement celebrations the following day. Najla had seen him sparingly during the two weeks leading up to the party. She would not call on him for her own use, for she had no such use for Ketill, not while she was busy planning her engagement. Otherwise, Najla did make sure to check in a few times, though she was far more distracted as her engagement drew nearer. The visits were brief, conducted whenever she had a moment in the day, regardless of what Ketill would be doing at the moment. She would always ask what he felt he needed, though she would not listen to his answer but rather studied his body to see whether there was any new damage. It seemed she would trust nothing but her own eyes regarding Ketill’s treatment. In this way, perhaps his greatest help to her had been to soothe her conscious, though that was not worth much to her, not even enough for the trouble he had already caused her. Still, this would be the greatest kindness Najla would show him, though it rarely amounted to more than a few minutes of her time. She would not see him the day of the engagement, but allow the servants to relay that he’d be expected at the celebrations. The reason for his presence would be easy to understand, he was meant to stand below the Sultana and her family, and thus act as little but a trophy. His presence was merely for the Sawarim to gawk at, at least when they were not gaping at the splendor of the Sultan’s court. The Sultan would give them much to gape at. They held the celebrations in the center courtyard as always, where the harsh desert wind was blocked off by decorated white walls. Inside, the gardens had been threaded with lights, and slaves had released candles into the pools and fountains as well, so that all of the courtyard would be illuminated until dawn. Guests were plentiful throughout the extensive length of the grounds, reclining on couches and cushions, all dressed in the finest their means would allow. However, most chose to gather in the front of the courtyard, below where the guests were separated from the Sultan and his family by large tiled stairs that led to the balconies above the courtyard. It was hardly a true barrier, for well-wishers were allowed to climb the stairs without being hassled by the guards, just as drunken princes and princesses scurried down to join the guests when they pleased. Regardless, it provided a clear sense of image to their guests, especially when the Sultan’s children inevitably got drunk and emptied their purses on the crowd below them. Before this night, Osman would have to climb this divide to join Najla, but tonight they were presented to the crowd from the high reaches of the balconies. Though the pair had been officially betrothed upon her father’s approval, a priest still burned a mixture of herbs above their head before the crowd, blessing the pair with a prayer before it could be announced. The smoke cleared, but the announcement itself was drowned out by the ululations of the crowd below. The Sawarim released this noise in celebrations, funerals, and before charging into battle, so that it would likely be a familiar, if unpleasant sound to Ketill. The trill quivering howl rang up to the balcony she stood on, so that Najla herself could not hear the priest’s words among the noise. It did not matter to her, and she was laughing even as Osman offered her his hand. She took it for the first time as his betrothed, allowing him to lead her before the Sultan. They were meant to receive his blessing, only to have their status made strikingly clear as the couple greeted their families. Before the Sultan, Osman fell to one knee, lifting the hem of his robe and bringing it to his forehead as was custom. Najla would lean down to kiss his rings again, but even this would last briefly before the Sultan gripped her shoulder and kissed her forehead before releasing her. They greeted their new in laws immediately afterwards, and Osman would kneel before her father as well, even as Najla stopped Osman’s mother from bowing before her son could see. It took some time to move through the cluster of wellwishers on the balcony, but Najla’s smile would never fade during this time, not even when she greeted Elif, who stood beside Osman’s family, waiting to give her blessing. Some three years younger than Najla, Elif was the daughter of a minor sheikh Osman had been sent to negotiate with, who had only been thrilled to send his daughter out of the desert and into a life filled with such luxuries. Najla watched this kind-featured tribal girl bow before her, before embracing her and kissing her cheek gently. Although, custom normally dictated deference to the first wife, deference to the Sultan and Sawarim was all Elif had ever been taught and Najla would not tell her otherwise. Even if she had not allowed her to bow, their appearance left no opportunity for confusion; while Elif’s only jewelry were those gifted to her by Osman, besides a thick ring forced through her nose, Najla was dripping in gold. Thin gold bands circled her wrists, neck and ankles, some with various jewels set in them, others with inscriptions, and some plain. Now that she no longer wore a veil, even Najla’s hair had thin golden chains braided into it and was allowed to fall past her shoulders. Her dress had been dyed a deep crimson, quite similar to the color Servants bore, but even this had been embroidered intricately with gold. Only her fingers were free of any tangle of gold, and that had only been to show off ink the color of rust, drawn in delicate patterns across her skin. When they would finally be able to sit with her family and eat, Najla would keep Osman’s hand grasped tightly in hers, uncaring as to the effort and time spent drawing the ink onto her skin, and would only release him to accept her favorite luxuries. At least they were meant to be luxuries, but in the Sultan’s court, they were passed about on trays as the food was. Slaves darted between the cushions with small pots of various substances laid across their trays, filling guest’s pipes at any request. Still more slaves held pitchers, darting to keep cups full of wine or a cloudy-looking alcohol Najla had not seen outside the Sultanate borders. There was a reason for that, for the bitter drink was derived of a desert plant and seemed to coat the tongue in a rather unpleasant manner. Najla had never enjoyed the drink, but its popularity with the tribes of the Sultanate ensured that she would take a few cups with Osman’s family. Najla spent the first part of the night on the balcony with her family, accepting blessings and gifts from any that climbed the large white stairs to greet her. However, it would only be a few drinks before Najla was eager to join the fray below her. It would take little more than a word before Osman took her hand and the two rushed down the stairs. Musicians had been placed across the courtyard, even atop balconies, so that music filtered throughout the courtyard from every direction. Though dancers, contortionists, and other entertainment were always present throughout the celebrations, Najla had seen their acts before, and would not care to look. Instead, she found herself hidden among the center of a crowd with Osman, dancing to the beating of the darbouka above. Though engaged, custom would not allow them to touch more than hands while dancing, but they had not been following custom for some years now. They would press against each other in brief moments, and Najla could feel how he wanted to reach out and grab her gyrating hips when the beat forced them apart once more. In her haze, Najla could not recall how long they had been dancing, but Osman finally led her out of the crowd, and Najla took a goblet of wine off a slave’s tray even as he spoke to her. [i]<“I should speak to Elif. I have not spoken to her since her blessing, I’m-”>[/i] Najla raised her hand, pausing just long enough to finish swallowing her wine before she resumed speaking. [i]<“I understand, my love, no need. So long as you return to me tonight.”>[/i] Her eyes scanned the crowd, finally resting on where Ketill was to be stationed, or rather displayed, that night. He’d be placed under the Sultan, watched over by guards just beside the white tiled stairs, where the Sultan’s guests could see all they wanted of the Servant from a safe distance. Najla dragged her gaze back up to Osman, for even through the haze of intoxication, the notion that her lover was joining his wife seemed enough to dampen their engagement. Still, she smiled up at him kindly, apparently not worried by such a notion. [i]<“Go, before she realizes how much time you’ve spent with me tonight.”>[/i] Osman left her then, and Najla would not look upon Ketill again until far later. Her night was a blur, surrounded by a steady stream of wellwishers and family and an endless supply of anything she needed to intoxicate herself with. In the midst of this hazy happiness, Najla would see Osman standing on the balcony above the Servant, and watched as he threw a full purse down below. It landed between a group of lovely girls brought from the Sultan’s harem, both Sawarim and Broacien, though Osman’s taunting would be in his native tongue. [i]<“50 gold pieces to whoever makes the Servant break his vows!”>[/i] His call was answered by raucous laughter from the balcony above, and Najla could even hear her brother among the voices. A stream of gold pieces would follow this laughter, as would jeers. Even in her drunkenness, Najla realized that she knew of no vow that kept Servants from women, but would not correct him. Instead, she would try to forget the incident and Ketill altogether, and returned to her room as the break of morning threatened to creep closer. Osman put his young wife to bed and followed soon after, his hands full with a pitcher of wine and a pipe. [hr] Osman had given orders to bring Ketill to Najla’s room as soon as the celebrations were over, and so it would not be until most of the Sultan’s family had returned to their rooms before Ketill would be allowed to leave the courtyard. Instead of finally allowing him to sleep, he would be led to Najla’s room without warning or explanation. As Ketill had likely seen Najla’s giddy intoxication, being led to her room at such an hour would certainly give cause for suspicion. It would not be aided when the guard was allowed in, for Osman and Najla were tangled together on her bed, laying back as they passed a pipe between them. Their nonchalance made it clear that, for whatever reason, they were certain this guard was not a man who spilled their secrets. Osman was leaning on his side across Najla’s bed, but when Ketill was brought in, Osman moved to stand. His hand had been resting on Najla’s bare leg, and she felt his fingers brush against her as his warmth left her. She would only prop herself up enough to see Ketill when she felt Osman’s weight lift off the bed. He was bare-chested, his body stripped of any adornments, and though his chest did not bear the sheer number of scars Ketill’s did, he did sport a few small ones, remnants of his time defending his home from raiders years ago. Najla however, remained reclined on the bed. She had stripped the gold from her wrists and ankles, and they lay in a careless heap atop her fine clothes, which had been left on the floor before her bed. Now, all she wore was a short-cut white dress, so sheer it hid little of her figure underneath. The gold chains remained in her hair still, and Najla toyed with one of these as she lifted the pipe to her mouth, inhaling deeply, her eyes never straying from Ketill. Osman took a few steps towards him, then turned back to Najla, the cruel smile returning to his face. [i]<“You brought the Sultan back a true beast, does that make you proud?”>[/i] Najla released a thick puff of smoke, finally tearing her gaze off of Ketill and onto Osman. She hazily recalled a mention that he wanted to bring the Servant to her room during the celebrations, and she had not questioned him as to the purpose then, nor when he repeated this desire in her room. Najla knew he was likely going to taunt Ketill some more before he was sated, and only hoped he would be done soon. She did not like seeing the Servant as it was, bringing him in to be taunted was a strain on her conscience that she did not wish to understand. Najla would not fight with Osman on this however, for she did not care enough about Ketill’s emotions to upset her betrothed on the night of their engagement. [i]<“Should it? I didn’t capture him.”>[/i] [i]<“Well clearly, look how fucking massive he is. He scared mother when she saw him. She even thinks he is cursed, because of his eyes.”>[/i] Najla smiled slightly at that, sitting up on the bed as she spoke. [i]<“She has never seen eyes like his? There were many like him in the north. I do not believe they are cursed, but perhaps your mother is right.”>[/i] She held the pipe out to Osman, only to set it down beside her gilded holy book when he refused, replacing it with a cup of wine instead. Osman began to step forward, and Najla reclined back onto the cushions, not bothering to cover herself. Her thoughts on the situation would be difficult to read, likely due to the mist of intoxication that had settled on her expression, and she would only watch as he circled Ketill, sizing up the Servant. [i]<“Worthless. See what he’s good for when he’s not killing our people? He’s a rat, a stupid, savage beast. His life wasn’t worth saving.”>[/i] [i]<“I don’t doubt it, but it was mine to save.”>[/i] Najla spoke softly before she took a sip of her wine, studying Ketill from her rather comfortable position. She was not enjoying Osman’s antics, as she had known that placing them so close together was bound to cause an issue. Her previous efforts did not seem to matter, for Osman was obviously intent on creating a problem regardless. Najla would not focus her attention on him, but instead upon Ketill, as she tried to read his expression. He had to know he was being taunted, there was simply no other reason to be brought here, but she was curious to know what he understood. Soon, Najla found herself grateful that Ketill had not learned their tongue. [i]<“Fuck his life and fuck the dog-raped cunt that birthed him.”>[/i] He spat his words out as he felt his anger grow, a process Najla watched with a growing sense of dread. [i]<“Dirty fucking savage.”>[/i] She could see Osman bristling now, and as she watched his fists clench, she interrupted him from the bed, her voice soft despite the situation. [i]<“Osman, come-”>[/i] Osman stopped just before Ketill, leaving Najla to watch his back while his glare focused on the Servant. [i]<“In a moment.”>[/i] [/quote]