29
Jan listened from behind the door, not sure if she should scream or throw up, run or walk out there and spit in their faces. Her body was now a battlefield, a chessboard, a goddamn playground?! The first to get her pregnant?! Was she living in the Middle Ages?
No, she reminded herself as she took deep breaths to calm herself down. You are living in a world older than the Middle Ages, older than any form of modern society. The world of your ancestors, when small tribes shared everything: food, shelter, mates, and . . . and . . .
Suddenly the answer came to her as she remembered her research into those hunter-gatherer tribes of old who shared it all. Yes, she thought. Perhaps this can work. Perhaps this is the only way it can work. Let them make their move. I have a move too.
Frowning, she walked to the pantry, where they’d laid out all the food and drink. She looked through what she’d brought with her on Ephraim’s boat, finally smiling when she found it. A moment later she emerged from the guest house, her hair open and free, her eyes wide and wild, her curves moving elegantly beneath a long silver gown that went down to her ankles and shimmered in the moonlight like flowing water.
“Gentlemen,” she said as she tried her best not to turn bright red from the way the two Sheikhs looked at her as she walked past the flames, her ass moving beneath that gown, her breasts hanging free, no underwear on. She’d stopped telling herself that she was a whore, because she knew she didn’t believe it.
These men don’t believe it either, she told herself when she was greeted with just a tense silence. Jan thought about what she’d heard them say, and it sent a shiver through her when she realized that it was just thin satin that separated her body from these two kings who’d just made an agreement to hand over the first of first husband to the one who got her knocked up first.
But as she looked at their dark, serious faces, each one devastatingly handsome in his own way, each one a true king in his own way, the indignation she’d felt earlier was nowhere to be found. Instead it was admiration—admiration that these men would truly consider giving up their titles to find a way for their kingdoms to merge into one. No matter how twisted the options had become.
“What about two Sheikhs of one kingdom?” she asked as she sat down as gracefully as possible on the wooden bench facing the fire, Ephraim to her left, Darius to her right. She reached for the pot of sweet tea, and slowly poured out a cup. Then she waited a moment and poured out two more, letting them sit before her as the tea cooled. “Didn’t you two consider that? Wouldn’t that be a way to merge your kingdoms, handle the overflow of Habeetha’s population, and still save face and appear wise and powerful to your people?”
Darius glanced at Ephraim and then back at Jan. “A kingdom cannot have two rulers. The ruler marks the identity of a kingdom, sets the tone for his people. Two rulers would be no different than if I simply yielded and opened my borders to make up for Ephraim’s folly.”
Ephraim grunted, glancing briefly at Darius and then back into the flames. “If you combine two kingdoms, it has to be under one king. One ruler. Darius is right. When two corporations merge, you do not have two CEOs. There are practical considerations for policy and administration, yes, and things run better with one supreme decision-maker. But above it all is the symbolic consideration.”
Darius nodded, reaching out as Jan handed him the fresh cup of tea she’d poured. “War or marriage,” he said, sipping the tea and smacking his lips. “Those are the only ways two kingdoms can become one. It has never been otherwise.”
“And it can never be otherwise,” said Ephraim, frowning as he tossed his empty cup of wine to the side and grudgingly accepted Jan’s offer of the sweet tea. “The answer lies in war or marriage.” He sipped the tea and looked at Jan, his gaze falling to her breasts and back up to her face, glowing in the light of the flickering flames. “And although I would almost certainly win if we went to war, a king’s duty must be to prevent war as far as possible. That is the only reason I am even here.” He sipped the tea again, his gaze almost a challenge to Jan, as if he meant that he was only doing all of this for his people, not his royal cock. Certainly not for her.
“So why don’t you yield to Darius in public,” said Jan, taking the first sip of her tea and wincing from the sweetness and aftertaste, half-smiling because she knew the question would irk Ephraim. “Isn’t it a show of strength to admit your mistake and ask your neighboring kingdom for help? Isn’t that what builds alliances?”
Ephraim snorted, shaking his head and gesturing to Ephraim, as if to say, “You answer her.”
Darius answered, smiling and shaking his head as he explained that if he did that, it would put both of them in weakened positions: Ephraim would look weak for asking; and Darius would still look weak for stepping back and allowing a hundred thousand immigrants to share in his people’s land without protest.
Jan smiled and nodded, but in truth she wasn’t listening. She already knew the answer to that last question: She’d asked it of both of them before, and she understood the answer. She’d only asked them again to keep them talking, to keep them distracted, to keep them drinking that tea . . .
Now she began to feel the buzz creeping up on her, and she took a deep breath and gulped down the rest of the tea she’d so dutifully poured for all three of them. When she looked up past the flames, she caught Darius staring at her with a glint in his green eyes.
With the hint of a smile and a subtle shake of the head, Darius looked at the cup in his hand, looked back at her, and then gulped down the rest of the tea, wiping his mouth with a silk handkerchief and then tossing the cup aside. By now Ephraim had figured out what was going on too, and he laughed and drank his tea down. Then he stood, and with a flourish he hurled the metal cup far off toward the dark waters of the oasis. He cocked his head and put a hand to his ear as they heard a faint splash.
They all broke into laughter, and Darius clapped his hands and pointed at Jan.
“You,” he said, the words slurring a bit, “are not to be underestimated. I was right to choose you.”
Jan felt a surreal calm flow through her as the aruha she’d mixed into their tea kicked its way into her system. She smiled at the two Sheikhs, and then she slowly shook her head. “You don’t choose anymore,” she said quietly. “I do. I choose to be queen in public, and I choose to submit to you both in private. I choose.”
Ephraim was still on his feet, and he turned and looked down at Jan. She leaned back on the wooden bench, arching out her chest, feeling a sensation of power and confidence surge through her in a way that she was sure wasn’t just the drug. It was more. It was her. It was who she was becoming.
“One ruler of two kingdoms, right?” she said, glancing at one Sheikh and then the other. “Isn’t that the idea? And how will I balance two kingdoms if I can’t balance two kings? This is my training ground, isn’t it? This is my training.”
She watched as Darius and Ephraim looked at one another and then back toward her. She could feel their eyes glancing at her heavy cleavage in that silver gown, and she leaned back and spread her arms over the backrest of the bench, crossing one leg over the other as her gown rode up to show some thigh. For a moment she felt like a queen, sitting there on her wooden throne, her two knights by her side. Her two knights, her two kings, her two Sheikhs, her two husbands.
She could see their eyes glaze over as they stared at her lips, her bare shoulders, the outline of her nipples beneath the white satin, the curves of her rump and thighs as she sat before them. Perhaps it was the drug, but somehow the thought of two men competing to fill her with their seed was doing something to her.
You already are thinking of yourself as a queen who balances two sides of great power, aren’t you, came the wild thought as she watched the Sheikhs shift uncomfortably and glance at each other, each of them adjusting their pants to account for the growing bulges at the front. And you’re not going to simply yield to their move, are you? You’ve got a counter-move, do you not? You’re going to match up with them, aren’t you? Of course you are.
“I heard what you said,” she whispered, slowly uncrossing her legs until she sat plumb in the middle of the long wooden bench, her thighs spread in that satin gown, the cloth gathering around her naked crotch, a gentle wet spot beginning to form. She had her elbows resting on the backrest, her chin pointed up proudly, and she smiled as she spoke. “And I’m fine with it. So let the games begin, your highnesses. Give me your best shot.”
The combination of the aruha and what she’d just said hit her with a rush of euphoria that made her body light up from the inside, every fiber in her alert and alive. She could see the two Sheikhs visibly harden beneath their trousers, and as each man slowly got to his feet until they faced her, the flames dancing between the three of them, the Golden Oasis silent and dark in the background, Jan reminded herself that if she played this out the way she wanted, this would be no ordinary marriage. She would be playing this game the rest of her life.
Can I do it, she wondered as she watched the flames move while the two kings undressed before her, slowly at first, speeding up as she undid the thin straps of her gown and let her breasts hang free. Can I dance this three-way dance for the rest of my life? A normal marriage thrives on honesty and openness, on being vulnerable and showing understanding, on forgiveness and communication. But this marriage will fail if everyone is honest all the time. Because this isn’t just about three people enjoying each other’s sex and making sure everyone feels happy and safe at all times—it’s about something bigger. Certainly there are already feelings at play here, and certainly I can see myself loving both these men for who they are and what they do to me. But we are all here for politics as much as for pleasure. The pleasure has to be real, but the politics is the reality. If they, as proud and powerful men, are willing to sacrifice their titles and power for the good of their kingdoms, then shouldn’t you, as a woman, be ready to sacrifice your conventional notions of what love and honesty in a marriage mean?
And as the Sheikhs stood bare and hard before her, their dark mastheads glistening in the red light of flame, Jan smiled up at them and nodded. And though the men took it as a signal to descend on her, Ephraim kissing her on the lips ferociously as he grasped her breasts while Darius went to his knees before her open thighs and buried his face in her crotch, Jan knew she was nodding to herself, telling herself yes, she was committing to this all the way, for the rest of her life, whether these men knew it or not.
Whether they knew it or not.