The Saint
Eleanor
One Night with the King
By Eleanor Schreiber
Tonight was my night.
For a year now I’d been going through the training—how to curtsy, how to simper, how to dance, how to whimper. They dressed me and pressed me and made me beautiful. For twelve months I had to listen to the girls talking all around me, deciding what gift they’d give the king, what they’d do to impress him.
“I have composed him a hymn,” one girl said.
“I have written him a poem,” another announced.
“I have knitted him a cardigan,” said another girl.
Everyone had looked at that girl like she was an idiot. She was an idiot. It was ancient Persia. Kings didn’t wear cardigans. Cardigans hadn’t even been invented yet.
I spent most of the day in the bathroom getting ready. By evening I smelled like orchids, looked like a princess and had no unwanted body hair.
Then Hegai came for me.
“Are you ready?” he asked.
“I think so.”
“Are you taking anything with you for the king?”
“I have a hymn.”
“You’re going to sing?”
“No. Sorry. I have a hymen. I get them mixed up.”
Hegai left me at the door to the king’s chamber.
I opened the door.
At first I didn’t see anybody. All I saw was chamber stuff—big sexy-looking couches, tall sexy plants with big sexy flowers blooming on them, a long sexy gold mirror for checking out how sexy you look in it. And it had the biggest, sexiest bed I’d ever seen in my life. Red silk sheets, red-and-gold pillows and those fancy bed curtains only people in the past had before central heating existed. It’s good to live in the past. It’s sexier here.
The big door to the balcony was open so I stuck my head out the door and saw a man standing by the ledge staring out on the kingdom.
Before I saw the man I thought the palace was beautiful, I thought the kingdom was beautiful, I thought jewels were beautiful. But they were nothing compared to the king.
He had blond hair and was so tall I knew he was probably doing it for attention. He wore jeans and a white T-shirt. I thought jeans hadn’t been invented yet but then I realized they had been invented because they looked so good on him.
And if anyone had put a gun to my head and told me I had to say who the most handsome man in the kingdom was, I would first remind that person guns hadn’t been invented yet.
And then I’d point at the king.
“Him.”
“Him, who?” asked the king as he turned around to look at me.
“Oh. Sorry. Did I say that out loud? I was having this bizarre fantasy about a guy holding a gun to my head.”
“Guns haven’t been invented yet.”
“That’s exactly what I told him.” I took a step forward and held out my hand. The king shook it. “I’m Esther. I’ll be your entertainment this evening.”
“Oh, God, did you bring a poem?”
“I don’t write that shit.”
“Hymn?”
“No.”
“Please tell me you didn’t knit me anything. I don’t need sweaters. This is Persia. It doesn’t even get cold here. Except in the winter.”
“I don’t knit.”
“Do you know any good jokes?”
“A hymen walks into a bar. Well, that took care of that.”
The king didn’t laugh. But I think he wanted to.
“What else do you do?”
I stepped up to the king and rose high on my tiptoes.
“Whatever you tell me to.”
And then we kissed.
And what a kiss it was. It took my breath away, that kiss did. I forgot my name and my age and my phone number. I even forgot that phones hadn’t been invented yet. He kissed me with his mouth on my mouth but it felt like his soul kissed my soul and all I wanted was to never ever stop kissing this king who tasted like melting snow on my lips and smelled of winter in a magic world where no one aged, no one died and once people fell in love they never fell out of it again.
“You didn’t bring anything with you?” the king said, pausing from their perfect kiss.
“I only brought me.”
“Good. That’s all I want right now.”
“What do I call you? Your Majesty?”
“Call me Xerxes. That’s my name.”
“No one calls you by your first name.”
“You do.”
“Why me?”
“Because,” he whispered against my lips, “when I’m inside you, I want you to say it and know you’re talking to me and not some other king somewhere. Got that?”
“Yes, Your Maj … Xerxes.”
He picked me up in his arms.
The king carried me into the bedroom and laid me on the bed. It felt like floating in sea of red silk. Xerxes sat next to me on the bed and kissed me again.
“You’re really good at that,” I said. He kissed my mouth and my neck for a long time.
“I practice a lot.”
“On all of us?”
“Anything to keep from hearing more bad poetry.” He smiled at me and kissed me again. His tongue in my mouth would definitely keep me from reciting poetry.
“Do you like being with all these girls?” I asked as he kissed my chest. I felt weird about wearing such a low-cut dress but now I decided it had been a good idea. His lips tickled my skin and his light touches gave me goose bumps. I imagined him kissing other parts of my body. Then he pulled my dress down to bare my shoulder and kissed me from my neck to my upper arm. Those parts, for example.