Innocent in the Harem. Michelle Willingham

Someone who might grant him comfort, until he faced his father’s wrath or earned back his own redemption.

      Khadin gestured for the kizlar a÷gasi, the chief black eunuch, to come forward. “Take her to the harem and prepare her. And tonight, bring her to me.”

      Laila was taken aback by the extravagance of the Topkapi Palace. As the dark-skinned eunuch led her through the carriage gate and through the Court of Eunuchs, they reached a smaller courtyard which was guarded. Then, he brought her into the harem, where she heard nothing but the soft trickle of fountains and the occasional bird chirping. It was as if tranquility had locked itself within a shell of opulence.

      The very walls gleamed with brilliant blue and gold porcelain tiles, the floors a cool marble beneath her feet. Once they were inside the harem, the eunuch led her through a maze of corridors where she saw hundreds of women. Some reclined upon divans while she heard the sound of water splashing in one of the baths nearby.

      Despite the vast numbers, there was a hushed quality here, with a sensual and inviting atmosphere. She heard the soft sound of a stringed instrument being played while a young voice sang.

      Laila held fast to the edges of Khadin’s cloak, unable to guess what would happen to her. The scent of his skin clung to the fabric, a spicy fragrance that made her hold it closer. More and more, she sensed that he was someone of importance. He’d known exactly where to take her within the palace, and he behaved as though it were familiar to him.

      “The man who brought me here,” she whispered to the eunuch. “Khadin. He’s one of the princes, isn’t he?”

      The eunuch inclined his head. “Indeed. And since he has ordered you brought to him this night, you will visit the hamam and be bathed and massaged, as is befitting the concubine of a prince.”

      Laila didn’t respond. The burning need to escape, to flee this new prison, overwhelmed her. Never before had she been touched by a man, and the thought of succumbing her virtue was nothing less than terrifying. A Bedouin father could cut his daughter’s flesh into pieces if she surrendered her virginity in an act of lust.

      Yet none of her family had survived.

      Her heart mourned the loss. She’d been taken by the enemy, without knowing which of her tribe members had managed to flee. But not before she’d seen the fallen bodies of her father, mother, and younger brother. The grief welled up inside her, threatening to shatter the emotional shield she’d created.

      Angrily she swiped at a tear. You cannot think of them now. No one will rescue you from this place. You must rely on yourself.

      Why did Prince Khadin want her? Untrained in the arts of love, she had never known the affections of a man. And yet, she was meant to become his odalisque, a slave that he would use for his own pleasure. Allah, what could she do? Was there any way to avoid this fate?

      The Topkapi Palace was unknown to her, for her family had dwelled in black tents along the coast of the Mediterranean, traveling from place to place. The thought of living here filled her with dismay and an urgency to run away. But how? Every corner was guarded by kapici, royal soldiers who would not hesitate to stop her from leaving. It would be unwise to risk it without understanding her surroundings. Her father had taught her to always think carefully before making a decision. For now, she needed to learn more about life within the harem and discover the best way to gain her freedom.

      She caught one of the younger Circassian women smirking at her. With pale skin and deep green eyes, the woman lounged upon a divan, wearing a silken gömlek that displayed her generous curves. The look she offered Laila was one of smug superiority.

      I am not one of you, Laila thought to herself. I’ll never be one of you.

      She squared her shoulders and followed the eunuch down another corridor, past a group of dancers who swirled in circles, their veils and skirts clinging to slim legs. He took her into a smaller apartment, deep within the heart of the harem. “You will meet the valide sultana, Princess Mihrimah later,” he explained. “She governs the harem, along with the sultan’s wives. For now, I will take you to the vekil usta, Lady Murana. She will instruct you.”

      Lady Murana was an older woman who wore robes colored a deep red while a white anteri tunic and úsalvar trousers were revealed beneath it. Her hair was hidden beneath a loosely fitted turban, and emeralds and diamonds adorned her throat and wrists. “You have brought me a new girl, Hakir?”

      “I have, my lady. She has gained Prince Khadin’s favor, and he ordered her prepared for him this night.” The eunuch bowed and took his leave, while Laila was left standing with the woman.

      Wrinkles creased Murana’s face as she walked a slow circle around Laila. “Remove the cloak,” she ordered.

      Laila clenched the fabric tightly, and Murana sent her a cold stare. “If you are to survive this new life, you must learn to obey orders. The prince will not tolerate insolence, especially not from a slave.” Then the older woman softened slightly. “I know that the harem will be new to you, but you are among the blessed to be brought here.” She gently removed Laila’s outer cloak and inspected her, clucking her tongue with disapproval. With a sharp command to another slave, the older woman ordered food for her.

      Once Laila had eaten, Lady Murana bid her to stand. “Come, and I will take you to the baths.”

      The interior of the hamam was warm, with steam rising from the waters. Lady Murana gave her a pair of wooden clogs to protect her feet from the hot marble, and when Laila entered, she saw a dozen women talking softly to each other. Both dark-skinned and fair-skinned women sat amid the steam, their lush forms only reminding Laila of her own shortcomings. Her breasts were small, the size of apples, while her hips were too slender.

      Laila sat upon a stool, to rest her aching feet while the blissful steam rose up around her. As she relaxed, the perspiration rose upon her skin, droplets sliding down her throat and down her breasts. She wondered if Khadin would try to touch her, and her nipples puckered at the forbidden vision. She crossed her arms over her chest, and the light pressure against the sensitive tips made her breath catch.

      One of the other slaves spread a paste over her skin, then scraped it off with mussel shells, before rinsing her body hair away. They scrubbed her clean with a rough sea sponge and washed her hair. Last, the attendant poured several buckets of water over her.

      It was strange to be bared this way before other women, but no one appeared disconcerted in the least. One woman stretched in the steam, sweat glistening over her nubile body.

      Another slave brought out scented oils, and Laila jerked in surprise when the woman began to massage her. After the heavy steam, she closed her eyes, surrendering to the touch. Her aching muscles relaxed, and as the slave’s hands slid over her skin, she found herself thinking of Khadin once more.

      He was handsome, with such piercing blue eyes that drew her in. Any woman would be honored to become his concubine. Laila shivered when the slave’s hands moved to her neck and shoulders, sliding down over her breasts to massage her stomach and lower back. A shocking ache of pleasure resonated through her body, down between her legs.

      Though the slave was merely doing her duty, Laila found herself responding in a way she didn’t understand. Her body grew more sensitive, and goose bumps rose over her flesh as she was coated in fragrance.