The Urge to Surrender

The bedchamber was vast. The king led her there on a cushioned settee by the window.

Scheherazade sat on the edge. She patted the space beside her. The silk of her gown whispered against the sheets.

-Come, make yourself comfortable. This tale is not for the restless.

The king lay down with his head on her lap.

-Prince Kamal, she began. Beloved by all. He rode out to hunt. He chased a stag into a hidden glade.

She traced a pattern on the coverlet.

-There stood Shams. An enchantress. Born of desert winds.

-What did she want?

-She circled him. She told him he was far from home. She touched his collar. She asked why he had come.

The king watched her. His eyes were heavy.

-Kamal stammered. He said he was hunting. Shams laughed.

Scheherazade leaned closer. Her breath was warm.

-She told him his hunt was a pretext. That destiny led him there.

-He was looking for something else.

-Indeed. Shams demanded absolute obedience. She asked if he was prepared to relinquish control.

The king shifted.

-Surely he resisted. Surely he made her submit instead.

Scheherazade smiled.

-You underestimate the allure. Kamal was proud. He declared he bowed to no one.

She reached out. She touched the king’s neck. A light pressure.

-Shams grabbed his wrist. She twisted. She pinned his arms behind his back. She possessed strength beyond mortal ken.

-She overpowered him?

-She told him struggle was futile. That his heart raced like a gazelle fleeing a lion.

The king closed his eyes. He nestled into the pillows.

-Fear and arousal, she whispered. Two sides of the same coin.

-Did he hate it?

-He felt a traitorous thrill. The urge to surrender.

The king’s breathing slowed. The tension left his shoulders. He was asleep.

Scheherazade stopped. She looked at him. The man beneath the crown. Vulnerable.

-Sleep well.

She slid out from under him. She let his head rest on the silk.

She watched him for a moment. Then she turned to the window. The night was still young.