Layla Lufti looked outside the tall window she was sitting by, her deep brown eyes shifting down to the rolling waves of the dark blue ocean and the calling of seagulls in the distance. They looked so close she could almost reach out and snatch them from the air like dates, and how she longed to be able to go down there and walk on the beach, and feel the salty spray of the freeing ocean from somewhere other than her window. Her chin balanced on her right hand, she looked out sadly, reminded that what she wanted didn't matter; not here anyway. A small hand was placed on her shoulder, and she turned around, the golden bangles on her low cut sleeves clinking together like the beads of a rainmaker. She was facing Sanaa, the eldest of the women in the Imperial Harem, and the unofficial leader of the group. Her jet black hair was plaited in a long braid down her shoulder, covered in small diamonds with the pattern of a fresh snowfall. For being the oldest, she was in her late thirties, and still incredibly breath-taking. In fact, despite being around seven years his senior, Sanaa remained a close favorite of the Leader to warm his bed. "You've been looking out that window for a while. Is everything alright?" She asked the newest member of the girls. Layla sighed. She had only been sixteen when a group of Pleasantview soldiers found her feeding the cows on a neighbors farm, and took her into custody as a prisoner. After several years of unspeakable acts, she was let go, only to be arrested the same evening for breaking the curfew; with the worry of air raids in her village. She was tried, and to be put to death before the country, until Youssef saw her beauty and called off the execution, having her live in the palace as a concubine for… well, she had forgotten how long he had decreed, but it didn't look like her freedom would be back anytime soon. Layla had certainly appreciated the turn of events, but missed the days when she could wake up with her parents, work the fertile dirt around the river, and be free to wear or say whatever she pleased. "Yes. I just-" "Well, no use just staring. Come on, let's practice our songs." She had an irritating habit of cutting Layla off right as she began to speak, but at this point, Layla was getting used to it. "Girls! Come on!" Sanaa clapped her hands and the twelve women stopped what they were doing and walked at varying speeds to a set of wooden risers, the red cherrywood glowing in the light of the large room. Taking her place on the bottom row, Sanaa stood in front of her and four other girls in their early twenties. Right as they began to sing, Layla heard something. "Stop!" She called throwing her hands up in a halting motion. Sanaa gave her a stern look and frowned as the first few of the girls ran to the window, hearing a car door slam from the driveway below. "Oooh, it looks like a guest!" Said a small girl with soft eyes and firm brows named Tahiya. "He's a handsome one, that one is." Dunya nudged her older sister Dalida in the shoulder, her ink black hair falling into her face. Layla pushed her head through the group, then her shoulders, until her silky orange blouse was pressed against the stone baluster. Many were hesitant to wave or call out, seeing as they were property of the Leader, and one or two whimpered as the copper-haired man began to walk towards the entrance. But Layla couldn't shake the feeling that this man would save her. "Hello down there!" She blurted out, her hair keeling over the balcony railing like an oil spill at Jumbok Falls. After a second, the man looked up at her, and gave her a sweet smile, and the others began swooning and sighing, each one thinking that the smile was at her. Right as Layla started a small wave, a hand grabbed her shoulder and ripped her back and off the balcony. Pulling her bangs out of her eyes, Laylas reserve dissipated like nothing as she looked into the cold eyes of Sanaa. "What are you doing?!" She hissed. Layla began to stammer. "I, I was just being nice!" Sanaa narrowed her snake-like gaze. "You can't be too careful!" The older woman gripped into Layla's arm like an angry octopus. "You know as well as I do what the word 'Harem' means!" She bit her lip and knitted her eyebrows, gulping in fear. "Forbidden. Harem means forbidden." Layla looked sadly. Seemingly satisfied with this answer, her anger melted away in an instant. "Good girl. Now you go and get yourself cleaned up, now dear, I'm sorry." Sanaa comforted her as tears welled up in Layla's soft eyes. "Hey, I'm sorry." She hugged the young girl. "Now," Sanaa let go and patted her shoulders and smiled. "Go get cleaned up. Come on, I'll get the tub running." She said and Layla nodded happily, walking off to find the baths.
Farid and Michael stood in the grand entrance hall of the Presidential Palace, and he took in the opulent surroundings. Cream colored marble floors with black trimming and tan walls were brightened only by the many candelabras and the one tall window as the end of the hall. Red columns and crown moulding accented the warm and neutral armchairs and couches, the gilded portraits the past rulers running down the hall in line of succession. A light male voice boomed at the end of the hallway. "The new bodyguard, I presume?" It came from a tanned man with messed black hair and pleasant features. Michael recognized the face. "Yes," He responded rather nervous, and Farid held his hand tightly as they walked up the velvet red carpet to the imposing man in front of them. He was wearing a grayish-blue suit and tie, and while he looked orderly, he didn't look comfortable. This was the feared dictator of Al Simhara? He seemed much more terrifying and assertive in the posters and news broadcasts. "Please, drop the formalities." Youssef said with a mild hint of disgust. "Just refer to me as Sir, or Mr. Nagi. Nothing more, nothing less." Michael continued to look at the man. He was much younger than himself, and seemed no older than thirty. "You are not from here are you?" The dictator expressed mild interest. "No, but-" "But he is a legal citizen, Sir!" Farid cut in quickly. "I am aware, Mr. Kamel." The man shot a small glare at his advisor. "I need you to take care of something for me. Go and ring for a repairman. A toilet in the guest wing needs to be repaired." Mr. Nagi said bored with a roll of his hand towards the left, and Farid walked out, grumbling absent-mindedly. "Now," The dictator said calmly to his guest. "I assume you know what your obligations are Mr…" He trailed off for Michael to introduce himself. With a small bow, he said "My name is Michael, Mr. Nagi." Youssef raised an eyebrow. "Yes, Michael." He tried the name out as if he had never heard it before. "But you have military experience, am I correct?" He questioned from his spot in front of him before taking a step backwards. "Yes Mr. Nagi." Michael responded in a slightly worried tone. "Well, here is a riddle for you to answer. Answer correct, and you keep the job. Answer wrong and you are never going to work for me. Am I understood?" The dictator said firmly, brushing his shoulders casually. Michael nodded. "He has married many women, but has never been married. Who is he?" He asked plainly, as if tired of hearing the incorrect answer. Michael looked up, as if God would give him the answer, but after five minutes of thinking, he had one. "A preacher." He said confidently. Youssef smiled at him. "Well done. I expect to see you for dinner tonight, in the dining hall. Until then, my advisor," Youssef indicated Farid, who was now back and standing next to him. "Will show you to your room." He said content, and walked into the hall and out of sight. "Well, I assume you answered the riddle correctly?" Farid smiled. "Yeah. It wasn't even that hard." Michael responded returning the small grin. "So, care for a tour to your room?" Farid wondered indicating the seemingly endless hall in front of him. Michael nodded and followed Farid down the carpeted hall, the hundred doors only divided by the occasional end table, painting, or potted plant. After about ten minutes of walking, they reached a door next to a painting of an aristocratic woman in a blue niqab, a baby in white blankets perched on her lap. "That's a wonderful painting. Who is it?" Michael asked. "I have no idea, really, I never come into the guest wing. It's the only part of the palace I don't know by heart…" He trailed off putting his hand on the doorknob. "This isn't going to be nice is it? The room I mean." Michael guessed. "Oh no, of course not." Farid chuckled with sarcasm and opening the door. "You may work here, you may have a uniform, but you are still the Leaders guest." He said from behind Michael, who was wandered into the room. It was nothing like he expected. It was covered in the same marble tile as the entrance hall, a red paint clashed well with white paneled trim. Looking up at the high ceiling, he saw coffered ceilings with matching white beams and golden suns in the center of each square. A chandelier hung in the middle of the ceiling, its light casting shadows in the curtained bed, the cherrywood frame glossy in the light of the setting sun. A stationary desk, two armchairs, and a bookshelf sat opposite the bed, and next to the balcony. Going out to the balcony, Michael saw the endless stretch of saltwater that separated him from Pleasantview, the spray of the sea blowing through his copper brown hair. "This is more amazing than I ever could have hoped!" He exclaimed as Farid watched him from inside, with a look that said 'I know'. "Speaking of amazing," Michael said coming back inside and closing the glass door. "Where is the diningroom? Mr. Nagi asked me to meet him there for dinner." He asked. "There will be servants in the hall, I'm sure they could explain it better than I could." Farid responded as Michael walked to a door next to them. "Where's the bath?" He asked looking at the toilet and sink, but no tub or shower. "There are separate baths down the hall by the back veranda. You'll find it easily." He said. Michael looked at the advisor funny. He had never heard of that concept, in all the Egyptian history he knew. "It is like a bathhouse. You'll like it." Farid clarified. "Besides, no offence, but you need one my friend." Farid continued. "None taken." Michael said plainly. After a few months with Lisa, he grew used to the small stabs at his hygiene. After a moment, they parted ways, and Michael took the work uniform, a collared grey and white striped shirt and cargo shorts with sandals. Looking over it, he figured it was just casual wear. From all his years in the army, he knew that real bodyguards most of the time blended into the crowd. Holding the clothes in his right arm and a towel in his left, he walked down the hall to find the veranda, he soon became lost. Looking around for a servant, he saw a small old woman dusting a statuette next to him. "Excuse me, but do you know were the baths are?" He questioned. THe woman had a sour look on her face. "Over there, take a right turn, you'll see the arch." She jerked her thumb behind her. "Thank you, Ma'm." He bowed his head respectfully as she looked perplexed, but shrugged her shoulders and went back to dusting as Michael made the right to the archway. Walking into the domed room, a column of white light filtered into the large, circular pool from an opening above. The pool looked perfectly still, a filter of steamy mist rising off of the water. Smiling lightly, he walked into the changing room and stripped out of his sweaty suit, and left it on the bench titled in Arabic, 'laundry'. Soon, he turned a partition wall and saw a gorgeous horseshoe shaped cavity will falling water around it. Stepping in, he began rinsing himself off in the waterfall-like shower separated from the changing room by a solid wall of stone a full foot thick. As he scrubbed himself, Layla Lufti walked to the pool in only a towel. Slipping out of the soft fabric, she stepped into the bath, her hair pooling around her as the steam began to rise, covering her face in a vapory mist. Meanwhile, Michael stepped out from the shower, still naked except for a silver dog tag, and got into the water, small waves rippling towards Layla. "Is someone there?" She asked barely audible. Not hearing her, Michael scooted around the edge of the pool, the water swishing past him. Layla began to stand up and look around. She was certain someone was here now. The water at her knees, she bit her lip and looked for her towel. Groping around in what she thought was the edge, her hand squeezed something soft. But towels didn't scream. In a matter of seconds, Michael brought a hand to her wrist threatfully, pulling her in with a big splash and an ear-piercing scream from Layla, who hadn't expected a muscular man to grab her from seemingly nowhere. As steam cleared from the splash, Michael opened his eyes and let go of the thin wrist that reached out to him. Looking at the person in front of him, he saw a pair of deep brown eyes that matched his own, her ink black hair spread around her in the water, her eyes still blinking rapidly. Bringing a hand to her eyes, Layla rubbed her face and opened her eyes fully open to view the intruder. His copper brown hair hanging in short lengths around his fragile looking features, the dirt on his cheeks washing away like cheap rouge to reveal a faint glow in his cheeks. Laylas eyes nearly popped out of her head, and Michaels expression matched hers. She was dumbfounded, to say the least. A man in the Harems bath! Before she could stop herself, Layla was screaming again, trying desperately to get away from the stranger, who suddenly began to blurt out apologies in near perfect Egyptian Arabic, trying to catch up to the flailing woman. Running out of the pool, Layla grabbed her towel and desperately tried in a failed effort to cover her body and her face at the same time, which the towel was, unfortunately, not big enough for. Getting out of the pool himself, Michael stayed half submerged from the waist down, realizing that in his belief that he was alone, he didn't take a towel. Now regretting his choice, the young woman backed up against the wall between two marble columns, frozen in fear. Looking around frantically, Michael dove under the pool and swam across it, quickly dashing back to the changing area and grabbing a towel. Coming back, the girl seemed to have calmed down a bit, now sitting with the towel wrapped around her and her small feet in the water of the pool, the white moonlight dancing across the water from the oculus. Wrapping the fabric around his waist, Michael debated on whether to approach or not. Gripping his dogtag in his hand, he made his way over to the woman and joined her, sitting to the right and following her gaze to the water. 'I'm very sorry." He said after about ten minutes of silence. The girl just stared ahead. "I had no idea that this was a womans bath." Michael continued in a heartfelt tone, looking at her sadly. Raising a hand to her mouth, Layla began biting her nails, something she never did unless she was extremely stressed. "Please, I would settle to know your name." The man said holding a hand to her between them, to which she accepted after a long pause. "Layla." She whispered. "Michael." The stranger said giving her hand a soft shake, then releasing it. SIlence settled over the pair as the water danced in the pale moonlight.