As always, the cool air of the room was a shock to Erik's skin as he took off his mask.

At least he was spared the awful suspended animation – the hideous waiting…that had often accompanied this moment of truth. The girl's reaction was little better than he had expected, but at least it was instantaneous.

At the sight of his bare face, naked sobs ripped from her throat and in an instinctive bid to curtail them, her lush lips twisted until they almost resembled his own.

Erik brought a hand to his mismatched eyes in self-loathing. His earlier small suspicion that she might be able to cope with his appearance without the eunuchs' threatening presence had been a childish, stupid fantasy. He had brought this on himself, and for no earthly good, not even for the value of shocking an audience. Why hadn't he sent her away? Why?

Suddenly, he sensed her coming towards him and wrenched his fingers away from his face.

She took small steps, and only stopped when she was standing close enough to reach out and touch him.

He was so shocked at the beauty of her motion, and that she had willingly approached him, that it took him almost a full minute to recognize her feeling, though the emotion was positively radiating from her.

Some fear, yes, and maybe even still a little dread – Erik couldn't deceive himself about that. The few kind words he'd given her, even spoken in the most soothing tones his powerful voice could muster, could not eradicate the terrible thrall of his unwanted mystique. He might as well set a marble slab under a dripping faucet and expect a rivet to be worn through the stone in an hour's time.

But there was another sentiment there, as undeniable as it was unbelievable.

Pity.

Rife with compassion, entirely void of condescension, pity positively shone from this poor girl whose childhood, in its own way, had probably been as stifled as his own.

And no one had ever looked at his face with pity before, save Marie Perrault...

Uncomfortable with her proximity, and afraid that he was deceiving himself after all about her kind impulse to him, Erik sank into his customary bravado.

"Well?" he asked her, and placed a hand on his hip. "Am I not handsome? Is my chin not glorious? And what do you think of my cheekbones? I would ask you to critique my nose, if I had one."

To his surprise, she took a step closer. That same inquisitive look came into her eyes, and he wasted no time telling her, "Ask your question."

Her voice was hushed and husky with the tears she'd shed...but with gentleness, too.

"Monsieur...your face...does it hurt you?"

A reasonable question, but not one he'd never expected to be asked. He raised a finger slowly to her face, still not touching her.

"You have a most charming mole here on your otherwise unmarked cheek. Does it hurt you?"

Her nose wrinkled in confusion at the seemingly silly question. "But of course not, monsieur, I was born with..."

Her voice trailed off, and she flushed with obvious shame. "Please forgive me."

"There is nothing to forgive. Now it my turn to ask you questions."

Erik stepped to a nearby sofa, and gestured to it with a long unfurling sweep of his fingers. She sat silently and looked up at him with red-rimmed eyes. He stood next to the leather couch and looked evenly down at her. "You will answer me immediately and honestly, is that clear?"

She nodded, and her hands clenched themselves on her lap.

"Why did they pick you to come to me tonight?"

"My training has finished, monsieur. The bathing mistresses informed my sublime lady khanum of this, and she made the decision."

Her second word sparked his interest more than any mention of the lazy tyrant who ran the harem. "Of what things did your training consist?"

She sat a little straighter on the couch as she courteously – almost primly – responded.

"I have studied the art of perfuming, both myself and my lord. I have practised my songs, my lute and goblet drum, and learned many poems and verses. I have learned how to bring my master as much pleasure as my unworthy self and wretched body are able, through massage and other methods."

In spite of himself, Erik was charmed by her demeanor as she recited her litany of sinful skills almost like a little postulant might recite her catechism. He wondered what Father Mansart would have made of this little heathen, but deep inside him he knew. The kindly priest, through his shock and horror, would surely have forgiven the fetching young creature all her sins. After all, she was still a virgin...a pulse beat in Erik's throat at this reflection...and the priest would have figured that being a heretic, she had many strikes against her soul already.

"And were there any other...contenders for my company?" Erik realised he might never again have a chance like this to find out about the inner workings of the harem, and he intended to take full advantage of the situation...even if he didn't take advantage of the girl.

The girl looked a little downtrodden at his question, but answered as quickly as he had told her to.

"Oh, no, monsieur. All the other women were glad when they found out I was to come to you."

"Glad? Why?"

"Well...after tonight, obviously, I would no longer be untasted." At her last word, Erik felt his gut and loins tighten simultaneously with longing. "Thus, I would be less likely to be summoned to the Glory of the World – not that I ever dared to presume this would happen!"

"Of course not," Erik said dryly. He felt habitual fury rise in him for the plight of the helpless females in the harem, who existed only to be called to the twisted, lewd whim of a bratty boy king. And Erik knew that there were so many women in the place that some were doomed to spend their lives in a state of perpetual inconsequence, imprisoned behind its high walls without ever being summoned to the shah. He shook his head at the ludicrous image of so many beautiful women plotting and vying for the depraved attentions of this nation's tyrannical despot.

"And they told you if you displeased me in any way that you should be killed. Am I correct?"

The corners of her full mouth turned down, and she nodded.

"You are to put that threat from your mind, for I can and will see that it does not happen."

"How, monsieur?" Her eyes were pleading. "Once I leave here..."

"I think you will find that there is no place in this wretched palace that I cannot control, should I wish to. Do not underestimate my influence with the shah."

She fell from the couch onto her knees again. "Oh, monsieur, I abjectly beseech you not to speak to the Shadow of God about me! That would surely mean the end of my life."

"And do you value your life, child?" he asked her.

"I...suppose I do, yes." Through her panic, she looked bemused. Clearly, no one had ever spoken to her about such matters before. "It is the only life ever given me by Allah, and all happens according to His will."

"Indeed," Erik nodded. He remembered that Muslims, like Christians and Jews, did not believe in reincarnation, but in one soul to be rewarded and punished for virtue and sin by Almighty God after earthly life was done. Poor luck for me...

The girl looked a little calmer, and he decided that a change of scene was in order.

"Would you care to see my menagerie?"

"If you please, monsieur," she said instantly, the picture of politeness. But Erik saw a plain expression cross her face - a look that he had seen often at this poisonous court of malice and intrigue. The girl's smooth brow furrowed as she savagely bit her rosy lower lip. She was indeed terrified, but not of him – she was mortally afraid of being made to look a fool.

Erik could not understand why, until she found the commendable courage necessary to ask her question. "If you will excuse my ignorance…what is a menagerie, monsieur?"

Erik smiled at her for the first time as he offered her his arm to help her up. "Come."

She rose gracefully, went willingly and even placed her little white fingers on his elbow. Erik was immediately distracted by their slight weight on his body and their warmth through the fine linen of his shirt. A small, delicious shiver went up his back as he realized that although he had initiated it, their first physical contact was her touching him, not the other way around.

Before he could fully examine the sensation, they had reached their destination behind a painted silk screen in the corner of his apartment's huge, airy sitting room. She withdrew her hand from his arm and knelt down with a soft cry of delight.

She cooed in indulgent affection at the striped, one-eyed tomcat who greeted her. Erik was sure the girl was quite unaware of the sensual picture she made on the floor, smiling as the animal stalked and circled her possessively, rubbing its sleek head and body against her bare back and abdomen as hard as it could in a blatant show of male ownership.

"Do you like cats, my dear?"

"Oh, very much. Our beloved Prophet, peace be upon him, also loved cats. Did monsieur ever hear or know that the Glory of the Empire escaped into the harem one day not six months ago?"

"Indeed?"

She smiled as she caressed the madly purring feline. "Everyone was shocked. She bolted right out of the arms of the eunuch who held her and straight through the garden gate that separates the harem from the rest of the palace."

"Was this eunuch punished?" Erik asked.

"Oh no, monsieur. My merciful, benevolent lord found it most amusing. The eunuchs tell us that he laughed and praised his Glory's good taste in company."

"How was the cat recovered?"

The girl's lips split open in a wide, whimsical grin.

"My illustrious lord shah promised a ruby ring from his own gracious hand to whoever found her. We all had a merry afternoon searching the entire harem before a senior concubine named Halima finally found her curled up asleep on a pile of my majestic lady khanum's silk sheets."

Erik pictured the shah's spoiled feline squeezing into the confines of the harem through the narrow bars. He felt another wave of maddening frustration on his guest's behalf that she had less freedom of motion – and was treated far less kindly – than a bloody cat.

The odalisque's attention had turned to the other avian and reptilian life forms with which he shared his apartment. Only a few were asleep, while several chirped a greeting at her. One looked at her upside down through slitted eyes.

"Do you like my guests? My other guests, that is?"

"Yes, monsieur," she said courteously. "But where do they sleep? Where are their cages?"

Erik frowned. "You will find no cages in my rooms."

He poured a glass of arak from the small table next to him and offered it to her.

"I thank you, but if monsieur will excuse me, true followers are not permitted."

"You must be the only Muslim in the palace who abides by that edict," Erik said as he set the liquor aside for himself. "Do the ladies of the harem drink much wine, or any spirits?"

"Certainly never spirits, monsieur, and they are only allowed wine once in a great while, such as the anniversary of our gentle lord shah's birth. I myself do not imbibe. The harem mistresses say that a drunken woman is a disgusting disgrace to humanity."

Erik snorted at this nauseating hypocrisy after all the inebriated debauchery he had seen among the gentlemen of the palace. He shook his head at the nonsense of it all as he poured his guest a goblet of chilled orange sherbet and handed it to her.

"Oh, thank you, monsieur." She cupped the copper goblet in her smooth hand and drank in large sips, like a child. Her shoulders shimmied a little as she shivered from the chill. And when she put the cup down, Erik was taken by the glistening of the freezing liquid on her lips – and again when her little red tongue darted out to lick them clean.

Erik's nostrils flared slightly as he watched her lips, and ached to find out with his own tongue how fast her mouth would reach its regular hot temperature after drinking the icy treat.

He was surprised to see his hand reach down, pluck a large, moist piece of baklava from the tray where he kept treats for his birds and offer it to her. He had made no conscious decision to do so.

He drew in a ragged, quiet breath as she bowed slightly and then fell to her dessert. She resembled nothing so much as a little brown squirrel devouring her nut cake. Her perfect white teeth made short work of the dripping pastry, and she smiled shyly through a bite when she saw that he was watching her.

When she was done, she thanked him politely. Her smile accentuated the shiny spots of honey that clung to her lips. Erik was struck in his stomach by the delightful paradox of her sumptuous mouth decorated with sweetmeat like a child's.

He reached out to brush the amber liquid from her lips. A mistake. His heightened senses screamed silently as they were barraged with an onslaught of luscious sensations...the blazing heat of her lip...the unexpected strength of her chin in his palm...her sudden intake of breath as he touched her for the first time.

And then, in a move that made him curse himself for a madman, he placed his own thumb in his misshapen mouth and before her shocked eyes, sucked her sweetness from his skin.

Erik started to ache again as she gasped slightly. Her eyes widened, which accentuated the fact that her pupils were dilated. He wondered if her look was a planned coquetry taught by her harem mistresses, if she truly did not know how tempting she looked...or if he really did intrigue her.

And by God, he wanted to find out.