Chapter Seventeen – And Thou Shalt Do One's Duty

Persia 1875

I sit in a small antechamber, waiting for the Shah to arrive. The girl, the one who fetched me from my room at that inn, has departed for some other part of the harem and has told me to wait for him. So I have.

It is so painful to be sitting here, knowing Christine is nearby, knowing that she is close enough to call. Like those torturous months before the Bal Masque and waiting in the shadows before Don Juan, it nearly hurts me not to be able to be with her, even though I am close enough.

There is a scuffling noise outside the door and I rise, anticipating the presence of whoever is playing the host to my guest. In walks an elaborately dressed man, flanked by guards, and the girl who brought me to the palace, her head bowed. The man, who I am certain is the Shah, stands before me and I bow courteously to him. "Stand," he orders, very curt and unfriendly.

I stand up to him full height, which is considerable, and look down the few inches into the Shah's eyes as he searches me for any signs of a threat. If only he knew. "I hear that you attempted to have one of our girls against her will."

"It was hardly against her will, milord," I lie sharply.

"Silence!" the smaller man screams at me, but it does not phase me. If he were more…rotund, he would remind me forcibly of dear Piangi. Then again, nothing is left to compare to, but that is another story entirely. "I do not want to hear you speak!" he snaps. "Indira!" He shouts, and the girl comes forward, bowing before her ruler. "Take this man to his rooms until he is ready to comply. Only then shall he be let out."

Later…

The girl, Indira, leads me to my rooms, walking with a regal air about her, and I cannot help but think that she would be a wonderful ballerina at the opera, or even a Prima Donna, should her voice be worthy. But there is only one Prima Donna, and I know that she is out there, closer than I care to think of.

We walk down the mazes of corridors in the harem until Indira stops outside a large door and opens it, welcoming me into it. I walk cautiously past her into the large room and turn around to see if she will accompany me inside or stay out; I hope the latter. However, no sooner have I turned than I find her body up against mine, her lips upon my own.

She is not new to this, that is clear. Her tongue expertly pries my lips apart and shoves itself between them, mingling with my own in my mouth. I do not claim to have experience in these more romantic arts, and I find myself, for the first time in years, scared out of my wits. This girl has intentions, but I do not desire to wait around and find out.

As I try to push her away, she throws her weight against me, propelling me back, my knees buckling against the side of a low-lying bed and landing me on my back on the mattress. I feel surprisingly helpless, trying to ward off her attempts at seduction but having my much greater physical strength thwarted.

Indira straddles my waist and begins untying the laces on my white poet's shirt. God above, let her stop. She lowers her face beside mine and murmurs sensually in my ear, "I am the ante-Khanum, sir, and you are quite honored to have me." Her tongue lashes out and traces itself along my jaw from just below my ear down to my chin and then up into my mouth, nearly choking me.

I know more about sexuality than I have experience with and am aware that what I am feeling is not arousal or lust; it's fear. If they could see me now, the Opera Ghost humbled at the feet of a harlot! Sensing Indira's hands at the waist of my pants, fumbling to pull the shirt loose, another wave of emotion falls over me; this is not what should be happening.

In one swift move, I gather my strength and throw her down on the mattress, raising myself up. Before she can do anything, I grab her thin neck and drag her up to my level, my large hand holding her hostage and breathless. "How d-dare you!" she shrieks, or at least she tries to. "Wh-what do you want?"

I hold her face up close to my own, anger and hatred burning in my eyes. "Where is she?" I shout at her, my voice tinged with hurt. When she doesn't answer, I tighten my grip and she gasps. "Where is she?"

"Where is who?" she pants. "I don't know what you're…" Strengthening my hold again, I try to force an answer from her.

"You damn well know who I'm asking about, don't you, you good-for-nothing whore!" I shout at her, not caring how inappropriate it is for me to say such things to a woman of her rank or how cruel I am being. She shakes her head, the movements small and frantic. "Where is Christine Daaè?

"I don't know who…" Indira struggles to get it out and then yelps again as I strengthen my grip upon her. "Stop!" her voice is barely a whisper, hoarse and raspy. I could kill her now, but what would that do for me?

"Tell me!" I yell, the sound coming from deep within the years of anguish tucked away in my mind, the years of being tormented and hurt. "Tell me or I will not hesitate to kill you!" I see tears on the ante-Khanum's face, her eyes watering with pain and dread.

"She's in the room at the end of the hall," Indira chokes. "Please, let me go!" Ah, a plea I can deal with. I throw her onto the mattress and storm from the room, ready to claim what is rightfully mine.

I stride down the long hallway in very few steps, though it feels so much longer. This time, I won't hide who I am, will not be afraid. I am through with fear, at least after what has just ensued. I am the predator, not the prey.

Not bothering to knock on the door, I slam it open. "Christine!" I shout, but then stop. On the bed across from the door lies a woman of beauty comparable to Christine's, but much darker. Her long hair flows over her shoulders, across the glossy skin. She looks upon my form as though she has eyes only for me, though I am fully aware that any woman here does not have sight for one man alone.

"Well, hello."