A/N: I really don't have any excuse for not updating other than, more important things have been going on in my life than fanfiction. That said, I will make a sincere effort not to wait another year before getting the next chapter up. Thanks as usual to Ren for her happy pestering and encouragement in the form of artwork, and to everyone else who's poked me and asked me what's taking me so damned long. I will finish this.

Escape

I posed in King Sharaman's harem room. I was to appear haughty, aloof, perhaps suggestive of aristocracy; I dared not laugh at the great irony of being a princess mistaken for a commoner, now trussed up as exotic royalty. No harem girl should be thinking amusing thoughts, except to amuse her visitors – we were mere decorations, girls to sensually lounge around and provide a pleasing atmosphere. It was a good existence for a captured slave – we conceded to the occasional fond touch, but little more. I was immensely grateful to the green-eyed Prince for arranging for me to reside in his father's harem rather than become a lowly servant like other prisoners. He told me they would not have allowed such a pretty face to go to waste scrubbing floors or serving food, and he might have been right, but I overhead him requesting that I be treated with respect. And so they dressed me in fine clothes and called me a foreign beauty, a mystery who never removed the veil that covered her face, and I lay among plush cushions and rich textiles, pretending to be, well, myself.

I remembered little of my sun-maddened days in the Persians' caravan, only yellow sand and a kind face. When I recovered my senses, I was relieved to discover that my identity had been disguised by a hundred small injuries, as well as the sand that clung like a persistent nightmare to my hair and skin. I obtained a scarf to cover my head and face – allegedly to protect me from the harmful sun, but in truth, it offered protection of a far greater sort: the Persian capture of an Indian princess could shatter the tenuous peace between our nations. So I called myself Sandhya, because my persona would be as vague and fleeting as dusk. Once I was able to speak to the Prince alone, I could reveal myself and regain my regal authority.

A rustle of curtains and a flash of blue solidified into the Prince. He smiled when he saw me, and then politely dropped his eyes. The rumours I had heard of his kindness had not been exaggerated – in addition to all that he had done to ensure my comfort in his home, he chose to offer me some modesty when he visited me.

"Any news from India?" I asked.

He rolled his eyes, but smiled. "India, India, always India. Is my country not enough for you?" He feigned a hurt look, with the faintest hint of honesty showing through.

I tapped one slippered foot, making frustratingly little noise. Let him think what he may – silk pillows did not make me any less of a prisoner.

He sighed and told me the gossip I always asked after. "The princess' betrothed is concerned, as usual. The wedding is less than a month away and still there's no sign of the girl. No doubt he worries she's done something foolish like eloping for love."

"No doubt? Has he said that?" I interrupted.

"Well, he's nearly old enough to be her father," the Prince replied, arrogantly scornful. "Surely a woman of her grace and stature could do better; she's probably found a young fellow more suited to her."

I crossed my arms. "She chose to marry him, you know. Did it ever occur to you that she might actually like him?"

He had the audacity to laugh. "Of course not. Everyone knows she only settled for him because he was the least worst of them. And if she was that fond of him, why did she leave? No, I think she's gone and found a handsome prince to fall in love with."

"Out. Get out."

He laughed again. "Really, Sandhya."

I glared.

"You can't order me around in my own house!"

He was childish but correct. I relaxed my brow and uncrossed my arms, lounging once more on the cushions.

"Why do you like him so much?"

I looked up and saw that the Prince had sat down beside me. "Because he's kind to her. He loves her, you know."

"Of course he does – she's young, pretty, and has a country to offer."

"No, it's more than that." He waited for me to continue, but I was savouring Halim's earnest eyes and low voice calling me "dear."

We talked of other things until he went to attend to some matter. I wished for my fiancé and wanted to cry, but knew I couldn't. And so I posed.

The days passed idly and I became more and more restless as my wedding date neared. I hadn't felt so helpless, so fruitless, since the listless time judging suitors before Halim arrived. Back then, I thought sometimes of the Persian prince who visited my window – the same man who now visited me in the harem room almost every day, unaware of whom he was speaking with. I wondered why I'd found him so mysterious then; he was just a spoiled young prince with a good heart hidden somewhere among the mounds of ego. All the wondrous things had been said to the Indian princess; he made no mention of sand or daggers to me now. I had come to Persia because my curiosity about that strange night was interfering with my ordinary life; now I saw that the man who so fascinated me before was quite ordinary too, as far as royals go. He had put behind him the stories of magic and adventure, and I realized it would be childish for me not to do the same. Although I found myself unexpectedly enjoying my stay in his home, it was only a matter of time before I found a way to leave.

One clear September night, I lay in the dark of the harem room thinking of my home and family. I wondered when I would see my father's wise, creased eyes or feel my mother's smooth brown hands. My thoughts were interrupted by a sliver of light that brought life to the vivid colours in its path as it grew wider. Looking towards the source, I saw the Prince's dark form fill the half-opened doorway as torchlight flickered behind him in the corridor. He gestured for me to come with him.

As I rose to follow, one of the girls stirred behind me, wakened by the light. I turned to see her smiling at us; knowing what the look on her face meant, I smiled awkwardly back, then hurried out of the room.

Offering me his cloak and his arm, the Prince led me through the cold stone palace. Orange firelight drew harsh, shaky shadows on the walls, but aside from a few guards, everyone was asleep and silent. I asked where we were going. He put a finger to his lips and pulled me up yet another flight of stairs.

I caught a glimpse of something sparkling just before we emerged into open air. We were on a small balcony little bigger than the one adjoining my bedroom in India. It was the first clear night after days of rain. The stars shone fiercely defiant in the black sky, and every surface glimmered wetly. As we walked to the edge of the balcony, a marvellous sight stretched before us: miles of rippling desert, across which lay my home. The sheer vastness of all that sand, grey in the moonlit darkness, weighed upon my spirit. So far away from home, the dunes echoed, so far, so far.

"Isn't it glorious?" The Prince gazed up at the brilliant stars, oblivious as always. It was only natural that he should feel such pride for his kingdom; surely he would understand that I felt the same way about my own land. The time had come for me to return there.

"Prince," I began, "you've been nothing but kind to me since I came here, and I want you to know that I deeply appreciate that." I touched his hand as it lay upon on the balustrade. "But I'm restless here. I don't want to stay a slave girl forever." I looked up at him then, knowing the desperation in my voice was matched in my eyes. "I was hoping you could do something for me."

"I know what it is you're asking." The clear words were spoken with discomfort. "And I understand why… I've thought about it myself sometimes." I took the embarrassment in his sideways glance to mean he sympathized with my need to leave, even though he didn't want me to go. "But I don't know if I can give that to you."

I grabbed his arm like a begging child. "Please, all I'm asking is—"

"I—I don't love you, Sandhya."

My brow moved confusedly. "You don't have to love me to—" His expression wrinkled into a puzzlement equalling my own. "What is it you think I want?"

The horrified shame on his face betrayed his thoughts. "You spoiled pig!" I spat, and left him to the beautiful night sky.

Seething as I ran through the halls, I knew I had to leave immediately. I couldn't risk him telling anyone what had happened. I would return to Halim, who was neither silly nor arrogant and possessed the ability to look beyond himself once in a while. Even if he was only marrying me for shallow reasons, he treated me well and I could have a happy life with him.

Fortune took pity on me and I found my way back to the harem room with relative ease. It was only in the heat from the sleeping bodies that I realized I still wore the Prince's blue cloak. I took it off and filled it with snacks enjoyed by the palace's residents and guests – bowls of fresh fruit and sweet bread. There would be enough to keep me alive for the journey home. What I really needed, however, was—

"Thirsty?"

I nearly dropped the bulging load as I turned around. A girl looked up at me from the floor, drowsiness hooding her pale eyes – the same light sleeper who had woken up earlier. As I stared, frozen with guilt and fear, she repeated, "Is he thirsty too?"

I looked down at the food in my arms. "Yes," I answered. "He sent me down here to fetch him a snack."

She made a disgusted noise that dissolved into a yawn. "Typical royalty, treating everyone like their slaves. I don't know what you're getting out of this—" she gestured vaguely at me to signify my midnight venture with the Prince – "but just remember that you're better than a common servant. Don't give him any more than you need to."

I nodded and remained standing there for a few seconds before she reminded me where the water was. I took a full pitcher and a cup to look unsuspicious, hoping they kept skins in the stables – my last place to visit.

Creeping down to where the horses were kept wasn't difficult in my soft slippers, although when I reached the stables, the dampness seeped into my feet and chilled me from the inside. But the air was humid and warm and I knew my shivering was caused by fear, not cold. I was so close to escaping—

"Oi," said a voice – the kind I could picture smiling through crooked yellow teeth. "Where are you going tonight, pretty?"

My body turned to ice. "Away."

"I don't think the king would like one of his birdies to fly away now, do you? He ought to have clipped your wings a little shorter." Rough hands pushed my arms together behind my back and a man's breath warmed my neck. I shivered. He felt it and laughed the slow, creaking laugh of a man with power over another human. I began to worry then.

"Oh, I'll make sure birdie gets safely back in her cage," he grinned. "The king takes good care of his pets." His mouth was close enough that the moisture from his saliva was beginning to wet my skin. I heard a quiet whimper, my own, and that was when I knew I had only a fool's hope.