Chapter 3

When they arrived, despite the ominous dread, she couldn't help but look around her in amazement.

It was hard for her not to reminisce all the tales she had read as a youngster. It was more grand and more terrible than anything she had ever imagined. In her dreams, she had seen mountains of sand, but, Meg being the eternal optimist, there was always a little oasis in the middle of them. Here, there was dust. No golden sand. Just dust. Well, probably it was sand, but in her eyes, it was dust. And rocks. Lots of rocks.

The city wasn't much better, at least at first. Their horses ran through the crowds, regardless of the mess they caused around them. But Meg was too busy doing her best to avoid any contact with the horse rider behind her and keeping a certain balance while being handcuffed (which was quite the exploit) to pay attention to her surroundings, as she would have eagerly done in another setting. However, they came to a lower pace as they went through an enormous portal and that the landscape at last improved.

Meg finally saw the palace in front of her, and couldn't help but sigh in amazement. For a moment, she believed perhaps that it wouldn't be so bad, since fairy tales always ended well and since she was the heroine, either she would wake up from this bad dream in her bed at the Opera house, either perhaps her father would come, having survived for some mysterious reason, and save both her and her mother. Or maybe a prince. Meg felt her ears heating in embarrassment for that last thought.

They entered a garden, full of plants, flowers and trees Meg had never seen in her entire life. As she got helped off the horse, she couldn't help but turn around to have a better look at everything, before one of the men grabbed her by the collar, and, as she was brought back on Earth rather brutally, she begrudgingly lowered her head and stayed still. She lifted it for a split second, trying to meet her mother's gaze, but Madame Giry was obstinately keeping her head low and her lips tight.

They had finally arrived to destination, and now, she had no idea what was going to happen to both of them. Obviously, her mother probably had a clue. But she had always refused to tell Meg anything about it.

She saw a group of women running towards them, all dressed in the same way. And soon, while speaking all at once, they separated her from her mother and the escort to bring her somewhere else. For a moment, Meg panicked while being drawn away, breaking free of the grip of the women who looked to be the eldest, swirling around.

"Maman!"

Madame Giry lifted her head. She smiled.

Meg held back a sob, and thought for a moment she was going to choke. It was only the women dragging her away which forbade her from collapsing on the ground crying.

After all, it was only now that she realized that perhaps she wouldn't see her mother again.

It was unreal, for Meg. Wherever she would be brought to, she couldn't imagine Maman not managing to escape her captors, not finding her daughter, not hugging her tightly and bringing her back home. Now, Marguerite Marie Jeanne Giry felt so very small and helpless, and the thought that she had no one now to rely on was truly the most terrifying thing she had ever experienced.

She could barely recognize herself. Meg was always the one Christine had turned towards whenever she felt the littlest insecurity. The girls in the ballet chorus also did that, depending on the moment, and more or less secretly, since, after all, she was Madame Giry's daughter. Simone had also done that once, quite surprisingly. Meg had been convinced until that day that the soloist dancer hated her, but apparently, not too much. The next day, Simone had come back to her old, unpleasant behavior, but Meg didn't see her in the same light anymore.

The women had brought Meg to a room where she saw a bronze tub filled with water waiting for her. A bath. It wasn't that unwelcomed, considering she hadn't had a bath for weeks and that she felt terribly filthy. But the oddness of her situation since the beginning only laboured her even more. The meals, the lack of any physical abuse, and now the bath…

As the women started stripping her from her dirty dress, she couldn't help but let go a little cry. She stared at them for a moment, and finished taking off her clothes, until she had nothing else but her undergarments. As she saw the oldest woman crossing her arms, Meg understood she had to take them off too.

She turned her back to the servants, taking off the rest of her clothing and jumping in the bath as quickly as she could, curling up in the best attempt to keep a sort of decency, enjoying the water's soothing warmth.

But it was useless, since quickly, the women were all on her, scrubbing her body and her hair, covering her in perfumes that made her feel dizzy to the point she partly forgot her humiliation.

She finally got out, and instead of her clothing, which was anyway ragged, she was handed new ones. She couldn't help but smile a bit as she saw the beautiful sky blue color, but as soon as it was put on her, she was shocked as she saw that those clothes covered less of her body than her undergarments. Oh, for sure, some costumes she wore back at the Opera house could be revealing at times, but never had she worn something that didn't cover her stomach!

She saw the women around her do a quick bow, and she lifted her head to see that a man had entered the room. She blushed and tried to cover her stomach with her arms, and also curtsied, her ballet moves making her open her arms and show her stomach, before she swiftly interrupted her bow to cover it again. As she paid closer attention to the man's face, she couldn't help but find a resemblance with her mother's, in his long face, and his eyes' color and shape. For the first time since what seemed to Meg to be forever, a reassured smile appeared on her features.

"You are Maman's brother, aren't you?" Meg asked, hoping that maybe, he would understand her language. "She told me about you. I'm Meg."

She was so glad to see her uncle smile, and a little more, she would have flung in his arms. "Indeed I am," he replied, with not a hint of foreign accent. "I am happy to meet you."

"Is Maman alright?" Meg asked anxiously. "Have you seen her?"

A slight tension appeared on Nadir's face, which however remained poised and controlled, in a way it made him look even more similar to his sister. "I haven't see her yet. Actually… I'm here to bring you to the shah. The… king of this realm, if you prefer."

"Oh." Meg bit her lips, looking at her feet, before finally assembling her courage and asking: "Uncle Nadir? I mean… can I call you like that? And… what is going to become of me? What is the meaning of all… this?" she added, pointing to the bronze tub and her clothes.

Meg saw Nadir's unease only become more obvious. He cleared his throat. "The shah wishes to see you… before you get married."

Meg's face paled, then reddened, to pale again, while her ears buzzed infernally.

"I… in… who… WHAT?" Meg finally managed to blurt.

Nadir sighed, before finally gathering his courage to speak again and tell everything. "When your mother escaped with your father, I was in charge of finding her, along with another man. We failed, and since then, our position at court is more… let's say, fragile. Said man once refused a very valuable gift from the Shah – a wife. Now, you are to become his bride. And he cannot refuse this time."

"Why wouldn't he?" Meg shouted, as the women drew away from her and exchanged almost panicked glances, taken aback by her bold attitude. "Doesn't he have his say in this?"

Nadir let out a sad chuckle, as he observed his niece more attentively, while looking as if he was haunted by some faraway memory. "In this land, when the Shah has spoken, no one can do anything. All you can do is obey."

A heavy silence installed itself. Meg closed her eyes tightly and bit her lip, while Nadir observed her attentively, fearing that a frail girl as herself, after everything she had been through, would finally break down this time and arrive in a poor state in front of the shah and her future husband.

He studied her for a while, trying to find any kind of resemblance with Anouar. It was hard to see. The eyes' shape and grey color was the same, but for the rest… everything, most especially her honey blonde hair, was oh-so European. Nadir even wondered for a while how Anouar had given birth to such a girl.

But he saw Meg opening her eyes. And for the first time in years, a lump formed itself in Nadir Khan's throat as he recognized in his niece's glance the same determined light he would see in his sister's eyes in the best memories he had of her.

"So who am I to be married to?" she asked, in a clipped tone.

Nadir swallowed. "Has your mother talked to you about Erik?"

Meg glanced at him curiously. "No. Who is he?"

Nadir coughed, as he carefully chose his words. "He is a friend of mine. And your mother's friend as well. We… helped him, a long time ago, when he was very young. Actually… I think he's the closest friend I have here."

"Oh." Nadir saw Meg smile shyly, somewhat reassured, and his heart tightened.

"But… Meg, you have to be aware… Erik… he's not like everyone else."

"What do you mean?" she asked, innocently. Surely, Nadir thought with grief, she thinks whoever is friends with her mother and her uncle is certainly an irreproachable person…

But he was unable to continue, for guards had arrived in the room, and announced that the young girl was to presented to the Shah to be given to her master and husband.

Nadir was thankful that Meg couldn't understand a word of what they had said.

Meg simply imitated her uncle as they entered the throne room, and deeply bowed in front of the Shah. Instinctively, she knew that glancing up at him wasn't a good idea and would probably be a sign of disrespect. But her curiosity, as usual, took over, and in a fraction of a second, she managed to see a man in his late thirties, and that he was studying her from head to toe. Meg bit her lip as unease settled in her. Behind the throne, a curtain was drawn. But it was diaphanous enough for her to see a silhouette behind it, though not enough to see who it was. Judging by the mannerisms, Meg concluded that it was a woman, most certainly. And she even had to retain an impulsive motion to get up and go and see for herself, scolding herself for even thinking of it.

As she glanced to the right side of the room, she saw her mother, tied up and still in a poor state, and looking at the ground intently. This time, she followed her reflexes and would have ran into her mother's arms if it hadn't been for Nadir grabbing her arm so quickly no one except the Shah noticed. He smirked.

"You have a beautiful daughter, Anouar," the Shah finally said in French. "Quite beautiful… I would have kept her for myself."

Meg heard an almost imperceptible groan coming from her mother, and was able to see a guard hold her from the arm as she made a motion towards the Shah. But his smile only became wider.

"It's almost a shame I'm giving her to the Living Corpse."

The what? Meg asked herself. Her imagination was now working at full speed, as she was unsure if the Shah was making some sort of twisted joke or if he was speaking the truth… Well, heavens, there was no such things as living corpses! And as much as Meg loved those kind of morbid tales, it wasn't to the point she was actually going to gobble such a thing…

She saw Nadir look quickly on his side, visibly worried of her reaction. She then recalled his words earlier – that Erik wasn't like anyone else. Well, certainly, it just couldn't be…

"Shall we bring him in, then? I'm sure he'll be more than eager to see he has a bride that will most certainly suit him," continued the Shah.

Meg turned her head to the left like everyone else, as she saw a black silhouette – a man, rather – entering the throne room.

She had had trouble making the difference between man and shadow, for he was the strangest person she had ever seen.

He was dressed entirely in black, in a strange mix of Occidental and Oriental fashion, and with a cape trailing behind him. She remarked how thin he was and how he seemed to float in his clothes, and how skeletal his gloved hands were, with fingers so long they almost seemed inhuman. His long hair was carefully slicked back and tied at the nape. All little details Meg tried to pay more attention to, since what immediately caught her attention was the white mask he was wearing, covering everything except his mouth and chin, and of course, his eyes. Two golden eyes who were sometimes staring at her, sometimes staring boldly at the Shah, and which reminded her of a cat's more than anything else. No, rather that panther she had seen at the Champs-Élysées, once.

Erik seemed more feline than human, after all.

And she had to resemble all her courage not to tremble as she saw the obvious fury on Erik's masked face and the tensing in his body, while seeing the Shah triumphantly smirk as he designated Meg.

For a moment, she even thought he was going to jump on her, all claws up, and tear her to pieces.

A/N: I went on Rumpelstiltskin mode. I said Erik was going to show up in this chapter. I didn't say for how long and how much, though. *cackles*

As usual, leave reviews! I'll maybe update faster and more frequently instead of just every Saturday! ;) Or not! *out*