The Boy King: Part Four

NONE ENTERED BY AUTHOR

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	“Wait,”  Naqee said suddenly.  Tajammal froze and loomed over 
him.

	“What is it?”  he said.

	“I just realized.  .  .you haven’t told me how you ended up 
in on a slave block here all the way from the royal palace in Persia.”

	Tajammal frowned, his face reddening and he leaned back, 
letting go of Naqee and crossing his arms.

	“I suppose I should tell you.  Actually, I find it quite 
amusing you never asked before.”  He paused arching a brow as a 
thought crossed his mind and then he let out a sigh.  “I was taken 
from my bedchamber one night by some men and blindfolded.  I was sold 
off to some slave traders and they brought me here, and sold me to 
you.”

	“You don’t know who it is that planned on taking you off the 
throne?”

	Tajammal shrugged.  “My brother of course, who else.  He 
waited some time of course before claiming the right to the throne—to 
ward off any suspicions.  Smart man, but apparently not smart enough 
to have me killed instead of sold into slavery.  Alive I still pose a 
threat to him, and I can still claim my throne again.  .  .  But if 
he gets the army on his side.  .  .”  

	Naqee sat up from the pillows and tilted his head.  “Do you 
think the army will side with him?”

	Tajammal thought for a long time.  “Unfortunately, the army 
will side with the closest military leader—that would be him.  Which 
means.  .  .Well—He’s probably sent off assassins to kill my wife.  
She’ll probably never make it to Instanbul.”

	A coldness creeped into Naqee’s heart, and his stomach 
churned.  “Doesn’t that make you angry, or upset?”

	Tajammal looked down at his hands for a moment, and then up 
at Naqee.  His eyes were full of unshed tears and for the first time 
Naqee saw in that beautiful face a sign of weakness.  He wanted to 
cry but he was trying to hold it in.  “Of course it does,”  he 
whispered, his brows wrinkling.  “My wife.  .  .Maryam—we grew up 
together.  She’s  two years younger than me—twelve, like you.  But 
what can I do?”

	Naqee smiled.  “You can ask for my alliance.”

	“But I thought you were still unsure of my identity.”

	“Well, I was, but not anymore.”

	“You mean.  .  .” Tajammal’s face filled with awe,  “you mean 
you’d raise war against Persia?”

	“In a heartbeat,”  he said.  “But first, I’d better send 
soldiers to go find Maryam and escort her the rest of the way to 
Instanbul.  If your brother gets the Persian army on his side, well—
you have mine on yours, and everyone knows the army of the Ottoman 
Empire is something to reckon with.”

For the first time Tajammal was speechless—the both of them sitting 
on the bed naked talking about war and stragedy.  

	Moments later Naqee had a small troup of soldiers go find 
Maryam and escort her to Instanbul safely.  Yusef was summoned to the 
study adjacent to Naqee’s room, where he was ordered to gather the 
army generals and instructed to prepare for war at a moment’s 
notice.  Yusef was startled to hear the news but seemed a little 
excited at the same time.  Afterwards Naqee sat at the edge of his 
bed and watched as Tajammal paced back and forth.  

	“Tajammal,”  Naqee said suddenly.

	“Yes?”

	“A little while ago, before we began talking about Persia and 
your brother.  .  .when we had stripped naked on the bed.  What were 
you planning on doing with me?”

	Tajammal stopped and smiled, the blood rushing to his 
cheeks.  “I was planning on fucking you that’s what.  You make me so 
angry sometimes that—well, that that’s what I want to do to you.”

	“Hmmm,”  Naqee said, butterflies fluttering in his stomach as 
his sex began to harden.  “Is that so?”  He fell back on the bed, the 
tassles on the frame shaking.  “I better make you angry then.”

	“I should rip off your goddamned balls, that’s what I should 
do,”  Tajammal said suddenly.  

	Naqee tried not to smile.  “I’m.  .  .I’m so sorry I had you 
castra—“ He burst out laughing.  “I’m sorry I had you castrated.”

	“Oh, it’s funny now is it?”  

	Suddenly there was a knock at the door.  Naqee sat up and 
gave the person permission to enter.  A slave came in with an object 
wrapped in a white cloth in his hands.  It had been the same slave 
that had castrated Tajammal.  The slave bowed down to Naqee and 
approached him.

	“I should have you flogged,”  Naqee told the slave suddenly.  
The slave looked bewildered and fear filled him suddenly.  “You did 
not bow down to Tajammal, the King of Persia.”  He said montioning to 
Tajammal.  The slave hesitated, confused, and then bowed down to 
Tajammal.  

	“I should skin you alive,”  Tajammal murmured.  

	The slave became very agitated then, his face worried and 
quickly handed the wrapped package to Naqee.  As Naqee took the 
object in his hands, the white cloth fell back.  Naqee’s heart 
skipped several beats and his face drained of blood, and an eerie 
animalistic purr came out of Tajammal’s chest.  There resting in the 
middle of the white cloth lay Tajammal’s scrotum, neatly sowed closed 
with the balls inside, all spiced up with embalming ingredients and 
ready for eternity.  Fear and shame flooded Naqee’s face and he 
cursed himself for having forgotten that he had ordered the balls 
embalmed.  

	Naqee was scared to look up at Tajammal, but he felt the air 
around him heat up as if a fire had been set on the bed, and then he 
heard the loud angry steps of Tajammal’s feet on the floor 
approaching him.    He heard the slave scream and he looked up to see 
the slave flying out the window like a mouse who had been swept up by 
a hawk—only he wasn’t going to keep going up—he was going to fall 
down on stones beneath the window.  Fear overtook him as he saw 
Tajammal close in on him like a hawk. Tajammal snatched the balls 
from his hand and flung them violently into the blazing fire in the 
hearth across the room.  Sparks flew up as the chemicals caught the 
flames and then the balls went up in sea of yellow fire.  

	To Naqee’s surprise Tajammal’s erection was visible through 
the white robe.  A moment later the robe was gone, and the erection 
almost slapped Naqee in the face.  The castration didn’t seem to have 
any effect on the size of the cock, or it’s hardness, but before he 
could continue contemplating on it he was flung onto his back and his 
legs were once more pulled over his head.  He felt like he should be 
on some freak show on the streets with his  feet touching the 
cushions above his head.  He heard Tajammal gather up spit in his 
mouth and then he felt the glob land on his ass—directly on his 
anus.  It disgusted Naqee suddenly and he felt like some sort of 
cheap meat that had been sold off to the highest bidder.  Before he 
could protest Tajammal had shoved half of his cock up Naqee’s hole—
and the pain was almost enough to make him faint.  He yelled out, 
reaching down with his hands to feel his anus tightly wrapped around 
Tajammal’s cock.  The pain throbbed out to the rest of his body and 
it felt like a knife had been plunged into him.  He tried to squeeze 
him out but it only increased the pain, and when he tried to pull him 
out with his fingers Tajammal grasped his hands with the other hand 
and held them up to his ankles.  Tajammal had Naqee’s feet and wrists 
pinned together with his hands.  It was the same way Tajammal had 
been tied up for the castration and he knew Tajammal did it to remind 
him of it.  

	Naqee tightened up as hard as he could, attempting to hinder 
further penetration but it only made the process more painful.  
Tajammal shoved several more times until finally he had his entire 
cock in Naqee.  He began to pump hard, excited to see Naqee’s 
buttocks shake with the jolt of each pump.  The taut skin of Naqee’s 
anus around Tajammal’s cock turned a hue of red from the irritation, 
and it glistened in the candlelight from the lubrication.  This 
excited him more and he pumped harder.  Naqee groaned and then 
Tajammal felt his anus tighten rhythmically as he came.  This pushed 
him over the edge and he thrusted several more violent times—he felt 
something in Naqee tear, he saw some blood seep out and then he 
came.  He came violently, his body convulsing as it attempted to 
expell the absent seed.  Sweaty from the effort, Tajammal attempted 
to draw back but Naqee stopped him with a cry.  Tears were coming out 
of Naqee’s eyes.

	“It hurts,”  Naqee said,  “let me push you out instead.”  He 
did this, pushing Tajammal out slowly to reduce the pain, and then 
Tajammal collapsed on the bed beside him.  They lay there silent for 
a long time.  And then Tajammal turned his head to look at Naqee.  
Naqee still saw the rage etched there in his face and it made him a 
little afraid.  His long black curls were spread across the bed like 
a blanket, and several curls clung to the sweaty skin of his cheeks.  
He looked like something out of a jungle.  He possessed what Naqee 
could only describe as a fierce beauty.  

	“You really are a savage,”  Naqee whispered.

	“When it comes to savagery,”  Tajammal said,  “you surpass me 
by far.”

	“You’re the one who’s going around killing my slaves.”  

	Tajammal smiled and turned his face away.  Naqee could see 
part of his profile. 	

	“Now they’re in a better place than you or I.”

	“Hmmm, and you are their beautiful deliverance.  How 
romantic.” 

	 

	The following morning Naqee struggled to get around the 
palace without limping, and all the slaves were attempting not to 
make their stares obvious.      

	  Then at noon something happened that shocked everyone.  An 
exhausted horseman arrived at the palace.  It had been one of the 
soldiers sent to escort Queen Maryam.  They had ridden all night to 
reach the queen but, before they could reach her location, they had 
been attacked by a small band of Persian soldiers.  The Queen was 
dead, the horseman said, and so were the rest of the escorts.  

	Naqee stood there in the courtyard listening to all this, and 
Yusef was beside himself with shock.  Tajammal had gone completely 
silent and withdrew to himself.  Tajammal seemed to vanish into the 
shadows of the trees, and when Naqee finally turned to him the look 
of anguish on Tajammal’s face made him want to weep.  Yusef did not 
know what to say.  Naqee had just lost some of his soldiers and the 
attack had been an obvious challenge to the Ottoman Empire.  Babeko, 
Tajammal’s brother had relinquished the throne.  

	“I have no choice,”  Naqee said, turning to Yusef.  “I must 
declare war against Persia.”      

	“My Lord,”  Yusef said in a hushed voice, bending 
close.  “The people would think it curious for our young king to 
claim war on Persia on the mere words of a.  .  .well of a yet 
uncertain slave who claims to be the king of Persia.”

	“I’m sorry—what did you say?”  Naqee said, furrowing his 
brows. 

	“My Lord, with all due respect, you are twelve years old and 
matters of war should be left to the counsil--”

	“Should I remind you,”  Naqee said in an angry voice, “that 
king Murad retired from his throne in 1444 in favor of his twelve 
year old son Muhammad the second?  Age did not seem to be an issue at 
that time.”

	“But My Lord. .  .”  Yusef frowned, his face turning a shade 
of red from frustration.  “You must understand the severity of your 
actions.  The people could rebel against such a claim, 
and.  .  .Well, I do not want you to end up like your uncle.”   

	“I should have you flogged,”  Naqee whispered.  But fear 
seeped in at the possibilities and he couldn’t help but admit that 
Yusef had a point.  His uncle had reigned for a very short time.  So 
short that his name would probably be forgotten in the folds of 
history.  .  .What if the same should happen to him?  Naqee began to 
worry.  Everything that happened in the palace the slaves would spill 
out into the streets, so no secrets were really secrets from the 
people for very long.  

	By the end of the week word had gone out that the Persian 
king was pleasuring himself with the sultan and that the sultan had 
become a mere pleasure boy rather than a proficient leader.  Yusef 
began to discuss the situation between the ottoman empire and the 
Persian rivalry  feverishly, attempting to come up with a solution.  
The armies were told to be prepared to leave at a moment’s notice and 
for the first time Naqee found himself unable to sleep at night.  

	Naqee wanted to declare war on Persia, but he was afraid of 
what the people would say.  But if he didn’t do anything, then they 
would think him a weakling.  The words Tajammal had repeated to 
himself days ago echoed in his mind ‘What am I to do, what am I to 
do.’  

	Tajammal on the other hand had become eerily quiet since the 
news of the queen’s death, and the slaves skittered out of his way as 
he walked, fearing for their lives.  One afternoon, about three weeks 
since the news, Tajammal stood outside in one of the gardens and 
Naqee took his post by the window.  Naqee watched him, unseen, as 
Tajammal mumbled something to himself.  The color had slowly faded 
away from Tajammal’s lips and the tender skin beneath his eyes had 
turned a gloomy gray-sky color.  He seemed on the verge of insanity 
as his dark eyes darted back and forth in thought.  Naqee decided to 
move closer to hear what he was murmuring to himself.  He walked 
along the wall, stopping at each window to check Tajammal’s location, 
and then he stood at one of the doorways leading into the garden.  A 
large leafy plant party hid him from view and now he could see 
Tajammal’s profile in deep thought, the brows furrowed—he was only 
several feet away.  

	“But who, but who.  .  .”  Tajammal whispered.  “Not me, he 
knows me—someone else, someone.  .  .someone very pretty.  .  .”  
Suddenly Tajammal turned his head sharply and his eyes landed on 
Naqee.  Naqee felt his body turn to stone.  He will kill me now, 
Naqee thought, for spying on him.  But Tajammal’s face actually 
brightened and he smiled.  A weight seemed to have been lifted off 
his shoulders and Tajammal rushed to Naqee.

	“You’re perfect!”  Tajammal said, cupping Naqee’s face in his 
hands. 

	“Perfect?”

	“Yes!  Come here, no—here next to these –wait sit there on 
the bench I will explain.”  Tajammal was so excited he was sputtering 
out words faster than he could think.  Naqee sat down and looked up, 
anxious as to what Tajammal had thought up.  Tajammal let out a deep 
breath in preparation and then bent his knees a little and leaned 
forward to look closely into Naqee’s eyes.  “My brother,”  he said 
very slowly, “absolutely loves boys.  He loves boys and he adores 
beautiful boys!  They are his weakness, you see?  He cannot refuse a 
healthy pretty young boy from his bed—I’m telling you!  I’ve seen him 
squabble and blabber about the price of brothel boys, and YOU—my 
young beautiful friend—are the perfect weapon against Persia.”

	Naqee’s stomach began to twist and he tightened up his bowels 
at the thought.  He could even feel his testicles shrink back into 
his body.  “You’re absolutely mad,”  Naqee whispered.

	Tajammal laughed, shaking his head.  “No, no, no!  It is 
genius!  It is unheard of and perfect!  Your hair!”  Tajammal reached 
out and touched the layers.  “Your hair is marvelous, and your eyes 
are enormous, and your lips are as soft and sweet as a dew-touched 
lotus.  You will enthrall him!  Now, all you need to do is dress up 
like a concubine—you know what the concubine boys wear, the little 
bells and silks—and you can present yourself to him as a great renown 
concubine .  .  .  .OH I GOT IT!!  You can claim to be the Sultan’s 
concubine!! It is too sweet!   He would want to conquer you for sure!”

	“That’s insane—Im the sultan!  What would the people think if 
their king is running around claiming to be--”

	“No no!  Its wonderful!  The people won’t know!  No one will 
tell them I’m sure!”

	“What about you?”  Naqee said angrily.  “Why do I have to do 
all the work while you lounge around in my palace?”

	Tajammal smiled—a tight smile with the perfect row of white 
teeth looking almost like a shark’s.  “Because,”  he said 
stiffly,  “You owe me.”

	Something about the way Tajammal said the words made Naqee’s 
hairs stand on end.  His muscles quivered and fear began to grip him 
by the throat.    

	“What if I don’t want to?”  Naqee whispered.  

	Tajammal’s face hardened, the smile turning to stone and his 
eyes widened.  Then, for the first time Naqee saw something in 
Tajammal’s eyes he had never noticed before.  .  .or he had mistaken 
it for mere savagery.  He saw insanity there.  Before Tajammal could 
speak, Yusef entered the garden, and his face quickly softened.  

	Yusef bowed at them and looked at Naqee.  He saw the fear in 
Naqee’s eyes and he slowly turned his gaze to look at Tajammal.  
Tajammal smiled and it seemed to startle Yusef who blinked hard 
several times and motioned for Naqee to come with him.  

	Grateful to leave, Naqee followed Yusef closely down the 
corridors of the palace and into a private chamber.  Yusef turned to 
him and studied Naqee’s face.  

	“Is My Lord, all right?”  He asked, sincere concern in his 
voice.

	Naqee smiled, attempting to shrug it off but his smile began 
to quiver and the tears came so fast out of his eyes they were 
dripping off his chin before he could wipe them up.  He flung his 
arms around Yusef’s neck and buried his face into his shoulder.  
Yusef embraced him, holding him tight in his arms as he rested his 
cheek on Naqee’s soft hair.  

	“I don’t know what to do,”  Naqee said sobbing.  “He is 
ruining me!”  Yusef patted his hair and then looked at Naqee in the 
eyes. 

	“My sweet little king,”  he said softly,  “Tajammal could be 
disposed of in moments, you know that.”

	“But he is the true king of Persia--”

	“He will be nothing but a tyrant to the Persian people, 
Naqee.  Don’t you realize?  Look at the way he treats the slaves—
they’re not even HIS slaves.  Look at the way he treats you.  He 
would become Persia’s unyielding vice suffocating it’s inhabitants.  
He is not fit for the throne.  And I’m beginning to realize why 
Babeko had him taken from the Palace after all.”

	Naqee thought on this for a moment and found it true.  “You 
know he told me to dress up like a concubine and seduce his brother.”

	Yusef’s face paled.  “What?  The boy’s absolutely mad!  How 
dare he attempt to put the Sultan in such a position!  Let me have 
him executed, My Lord, please!  He will tear apart this palace, I 
tell you!”

	Naqee wished it were so easy.  Even though Tajammal had 
turned Naqee’s life into a nightmare he couldn’t help but feel 
connected to him.  They had slept together and discussed intimate 
things.  .  .Tajammal had even exposed moments of weakness to him.  
How could he just send him off to the execution block?  

	What can I do, Naqee thought.  Maybe.  .  . Maybe he could 
sell Tajammal off into slavery again.  The idea seemed divine.  No 
one would have to execute anyone, and Babeko would not feel 
threatened from the west, so Naqee would not have to declare war.

  	But then a strange thought entered Naqee’s mind.  What 
if .  .  .what if Tajammal really WAS mad and .  .  .

	And Babeko had intentionally told the slave traders to sell 
him to me?  Did Babeko have intentions to rise against the Ottoman 
Empire? And was Tajammal a weapon to weaken me?  How do I know how to 
plan my next move if I’m unsure as to who my enemies are?  But, in 
his heart, he knew what he had to do.  And he knew he needed Tajammal 
to do it.  

	He had to dress up like a concubine.  



	The following morning he went to Tajammal’s room, a decent 
bed chamber almost as extravagant as Naqee’s.  Tajammal looked tired, 
as if he had trouble sleeping and when he looked up at Naqee with his 
drowsy eyes and tousled curls it was enough to make Naqee scold 
himself for being so hasty in judgement.  The entire situation with 
Persia was wearing everyone down, most of all Tajammal.  Not to 
mention his child bride had been slaughtered.  On impulse he bent 
down and kissed Tajammal on his lips.   Tajammal flushed and offered 
a weak weary smile.  

	“You know Persia better than I do,”  Naqee said.  “So I want 
you to come with me.”

	“Come with you?”  Tajammal arched his eyebrows questioningly.

	“Yes, to escort the sultan’s beautiful concubine, no?”

	Tajammal’s face brightened up.  “Of course!”