The Boy King: Part Five

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	The Persian palace grounds were beautifully adorned with 
creeping plants that ran up the walls, and trickling water 
fountains.  Naqee stood in one of them.  His ankles were adorned 
with silver and gold anklets and bells.  His feet had been colored 
with red henna dye.  He wore two simple rectangular, white, silk 
cloths suspended in the front and back at his waist from a thin 
gold chain.  His torso was bare, and his wrists were crowded with 
an assortment of bracelets that ran all the way up his forearms in 
gold, silver, and copper, and shimmering assortment of stones.  His 
eyes were done up in the usual manner with kohl, his hair oiled so 
that its’ overlapping shingle-like layers reflected every ray of 
light that struck it.  An assortment of fresh green, red, and blue 
leaves were tied together to form a fan shaped ornament, and was 
braided into his hair so that it formed a sort of halo around his 
face.  Naqee’s entire body had been patted down with silver dust.  
	He looked like a surreal apparition.  Something from the 
heavens, or a nymph of the wood.
	Tajammal stood several feet behind him, draped from head to 
toe in a thick white robe.  Part of the white cloth was drawn up 
across his face so that only his eyes were exposed.  He was 
masquerading as a Berber, one of the fair skinned tribes in 
northern Africa where the men wore veils as opposed to women.  
Clever disguise, acting as Naqee’s personal attendant.  
	Babeko, Tajammal’s brother, stood at the opposite side of 
the garden.  He stood with arms crossed and eyes closed for a 
moment, listening to the sound of the water moving in the 
fountain.  This was a very informal reception, held here instead of 
the throne room.  The notion made both Naqee and Tajammal uneasy.  
	Babeko opened his eyes and let out a deep breath before 
turning to look at Naqee.  His face was strickingly similar to 
Tajammal’s.  But, due to age, Bebeko looked manlier his face 
rougher.  His long black hair had been pulled back away from his 
face and tied in a clumsy knot at the nape of his head.  Naqee 
blinked several times, he couldn’t get over the fact that Babeko 
was such a strikingly handsome man.  He felt Tajammal’s eyes on him 
and he very slowly turned his head to look back.  Tajammal’s eyes 
were scolding him silently.  
	Babeko’s eyes narrowed, the long eye lashes almost closing 
into a curtain over the eyes, and then he unfolded his arms.  He 
walked forward, slowly, inspecting Naqee from head to toe with his 
scrutinizing eyes.  Naqee began to worry.  Babeko wasn’t 
necessarily falling head over heels for him as Tajammal had 
promised.  He began to think that this entire trip had been a great 
waste of time, and that the entire plan to seduce the Persian king 
was a fluke.  No expression crossed Babeko’s face.  
	But then Naqee did notice something.  Babeko’s expression 
hardened, he saw the slight bulge of a muscle at his jaw.  Suddenly 
Babeko’s eyes flickered away from him and lingered on the water 
fountain.  
	Perhaps.  .  .Perhaps I’m not his type, Naqee wondered.  Or 
maybe he tired of boys while Tajammal was gone.  But suddenly 
Babeko turned back and his eyes focused on Tajammal’s robed 
figure.  A frown formed on his lips.  
	“Why do you bring about such servants?  That one cannot 
even look at their faces and tell whether they are smiling or 
scowling.  It’s always best to look at your servants expression, 
lest someone plan your murder in your presence.”
	“He’s from a Berber tribe,”  Naqee said.  His first words 
ever to Babeko.  He could tell his voice affected Babeko 
immediately.  Naqee had a hoarse voice, and it sounded as if he had 
a bad cold.  It sounded eerie coming from such a tiny beautiful 
boy.  It bordered on the edge of being frightening and immensely 
sexy.  “And he is very good to me,”  he smiled.  “He always has 
been.”
	Now Babeko smiled.  “Why would the Sultan let such a 
beautiful boy like you wander away from the security of his walls, 
across the desert, and into my power .  .  .without fearing for his 
well being?”
	Naqee smiled.  “I suppose the same reason mothers don’t 
kill their crying babies out of impatience.  .  .their beauty 
protects them.”
	Babeko burst out laughing.  “Hmmm,”  he said nodding his 
head, lifting up his hand and motioning for Naqee to approach him,  
“very clever boy.”  He winked at Naqee.  “I think I love you 
already.”
	
	Naqee was guided through maze of gardens and small baths by 
several concubines.  A pang of envy hit him suddenly.  The palace 
was not as elaborate as his own but, in its intricate carvings on 
the ivory panels and startling white walls and floors there was a 
majestic elegance that took the breath away.  Tajammal followed 
close behind.  
	“Lovely isn’t it?”  Tajammal whispered.
	“Yes,”  Naqee said without looking back.  “Maybe I’ll 
invade Persia and make it mine.”   
	Tajammal grasped his arm suddenly and Naqee looked back.  
Harsh black eyes peered back at him.  “Well.  .  .”  Tajammal said 
in a forced friendly voice as all the concubines turned to see why 
they had stopped.  “Such a frail boy like you is only meant for 
pleasure, and should you ever find yourself in a battlefield you 
would surely perish under some man’s sword.”
	Message received.   Naqee forced a smile and nodded.  “I 
was only joking,” he whispered under his breath.  He yanked his arm 
out of Tajammal’s hand.  “Tighten your ass anymore and you’ll suck 
your robe in.”
	Well, Naqee thought to himself as they continued through 
the palace, If there is one thing that gives me some comfort so far 
away from my native land is that Tajammal has retained his god 
damned personality.  Son of a bitch.