"That's the one," Ashel said. "The goldsmith who made these is still in business; one of the oldest shops in the city. I work with them often. A fine gift, but of course, I'd expect no less." He smirked briefly before opening the second box, gasping faintly as he took in the contents. "This did not come from the royal vaults."
Berkant had a feeling that was the case; the design was simply too specific, too clearly intended forhim.
It was a collar necklace, meant to fit snugly, the front fitted with a golden jackal head with sapphires for eyes. Not just extravagant, but possessive.Mine. I claimed the Jackal, the necklace said.
Or maybe Berkant was a fool and only seeing what he wanted. Only time would tell, and that time was nigh.
"Here, permit me to assist," Ashel replied. He affixed the cuffs first, one to each wrist and upper arm. They were snug without being tight, sure to stay in place during the match. The idea of wearing jewelry in a fight railed against everything in Berkant, but thiswasn'ta fight. It was a show. No, not even that. It was a…bid…a plea.See me. Claim me. I want to be yours as I've been no one else's. Parvaneh had been his partner, his equal. Berkant and Shafiq would never be equals, and he didn't want them to be.
"Bend down a bit," Ashel said with a laugh. "You tall people forget the rest of us can't reach as far as you."
"Sorry," Berkant replied with a smile, and dutifully lowered himself enough that Ashel was able to affix the collar, which locked into place in a way that would require help in removing. Definitely the sort of jewelry that saidmine.
He just had to hope Shafiq wanted all that Berkant was offering. If he didn't… well, he would deal with that moment when it came.
A bell chimed, signaling the end of the current performance.
"Your turn," Ashel said, and gripped his forearms, smiling. "Divine guide and protect. I hope the performance goes well, and you get all you deserve and desire."
"Thank you," Berkant replied, the words barely more than a whisper.
Leaving the dressing chamber, he waited in front of the banquet hall doors, smiling and nodding as Jorin came to stand at his side.
"Nice jewelry," Jorin said with a grin.
"Does everyone in this place know something I don't?" Berkant asked.
Jorin just laughed, and then the doors were opened, and the exhibition match was announced. Berkant was taken aback and yet completely unsurprised by the noise that rose with the calling of his name. His eyes, though, were only for Shafiq, who regarded him with an intensity that left Berkant struggling to breathe.
There was sorrow in his eyes too, though, held back only by years of training and practice. This was, after all, a surprise commemoration for the late queen.
Berkant took his corner and assumed his start position, giving the barest nod to Jorin across the way.
Then the gong rang out, thrumming in his chest, and Berkant was moving. High swing, low swing, block, match. Spin kick, dodge, high kick. Backflip. Drop kick. Blow after blow, swing after kick, one fluid movement after another, everything he used to be and so much more. It might be fun, some time, to spar properly with Jorin. Others, if that was something he'd be permitted to do. For all he was as Tavamaran as they came, he didn't actually know most of the customs and rules surrounding the concubines.
The match finished, the gong sounded, and Berkant dropped to his knees, chest heaving with exertion. He placed his hands on the mat and bowed low, temple to the floor, until that beautiful voice he'd been aching to hear said, "Rise, please."
Berkant and Jorin stood as one, keeping their heads bowed.
"Please, look up," Shafiq said, and smiled when they did so. "Your performance was magnificent. My wife would have been overcome with joy to see such skill. I am honored you would do this for me. Thank you. I would reward you both with whatever you desire. Think on it and see me in the morning with your wish. Nadir."
Rising gracefully from his place at Shafiq's side, Nadir crossed the room to join them, a servant following with a tray of wine. He poured first for Jorin, and said, "Congratulations on a job well done, Master Jorin," as he offered a measure of wine for Jorin to drink.
He turned to Berkant and offered up a new cup of wine, saying softly, "A beautiful performance, Master Jackal."
"Thank you, my lord," Berkant said, meeting his eyes, holding them as he accepted the wine, aching to taste it on those lovely lips. The gleam in Nadir's eyes seemed to say he shared the thought.
Nadir withdrew and returned to Shafiq, where he poured a cup of the very same wine, offered a sip to Shafiq, and finished the last sip himself, eyes flicking briefly to Berkant once more.
Berkant was on fire.
He and Jorin left, clearing the floor for the next performance, and back in his dressing room, Berkant collapsed, exhausted down to his bones—and not from the fight. Berkant reached up to press a hand to his throat, forgetting in his frazzled state about the collar until his fingers wrapped around warm gold.
The words… the wine… the mischief and pleasure in Nadir's eyes, the intensity of Shafiq's gaze… Berkant wasn't imagining all of that, was he? These delicate palace games were not his thing. He was a fighter, clear and direct.
Standing on legs he wasn't certain would hold him, Berkant went off to get clean, forgetting until too late that he couldn't remove the collar necklace on his own. Well, it wasn't like he was eager to remove it anyway. More and more he liked the weight and feel of it. He would have expected it to be restricting, but all he felt was… comforted. Protected. A strange feeling, when he was the one always expected to do the protecting.
Which he would. If he was fortunate enough to belong to Shafiq, he would protect him, his child, and everyone else in his life.
