He tossed the satin off her and dug his fingers into her flesh, all the time murmuring that she had to be punished. “Albino!” he moaned. “How will we face our people?”

“Albino is white, pure, a sign of rebirth.” She struggled to contain his furious hands, lead them along the curve of her neck, across her milk-swollen breasts, and down her soft belly.

His tongue traced the path of her veins, tasting ripe fruit and sun-warmed spices. His teeth crushed her earlobes, her shoulders, the inside of her arms, puncturing the delicate skin.

She sucked her own blood from his lips. The tip of her tongue probed the indentation of his cheeks, the cleft of his chin. Her nostrils flared to drink the scent of black roses.

He crushed her under his weight, forcing her thighs wide.

She slid from under him. “I’m not pure. We must wait for forty days.”

She reached for the silken cords and tied his hands. Whispering promises of fulfillment, she plugged his ears with silk balls. In the silence that extinguished the world and heightened his senses, she lubricated him, softening every knot, tracing his body with familiar ease, skipping, scratching, teasing until he groaned with anticipation. She did not breathe from her nose to reduce the dizzying effect of his smell. Her tongue slithered over his eyelashes, the beat of his temples, the moisture in his armpits, the hair between his legs.

He could have snapped the silken cords with a slight pressure of his wrists, but he did not. He savored this surrender forced upon him. A moment of trust and abdication he would allow no other. An instant when he stopped being the ruler of an empire. He shut his eyes and pressed his lips to plug the rest of his senses and concentrate on her touch. Her rhythm quickening, she lowered herself and took him in her mouth. He broke the silken shackles.

The cannons blasted at dawn. Three rounds of fire announced the birth of a girl, seven had it been a boy, repeating the fire five times in twenty-four hours, once for each call to prayer. Each palace sacrificed three rams; five had it been a boy.

21

None doubted that the demons of Raven’s grandfather, the late shah, and of her grandmother, Rebekah, had found home in the child. She matured faster than any mortal. At six months, her small body erect, she took her first steps. With eyes that shunned color and a touch as strong as a warrior’s, she shot fear into the hearts of the sultanas. Her voracious appetite reminded them of man-eating dragons that guarded ancient caves. Her intense gaze was so piercing the women questioned her mortality.