Desert Flower

Anzhelika luxuriated in a copper bathtub filled with warm water while two maids carefully combed her long hair with silver combs. "Someday I'll forget how to do this myself," she thought serenely as she soaped her leg. The soap smelled sweetly of jasmine and peach. The sun cast a bright red light on the wall, indicating she still had a little time before her date. The palace unexpectedly had running water, albeit only cold. The maids filled a large, comfortable bathtub, partly from the tap and partly by hauling buckets of boiling water. Four different varieties of soap were offered to Anzhelika. The luxury of the girl's new quarters - Salah ad-Din gave her two rooms, a bedroom and a living room - was not only not inferior to the best hotels that Anzhelika had seen, but even surpassed them: silk, velvet, carved wood, silver accessories for washing... After getting out of the bath, drying herself, and putting on a silk robe, Anzhelika stepped out of her chambers onto the spacious, cozy balcony to await sunset. In the corner of the balcony, under an awning, stood a velvet-upholstered couch and a table nearby, on which sat a bowl of fruit, a pitcher, and several glasses. The girl leaned against the railing and rested her chin on her clasped fingers. The sun had almost reached the horizon, casting a soft pinkish glow over everything: the balcony, the wide backyard below, dotted with trees, the cloudless sky, and the thousands of Jerusalem rooftops all around. Somewhere below, maids were bickering, a teenage boy was hauling a bundle of firewood, and in the courtyard, about fifteen warriors were gathering, chatting idly and clanking their swords. Medieval life, which Anzhelika had previously only seen in movies, was going on around her, and the girl was now an integral part of it. Before Anzhelika could even think, "I wish someone down there would start sparring, it's getting boring," she realized she'd been very lucky today. Salah ad-Din strode out into the courtyard with his usual quick, springy stride. His bright, dark face lit up with a friendly smile as he cheerfully greeted everyone gathered. The Sultan exchanged a few words with a few of the warriors and called on one of the young men to practice a bit, drawing his long, gleaming sword from its sheath. Anzhelika watched with admiration as the Sultan's agile, flexible figure moved across the courtyard, swinging his sword, again and again attacking his opponent, who clearly lacked skill, which is why he remained more on the defensive. Unlike the fencing you see in movies, Salah ad-Din's movements were more restrained and reserved. But his sharp thrusts were dazzlingly fast, the kind you never see on the screen—the speed of a man accustomed to having it save his life more than once. Nothing superfluous—a lunge, a rebound, a charge, another lunge, and just the right amount of deflection to dodge and then immediately go on the attack, as if in one seamless motion. Finally, Salah ad-Din knocked the sword out of the breathless boy's hand, waited for him to pick it up, and addressed him in a friendly, completely unwavering voice—as if he hadn't just been showing off his skills for several minutes straight: "Not bad, Fuad, but your movements need to be a little more economical and precise. Put more energy into your lunge, not your swing." Anzhelika didn't hear Fuad's reply. She squinted, admiring Salah ad-Din... The adhan, the call to evening prayer, rang out loud and drawn-out over Jerusalem. Anzhelika looked over the rooftops—the sun had just set. The soldiers began to disperse quickly, and the girl decided it was time to get ready for the date. Anzhelika returned from the balcony to the room. The maids sat quietly on the sofa, looking at her expectantly. At the very beginning of their acquaintance, they had stood respectfully against the wall, and the girl, seeing that they had no intention of sitting, invited them to sit on the sofa. They followed this recommendation gratefully, but they looked as if they were just waiting for this luck to end. "Doesn't matter, they'll get used to it," Anzhelika thought, throwing her robe onto the armchair and surveying her wardrobe, wondering what to choose for the evening. Pulling on a green silk blouse she hadn't worn yet and buttoning it, the girl walked over to the large full-length mirror. One of the maids immediately ran up to her and took over the task. The mirror was undoubtedly a terribly expensive accessory in these circumstances, and Anzhelika had appreciated it with delight immediately after moving in, twirling in front of the perfectly polished surface in all directions (the only thing missing was the opportunity to take a selfie). Now she cast an approving glance at her toned figure and noted with pleasure how the soft green silk brightened her sparkling green eyes. As she pulled her jeans over her slender legs, Anzhelika gave a subtle, sly smile. Finally, the girl stepped out into the hallway and headed down the stairs. Never before had she experienced such pleasant excitement before a date. Above the courtyard, in the pinkish sky visible through the gaps between the broad leaves of the numerous palm trees, the first stars were already glimmering. The bright flowers in the flowerbeds smelled sweet, and crickets chirped somewhere in the grass. Anzhelika walked along the paths, looking around for the Sultan, and suddenly realized that Salah ad-Din hardly had any experience with dates—in the soft twilight under the stars, when you wait with trepidation to see nearby someone... "As-salamu alaykum," a familiar hoarse voice came from somewhere over her shoulder, and Anzhelika turned to meet a pair of heated dark eyes. "Have you been waiting long?" Anzhelika asked, only wanting to say something, feeling herself blush. "It doesn't matter," the Sultan flashed a toothy smile. "It was worth it." He gestured invitingly and continued, "We'll take a short stroll—but first, a gift." Intrigued, Anzhelika followed him out of the courtyard, down the hallway, and out into the street, into the backyard. When they reached the stables, a servant led into the courtyard the most beautiful Arabian horse Anzhelika had ever seen. The snow-white, graceful, long-maned horse slowly moved its hooves, its long tail slightly raised. Its rich silver harness jingled softly with every movement. "This is Luna," Salah ad-Din smiled, "and she's yours, Angelica." Anzhelika let out a soft squeal and hugged the horse's neck. The horse snorted softly. "Thank you," Anzhelika said, closing her eyes and pressing her cheek against the horse's neck, and Salah ad-Din admired the way the girl's light hair almost blended with Luna's mane. "We say that Allah himself created the Arabian horse from the hot southern wind so it could fly without wings," the Sultan's hoarse voice sounded passionate and slightly dreamy. He took an apple from his pocket and handed it to Anzhelika. "Treat her, so you can become friends more easily." Anzhelika fed the horse an apple with one hand, stroking its mane, its many braids and chains, with the other. Salah ad-Din made a discreet gesture, and the servant retreated back to the stable. "Ready?" the Sultan asked. Anzhelika nodded, and Salah ad-Din extended his warm, firm hand. Leaning on it, the girl swung herself onto her horse and was amazed: the Sultan had lifted her into the saddle so easily that she barely felt her weight. The same servant led Salah ad-Din's horse out of the stable—black as night, with a shiny, smooth coat. It seemed the horse couldn't stand still and kept shifting from one foot to the other. "Wow," said Anzhelika, "your horse is wonderful too." Salah ad-Din easily swung himself into the saddle—Anzhelika smiled without even realizing it as she looked at him—and took hold of the reins. "Al-Baraq is a most faithful comrade on the battlefield," Salah ad-Din said, stroking the neck of his stallion, whose ears twitched impatiently. "We've been through a lot together." Watching Salah ad-Din pull on his black gloves, Anzhelika caught herself wanting to run her finger over the Sultan's sensual lips under the black stripe of his mustache and turned away in confusion. Salah ad-Din tugged at the reins and rode out of the courtyard at a brisk trot. Anzhelika followed him. "Not too fast?" the Sultan asked, turning around as he rode. "Just right," Anzhelika responded. Salah ad-Din guided his horse through the deserted alleys so skillfully that they barely had to slow down. Passersby glanced at them curiously; some apparently recognized the Sultan, and several times Anzhelika heard the respectful, traditional greeting. Salah ad-Din responded to each one without slowing his pace. Finally, they rode out of the gate. The Sultan exchanged a few words with a passing patrol and, having learned that all was quiet in the area, steered his horse past the main road, straight into the desert. Anzhelika followed him across the sands, now covered in shadows, past the occasional thorny trees and bushes—onward, toward the horizon, now shrouded in mist. Salah ad-Din rode to the top of a nearby hill and surveyed the surrounding area with a careful gaze. Anzhelika, having collected her thoughts, tore her gaze away from his slender figure, rode closer, and also surveyed her surroundings. The desert was quiet and tranquil; in the distance, a group of Arab warriors patrolling the area leisurely rode past. "All is calm," the Sultan concluded. "I don't see any enemies either," Anzhelika agreed. Salah ad-Din urged his horse down the hill, and the girl followed him. Upon reaching the bottom, the Sultan suddenly spurred his stallion on and, slightly breaking away from Anzhelika, reared the horse right before the astonished girl's eyes. Anzhelika sighed, covering her mouth with her hand, staring wide-eyed at Salah ad-Din, who was sitting upright in the saddle, seemingly effortlessly, somehow. She'd watched videos like this many times, and this was the first time she'd seen this trick performed in person right beside her by a rider. And what a rider... Finally, he lowered his horse back to the ground, looking slyly into her wide, admiring eyes. "We'll go for a little ride while it's still light, and then we'll be back for dinner. Beware of snakes and scorpions," Salah ad-Din warned, grinning and adding: "When I was a boy, my friends and I weren't allowed to run away into the desert." "But you certainly did," Anzhelika finished with satisfaction, catching her breath finally. The Sultan nodded, smiling, and guiding his horse onto a narrow path. The girl, following him, continued: "All children probably have a certain area where you're strictly forbidden to go, but it's where you yearn with all your heart. And you run to it as soon as your elders aren't looking. My friends and I were forbidden to go to the river when we were kids. Mmm, what wonderful times we spent there..." Salah ad-Din laughed. "Your Arabic is wonderful, Angelica," he said. "Thank you," the girl smiled, and as the Sultan led his horse along the path past the dunes, Anzhelika recalled how her older sister, Vika, had once come to visit her parents on vacation just as the younger sister was preparing to enter university. "Why Arabic Studies?" her sister asked curiously, nibbling on a cookie. "I like it," Anzhelika said dreamily. "A beautiful language," Vika agreed, "but I personally would be driven mad learning their writing... Well, good luck. You'll marry a sheikh later," her sister joked kindly, and Anzhelika laughed heartily. She later graduated from the institute with a degree in translation... inspired by the man now sitting freely and nimbly beside her on the horse. The evening's peace and quiet descended upon the desert, but feelings far from quiet reigned in Anzhelika's soul. The girl cast an approving glance at the Sultan, his straight back, his slender hips, barely perceptibly guiding his horse... Feeling herself blush, she turned her gaze to her horse. A warm hand lightly touched her arm. "Hold the reins gently, Angelica," a soft, husky voice advised. The girl nodded, unable to look up. And when did he manage to remove his glove? Salah ad-Din, in turn, slid his gaze over Angelica's delicately flushed cheek, then lower, to her graceful neck, and then lower still, to the neckline of her green blouse. He wondered what her skin was like under the expensive silk—the same golden-peach or even paler, like cream? With an effort, the Sultan tore his gaze away from the girl and fixed it straight ahead. His hands gripped the reins a little tighter than necessary. He quickly asked her: "Are you comfortable in your new home, Angelica?" "Yes, everything's great, thank you," the girl enthusiastically joined in the conversation, "especially the mirror—it's a gorgeous thing." "It's just a modest trinket," Salah ad-Din replied, "its purpose is to reflect true beauty." Anzhelika smiled happily, closing her eyes. "How did you become a healer?" "Well, by accident, actually," the girl chuckled. "I learned this craft out of boredom and never planned to make a living from it... And then one day it just so happened that no one could do the job better than me." "I understand," Salah ad-Din rubbed his chin with his fingers. "I didn't plan to become a Sultan either." Anzhelika looked at him curiously, and Salah ad-Din continued: "In my youth, I studied the Quran because I wanted to become a faqih. I wanted to bring peace and justice to my people... But a little later, it became clear that bringing them here and now is impossible without a sword." He looked at Anzhelika expectantly, as if searching for something in her face. "It happens," the girl nodded, "when times are really bad." The Sultan turned away again, but his face now seemed to be that of a man who has found inner peace. They rode side by side beneath a pale crescent moon in the evening sky, the horses' hooves barely audibly touching the sand. Anzhelika stole a sideways glance at Salah ad-Din's masculine profile against the sunset sky, and her gaze settled admiringly on his luxurious, fluffy black eyelashes. "I wish I could touch them..." she thought dreamily, when suddenly she noticed his questioning gaze returning her gaze. "Salah ad-Din, can you jump over obstacles?" Anzhelika asked quickly. "Of course," the Sultan replied, his black eyes even a little surprised. "Will you teach me?" the girl asked, narrowing her eyes. "I once wanted to ask my riding instructor at home, but he almost fell into a ditch, and I lost the desire..." The instructor, however, had a very good reason. That time, Anzhelika wanted to ride a horse like in the Middle Ages—in a long, ankle-length skirt, riding a man's saddle. Riding up to a wild rose bush in a field, she pulled her skirt up above the knee—away from the thorns—while picking the flowers. And then, the poor instructor, who had been watching the spectacle, encountered a ditch... Anzhelika spent a quarter of an hour asking him if everything was okay, and she no longer felt like going on adventures that day. (Only much later did she understand the reason for the guy's failure.) "Alright," Salah ad-Din agreed, scanning the area and finding a suitable fallen tree. He waved his hand, pointing it to Anzhelika, and said, "See that tree? We'll break into a fast trot in front of it, and when I say 'go,' nudge Luna slightly with your legs—she's well-trained and will understand what to do. And rise up in the saddle and lean forward slightly as you leap. Understood?" Anzhelika nodded thoughtfully. "And hold on tight," the Sultan advised, quickening his horse. "Don't worry, if anything happens, I'll catch you." Without a moment's hesitation, Anzhelika sped up after him. They reached a straight line in front of a fallen tree and galloped off. Anzhelika felt a burning excitement in her blood, as always happened before some adventure. Salah ad-Din rode alongside her, and the girl, looking straight ahead, felt rather than saw his encouraging presence. "Come on," a voice rang out next to her ear. Anzhelika nudged Luna with her knees, rose up in the saddle, and felt the horse lift off. The world swung before her eyes for a moment, and Anzhelika only exhaled when Luna returned to the ground. "Excellent," she heard a hoarse voice very close. Anzhelika turned and looked at her companion with shining eyes. "Congratulations on your victory," Salah ad-Din said to her with a sly wink. The girl laughed joyfully. "How could it be otherwise? I have a wonderful teacher," she returned the compliment. Salah ad-Din nodded, smiling, and said: "It's getting dark, we should go back." Hearing her capricious, disappointed sigh, he suppressed a smile and added, "We'll go for a ride again, I'll definitely find the time." The last crumbs of pink gold flowed into the sand along with the last minutes of this magical evening. Salah ad-Din closed his eyes slightly and silently thanked Allah for everything. For the opportunity to lift Angelica onto the horse... For the opportunity to take her hand, gently touching her smooth skin, as if only to tell her that the reins should be held lightly, without strain... For the opportunity to look into those pale green eyes beneath dark brows as she listened intently to him... For that admiring look when he reared the horse, and that sly look when she asked him to teach her to jump, and that look of triumph when she landed on the other side of a fallen tree, looked at him, and laughed... Salah ad-Din would have pulled her towards him, sat her on his lap, and kissed her until she fell back exhausted in his arms, breathing heavily and looking with her green eyes into his as if nothing and no one else in the whole world existed for her... The Sultan tugged at the reins and turned his horse back toward the city. It wasn't time yet. Many matters remained to be resolved... before then. The two returned home, reluctantly but hurriedly: night was falling, and they needed to get beyond the city walls as quickly as possible.