Barates was an angry man.

Each step closer to the Eski Serai lent more fury to the rage that had been burning within him since that appalling audience.

The event had happened at the wedding of a distant cousin. The wedding was a pleasant enough affair, not requiring his presence, but he had relented to his family's pleas for attending the celebration. And in doing so, cast his fate.

For the thousandth time or more, the same thoughts relentlessly wheeled through his mind. Was it blind luck that had blighted his path? Or, did the Gods have a purpose in mind for him? Was this misfortune the first step to achieving the destiny he held close in his secret heart?

He looked at the heavily guarded wagons following in his wake, their glittering curtains and gold clad sides fueling his fury anew. He cursed the Sultan and cursed the Sultan's obsession with female flesh.

Had Barates known the Sultan's eunuchs were surveying the young maidens at the wedding, nothing on heaven and earth could have enticed him there. What good did it do to be a Royal Prince, heir to the throne, if it did not protect his family from the voracity of the King? he thought bitterly.

But, protect them it had not. His country was a satrapy and paid tribute to the Sultan. The eunuchs had been unmoved by Barates' offers of other young girls in his daughter's stead. It was she whom they would have. Vashti, his youngest, and his favorite.

The walls of the Seraglio loomed overhead now and Barates signalled the procession's stop, sending a guard forth to announce their arrival. Shifting in his saddle, he struggled to compose his face, wanting nothing of the true nature of his emotions revealed.

Soon, he thought contemptuously. Soon we shall see how you fare against men, not your women.