Padmavati moved the curtains aside, peeking curiously through them. It was the first time she heard the sound of anklets ringing from Khilji's tent since they came here. She had heard that he would never spend a night without a woman's company yet, he has been decent enough to not to take women into his bed while Padmavati's room was seperated from his only by curtains.

"Come here, Ranisa." Sultan commanded, his gaze never forgave a glimpse of her, it caught them all. "Hiding isn't meant for you."

Padmavati came out of her tent hesitantly eyeing the woman laying in front Khilji. Barely dressed with a purple chiffon salwar and a blouse that covers very little, she sprawled her long, dark brown hair to the carpet.

This woman was wearing nothing. She felt like cold water was being poured over her head slowly. She was disgusted. No. She was disappointed. Why? She questioned in her head. Why was she feeling like someone pulled off the ground under the house she was building? Her chain of thoughts broke in many places, detached rings flew in the air. Dear God, she was devastated. "It's gotten quite late, Sultan. I'll leave you to it." Padmavati said, barely managing to keep her composure.

Khilji pointed to the cushions next to him, his eyes fixed to hers, in awe of her beauty as if it was the first time he is seeing her. "No, Ranisa, please." That tone again. The tone that implied he is still the same man, the man who took her captive. "I want you to enjoy this with me."

Padmavati's eyes widened in terror. She became unable to hide her reaction when she thought he was going to make her watch as he got intimate wih a woman. She opened her mouth to object this with all the power she has but the air in her lungs was knocked out. Her body reacted by backing away from him as much as it can and ended up knocking down a huge metal tray along with a set of cups.

Khilji let out a whole hearted laughter that echoed in the tent, looking away from Padmavati. "Suraiyya, introduce yourself to the queen." He commanded authoratively, yet the smile was still evident in his voice.

The young girl with blue eyes, creamy skin and a slim body, rose from where she's been laying and did a graceful curtsey for the Rani, the golden chains on her hips and the bells on her ankles ringing as she did so.

"I am The Dancer of Malwa, Ranisa. I was sent here to welcome our new ruler."

Khilji turned back to look at Padmavati, who is now experiencing a horrible blush. "It's very unfair that I'm being treated like I have the dirtiest mind. You are no less." He said, his voice deep and his expression full of mischief.

Heat burnt Padmavati's cheeks and she looked down in embarassment and anger as a desperate attempt to hide her blushing face. He seemed so entertained that it made her hate herself. This feeling, luckily, overpowered the relief she got from hearing that he will not be bedding this woman. Otherwise she would have to face the reason why it gave her relief, why it made her heart somehow happy. And God knew, at this point in her life, she would be able to face any devastation coming from Khilji, but not happiness.

"Come and see why I want the world, Ranisa." He called her one more time, his voice clean from mockery.

Not wanting to test his patience, Padmavati obeyed and sat down to the cushion next to him.

She looked at his large hands as he gestured Suraiyya to begin. They reminded her of a shovel. The kind of shovel that would be ideal for digging graves. She couldn't imagine them holding her lovingly. Why was she trying anyway?

Suraiyya turned down the gas lamps inside the tent and starting lighting some candles. Padmavati looked at Alauddin under the dim light. His raven black hair, open and reaching far beneath his shoulders, slightly longer than his equally black and thick beard. Same darkness surrounded his eyes, too, as if their own were not enough; he lined them with kohl. They felt like caution signs to Padmavati now, a warning about how dark he can be, a mirror to his soul. A mirror she couldn't dare to look long enough.

Why would she want to look anyway? Padmavati questioned her heart and mind again.

Since no male could be present in the same room with Padmavati, even when she was fully covered, The Dancer of Malwa stepped outside the tent with the amount of little clothing she had on her, which was horrific for Padmavati, to tell the drummer to start.

Coming back, she stepped into the ring of lit candles. Suraiyya's body now coloured with shades of fire, the ends of her skirt flew in the air with a deep shade of red and it turned into a light yellow around her waist which was impossibly perfect and slim. Surrounded by dozens of candles, she started dancing to the sound of her own bells and a simple drum beat.

Her movements were slow and graceful but it gave Padmavati a feeling that they won't remain that way, because Suraiyya was humming an enchanting melody as she rolled her belly and threw her arms in the air, adding a new dimension to her dance; thrill.

The beat of the drum started to pick up and the dancer of Malwa was completely in sync with it, her ribcage going up and down with the sharp and loud thuds, her hips creating waves that leads the rest of her body.

If magic had a definition in shape of a human, this would be it, Padmavati thought. Suraiyya, in a ring of fire, was fire herself, and the beats were air, making her flow like the tender light of a candle. Towards the end, Suraiyya's movements were sharp enough to be defined as vulgar, and Padmavati started fearing Khilji's lust when she felt his dark and focused gaze on herself. Losing the count of how many times she asked the question why tonight, she wondered again, why his gaze only lingered on her face while Suraiyya's was impeccably beautiful and rare.

Padmavati leaned back when Suraiyya fell on her knees, like a fire extinguishing, with the very last beat of the drum, all the candles went out, too. They were burried in utter darkness, the sound of the night secretly applouded The Dancer of Malwa. However, everyone else was extremely silent.

Padmavati opened her mouth to praise her performance, even though she didn't approve it, she thought it deserved appreciation but her words stuck in her throat when she felt something fumbling at the end of skirt. Shocked and blinded by the darkness, she wondered whether it was an snake or Khilji. Not that she thought their touches would differ in the way they make her feel, but when Alauddin's fingertips met the skin of her ankles, Rani felt an undeniable -breath-taking, in fact- spark which she immideatly knew that belonged to him and him only. It stung her skin and made her insides twist with a feeling she couldn't name.

Khilji smiled to their brief touch as he moved his hand away. He loved every milisecond of it. He had no intentions of forcing himself on her, he was just curious to know how she would react. He wondered if a soul like hers had lust in it at all. What was it like when she was with her husband? He had a feeling that Ratan Singh's manners would not allow him to do anything that doesn't define simply as marriage duty.

He didn't catch much of a reaction. He must have been passionless, monotone... ignorant, even. From the bottom of his heart, Alauddin believed deeply that she deserved better than that. And the fact that she didn't try to break his hand this time, planted a seed of hope in his crazed heart. A seed that he would fight the sun, the clouds for.

The flowers of night will bloom, someday, in your secret gardens, we will become one...

What a long snippet! I was going to make this part one but there were things happening before this. I still wanted to share it. The Dancer of Malwa is purely inspired by the young and graceful Aishwarya Rai but of course, feel free to imagine whoever you like. :D I don't know how many re-readings I did for this one, I just really hope it turned out good and you enjoyed reading it. Thank you so much for staying around and still reading. It might be slow but I am continuing this story. Please let me know what you think. Love you all.💕 Xxx