Sweet Rivalry (1001 Dark Nights)
K. Bromberg
One Thousand and One Dark Nights
Once upon a time, in the future…
I was a student fascinated with stories and learning.
I studied philosophy, poetry, history, the occult, and the art and science of love and magic. I had a vast library at my father’s home and collected thousands of volumes of fantastic tales.
I learned all about ancient races and bygone
times. About myths and legends and dreams of all people through the millennium. And the more I read the stronger my imagination grew until I discovered that I was able to travel into the stories... to actually become part of them.
I wish I could say that I listened to my teacher and respected my gift, as I ought to have. If I had, I would not be telling you this tale now.
But I was foolhardy and confused, showing off with bravery.
One afternoon, curious about the myth of the
Arabian Nights, I traveled back to ancient Persia to see for myself if it was true that every day Shahryar (Persian: ??????, “king”) married a new virgin, and then sent yesterday's wife to be beheaded. It was written and I had read, that by the time he met Scheherazade, the vizier's daughter, he’d killed one thousand women.
Something went wrong with my efforts. I arrived in the midst of the story and somehow exchanged places with Scheherazade – a phenomena that had never occurred before and that still to this day, I cannot explain.
Now I am trapped in that ancient past. I have taken on Scheherazade’s life and the only way I can protect myself and stay alive is to do what she did to protect herself and stay alive.
Every night the King calls for me and listens as I spin tales.
And when the evening ends and dawn breaks, I stop at a point that leaves him breathless and yearning for more.
And so the King spares my life for one more day, so that he might hear the rest of my dark tale.
As soon as I finish a story... I begin a new
one... like the one that you, dear reader, have before you now.
Prologue
Harper
13 years prior
With each step I take, my temper burns brighter.
Hmm. I don’t think they believe you, Harper.
Step.
Hmm. Can’t you make that sound more convincing, Harper?
Another step.
Hmm. Are you sure your facts are right, Harper?
Step.
He’s right behind me. I can feel him. I can smell his cologne. I can sense his adrenaline just as hyped as mine is.
But in my head all I can hear is him murmur hmm in response to every single point I tried to make during our Master’s debate. A school tradition more important to most of us graduate students than the graduation ceremony itself. One I was looking forward to for weeks but now feel like it’s the bane of my existence.
Flustered, I shove open the door of the lecture hall, thinking it leads to outside and fresh air––distance from him––but all I’m met with is the stale smell of a connecting classroom in front of me and the sound of his feet behind me.
“Harp––”
“Don’t!” I whirl around to face him, the fuse to my temper ignited. “Don’t you dare Harper me.”
His lips slowly turn up in a lopsided smirk as he narrows his eyes as if he can’t figure out why I’m so upset.
Not just upset. Livid.
“What would you like me to call you then?”
“Go away.” I turn my back to him and begin to pace the room, cursing myself for pushing open the wrong door. Fresh air would have been better. Outside I could have kept walking across campus so he couldn’t catch up.
“You want to tell me why you’re so pissed off at me?”
“You’re an *.” I toss over my shoulder, knowing that’s the nicest I’m going to get with him right now.
“Hmm.”
There’s that goddamn sound again.
“Stop doing that! You’re driving me crazy.” I rage as I spin around to see him standing there with humor in his eyes. This isn’t funny. Him being an * is not funny. “Go away! Stop looking at me like that. I don’t want you to––I’m so angry at you that…that…”
“Why would you be angry with me?” The blasé way he asks the question makes my temper bristle even more.
“Why? Who the hell do you think you are? Sitting there on that stage and questioning me with that annoying sound every single time I stepped to the podium to speak. During my opening arguments, during my rebuttals, even my closing statements. It was hmm and hmm and hmm. That’s all I heard.”
“Yeah. So?” he asks as he steps toward me, shoulders squaring and eyes challenging me.
My hands fist and teeth grit. His nonchalance only serves to irk me further. “Get. Out.”
“Why? Are you so high and mighty on that throne of yours that you think you can do no wrong?”
His words are a verbal slap to the high of winning the debate despite his constant interjecting hmms. I glare at him, my body vibrating, and throw my hands up. “So that’s what this is about? Are you that jealous I beat you out for first in class that you and your precious ego decided to sabotage me during the debate? Are you fricking kidding me?”