Panther's Prey Read Online Free Page A

they are not stuck with him until he dies.”
    The boy shook his head. “It’s very different from Turkey, isn’t it?”
    Sarah sighed. “Yes, it is. Now go back to the geography lesson, please, I’ll have a quiz ready when you’re done.”
    The boy groaned but bent his head obediently. Sarah smiled to herself and walked down the aisle of the Orchid Palace schoolroom, built for her by her husband. She was now teaching about twenty students, three of them her own children, the rest a continuously changing group of palace tots whose parents took advantage of the free education. She stopped next to the desk of her daughter, Princess Yasmin, who was laboriously copying out a list of English words, which were lined up next to each other like little soldiers. She had inherited Sarah’s mania for neatness, as well as her fair coloring and independent nature. At the back of the room Sarah’s servant Memtaz played with Prince Nessim, 4, who was too young for school but liked to play “letters”, calling out the names of English and Arabic characters with similar enthusiasm.
    Kalid’s face appeared in the glass window of the door as he tapped on it. Sarah walked over to the door and opened it, admitting her husband.
    “Lunch time,” he said.
    “In a few minutes.”
    “Can we take a nap?” he asked, grinning.
    Sarah smiled, feeling her face grow hot. After ten years he was still the most attractive man she had ever met. Nearly forty now, with some gray threads running through his coal black hair, Kalid still exuded the same sexual energy which had captivated Sarah from their first meeting. It was difficult to remember now that she had hated him then, and had spent the first months of their relationship fighting with him continuously.
    “How was the tax collector?” Sarah asked him, referring to his morning meeting with the Sultan’s magistrate.
    “Angry, and now I am too,” Kalid replied. “No wonder the rebels are gaining adherents every day. If the Sultan tries to squeeze one more drop of blood from the people of my district I think there will be open revolt.”  
    “I had a letter from Roxalena today,” Sarah said quickly, to change the subject, which was not a pleasant one. She reached into the pocket of her capacious bengaline skirt and produced it. Sarah favored wearing western dress in the classroom, it made her feel once more like the public school teacher she had once been.
    “What does she say?” Kalid asked, picking up one of the English readers and examining it.
    “That Osman has been away for two weeks and she misses him. That the baby is just beginning to talk, but he only says ‘wet’ and ‘eat.’”
    “That’s all he needs to say,” Kalid replied, laughing. “Come on, Sarah, let the nippers go, I’m starving.”
    Sarah clapped her hands and the children erupted from their seats, the three Shah children dashing for their father. He entertained them for a few minutes and then shooed them off for lunch with Memtaz.
    “Alone at last,” he said, his British accent, the legacy of his time at Oxford, strong as always when he spoke English. “You spend too much time with this kindergarten and not enough with me.”
    “You’re busy all day with Bursa’s affairs.”
    “Never too busy for you. Now come along, Kosem is expecting us in her apartments, and then we should have time for a short ‘rest’.” He kissed the back of her neck.
    “How is Kosem feeling today?” Kalid’s aged grandmother was now confined to her couch most of the time, but her mind was as agile as ever.
    “A little tired. But she was calling the cook on the carpet when I saw her, so there’s no cause for concern.”
    Sarah chuckled. They left the classroom and stepped into the marble floored hall just as Turhan Aga, the captain of Kalid’s guard, appeared around a corner and bowed.
    “What is it?” Kalid said to him impatiently, eager to get away with his wife.
    “A message from the pashana’s kinsman, James