The Sultanah Ch. 01

Dear Reader, thank you so much for reading this story. It has taken nearly a year of my writing life to get the whole thing finished. This is Chapter 1 of 14 chapters and the total is over 250,000 words. It is my Dirk Diggler/Jack Horner act of hubris: my attempt to write an erotic adventure story that pulls you in with a story you want to read, even when there isn't any sex going on (though there is a lot of sex. Crazy, weird, fun sex). It is the most ambitious piece of erotic fiction I have ever attempted. So I hope you enjoy it.

With that said, this book is not for everyone. It will be too long for many people (no shame in that, it is a big time investment). Some of the sex scenes are intense and include themes like hermaphroditism, non-consensual activity, incest, etc. For some people, that will likely be the appeal. In fact, while this story is definitely not for everyone, I think for a select group of people this story will essentially have everything you could ever ask for. So if that is you, congratulations, you found that thing you have been searching for.

The first section here does not dive directly into sex (there is sex, but maybe not quite as much as later chapters). This is a very long story and all of the pieces fit together to tell a single story in a series of episodes, so there is a good deal of background to set up. As the story goes on, the sex becomes more and more central to the story. You can skip ahead to the sex and I won't be offended, but I think this story is more than the sum of its parts. If you read this whole story, you will not be disappointed.

Please, please, please, please, please tell me what you think after you read this. I put an embarrassing amount of work into this and I want to know what you think. Especially if it is good things.

*****

The Sultanah

Part I: An Empire in Ruins

Prologue: Desperate Times

"All rise for Kral, Sultan of Ülke and fourth of his name since the founding of the Hanedan dynasty, Emperor of Bütün Dünya, Lord-Mayor of Şehir, King of Bolge, Devlet, Vali, Yer, and Popo, Admiral of the Akdeniz, Descendent of Gunes, the Sun God, and Defender of the Faith, vassal only of Tanri, God of all creation!" So said the Royal Herald in the early evening on the 13th day of Temmuz in the year 1297, 22nd year in the reign of Kral IV. And so he said every time my father entered the throne room of his palace. No one, including myself I suppose, gave a damn that it was, almost entirely, a pack of lies. And not only lies, but embarrassing, transparent lies. Lies designed to sooth our fragile egos but which, instead, served to highlight our degradation.

Let me explain.

Perhaps it would be best to start with the claims that, at least, bore some semblance of truth. My father Kral was certainly the Sultan of Ülke and therefore a member of the Hanedan dynasty. All members of the Hanedan dynasty claimed to descend from Gunes, the Sun God. However, very few people still honored the Sun God. Certainly, my father did not. It was included in the procession, because it had always been included by the Royal Herald. My father was, further, the Lord-Mayor of Şehir, the Capital of Ülke. Everything else the Herald stated was an outright falsehood.

For example, Sultan Kral was not the fourth of his name since the founding of the Hanedan dynasty. He called himself "Kral IV" but he was the fifth to take that name. Four hundred years before my father's coronation the Güllerin Savaşı War had pitted two branches of the Hanedan Dynasty against one another in a civil war. At that time, Kral of the Kıdemli branch of the Hanedan Dynasty had seized the throne upon the death of the Prens IX, who had died without children. He proclaimed himself Kral II. His cousin, Kral of the Askeri-Oğrenci branch of the Hanedan Dynasty claimed a more direct right to the throne. More importantly, he backed it up with a private militia almost half as large again as the National Army. The two cousins marched against one another and, at the famous Battle of Berbat, Kral of the Askeri-Oğrenci branch overcame overwhelming odds and defeated his cousin, killing him. This Kral also named himself Kral II and declared that his cousin had never legitimately held the throne, and so his name was not included in the official lists, despite his 11-month reign.

The other lies in the Herald's proclamation were less technical and more humiliating. My father claimed the title of Emperor of Bütün Dünya. Officially, Bütün Dünya was the name of the Empire founded by the Sultanate of Ülke, with the capital in Şehir. A thousand years before my father's reign, the Sultan of Ülke was the most powerful man on earth. Hence the reference to Kingship of Bolge, Devlet, Vali, Yer, and Popo. These were the ancient Kingdoms that the Sultanate of Ülke had conquered to form Bütün Dünya. Those countries had not existed for well over a millennium. And that land where they once sat had not been a part of Bütün Dünya for hundreds of years. In fact, the entirety of Bütün Dünya was at that time only the traditional heartland of Ülke.

Actually, it was far worse than that. The Sultanate of Ülke had withered to the point that that it was little more than the capital city of Şehir and the farmland surrounding it. A massive empire that once stretched 2.5 million square miles and most of the known world had withered to 750 square miles. In its place, new kingdoms - Temsilci, Dusman, Surgun, Doldurucu, Astar, Tikac, and dozens of other, minor nations - had arisen. Many of these countries had once been Prefectures of the Empire, ruled by civilian governors and military attaches. Over time, these regional governments had grown more and more autonomous, until they no longer recognized central authority. It happened so slowly, that by the time these Governors began to call themselves Kings, the Empire was too weak to enforce its legitimate claims. By the time of Sultan Kayıp Zafer VI, the Empire had faded until it was just one weak country, roughly Ancient Ülke, among many.

Except, that the Empire still had delusions of grandeur. The Sultans who followed Kayıp Zafer VI behaved as though their actions were still backed by a massive land and sea empire, with thousands of paper soldiers. In the end, their bellicosity with their new neighbors cost them dearly. The newer, more vibrant countries chipped away at even the borders of Ancient Ülke, until just Şehir remained. While Şehir was still the largest, and most magnificent, city in the known world, my father's inheritance was minor compared to his history.

This degradation explains the next lie in my father's heraldry, Admiral of the Akdeniz. Şehir was a river city, sitting at the confluence of two rivers, Kuzey and the Güney, forming the Bati. The Bati ran 200 miles to the Bay of Defne. The Bay extended another 75 miles before it reached the great interior Akdeniz Sea. The borders of Ülke were nearly 200 miles as the crow flies from the sea and had been for a hundred years. Other than river skiffs, the Sultanate of Ülke had no Navy. No need for an admiral.

Finally, there was the appellation "Defender of the Faith vassal only of Tanri, God of all creation." The worship of Tanri had begun almost 500 years earlier in what was then the semi-autonomous region of Dusman. At that time, most of the known world had worshipped Gunes, the Sun God and patron of Ülke. As the empire faded, nations chose other Gods, following the stronger lights of more successful idols. Sultan Kâfir I had converted to the worship of Tanri three hundred years before my father's reign, attempting to regain the slipping authority of the empire even within its own narrow borders. As a result, the worship of Tanri was known as the "New Religion" and was still referred to in that manner in my father's time. Sultan Kâfir III attempted to move the center of worship from Kasaba, the capital of Dusman, to Şehir a hundred years after "The Conversion," but by that time, the Empire was too weak to enforce such a move. Şehir remained a theological backwater, with Kasaba a smaller but more culturally potent city. My father believed in Tanri, but he was hardly a religious man and certainly no defender. That God had never protected us, why should we do anything for Him?

And so, as my father strode confidently into the throne room, a bright smile beaming upon his face, he was preceded by disingenuous but comforting words. He looked absurd in his traditional, Sultan's clothing (a billowy pair of pants that cinched at the ankles, a large belt with golden buckle, a white shirt, a long robe over the top, and his golden crown), as though he'd stepped out of an earlier century. I sat at my normal spot, at a chair along the side wall of the throne room, with the other women of the Court. I did not note the absurdity of the situation at the time, it was as things had always been. It is only now, late in my life with many years to reflect, that my father's unstated and perhaps unknowing mortification is apparent.

At the time, I was simply sad, mourning a personal embarrassment that I could scarcely stand, forced to sit and watch this ceremony as it was performed. The throne room was filled with people that day for a rare (though not unheard of) occasion. The room itself was stately and intimidating, quite indicative of the former power of the Empire. It was nearly 300 yards long and 100 feet wide. The entrance was a massive, oak door imported from the wilds of the far North. All along the side walls were massive windows that stretched from the marble floors, nearly to the ceiling 30 feet above. Between these windows were large tapestries depicting the foundational events of the Empire. Large marble pillars held the ceiling in place. All along the walls were high-backed, comfortable chairs (one of which I sat upon) that could accommodate nearly 300 people and there were nearly that many present. From the entrance, a long, thin red carpet ran up to the dais where the Sultan's throne was located. The throne sat nearly ten feet from the ground (with a smaller throne for the Consort to its left). The Sultan, my father, had strode out from the large door to the left of the throne to make his entrance before the sycophants of the Court.

"Welcome one and all, welcome on this most glorious occasion!" My father proclaimed, dipping his head slightly and allowing his long, bushy mustache to wiggle. The fact that my father spoke was a signal for those of us in attendance to sit, all except for two men standing on the carpet before my father. In a sign of respect, my father descended the dais and approached these two men. His arms were outstretched as though in preparation for a hug and his smile seemed to grow still larger.

"King Sican, Prince Lider," My father said warmly, "I welcome you to Saray Palace, it has been too long." This too, was a lie, the King and his son had been present for a week, in careful negotiation. But it was important to maintain the fiction.

"Yes your grace," King Sican said with less cordiality than my father. King Sican, like the other Kings of the various countries formed after the collapse of Bütün Dünya, refused to refer to the Sultan of Ülke as "sultan" or, heaven forbid, "emperor" believing that to do so would legitimize the claim to overlordship that the Sultan nominally maintained. King Sican was even more meticulous in this habit than most.

Sican was the King of Dusman and the Lord-Protector of the Temple of Tanri. Of all of the successor states to the Empire, Dusman was the most powerful. And King Sican was a worthy, ruthless leader of that powerful country. And that day, in my father' throne room, he looked the part. He was dressed in a more modern style than my father, wearing a martial chain-mail hauberk, plate armor around his legs, and metal greaves on his feet. He had close cropped hair (in opposition to my father's flowing, traditional locks). He had a stern, hawk-nosed face and icy blue eyes and pursed lips. He looked like, and had a reputation as, a harsh man. His son looked remarkably like his father, though his eyes were warmer brown color and his hair had not yet turned gray. I suppose that Prince Lider was even slightly handsome.

"My friends, to what do I owe the pleasure of your visit?" My father asked theatrically. Behind my pink veil I rolled my eyes. This was all an act. Every person in the room knew the purpose of this meeting. However, the throne room was a place for ceremony and show.

"You grace, I come to make a request," King Sican said, his voice sounding like he was speaking from rote memory (which he was).

"But of course my friend, any request will certainly be granted. It is the feast of Şükran today," My father said, looking around the room as though he was surveying his bounty.

"I ask..." King Sican began, then he stopped. A few moments later, his son spoke.

"Oh...Actually father, please let me..." he began. Clearly, Lider had forgotten his lines and ruined the effect of taking control. I tried to stifle a giggle, but was unsuccessful in the attempt. I felt a sharp stab in my rib and turned to my right. Arkadas, my servant, gave me a withering stare. I suppose that as my servant, Arkadas should not have taken it upon herself to rebuke me. But she was nearly five years older than me, my lifelong companion (my father had bought her as my playmate after all), and my very best friend. One of her jobs was to keep me out of trouble. She did so now. I quieted myself and turned back to the ceremony.

"Your grace...I ask for permission to marry your youngest daughter, Nislani." Lider finished and a murmur went through the crowd as though they did not know. I looked across the room to where my sister Nislani was sitting. She was just 18 years old and only just eligible for marriage. She was a pretty girl, around 5'2 and 100lbs. She had long black hair, a dark olive complexion, a pretty face (that was somehow enhanced, rather than harmed, by a somewhat large nose), and an ideal body for child production, a good queenly body. Her breasts were high and firm and her hips wide, with an extremely narrow waist. And, having heard those magic words from Lider, she was beaming with pure joy. At that moment, I hated her like I'd never hated another person in my life.

"My...my youngest daughter!" My father said, looking down the room to Nislani. He looked completely distraught and shook his head vehemently. "My friends, you know that I can refuse you nothing. But I beg you, request anything else for I cannot bear to part with my youngest child. Anything else!"

"How about your second youngest daughter. You know, Varis," I whispered under my breath, quietly so Arkadas would not hear. But I needed to say it. Yes, at 21, I was the second youngest daughter of Kral IV, but I remained without betrothal. My eldest sister, Kardes was sitting on the opposite side of me vis a vis Arkadas, and must've overheard my comment despite my caution. She put her hand on top of mine gently and then gave me a smile.

Kardes had just returned home for the first time since her marriage. She was nearly 38 years old and now a widow, her husband (the sixth son of the Duke of Astar) had died six months earlier (gored by a wild boar) and she had returned to live with our family during her mourning period. Apparently their marriage had not been particularly happy as she had no children and appeared blasé about his death. I only vaguely remembered her from before her marriage, but I smiled back at her now. She looked much like Nislani, though two decades older with a handful of wrinkles. She had the same nose, the same hair, complexion, and features. Her breasts were larger and her body slightly rounder. Further, her eyes were a deep emerald color that gave her a kinder aspect than my bratty little sister. Her eyes were honest, as she did not reproach me as Arkadas would; she clearly knew how painful the day would be for me.

"I apologize for any embarrassment your grace," Lider said woodenly, "But...But I can ask for no other reward. My heart wants only Nilsani, I mean Nislani." Perhaps his tongue wanted something different.

"Would you love her with all of your heart for the rest of your days?" My father asked, sounding more serious now. Nislani had always been his favorite and some of the reticence must've been real.

"On my honor sir, I would," Lider promised. My father smiled broadly.

"Would you make her your Queen when you succeed your father, and treat her with the respect due to her in that position?" My father asked.

"On my honor sir, I would," Lider repeated. And this was the crux of the issue. My mother (16 years dead at the time) and father had 10 children. Two sons, Ilkolu and Kafasiz, and eight daughters. Early in my father's reign he had attempted to expand the borders of Sultanate of Ülke to their tradition limits, by force. He had built the army up to a level not seen in decades (at great, grinding expense) and marched on his neighbors. He was defeated in battle at Aşağılama Field by the combined forces of Dusmun, Surgun, and Tikac, the most complete loss for the empire in nearly a century.

After the loss, my father had pivoted his diplomatic strategy from the battlefield to the negotiating table. He attempted to cement alliance and maintain the independence and vitality of Ülke by marrying his daughters into the royal families of the various nations of the known world. Unfortunately for my father, given the weakened position of the Empire after Aşağılama Field, he was generally only able to marry his daughters off to men unlikely to reach the throne. Kardes to a sixth son of a Duke, another sister, Yegen, to the nephew of a King with four sons, and so on. Now, for the first time in his various attempts, my father had managed to snag, for one of his daughters, an heir. And not just any heir, but the sole heir of the most powerful nation in the known world. Powerful in fact, not in heraldry. This marriage would cement an alliance and end nearly 50 years of constant (if usually minor) warfare between Ülke and Dusman.

And so my father's last question had been the only one that really mattered. The affirmative response to that question was my father's justification for spending nearly 1,000,000 Nakits on my sister's dowry. At long last, Kral IV had pulled the empire back into the ranks of respectable nations.

"Well, my heart is heavy with your request. However, I recognize that you do me, and my daughter, a great honor with your entreaty. It is not possible for my daughter to find a better match," My father opined. I might have been more inclined to believe him, if he had not said the same thing three years earlier when my sister Sümük married the cousin of the Prince of Balgam, a man forty years her senior who picked his nose constantly and farted loudly during a ceremonial dinner.

"It is an honor to be in the same room as Nislani, your grace," Lider said as though a crossbow was against his back. My father clapped his hands.

"I grant my leave to you," My father said, "But that is not sufficient. Nislani...please come forward." I turned back to looking at my sister. She rose quickly. She was dressed in the traditional garb of a lady of the court. She had a headscarf that covered her hair and a thin, see-through veil across her nose and mouth. She wore a long, form-fitting dress that was designed to lift her breasts and her ass. The end of effect was simultaneous concealment and exposure. I was wearing the same thing, if I recall correctly. Nislani quickly shuffled up the carpet until. She passed Sican and Lider and stood beside my father.

"Have you heard all that has transpired?" my father asked, placing his hand on the top of her head.

"I am a lady, my Lord," she lied in the traditional fashion, "It is not my place to hear."

"Very good," my father said, "but this man, Lider of Dusman has requested your hand in marriage. What say you?" My sister looked at Lider and blushed, and looked back down at her feet. The whelp!