Chapter 38

Inanna finally understood the true meaning of relativity. If you are sitting by a furnace in the height of summer, a minute feels as grueling as an hour; but if there is a handsome man in nothing but swim trunks beside you, an hour passes as quickly as a minute.

Yet, here she was, sitting in the lap of a stunningly beautiful man, and yet every second felt like a year.

Since Inanna had been forced into Hittite, this massive state-owned enterprise, the process of signing her labor contract had been agonizing. The pay wasn't high—just enough to be fed and clothed without being bullied—but the benefits at least allowed for a peaceful existence. However, being forced into this side gig as a dancer for overtime duty wasn't something she could take to a labor arbitration board. Not only was she unpaid, but the boss was also trying to engage in "unspoken rules." Even if he was handsome, he was, from skin to bone, a member of the exploiting class.

Some things one can endure; others, one cannot.

When faced with a threat to life, all compromises and swallowing one's pride—as long as they don't cross the bottom line—are just the measure of tolerance required for survival. But as a modern Chinese woman raised with the values of equality and self-respect, having a man she’d barely known for a few days suddenly pull her hand to seek comfort was unacceptable. Even if his face was earth-shatteringly handsome and his physique enough to make one drool, she felt she should have the backbone and integrity to drag him to the police station.

However, there was no police station to be reached through space-time black holes. Inanna held back time and again from screaming "pervert." Izmir gripped her hand, pulling it into a fist, forcing her to stabilize herself, but her hand remained in an awkward position against his lower abdomen. The hot, firm, block-like muscles were enough to make any woman scream. While Inanna wondered how many abs he had, she said sternly, "Your Highness, I cannot help you!"

Izmir’s grip neither tightened nor loosened. His abs were currently a battlefield of tension. With an expression that made her grit her teeth in frustration, he replied as if it were only natural: "Why?"

Inanna suppressed the urge to slap him awake. Those amber eyes, bright as crystal lamps, confirmed that the man’s brain was burning with a wild fire. "Your Highness, let go! Right now, we should be thinking about how to escape!"

This seemed to stir a glimmer of reason. He tilted his head slightly, as if seriously considering the matter, then quickly concluded: "It is impossible to walk out of here openly. Although the Daughter of the Nile has slipped away, she is likely using the same old trick, disguised as a handmaiden. Watch, she will be caught soon."

Just as Inanna felt relieved that his sanity was returning, he added, "Since you are here by my side, we have plenty of time tonight to think of a strategy. Right now..."

Before Inanna could react, he guided her hand a full inch lower. Though the distance was short, it was a qualitative leap for the body. That patch of soft, delicate hair and the scorching, pulsing sensation—needless to say, the slide had reached the main point. Before she could react, he used her hand to knead a few times. Actually, the aromatic oils burned at Ar's banquet were not particularly strong, merely meant to add flavor to the festivities. However, Izmir was an uninitiated blade; in such a high-stakes situation on the "battlefield," he was bloodthirsty and exceptionally sharp.

From the moment Izmir had seen Inanna’s expressive hands, he had thought that if he could gain the comfort of those lotus-petal-like fingers, he wouldn't be in such agony. It was only natural; although he had never considered this possibility before, this woman was his, and he had his mother’s consent. Now, using her to relieve his urgent need was not unreasonable. As a prince of a nation, should he really have to walk out with an embarrassing bulge in his robe, or hide in this tent and do it secretly?

Outside, footsteps came and went, accompanied by occasional panicked cries. Ar had been rescued and was pressing a cotton towel to his bleeding wound. Memphis’s hair was disheveled, his body bore several scars, and his normally exotic, narrow, blue-green eyeliner had smudged into a mess. Yet, none of this diminished the smug, triumphant relief on his face.

Ar suddenly realized something was wrong. He looked around and roared, "The Daughter of the Nile has escaped! Notify the guards immediately! She must not get out! If she isn't found, I'll have all your skins!"

The guards and ministers, who had just breathed a sigh of relief, were struck as if by lightning. The city of Assur was surrounded like an iron barrel, but finding a little mouse would still take some effort. Startled by Ar’s thunderous voice, Inanna snapped back to reality. Realizing what she was holding, her face turned beet red. Her legs, which had been wrapped around the prince’s waist, bent with great flexibility and kicked hard against his chest.

Izmir felt the pain and loosened his grip, but he did not let Inanna escape his clutches. The woman in his arms panicked, and as soon as her hand was free, she slapped Izmir across the face. Inanna was furious, but her strike wasn't heavy. Still, the "slap" sounded crisp in the tent. If Izmir hadn't possessed good endurance and hadn't finished yet, the royal Hittite lineage would surely have been splattered all over his face. Izmir’s cheek turned a mix of red and blue, a colorful sight. After a long moment, he squeezed out through his teeth: "Sukammum, fine, you are really something!"

Inanna was terrified but stubbornly locked eyes with him. Izmir sneered, mocking, "You have the courage to sing, but no courage to face the consequences?"

In this vast banquet hall, there was no such thing as consent; if a man desired a woman, she had no room to resist. Inanna had initially wanted to play dumb; since the song had achieved a good effect, she was happy to go with the flow and didn't want to dwell on the terrible advice Saru had given her.

But now, she had failed to outsmart him and was left in a difficult position. If she held the title of the Prince’s woman but didn't perform her duty, she didn't know if she would see tomorrow’s sun. Izmir understood her expression perfectly. Inanna surely didn't understand the Armenian dialect, but to them, it was like someone in Shanghai listening to Cantonese—you might not understand every word, but you get the gist.

He leaned close to her ear and whispered, word by word: "The little ewe bleated, asking the little ram if he was capable. Now, he is telling you: he is!"

What happened afterward was a blur for Inanna. She remained in Izmir’s lap, his ragged breathing spraying against her neck. He didn't let her hand get tired again; he handled everything himself. Occasionally, when his passion peaked, he would press firmly against Inanna’s lips, but as a novice, she didn't even know how to part them. His other hand tried to explore, but was blocked by Inanna’s tight, elastic bodice. Izmir didn't try to force his way in; he lingered for a moment under the edge of her bodice before returning to her firm, slender waist.

When he finally finished, he bit Inanna’s neck to ensure no unseemly sounds escaped.

At the moment of his climax, Izmir’s other hand, finding nowhere else to grip, squeezed Inanna’s buttock hard. It was round, firm, and smooth; though not large—he could cover one cheek with his hand—it was petite and perky, exactly what a man loved. The feeling of fullness in his palm left him deeply satisfied.

Izmir caught his breath, thinking that since they were now in this position, he should consider General Hazas’s proposal. If the old man was willing to give Sukammum some background, her life in the harem wouldn't be too difficult. Izmir’s gaze cooled slightly; he, too, would soon have a harem.

Because she was sticky with sweat, Inanna pushed him away and casually pulled down the hem of his robe to avoid an unsightly view. Izmir watched coldly as she picked up the damp silk veil from the base of her legs and scrubbed the cotton bedding repeatedly.

This woman truly challenged a man’s dignity. Now was not the time, but Izmir was determined to make her submissive in his palace.

Ar’s ears finally stopped bleeding. After some chaos outside, word finally came that the Daughter of the Nile had been captured and taken to Ar’s bedroom. Handmaidens had been sent to wash and dress her, waiting for Ar to favor her.

Although this was a chore for Ar, it was merely about pressing a flat-chested pheasant. He would sacrifice his reputation, finish quickly, and it would be enough to frustrate Memphis. Besides, he had beauties waiting for him to spend a perfect second half of the night!

Wait? Where was the beauty?

Ar jumped off his throne, glaring fiercely at the curtains he had forgotten. In a rage, he tore them open.

Because Izmir had "washed" Inanna’s face, she was now half-black and half-white, divided at the neck. As soon as she saw someone approaching, she dove into Izmir’s arms. Izmir cooperated—after all, it was a done deal—and let her hide against his chest and shoulder.

Ar was absolutely furious. If they had just been hugging, that would be one thing, but the scent in the tent couldn't be faked. It was clear they had already done it!

He had been outplayed by this brat Izmir again. He looked like a chaste and righteous man, yet he acted so quickly at the critical moment! Forget it, forget it. The good woman was taken by him; at least he still had half of Egypt, even if it was all skin and bone. He watched coldly as Izmir left the banquet, holding the scantily clad beauty, and consoled himself that tomorrow he could show off with half of Egypt.

Inanna hadn't expected Izmir’s treatment to be a pair of bronze shackles. The chain was long enough to allow him to move within the room, and a dozen guards stood in a row outside his door, their torchlight flickering constantly under the door gap.

Inanna slowly moved to a corner of the room and sat down, ensuring the chain was taut so Izmir couldn't reach her, before asking, "Prince, your hair..."

"The black iron dagger in my hair was taken by Ar," Izmir’s eyes shot toward her like cold arrows, as if there had never been an intimate moment between them. "Because I had no other weapon at the time."

Inanna could only laugh dryly. Seeing that Izmir’s expression hadn't softened at all, she said, "Even with the dagger, it would be useless; the sound of metal would attract the guards. Prince, let’s negotiate. I’ll help you open the shackles, and you just forget about this, all right?"

Izmir looked at her with suspicion. Inanna didn't have much meat on her bones, nor much fabric on her body—what could she possibly use to help?

Inanna smiled, though with a hint of shyness, and told him to close his eyes. When Izmir opened them again, her upper body was covered only by a thin layer of gauze. Although she tried her best to cover herself, that area remained as alluring as a peeled pomegranate.

Seeing Izmir staring at her chest, Inanna became angry and embarrassed, swinging the red bodice in her hand. "Stop looking! Help me open the lock!"