"It is better if we do not grow too close," he said, fixing his eyes on a nearby orange tree. "I must use you. I will send you as my sultan has sent me, and you will lie with the man I choose as my quarry."
He looked back and saw that she was smiling sadly, her eyes clouded with disappointment. It pleased him in a bittersweet way to see that she shared his unhappiness.
"I am your slave, then?"
He shook his head. "I do not know whose you are—King Manfred's, I suppose. Or perhaps Emperor Michael's? You have been given to me in trust, like that emerald I brought here from El Kahira—from Cairo. What you will have to do here will be no worse, I am sure, than what you must have had to do before this."
"I am sure." There was a dark note in her voice now. He wished he could take back what he said and ease her bitterness, but he had spoken truly, and it was needful that she realize it.
"If you serve me well, I will reward you," he promised. "You will be able to do anything in the world you want."
"Of that I cannot be sure," she said.
This time it was he who took her hand and held it tightly for a moment. Her hand felt cool and lifeless in his grasp.
"We may not be lovers," he said, "but perhaps we can be friends."
"Perhaps," she said distantly.