During her stay in a village a nice woman had managed to see her potential. So charitable, she never asked Sadira’s name, nor given hers. Through her charity, her beautiful body managed to capture the attention of a palace attendant who took her home with him, offering her gifts and money, all to attend him. She knew what he wanted. He wanted a whore. And through greed and self-denial, she submitted. How else would she live?

Through him, she managed to obtain silk, satins; his name was a blur in her memory. Secretary to royal treasurer, making a hefty sum and giving Sadira much of the latter. What a high-priced whore she was, and she knew it. Her head, always scheming, had made her a better treasurer than he. And when she was to be appointed another treasurer to the Sultan, her former ‘patron’ became jealous. She had found he was conspiring against her; thus, she murdered him.

Her stomach revolted against the thought, already feeling the bile rise in her throat at the memory, she held her breath.