The Sultan of Monte Cristo: First Sequel to The Count of Monte Cristo Read online

AS EDMOND DANTES, KNOWN TO SOME AS SINBAD THE SAILOR, DISAPPEARS INTO THE SUNSET on his way to Albania, the last golden rays of the day shine on Haydee, giving her the appearance of a Greek goddess of beauty and love.

  It isn’t solely her charm and exquisite beauty that infatuate the Count of Monte Cristo, but that Haydee has confessed that she will die without him.

  The reawakening of his former self as Edmond Dantes, resulting from that haunting visit to his dungeon on Chateau D’If, has given rise within him to questions of how long Haydee will wait if he were to disappear. Is she as weak and faithless as Mercedes? Should he put her to the test? His doubt torments him, for he deeply wishes that Haydee can be loyal and true, unwavering in her love despite any length of absence, in a way that Mercedes had not.

  Haydee, however, has never doubted that she can wait until the end of time for her Edmond. She can anticipate his every need, after years of focusing her thoughts on how to please him. She understands that legally, she is only a slave, yet her savior has always treated her like a princess, making her love him all the more. Haydee realizes that her master, having avenged her parents’ treacherous deaths and his own enemies’ crimes, may have a difficult time closing that long chapter and moving on with life; she makes every effort to distract him and pull him into a happier future.

  She moves to him, her hips swaying with a sensual grace, and rests her hand on his shoulder. “Lord, I have prepared a special dessert for you to take your mind off the past, hoping you will find my company worthy of your time and affection.”

  “My darling Haydee, true, noble, royal princess, I am all yours,” Dantes replies, his thoughts elsewhere. “There is no one at whose side I’d rather spend my sunsets.”

  Haydee hesitates to speak her true fear, yet overcomes it — she has to know, though it will not alter her devotion to him in the slightest. “My Lord, I fear your heart forever belongs to Mercedes. Have you really forgiven her and let her go, now that your revenge is complete almost to the point of self-destruction?”

  “My dear, adorable child, I went too far in my quest for justice and nearly lost my soul,” Dantes answers, lifting his head to gaze upon her. “You are my salvation. Only since discovering your love for me is my heart beginning to mend.”

  “Dear Master, my sweet Sinbad, please do not call me ‘child.’ I am a woman now, with the same passion — no, with more passion — to be loved by you, than Mercedes had the day you were to be married, when she was my age. And you are still a young man, even though you have achieved twice my years. Revenge may have sacrificed your passion for love, but let me rekindle those flames. Tonight I will awaken that which years of isolation, followed by absorption in obsessive planning, withered in your heart.”

  Edmond Dantes begins to feel that icy part of his heart melting as his pulse quickens. Has he truly never noticed the slender beauty of Haydee’s waist, the thick fall of her hair?

  For the first time, Dantes truly sees her. “I promise to never call you ‘child’ again, because you have become my master and I am willingly your slave. Command me as if one of your servants. Since you have been restored to your hereditary throne, let me call you ‘Sultana.’ You, Haydee, are not just becoming the sovereign of a nation; you are the sovereign owner of my heart. I cannot in words express my gratitude for how you’ve stood beside me.”

  The Count of Monte Cristo reflects on how he has ruled the events of the past few years as if he were Providence itself, yet lost his confidence after the unintended consequences of the death of Édouard. A battle is raging in his mind. Is he Edmond Dantes, Sinbad the Sailor, the mysterious and powerful Count of Monte Cristo, or any of the other personages he created to bring about his vengeance? Can he go back to being simply Edmond Dantes, or is it his fate to metamorphosis into a new personality? No matter his fate, though, he can see that it is his destiny to have Haydee at his side.

  Sultana Haydee is pleased; can it be true that her Edmond might finally look on her as she does him — as a lover and soul-mate? She says, “Since you are now my slave, I decree by the powers you have restored to me that this elegant yacht is my floating embassy, and my sovereign territory, and I so order you to ask me for my hand in marriage; and, as my parents are in heaven and you cannot therefore ask Sultan Pasha’s favor on Earth, look there and listen if Heaven does not answer in your heart, with a resounding ‘Yes, you are indeed a worthy son-in-law.’ ”

  “Still waters run that deep?” Le Comte questions himself. “This woman is truly more mysterious and powerful than I myself was obliged to convince all of Parisian Society. Should I accede to her decree, or feign not to hear what Heaven is truly saying? Should I give my whole heart, soul, mind and body to a woman who will rule me so powerfully and mysteriously? Is it possible that I can trust again?”

  Haydee puts her finger on his lips. “Shhh, don't answer yet. Let us first enjoy a dessert made with the love of my heart. I’ve concocted a sweet invention to satisfy your unique palate.”

  Le Comte opens his watering mouth as Haydee slowly brings a slice of multi-layered cake to his lips. After tasting the coffee-infused delicacy, both crunchy and smooth, he exclaims, “The most scrumptious dessert on earth. What do you call it?"

  “I have named it tiramisu,” she answers, “after the Italian phrase for ‘take me up.’ Just as you have taken me up to a level of happiness I have never before experienced, so this dessert recreates that feeling.”

  Haydee next brings to his lips a warm red liquid. “Oh no,” he thinks, “has she believed the rumors that I am that vampire, Lord Ruthwen?” His anxiety calms as he smells nutmeg instead, and tastes a warm, spicy merlot.

  “Gluvine,” she whispers, naming her invention into his ear.

  “Oh siren, you have achieved a subtle chemistry I could not hope to match,” declares the Count.

  “If that be your verdict, know, sire, that you were the inspiration, the master of my desire. Let my recipes delight your senses, and prepare yourself to behold me return in less formal attire.”

  Dantes appreciates the beauty of her exquisite frock, as she turns to depart. The moon has slowly risen into the sky as he savored her dessert delights, and its beams shine ethereally through the round starboard window.

  Haydee slips into her boudoir, picking up her guitar-like guzla on a whim. The Count is rhapsodized by the sound of her singing, as she strums the strings of her instrument, serenading him to increase his anticipation. Dantes feels hypnotized by the sounds of these mesmerizing words floating from her voice into his ears:

  “My lord is my slave

  Am I worthy of his praise?

  Yet I was his slave

  How shall I now behave?”

  Meanwhile, the citizens of Paris buzz like busy bees, pollinating and cross-pollinating the rumors of the clamorous events which swirled around that one man, the Count of Monte Cristo. Villefort, the once-upon-a-time crown prosecutor, is now the first patient incarcerated in the Count’s newly established insane asylum in Auteuil, named “House de Saint-Meran.” Villefort is being rehabilitated, so that he can stand trial for the apparent crime so stealthily exposed by Monte Cristo. Villefort repeatedly begs to be allowed to dig in the back yard, while making the bizarre claim that Edmond Dantes has risen from the grave to avenge him. Yet the Count is oblivious to the fact that his name is on the lips of every member of the Parisian elite and their servants. Haydee’s lips preoccupy his thoughts, as he listens to her bewitching music and stares at a pastel by Raphael of nature being colored by autumn.

  He can only remember one time in his life that he felt such a state of nirvana, and that had been when he experimented with those green pills of hashish and opium. He wonders if Haydee has drugged him, or if he is merely intoxicated by her love for him. He had realized, upon first using those drugs, that indulging in their potency more than once would lead to a destructive addiction, so he now controls his desire to experience that euphoric sensation and its temporary oblivion.

  No, he
decides, as he stands to test his equilibrium. He is in full possession of his faculties.

  In her boudoir, Haydee drapes a sheer veil over her face and wraps her body in a swath of shimmering cloth, preparing herself to look like the genie in the tale of the One Thousand and One Nights. Her future Sultan is entranced by that famous story, and she knows her appearance will tantalize him. She also realizes that it will be hard to break through the Antarctic reserve that has frozen her Sinbad's ability to ravish the woman he is accustomed to protecting; she will have to use more than her charm, beauty and newfound prowess in the arts of seduction. She will have to make him unable to resist her.

  “My love,” she says, slipping back into the cabin and lighting the coal in her hookah. “Will you partake with me?”

  Dantes’ eyes light up with delight, as he sees what appears to be a real genie dancing before him. He answers, “My love, you know I never partake.”

  “Not even for me?” Haydee asks demurely.

  Before he can say “No,” she inhales deeply from the hookah, then presses her mouth to his and forces the smoke down his lungs.

  “Don't exhale,” she says. “That is an order from your Sultana.”

  He holds his breath until he feels dizzy, then intoxicated, by the thrill more than the wine, and he slowly realizes it is not just perfumed smoke he has inhaled — it is cannabis. His body and mind relax instantly.

  Haydee takes Dantes’ hand, walking him to her bed and laying him down. With the grace of a ballerina, she arches her leg over him and descends upon his hips, beginning to unbutton his shirt.

  Her veil still covering her face, Haydee continues to undress her lover.

  Perched on his thighs, she runs her hands over his muscular chest and then slowly shrugs her raiment of silk from her shoulders. Her veil remains her only covering, and at last she removes it, too.

  For the first time, as Haydee takes Dantes’ virgin hands and places them on her bare breasts, he realizes she is voluptuous. “Have you heard of the Kama Sutra?” asks Haydee.

  “No. Teach me,” requests Dantes, lying through his teeth; as a worldly man, he has of course heard of the famed techniques, even if he has not experienced them. “Share with me all you know.”

  Haydee presses her mouth onto his and kisses him deeply; his breath began to quicken, and she grows rosy and flushed with passion.

  “My lover, you are the first, the last and the only one who shall know my touch,” she promises him. “While you were endeavoring to take revenge against mine enemy, I was studying how to reward you.”

  “My God!” cries Dantes softly, “I have tasted the nectar of the gods.”

  “No, my lover, my kiss is but a small appetizer. The nectar is reserved for later; first enjoy the main course.” Haydee begins to undulate her hips over Dantes’ submissive body, in a gentle rhythm that mimics the ebb and flow of the Mediterranean. The pale moonlight, streaming through the starboard window, gleams dazzlingly on her smooth white shoulders.

  The night ends in a wonderful catharsis for the newlyweds.

  Book II Count II:

  CAPTAIN MEDUSALOCKS AND

  HIS BLACK STYGIAN IBLIS