The Sultan’s palace was nestled in the middle of the city, surrounded by a lush garden full of exotic birds and flowers and beyond that, a tall, forbidding wall. Outside those walls were armed guards wearing fatigues, black berets and sunglasses. One of them waved me through the gates with a grim, humourless expression that made me shudder.

Once inside the compound, I forgot the outside world completely. The palace and its gardens were a testament to the original oasis they were built upon. Closing my eyes, I breathed in the glorious scent of the vegetation and felt the cool breeze that drifted gently about me. Just then, I was startled by a hand on my shoulder and a man’s deep voice.

“Miss Montgomery.” It was the Information Minister, greeting me with one of his almost imperceptible smiles. He was dressed in his dish-dasha this time, the soft white cotton of the flowing garment providing a pleasant contrast to his dark skin.

“This way,” he said, leading me along a narrow pathway to a modern security door, which led to a more ornate wooden door within.

Inside, the palace was just as opulent as I had imagined, filled with exquisite furnishings and artworks. The floors were polished marble, with elegant Persian rugs spread over them. I had to stop myself from gasping aloud at the majestic sights everywhere I looked.

I was taken through the large front hall, down a long corridor, and finally to a cozy room near the back of the palace. My senses were tingling as the minister ushered me into the room filled with dark brown woven furniture, huge potted ferns and muted sunlight that streamed in through the large windows. I glanced up to admire the ceiling fans that provided the pleasant coolness soothing my skin. That was when I felt the minister jabbing me in the back. He had been speaking and I didn’t even realize it, lost as I was in this wondrous place.

“Your Majesty,” he looked slightly annoyed. “May I introduce …”

“Oh dear God, Zacharias,” an elegantly feminine voice intoned. “Can’t we dispense with the formalities for once?”

I turned towards the voice, startled, and almost fell backwards again. Somehow, I grasped that the lilting European accent now dancing in my ears belonged to the tall, exquisitely beautiful creature standing before me. She extended a hand with impossibly long, delicate fingers adorned with many jewelled rings.

“Please, call me Lena,” she said with a polite smile as I took her hand. Her eyes were a soft, warm brown and her hair dark and wispy. She was wearing a long white tunic with black embroidery that was immensely flattering to her lithe figure. Below that, she wore matching white pants and dark sandals. She was, quite simply, one of the most beautiful women I had ever seen. I suddenly felt a jolt of physical attraction to her that was beginning to make me blush. Worried this might be apparent to the other person in the room, I made an effort to smother my reaction with a professional veneer.

“Bianca Montgomery,” I said, in a tone that I immediately realized was far too brusque. I smiled all too nervously as we moved over to the chairs.

I almost sat down first, then remembered the protocol I had been briefed with earlier. The minister winced as I straightened and waited for Lena to sit. Then I sat down and began rummaging through my shoulder bag for my mini-disk recorder and notes.

The minister stood watching, frowning at my disorganized antics. Lena smiled and leaned forward gently.

“Let’s have some tea first,” she said, discreetly signalling a servant who stood near the door.

The minister, still standing in the middle of the room, cleared his throat.

“Zacharias, do make yourself scarce,” Lena said, barely looking at him.

He clenched his jaw, then turned and left the room. I watched him walk out silently.

“Pest,” Lena said. She looked at me and smiled warmly. “So where are you from, Bianca?”

“New York,” I replied. “Well, Pennsylvania originally.”

“I’ve been to New York,” she replied. “Lovely place.”

She leaned toward me again and I caught a hint of her scent. Her nearness to me was having an almost intoxicating effect that was most unnerving. I began rummaging through my bag again, embarrassed.

She reached out and touched my arm, her gentle manner putting me at ease. I relaxed as she continued with her polite inquiries into my family background, education and employment. I soon realized I had given away much more about myself than I had so far managed to glean of her.

“Umm, your Highness … I mean your Majesty…I mean…”

“Lena.”

“Yes, Lena. Forgive me, but I’m supposed to be the one asking the questions.”

She laughed softly, then nodded to someone who had come into the room from the doorway behind me.

“Here’s our tea,” she said simply. I watched as she took hers and then waited patiently for mine to be poured. The servant placed the tray on a table and then left us again.

I was fumbling with my mini-disk recorder when she finished her tea and stood up.

“My apologies Bianca, but I’m afraid I’ll have to cut our interview short today,” she said. “Zacharias will show you out.”

With that, she left the room. I sat in stunned silence for a moment, then picked up my things and went into the hallway, where the minister was waiting.

“All finished?” he queried, looking surprised.

“So it seems,” I replied.

“Ah well, maybe your next interview will be longer,” he said.

“I didn’t really get the chance …”

“Excellent, excellent. Shall we go?” he replied, hurrying me along the hallway. He wasn’t even listening.

I was soon in a limo, being escorted back to the office, my mind in turmoil. Oh why had I been so nervous and disorganized?

“Focus, focus!” I told myself. “Get a grip.”

But I knew that was easier said than done. Not only would I have to find something salvageable from this truncated interview, but I would have to collect myself for the next one. The next one, yes, when I would see her again. Tomorrow.