Fantasy Fiction for Friday

Inspired by Meaghan Ward at http://thepatriotscall.blogspot.com/, I have written some music-inspired fiction for y'all. This was totally a new idea for me. My first try at this. I have never been in this world before, never met these characters before listening to this song, parts one and two: http://youtube.com/watch?v=z9G_imteJWI



Welcome to Dorua.

The soft rustle of silk filled the room as Alima turned away from the window. Thick crimson carpet muffled her footsteps. The Doruan sheik Rayhan watched her cautiously, disturbed by the absent look in her large black eyes.
The princess lifted one dark, slender hand. The long sleeve of her flowing dress fell back from it ike ocean waves from a cliff. “I told you that the Rebellion was centered in the far east portion of Dorua.”
Rayhan’s lips quivered. What does she know about the Rebellion?
“I told you that it was nothing to worry about. That it was a group of untrained peasants with nothing more than pitchforks to fight with. That no portion of it could ever possibly reach the streets of our” -- she gestured out the window at the crowded streets below, blanketed in the dusky light of evening -- “enlightened city.”
A drop of sweat trickled down Rayhan’s back. Alima glided closer, her long eyelashes fluttering slightly, her red painted lips parted. Her feathered headdress slipped a little to one side and a lock of hair the color of suns-set caressed her bronzed cheek. Her smooth, soft voice tickled his ear. “I lied.”
Rayhan clenched his fists, straining not to scream from frustration. From fear. “My Lady?”
“Come to the window.”
Measuring his steps, Rayhan walked with her across the lavishly decorated chamber to the west-facing cutout in the stone wall. The blade of his curved dagger felt warm and hard against the skin of his upper arm, where his robe’s sleeve covered it. It was comforting, but not in the way he’d previously hoped. I don’t want to do this. I can’t. I won’t.
But what if ... what if I have to?
Alima said nothing for a long five minutes, while the two suns, dancing around each other, intertwining purple and orange rays, sunk toward the horizon. Soft cries and noises of hooves on stone streets drifted up to the pair. The city looked perfectly contented, pleasantly busy, happy in their huts and cottages and tents in the shadow of the enormous palace. Rayhan knew better. It was swarming with buried hatred, like a blue-hornet’s nest just waiting for the right moment to attack.
“Rayhan,” Alima began, her voice still smooth as the Tilami river. She chuckled. “Naïve I may be, but I am not blind. I needed to wait … the time was not yet right. So I didn’t tell you the truth about how strong the Rebellion really is.”
Rayhan gulped. “How strong, my Lady?”
Alima’s face hardened. Her features, in profile, looked like a fair but completely invincible stone wall. The suns-set light played on it, teasing, testing. Rayhan’s self-control wavered.
“Four thousand trained infantrymen.”
Rayhan narrowed his eyes. Her guess was surprisingly accurate. Though, how he knew that, she would never find out.
At least, he hoped so.
“Imagine the sway I could hold over them if I captured the leader. If I had him in this very room with me.”
His blood chilling, Rayhan glanced over at her. As usual, she was unreadable. Everyone believes that the leader of the Rebellion is female. How could she …
“I have that chance, Rayhan.”
Their eyes met, sparkling black and dazzling yellow, at the same moment. Rayhan felt as if he was falling into a glittering, shimmering black pit, bottomless, mocking. Her thoughts spun around him. With an effort he pulled back into the room. She knows. I have to act now – draw the dagger. DRAW IT! Kill her, NOW!
Alima moved first, and he lost his chance. Before he could blink, she was behind him with something sharp against his throat. The truth was unraveling in Rayhan’s hands, like a badly made rug.
“I have that power,” Alima whispered gleefully. “And I’m going to use it.”

Let me know what you think! Should I write more in this setting?
E