I wanted to lay in Hala’s bed for the rest of my life, with her on top of me. That was the first night’s rest she had in complete peace to my knowledge; not so much as moving from my chest. The pain that bridled my soul when I had to slide out from beneath her was inexplicable, and it wasn’t out of anything but sheer obligation that I redressed and went to my room to freshen up. I had a meeting today that I couldn’t avoid—Shahin was coming, and so was the threat of war. If anything went wrong during this encounter, Mahsul would have to take up its swords once more. I wasn’t like Iirshad—I wanted us to strike first, need be. I wasn’t willing to risk any lives, or to lose anyone of importance without a fight. As I washed my face, I heard a familiar voice clearing their throat.
“Yer glowin’, Lad. Finally release some tension?” Bròn asked from the far corner of my room.
“Yeah.” I scoffed, patting my face dry. “That dress you found for her was deadly, you know.”
“I wasn’t the one to find it. You can thank the Lass that watches over her.” Bròn snickered.
I walked to the armoire, pulling out a fresh tunic and pair of pants. I’d don Otlak’s colors today, green and gold, in an act of undeserved appreciation for the ‘care’ Shahin took in properly burying Hala—or rather, the glamoured illusion of Hala that Bròn switched out with the real Princess. I was still unsure of how he’d managed to create a lifelike double of her, and those three days he’d spent at the palace were left entirely unaddressed. When I asked Bròn about it, he’d only met me with a smile and told me Shahin nearly went insane when he’d found her.
“The maiden?” I asked from behind the room divider, changing my clothing. “Zaima?”
“Aye. The young ‘uns have good taste in clothing, nowadays.”
I’d have to ask Zaima where she’d found such garments, and chastise her for rummaging through old wardrobes when I found her again. Of course, I’d offer her some kind of ‘thank you’ for the act, as well. Such a sight truly was one for history books. A woman like Hala could start wars—and I was hoping we’d avoid that after this meeting.
“Didja tell her?” Bròn asked.
“About what?” I answered his question with a question of my own.
“About that Duke comin’?”
“No.” I replied casually.
Bròn eyed me with dissatisfaction as I walked out from the room divider. If he were the King of this land, he may have had my right hand cut off for treachery judging by the look he gave me.
“Ya should’ve told ‘er.” He said, his voice deep and authoritative.
“And risk her losing her mind? I think not.” I replied.
Bròn let out something close to a growl before speaking again.
“I told you that what happens between you ‘n the Lass is dictated by how ya make yer decisions. I know she tried ta get it outta you last night. Yer gonna put ‘er through more anguish by keepin’ her in the dark.”
“I’ve never been wrong in my judgements.” I replied coolly.
The sound of wind screeching filled my ears, despite the air in the room remaining still.
“Tread. Lightly.” The cacophony of voices flooded me, laughing and wailing. The same voices I’d first encountered in the cave. Bròn wasn’t in his human form, he was inches from my face as an apparition—red eyes mere slits as they looked at me menacingly. I felt my blood run cold as I blinked at him, hardly able to make out a full silhouette.
“I told you, Illuminated One. There’s darkness already planted in you. One wrong step, and you end up as damned as I. You can kiss that pretty little Princess goodbye as you watch her lungs fill with their last breaths—or you can find it in you to live by honesty. Live in such a way, and you’ll be able to choose how you spend your days.”
I drew in a breath, and nodded my head. This was one Hell of a way to start my morning. Living in truth was something that came both easily, and with great difficulty for me at times. I felt like my entire personality, my entire life, was just a lie I’d kept telling myself to make it through each day.
————
I sat on a bench in the garden late that morning, replaying the morning’s encounter, as a soldier of ours came towards me at an urgent pace.
“He’s here.” The burly young man said, curls pulled back into a tight bun. His eyes were full of panic, as if he hadn’t seen countless atrocities across the lands. Shahin’s presence must have been akin to a Cursed One when he pulled up to the palace in his carriage.
I offered an apprehensive smile to him, standing from the bench and cupping his shoulder as I walked by. It was time to see how that bastard played his cards when he wasn’t on the high ground. I smoothed my shirt as I approached the pathway to the Western Wing, making sure my alibis were backed by evidence. The ground around the cobblestone path was still cracked—an indicator of little rain. There was no humidity in the air, and the weather was unusually warm for Mahsul’s late autumn. The soldier who’d come to get me wore ill-fitting armor, just as the others I passed. Maidens and servants wore their more tattered robes. Only myself and a few other high-standing officials were wearing articles in pristine condition, just as planned.
My boots echoed through the halls as they hit the marble, the gold veins glimmering in the sunlight. Even the flowers that sat atop accent tables were slightly browned. Each detail of our palace was nigh perfect. I eyed the Grand Building from the large, floor to ceiling window. Hala’s room was visible from the distance, an opaque crimson curtain preventing prying eyes from seeing in. I’d asked Zaima to switch the sheer curtain two weeks ago, much to Hala’s dismay, and hoped she’d keep from looking outside of it during the four days Shahin was here. I couldn’t help but feel bad for leaving her earlier—Bròn’s words echoed through my mind.
Was it truly so bad to have not told her about Shahin’s arrival? Should I have admitted to it as she all but kneeled before me on that stool, asking what I was hiding? I had little time to think as I approached the oak door and saw that the soldiers guarding the room also donned green and gold. Otlakian men, rail-thin with mousey brown hair. Their blue-green eyes met mine with solemnity, as if they were the ones responsible for Hala’s death. I’d already put on a mournful expression as I’d entered the West Wing, and I replied to their expression with one of pained appreciation for their presence.
As I pushed the door open, my eyes met Asad’s. He’d trusted his usual post at Namir’s side to Kharif earlier that morning, unwilling to let me sit alone in the room with the man who sat at the table before me.
Those carob brown eyes watched me with an unfamiliar air. He didn’t seem to recognize me until I grew closer, when he could examine my features up close. I smiled woefully to him as I took my seat at the other side of the table, where two mediators sat at his side. They were birds for men, with watchful eyes and strong noses. Wiry eyebrows sat atop their sets of blue eyes, their foreheads large and shiny. They could have been twins, but one man had grey peppering his dark brown hair: an indicator of older age, just as the fine lines that were perched between his brows.
“Idris, freznah krodhat.” Shahin said as I settled into my seat. “It’s good to see you in good health. I’m sorry we’re meeting under such conditions—it truly pains me.”
I stifled the bristle. He was negging me, plain and simple. I didn’t dare return the formal greeting, not when he was purposefully using my birth name.
“And it pains me, as well, Duke Shahin.” I replied, making sure I sat just tall enough to emphasize the head and a half of height I had on him, but just small enough to put on a sad and defeated aura.
He replied to my comment with a soft, hollow smile. The smile that never met his eyes, as they bore into me. He was setting the Chon board in his mind, and I was more than prepared to win the game just as I had all those years ago, when I was 13 and he was 19. In the almost ten years since he’d seen me on Hala’s wedding day, I’d become even more well-calculated. More ahead of the curve. No longer was I the scrawny child who aspired to be like him, I was the brawny young man who was more than capable of pummeling him to the ground—and oh, how I wished I could. I cleared my throat, ridding myself of the violent downfall I was imagining for the Duke.
“I’ve called upon you on behalf of Al’Namir.” I explained. “He and his family—as well as his Kingdom—are devastated by the loss of Al’Hala. Her death under your care is most surprising, considering her hand was given to you in hopes of a comfortable and prosperous life.”
His expression contorted with what I knew was feigned remorse. The mediators at his side were empathetic to him, watching Shahin like he’d split down the center from grief.
“Her death was unexpected, Idris.” He stated. “The decline in her health was quick, and entirely unpredictable. Had I known she would deteriorate so quickly, I would have brought her to see you all as soon as she began showing symptoms.”
His words came out as tight, pained strums from his vocal cords. Two actors, vying for the sympathy of those within that room. That’s what we were. Shahin played his part masterfully, a grief-stricken widower whose wife kept his heart beating; and me, the innocent childhood friend who worked his way up the ranks; all but formally titled as the King’s adopted son.
“What symptoms did she show?” I asked, my voice wavering. “I don’t want another soul lost to such illness.”
Shahin’s eyes flashed with bitter disdain for a moment, masqueraded as upset towards being forced to recount the death of his beloved wife. I swallowed harshly as he spoke again.This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.
“It began as a rash…her neck, a ring around her neck. We thought it to be dry skin, considering it to be the dead of winter when it first came.” His voice shook, as if pained to weave such lies.
“Doctors gave her salves to soothe the itching, it worked for a few weeks. She was fine, during that time. Then, she said she thought she’d caught a cold. We’d just hired new maidens, I figured they brought a virus with them from their prior residence…”
The Duke spoke just above a whisper, his eyes filled with pain as they remained on the Mahogany table he sat at. He was too damn good at this. The only time I ever saw a hint of emotion in those eyes was when he was putting on an act—a facade—just like me. The older of the two mediators clicked his tongue as his hand met Shahin’s back.
“The cough was nothing to fuss over, during its initial presentation. It wasn’t until I heard her wheezing as she coughed that I asked her to stay in bed.” A small half-smile pulled at the corner of his mouth. “She refused. Always so eager to help, to do the opposite of what she was asked…”
I had to restrain myself, the anger simmering within me.
Play into the act.
His smile dulled.
“She grew weaker as the cough progressed, refusing to eat from the pain her throat experienced. The sores popped up not long after that…”
I swallowed harshly again, forcing tears to my eyes. It wasn’t that difficult; the recollection of Hala fighting Namir’s grasp those months ago was a memory I’d purposefully kept in the depths of my mind. The buried image of Namir hiding his own tears, sniffling, as Haya hugged Hala after claiming herself to be tarnished sent my eyes burning.
“It was horrible.” Shahin muttered, his own voice thick with emotion as he brought a hand to the bridge of his nose. His lip quivered ferociously. I wondered what memory he trudged up to bring forth such a display of sadness—possibly the recollection of losing his favorite plaything to injuries he’d inflicted.
“I can’t imagine…” I said, forcing the tears in my eyes to keep from falling. “I’m so sorry.”
“I was unsure of if she could make the trip home, Idris.” Shahin croaked, looking at me with chagrined eyes.
“Which is why I plan on making sure Mahsul gets reparations for her passing—especially when it wasn’t in her own Kingdom. Especially when her own Father couldn’t lay eyes upon her—hold her hand—as she passed.”
I nodded grimly, loosing a breath. I whispered a prayer’s verse to myself, an exasperated plea for mercy as dramatic effect. Shahin looked at me, picking up on my words. He believed me to be nothing more than a mourning childhood friend, in that moment. A sense of pride and accomplishment washed over me, and I stifled the smile that came with it.
“Mahsul is facing an economic depression in the face of losing the heir…” I began, my voice lined with desperation. “Even the land is mourning her loss—we’ve bore little from our harvests, and our tradesmen cannot find precious minerals when presented with what was found in the mines…”
“Your land was once Otlak’s jewel mines…” Shahin replied with disbelief, his words almost having a bite to them. “You mean to say there hasn’t been any precious minerals within them?”
I shook my head woefully. Shahin eyed me with suspicion.
“I’m sure you laid eyes upon our merchants, Duke Markovni. They panhandle the tourists for what little dhebals they can.” I told him, looking him in the eyes.
“I saw them…and I saw the farmers, as well.” He replied quietly. “Mahsul is truly suffering…”
He almost looked enthralled by the notion.
“In order for us to ensure we have the food and currency necessary to fuel the next three generations, Al’Namir is asking for a lofty price.” I prefaced. “Three bars of platinum, ample silver, and a third of your harvests of meat and vegetables.”
Shahin balked at the request, his eyes shooting to the mediator on his left. The young noble looked at him expectantly, urging him to speak.
“Three bars of platinum?” He echoed, his voice faint. “You can’t possibly be serious, Abyad. Platinum is the most difficult metal to obtain in all the kingdoms…”
“I wouldn’t jest about such a thing, Duke Shahin. Al’Namir is entrusting you to provide for his people.” I pressured. I rested my elbows on the table we sat at, leaning into them.
“No.” Shahin snapped.
There we go.
“Three bars is outrageous! Namir is lucky to receive one.” His voice was almost the complete opposite as it was before, now filled with clarity and vitriol.
“Al’Hala’s life is priceless.” Asad finally spoke up. I hid the grimace that nearly twisted my face as he used present tense to refer to the Princess. “There is no replacing it.”
“What is the cost of an heir?” I added, eyeing Shahin with anticipation.
Shahin’s eyes traveled from the gargantuan man beside me, back to mine. His bottom lip twitched down, to the right, as he considered my question.
“Al’Hala was truly a woman of great importance, that much goes without saying—but there is only so much we as a country can offer.” Shahin said, trying to regain his composure.
“Mahsul is suffering, Lord Shahin.” I said, using his earlier words against him. “While our land is fertile, the crops have gotten little water over the last couple of months.”
“A shame.” Shahin stated. “But your King must be reasonable in his requests.”
“Reasonable?” I let out a breath of laughter, my anger boiling as I remembered the way Hala’s wounds looked that night in the grotto. Remembering the wish she had for the man’s fate.
“Reasonable would be putting your head on a pike, on display for our entire Kingdom to watch as its flesh rots to bone. That would be reasonable.”
Shahin shrank at the thought, and it filled me with unbridled amusement.
“She was a fragile woman.” He stated coldly. “My head on a pike would do nothing to aid your Kingdom.”
“It would serve as closure to our people, myself and the Royal Family included.” I replied smoothly.
“We are willing to give silver. Platinum is off the table.” Shahin spat.
The mediator to Shahin’s right spoke up, breaking his silence with an eerie voice.
“Platinum could be allotted in small quantities.” He stated, looking from Shahin to Asad and I with a placating expression. I gave the man a grateful expression in return, noting how his fine lines became deeper as he returned his gaze to the Duke.
“Platinum is off the table.” Shahin repeated, looking at the mediator with dismay.
“I think platinum should be on the table.” I said, letting some of the amusement within me poke through. “Speaking as a Strategist, of course, it shows as an act of good faith between the Kingdoms.”
Shahin shot me a furious glare, his temper was so close to hitting its fever pitch—I was looking for conflict. For something to pin him with.
“If you receive Platinum from Otlak, you will receive nothing more.” Shahin said, his eyes narrowing.
“Duke Markovni,” I drawled. “You know that simply isn’t fair. You lost Al’Hala to an unknown illness, leaving us without an heir. Platinum, as well as silver, would be insurance for future generations to come.”
“Three fucking bars of platinum is enough to fuel your economy for five generations!” Shahin yelled. He spoke with his hands, now, as he sprang from the chair.
I covered my mouth with my hand to hide my smile, the mediators looking to me with embarrassment. These two men weren’t here for our sakes—they were here for their Kingdom’s sake. Seeing Shahin fly off the handle, I realized that Ja’Tavuk had anticipated this. The mediators were here to act as baby sitters for the Duke.
“I don’t understand!” He exclaimed. “For what reason would your Kingdom need both silver and platinum?!”
“For our weapons, Shahin.” I said, smothering the smile on my lips and removing my hand from my mouth. “Did you not see our guards upon arriving at the gates? Do you not see Asad’s armor? It is worn, and dented!” I added, motioning to Asad. He’d worn his training armor to the meeting, with dents along the shoulder plates and a deep scratch on the breastplate. Shahin examined Asad, his eyes lingering on the scratch.
“You could buy enough armor for ten battalions with a single bar!” Shahin replied, his eyes glued to Asad. “Strolgia would froth at the mouth if you received such wealth!”
I took my position back to the table, leaning on my elbows as my eyes narrowed on the Duke—the title I’d been given by Namir was the most accurate it had ever been in that moment. I sat like a crouched white tiger, who had come upon another apex predator in his territory.
“It’s up to you, Shahin. Do you swallow your pride and act as a proper representative of Otlak, or risk your nation crumbling to ruin?” I threatened.
He met my gaze again, eyes widened with shock. I knew he wasn’t expecting me to say something to blatant—threatening ruin meant threatening war. He was intelligent enough to read between the lines. Shahin was also intelligent enough to know that Otlak was in no condition for war; Ja’Tavuk had grown lazy in training his men. Mahsul was a Kingdom known for its warriors. We fought tooth and nail for the land we resided upon, taking it from Otlak and Gundlach ferociously just a generation and a half ago.
“I…” he stammered, still standing at his seat. His eyes flickered from me, to Asad, then to his mediators. We were huge compared to them—two big cats cornering a hyena and his three-man cackle. They looked at him tersely, knowing better than to side with the Duke.
“Your men aren’t going to help you, Shahin. They know how valuable Al’Hala’s life was. She was the only person in line to rule Mahsul—and your irresponsibility has put us in a rather difficult situation.” I further explained. I kept my body language stiffened, offering little breathing room as my eyes bore into the Duke with a pained, yet daunting expression.
“Then tell Al’Namir to bear a new heir to the throne!” Shahin yelled. “Consorts exist for this very reason! Should your Queen be too old to carry his child—tell him to find a new predecessor!” He continued.
The mediators looked to each other, then to Asad and I. Such words were enough to provoke violence, and they knew that when they met our eyes. It was reflexive, how quickly I stood up and walked to him from my side of the table. My hand met his collar, bringing him inches from my face as the mediators sprang from their own chairs, hands up and begging me to put the Duke down.
“Say that again, Markovni, and watch how quickly your mouth no longer moves when you try and speak.” I snarled, releasing his shirt.
I could see the color drain from his cheeks as he turned on his heels, storming out of the room. The mediators rushed after him with panicked expressions, their own faces pale as ivory. After they left, I shot Asad an entertained expression.
“And this is only day one.” I smiled.
Asad kept a neutral expression, but I saw the glimmer of amusement in his eyes. He wanted to chastise me, but he relished the moment just as I did. The sound of the mediators hushed voices as they tried to quell Shahin in Otlank from behind the door filled the silence between us, hardly able to make out anything aside from Shahin’s furious words. He sounded much more bitter when speaking his native tongue—it’s no wonder Hala carried a similar tone when she spoke the language. Being barked at in such a way would harden anyone’s exterior.
After an eon of the back and forth, the more youthful of the mediators returned to the meeting room. He looked more than tired—he was utterly exhausted from reeling in Shahin’s temper. Perhaps the two nobles were closer in age than I’d expected—because such a feat proved to age the young man five years in the time it took to calm Shahin down.
“We’ll agree to two bars of platinum; on top of the silver, meats, and produce.” He said exasperatedly.
“Thank you.” I said, slipping back into the mournful act I’d worn throughout the meeting. The mediator nodded, before disappearing behind the door once more.