The Gazelle (A Rapunzel Retelling)

Chapter 3

Humban's eyes opened and met a stony gaze.

He shared his name with the god whose likeness spanned the floor to the ceiling in front of his bed but little else. If he looked as ferocious as the Gilgarian sky god, with his waist-length beard and horned headdress, he would've defeated the Amaluans singlehandedly.

No bickering army commanders necessary. No fathers, husbands or brothers leaving home to answer the war's call.

Blinking, Humban gazed around at the mudbrick walls, where carved men in boats fished on a river. An ivory table engraved with wolf heads stood beside his bed. Silky curtains framed the enormous window.

Humban didn't usually wake up in places this fancy.

The luxuriance of Yasa Palace was unparalleled throughout Gilgar. It hadn't convinced Humban to settle in Yasa with his fellow army leaders, but he admired it whenever he visited the capital city to attend a war council meeting.

The servants knew him, and he even had his room, aptly nicknamed "Humban's room" for the giant divine statue. All the same, it felt strange.

The sheets were smooth against his skin, and the air was empty of the smell of horses and camels and food cooking over fires. As a General, Humban should be used to this luxury, but his youth kept him restless, and he accompanied his soldiers across the desert as often as he discussed battle strategies with the leaders of the Gilgarian Army.

Perhaps that made him common—no other General would choose to camp in the desert with soldiers—but Humban found familiarity in the camaraderie between men serving together. It had given him structure and purpose, once, when his had been lost.

He picked at the tray on the table next to his bed. The bread was the finest in the Kingdom of Gilgar, but it couldn't match his mother's, moulded with loving hands and baked to perfection. Fruits lay scattered over the tray, as bright as jewels.

Humban sunk his teeth into the sweet, juicy flesh of the apple. He glanced outside. The sun had just begun to show its head on the horizon. He should be on time for his meeting.

As he pulled his tunic over his head, holding his Apple in his mouth, he wondered if he shouldn't have turned the concubine away at his door. The King had plenty to spare.

Lips painted red. Long, dark hair. She had been tempting, but Humban hadn't been in the mood. He didn't need a distraction before this meeting, but if she had been in here with him, he would never have overslept. That was how it had been since Lenav had been sacked.

Keep your guard up. Trust no one.

Some called Humban paranoid, but else could he be anything else after the village where he had grown up had been destroyed in the name of the war?

It had been so sudden. Any village or city could be next. If Humban kept his guard up, he could save them.

He tightened the belt around his waist and picked up the clay tablet lying under the edge of his pillow. It was a family portrait the size of Humban's palm, crudely carved by a child's hand. His father was the tallest figure. His mother stood beside him. Humban was drawn with his arm around her. His sister Niarzina stood in front of him, and his brother Simut was next to her.

Humban smiled sadly as he traced over his little sister's clumsy signature. Niarzina had given him the portrait the day he left home to join the army.

"So you have something to remember us by," she had said.

Humban had knelt and rested his hand on Niarzina's curly head. "I would never forget you."

"You might." She giggled. "Maybe you'll meet a princess and get married and be rich and have everything you want. Then, you must still remember us."