Mikhail and Ahmed

MIKHAIL IV

*The Queer story for this chapter is a solid throwback. It's James Baldwin's Giovanni's Room. I chose this story because I love it and because I think my story will be around the same length. 

-

"New protections for non-native Damascans will be instituted and enforced. Be prepared for more announcements. That's all." Ahmed finishes, surveying the crowd one last time. 

I almost wonder if his eyes will land on me, though it is a one in a nearly one thousand chance. He disappears into the castle, leaving us among stunned mumbling and hushed whispers. I imagine him settling in the king's quarters.

-

"And where do you hail from?" Ilena's nephew, Isaac sits near the fire. His demeanor is cold and imposing. I wonder if he means to come off this way. His sandy blonde hair gives way to a few silver strands which glisten in the undulating firelight. I sit across from him, a few paces from the fire, warming my body under his icy stare.

"I was born here in Damascan," I answer him. I did not mean for my voice to come out so small. My wiry frame fits into the cushioned chair, leaving space for another half of me. I sit in stark contrast to Isaac's bulky, full frame. His chest is slightly protruded, he sits high. I sink where I sit.

I can see the question forming in his eyes. If I was born here, why do I look the way I do? Why, instead of sandy blond hair or silky brunette locks, do I have thick midnight black curls? Why is my skin the color of stained wood? Though my eyes are a dark green, similar to several of my Damascan neighbors, every other part of me is foreign.

"Surely your parents are not from Damascan," Isaac says finally, filling the silence between us.

 "You are correct sir," I nod. "My mother lived in Jasmine City until she was fifteen." I hear his breath hitch at the mention of Jasmine City, the home of our invaders. His eyes darken in suspicion, cloud over introspectively as I continue. "After she was...brought here, she met my father, a member of the Damascan military." 

"So you've never been to your homeland?" 

I shake my head. "Never."

"I'd say you look quite like the invaders. Surely they'd welcome you into their company....if they haven't already." I feel my body break out into a cold sweat as Isaac leans in, inspecting me closer.

"When Ilena arrived at my doorstep with you yesterday I did not hesitate to bring you in. But I will not be fooled, I've heard tell of spies within our walls. Spies who brought the downfall of our great king, who left us in ruin, in the hands of savage barbarians."

"And what does Mikhail have to do with that?" Ilena enters the room. She wears a small apron above her dress. Though she is not in uniform, she looks almost exactly as she did each day around the royal kitchen. "I would think my nephew was better than suspicious talk, rumor, and false accusations," she finishes.

"I haven't accused the boy of anything, Ilena," Isaac retorts. "I am just warning him to be mindful of who he associates with. He's already assumed to be working with those men."

"If you think him a spy then you may as well accuse me of the same thing. We came from the same place." She comes closer to me and places her hand on my shoulder. "While we appreciate your hospitality, Isaac, we will not stay where we are not welcome. Mikhail is just as much my family as you are." At this my heart warms and I feel less skewered by Isaac's harsh words and suspicious stares. Isaac looks visibly angry, as if we've spat poison at him, and I see him gearing up to answer her when his daughter Isabel walks in from the kitchen.

She wears a simple gown and, like Ilena, a small apron. Yet her beauty and youthful frame grant her distance from the appearance of a worker. She looks less at home in the apron and more like nice gowns would be more fitting. As she steps into the room her strawberry blonde hair picks up the best of the firelight.