Threads of Gold

Fourteen | چودہ

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"He's dancing like a damned fool," the Malka told herself under her breath.

She could do nothing to wane her boredom away except to observe the scene taking place before her for it was meant to please her. Naturally, she had the displeasure of being stuck in her seat - watching.

And true to Zartasha's word, there the Sultan was in all his glory; a prowling physique lost in the daze of his elation, celebrating with languid spins and jouncing shoulders; the movements keeping pace with the reverberating drums around them.

They were in the core of the Hyderi mehal, where Kalthuran greed was abundant in the form of Arzam's bride - a perilous girl with a heart of cold stone and a face of cutting gems, on his throne - a seat lined with blood and dripping mortal ichor.

The room that once carried morbidity in its walls now bore witness to rejoicing Kalthuran soldiers while they circled their fanatical ruler with heedful gazes and gaits. The Sultan had his eyes closed whilst his brawn moved with the music, his head slowly twisting with no care for direction. It was a fair depiction of how the king of kings was as boundless in his physicality as he was in his power.

That power was why she was sitting there in the first place, she wanted her share of the wretched thing but Sultan Hyderi wanted her.

It was odd. How he willingly offered his name up to her, how she accepted it only a few moments later.

Marriage.

It was recognized as an esteemed tie, even in the shrewdness of their time and the decorum of their nobility. In a time where chained bodies could be used for pleasure and swords could be used to win wars; why come together? The question would be on the tip of everyone's tongues if they were to hear about their abrupt matrimony. Although the shehzadi of Sherqul had calmly given into the Sultan's - a man's - demands with reasons of her own, she still was left to comb through the remains of her dignity and put her ploy forward but all the justifications in the world did not matter. When an event, a person, a thing is written into the book of one's fate; it happens.

The hearts turn blind but the eyes remain seeing, something similar happened to Zartasha over the course of the past few days in Arzam's ornate cage. A thick cloud of greed and impatience took her over and then she loosened her mouth to agree with what the barbarous ruler was persistent on.

Her.

And the joy of having her in front of him, as his pretty bride was incomparable to that of seeing blood splatter upon foreign sand. The supreme ruler of Kalthura had moved on from conquering lands to conquering queens.

Arzam turned to look at his Malka and when he caught a glimpse of her unimpressed face, the rhythmic folk tunes around him began thrumming within his veins, their fluidity turning fierce in his chest. He wanted to gaze at her as long as time would allow so the Sultan made his way towards the large throne placed in front of him. The beat of the music matched the visible muscles of his arms as he clapped after every step he took.

Under the dark granite and the effervescent jewels of the Hyderi mehal, Sultan Arzam Hyderi and his warriors spinning, grinning, and yelling were a display of brutal male glee. The hulking figures taking part in what she knew was otherwise a virile celebratory war dance on the occasion of their ruler's wedding made her wrinkle her nose in distaste.