Threads of Gold

Seventeen | سترہ

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As his feet took him further away from the granite chamber that enclosed his bride's jilted form, there began a quiet shaking in his limbs. In his heart. The coils of his bulging muscles started constricting the flow of blood in his veins. It was the haal of a man obsessed. He had a taste of what was previously unknown, and like any sinner; he now wanted more. When his jaunting tread came to an end underneath the stone steps of the spiralling staircase, the Sultan realized he was already physically struggling to stay where he was; away from her.

However, it was a necessary hindrance in his path to the Sherquli shehzadi. He had placed it there himself when his mind was not consumed by a chant so insistent; an echo of her name. 

Arzam had absolute control over the land and people he encompassed. Never versa for the sheer influence of the Sultan was all consuming, the Kalthuran army a force greater than the masses. And because a tyrant was vigilant before he was cruel, there he was standing before his finest general for a briefing of the past seven days.

Any matters that caught the attention of locals was placed before the domineering ruler in private by his men before he decided if it was worth bringing the whisperings to life and making his people witness to when he bled dry. Now, Fateh's frigid reports were blurring into nothingness. Arzam could only hear the loud drumming of his heart in his ears, the rush of Zartasha's phantom voice overtaking his mind. The Sultan's thinning patience was about to dissipate when the thought of his bride reminded him why he cared enough to grace the imperturbable warrior in front of him with his presence. Fateh was a cold man who was as vicious on the battlefield as his glacial eyes suggested. 

Noting the Sultan's flaring nostrils and subtly twitching eyes, Fateh stopped his monotone words and waited for his king's next instructions. After running a large hand over his dark beard, he bowed his cropped head. A few years with the volatile beast of a man Kalthurans called their Sultan would give any perceptible eye enough hint to be quiet and await his move when they saw the signs of a raising storm under his skin. For prey only becomes prey when it failed to fall silent, true skill was sensing a predator before it arrived. And all men were predators of one kind or another; their master the worst of all.

Fateh was the moody, quiet kind and his current state was the final affirmation Arzam needed to put forth his order. There was an ulterior motive to him coming to hear Fateh out. After all, the Sultan was a newlywed tonight. Only a fool would leave a Malka's presence for trivial matters of bloodshed, and he was no fool. He was, however, a Sultan committed to his bride's safety, and he had an inkling that Fateh's lack of audible noises were going to work out in his favour. That and another secret Fateh had to tether himself to the concept of loyalty, but Arzam knew that now was not the time to divulge more than what they thought he knew. And so, he asked his head general what his jigar was still not set on; to guard Zartasha while she caused whatever uproars she needed to under the domed ceilings of the Hyderi mehal. 

Fateh's hardened yet lithe build covered by the thick cotton blends of his inky kameez and iron armour welded with Kalthura's shair immediately straightened when he saw his master's jaw tightening.

And soon after Arzam rolled his broad shoulders back and gritted out, "You are to be tasked with protecting your Malka with your life, manzoor hai?" 

The last pair of words that permeated the air with the Sultan's turbulence were not meant to be misconstrued as a request. It was a command through and through, but Fateh knew to still take it as a sign of respect because their ruler would not have bothered blanketing his authority in front of others. 

A sharp nod came from the general. 

"What you will is our will, Hukum."

Arzam knew he liked his quiet yet highly effective comrade for a reason. In an effort to leash the territorial monster clawing at his spleen, he said, "That is when I am not around, and you are to keep three talwars worth of a distance from her at all costs."