Bastard's Beginning

Chapter Eight

The sun beat down on the white stone with unrelenting intensity. The nobles gathered in the throne room. The garb they wore would be considered scandalous in nearly every country of the world. The men wore loose cotton pantaloons and instead of shirts, had decorated their chests and backs with brightly coloured swirls and symbols that glistened as if wet against their dark skin.

The women wore vibrantly dyed skirts that fell to their ankles, paired with cotton wraps that covered only their breasts. Similar paints and symbols decorated their exposed skin. Gold gleamed at multiple piercings and bangles clashed with the slightest of motions. Ashanti clasped her hands behind her back and dug her nails into her palms. The pain helped ground the princess.

King Folami could not look at his eldest daughter. He sat on his throne, ornate crown flashing, the warm metal of his heavy jewellery like vast weights against his body. She stood at his side, the most beloved of his children. And at the foot of the pedestal, the man who'd purchased her.

A messenger for the king, a man who needed gold, just as Folami needed warriors. "I come to you now, great King Folami," The man intoned solemnly. "On behalf of my own ruler, His Majesty, King Alperen."

The flowery speech was all pretence of course. The deal was done. His daughter and her dowry in exchange for two thousand mercenaries, equipped with their own weapons. Sensing the rising tension within the Ospelon king, his right hand, Lekan, spoke hastily. "That will be all. My king thanks you for your dedication, Sir Dymen."

The messenger faltered, glancing hesitantly at the stony faced king. "My name is Eymen."

Lekan raised a brow. "Quite."

Finally sensing the undercurrent of derision, Sir Eymen sketched a bow and retreated from the room with a murmured word of thanks. "My Lords, My Ladies."

Lekan dismissed the rest of his king's nobility with a regal incline of his head. The court filtered from the throne room obediently, not one willing to risk the ire of their king with their usual reluctance to end mingling with their peers.

"My King," Lekan murmured finally, bowing to the ruler and finally facing Princess Ashanti. "My Princess."

How ill she looks. The downcast tilt of her eyes, the way her whole body was poised, as if ready to fall at the slightest pressure.

"As always, I thank you for your service, Lekan." The king's rich, low baritone broke his thoughts.

"It is an honour to serve, Your Highness." Lekan strode from the room, determinedly forcing his gaze to remain facing ahead.

Princess Ashanti finally moved. Her body felt leaden, her limbs heavy as bricks. She knelt at her father's feet, pressing her cheek to his knee.
The cotton of his trousers was smooth against her cheek, as comforting as the firm hand he rested upon her head.

"Beloved." He whispered.

Ashanti smiled tenderly. "Everything will be fine, Father."

"You should not be comforting me, Ashanti," He replied. "I have sold you, my daughter. I have betrayed you."

"No," She breathed. "We are royalty. Our duty is to our country. To our people."

Ashanti tilted her head to show a serene smile that had his eyes clenching shut. "The tribes of the Plains are at war, Father."

A muscle in his jaw flickered. The princess laughed wryly. "You cannot stop them. Were you not the one who taught me that the Plains people were beyond the command of even the King himself? We can only wait them out, take the soldiers as my bridal price from King Alperen. And who knows? Perhaps this alliance will yield a far greater fruit than we could ever imagine."

His daughter was not wrong. Luskea was the home of the Mercenary Guild, trainers that produced the best warriors in the world. King Alperen had offered such warriors, trained to fight like berserkers until the very breath left their bodies. Sir Bedivere, a knight of King Arthur's own Round Table, was such a fighter.

Though a small number had been offered, it was indeed a handsome price for such a marriage.
Furthermore, in accordance with the terms of the alliance, Alperen had agreed to receive men from King Folami, to be trained in the way of the Berserkers. For an obscene amount of gold, of course, but a generous offer indeed.

One that had not been handed to any other ruler. Luskea needed the coin desperately. Though possessing a surplus of fighting men, receiving the criminals of every other country, the barren lands were low in regards to prey animals and fertile earth. With such financial aid, Alperen could afford to purchase meat and other such necessities for his people.

A beneficial arrangement for both Luskea and Ospelo. But a deal that would tear the very heart from King Folami. His hand tightened on his daughter's hair, memorising the sensation of tightly coiled curls against his palm.

"Go to him, my daughter," He breathed. "Make the most of the little time with him you have left."

Shock widened her eyes, and his mouth curved as she dug her teeth into her lower lip, bearing the same expression she wore when she'd been a tiny child, caught with fingers coated in honey she'd stolen from the castle kitchens.

Folami's laugh died in his throat. "Go." He managed to rasp.

"Father." Ashanti rose to her feet and executed a shallow bow. The princess turned and left the throne room for the very last time.

Folami carefully took the crown from his head, placed it on the floor at his feet. Then, he buried his face in his hands and wept.
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Ashanti kept her pace measured, moving with her usual fluid grace through her father's halls. Her slippered feet were silent, usual smile in place as she passed their inhabitants, occasionally inclining her head to acknowledge a minor lord or lady.

Eventually, she slipped into her chambers, pressing her back to the door. He waited, as she knew he would. Stood by her window, eyes shadowed and arms crossed.

The silver that announced a servant's rank glittered in the sun. Rows of rings lining his ears from tip to lobe, a similar ring at his left nostril, glittering makeup lining his beautiful dark eyes and lithe body. Her Lekan.

The scene was so unreal to her, like it had been taken from a romance they'd watched performers act in plays during a festival they'd donned disguises to attend together. A princess and a servant, doomed from the very beginning.

The sight of her lover made her chest throb with disbelief. Ashanti was a practical woman, she'd been raised to understand duty, to understand sacrifice.

And yet. The warmth of the sun falling into her chamber, the musky, sultry scent of the basina flowers he'd had planted under her window. Lekan turned to her, one such flower in his hand and anguish present in the thin line of his pursed lips and the slightest tremble of his hands.

The only thing she had ever wanted. Something in her chest broke and the princess crumpled to the floor with a choked cry.

Lekan rushed to her, throwing himself to his knees and clutching his Ashanti to his chest.

"Please," He begged fervently, rocking her instinctively. "Please, my basina. You're ripping me apart."

The steady beat of his heart thudded in her ear and the princess gripped at his bare shoulders. The servant soothed her through the tears, the gut wrenching sobs that wracked her sinewy frame.

Ashanti was no slender reed. King Folami abhorred weakness and had declared upon each of his children's births that male or female, all would know how to wield a weapon.

A practical woman, a future queen, a seasoned warrior. His woman was all this, and yet she chose to bare herself before him, to allow the privilege of comforting her through their predicament. Marriage.

It had loomed over their relationship like an ominous shadow, a monster they refused to see, refused to acknowledge, as if speaking about such a possibility would bring it to reality. A servant and a princess.

They were a tragedy from the beginning, yet the inevitability of their pairing had been something they had been unable to escape. Hadn't wanted to.

Lekan buried his face in her soft hair, inhaled her scent, wanting it embedded in every part of his body. Somehow, he knew, he'd never forget it.