Nothing's Conventional About Us

XXXII ~ Garnet

Blood and rust and swirling wine,
Time turns it all the same hue.
Vermillion and shattered ruby, too.
So what time calls for 
Is the erasing of lines. 
That's forever - 
Letting in, letting go. 
That's holding on. 
Where all swirls into garnet. 

Garnet

"Your Highness, I think some diamonds will set the rubies apart.", one of the royal servants meekly suggested, as he fussed with the groom's jewelleries, decking chains and chains of gold over his dark, toned chest. The man's hand trembled over the glistening skin. 

Such beauty can only ever be lethal, he could not stop thinking along that line as he headed the procedure to get the Prince prepared for his wedding. 

All he received in return was a withering glance. Not a glare, not a scowl. Simply a glance - no emotions, not a single word spoken in that look. And yet it made him want to dig a hole in the ground and sink. 

The Prince was as unfathomable as that. Some of the suggestions, he would nod at and embrace; while some, will only receive that single glance. 

He did not dare speak another word as he fixed the final line of gold chains on the prince's chest and stepped back. He could not help an appraising look. 

Finery - that is what the Prince was. Rugged, lethal finery. 

When he was in Hastinapura, he used to hear rumours of the Prince. With the Palace maids. They flocked around him. And during the Prince's signature evening bath, the maids nearly worshipped him. Like a dark God in all his glory. 

It was whispered that whoever managed to win the Prince's attention every evening could have the blessing of his touch, his kiss, his embrace - his physical magnanimity for a few hours. Or maybe hardly an hour. But that was blessing enough for them. 

Some scandalous whispered even iterated that the Prince sometimes took to men. A single heated look from the Prince could draw out the sword swallowers from amidst all his royal servants. 

And yet, not a single soul was ever bothered by the Prince's rumoured promiscuity. How could they when it was this very Prince who was officially declared by the Royal Guru, Dronacharya, and the Grand Regent of Hastinapura, as the greatest warrior to have walked the earth since Lord Rama himself. 

He was a hero, a legend. And scandals about legends are myths at best. 

Then came the dark, mesmerizing Princess of Panchala - a gift from the Gods themselves, they say - known for her divine allure. She could easily bring Gods to their knees, make men go insane with a single glance. 

Of course, of course, she was the one to tame him. Of course they are getting married. 

"Your Highness.", he bowed, low, and stepped back. 

"Amber.", the Prince almost dismissively pointed at the amber perfume oil sitting a little away from his hand's reach on the counter. A servant almost scrambled to get that to him - immediately. 

"Musk and ebony?", the Prince asked, uncapping the tiny crystal container with the gentleness of a lover's skilled fingers, and took a low, focussed whiff of it. 

"Mmhmm.", and with that satisfied, sensual hum, a smile replaced the thin straightness of the Prince's mouth. A genuine one, adoring even. "Get some smoke", he quickly added in a low voice that could sound commanding only in his cadence, "Ghee, only."

It was an odd request, but this much was clear that the Princess liked the smell of ghee-smoke on her lover. 

Another servant hurried over with the smoke.