Phobia ☤ Alexios

one: a princess of persia

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CRIES OF A newly born child echo off the temple walls. A masked man holds a dagger at the child's neck -awaiting the command from either Megabyzus or the king. "Please!" The princess cries, reaching for the girl. "Not my baby!" Artaxerxes and the queen mother are taken aback by the sudden intrusion.

The general drags Amytis back and strikes her across the cheek. "Whore!" Megabyzus yells, spittle landing on the princess' face. "You lay with another man while I was dying! A Greek no less!" It only adds insult to injury that she had lain with the enemy.

"Enough, Megabyzus!" Artaxerxes shouts, silencing the general. "I have made my decision and you must come to peace with it. The child will not die." The Order has spoken to him -commanded him to save the child. She will be of great importance to see their goals to fruition in the years to come.

"Very well," the general sneers, "then I have made mine." Megabyzus curls his hand into Amytis' pitch locks, forces the princess to her knees and presses a dagger against her throat. Even with the threat of death, she pleads for her child's life. Amestris cries out but is restrained by Artaxerxes as he rises from reflection, furious.

Several members of the Imperial Guard come forth, akinakas unsheathed, but the distance is too great. The general meets his king's hard gaze and begins to drag the blade. The sharp edge sinks and tears flesh. Amytis' cries are silenced by the cold bite of iron. Her mother screams, clawing bloody streaks down her face in horror.

He laughs as the first sword slips between his ribs and continues to do so even when a second and third one pierces his back. Megabyzus falls to his knees -through the pain he is victorious. The leader of the Immortals approaches, thrusts a blade into the traitor's neck, twists the hilt and pulls it free with a fountain of red.

Megabyzus' men had been commanded to bring Apollonides before the king, to answer for his adulterous crimes. When they arrive, their leader is dead but it is the sight of the princess laying still that spurs Apollonides into motion. "No!" The physician sprints toward Amytis, tearing away from the guards' grips with insurmountable strength unbecoming of his thin frame.

Blood sluices down her neck, filling her chest with each labored breath. Apollonides tears off his healer's sash, kneels and wraps it around her throat to stay the inevitable. Her blood –still warm, soaks through his robes and stains his hands. The world around him vanishes. Amytis grips onto his hands. "I-" she starts, barely audible. "Irene," she mouths, voice gone. Then her eyes slip closed as if she were only tired, but this is a sleep the princess will not wake from.

Apollonides curses the gods and his own cowardice as he clutches her still form against him, sobbing. Amestris gives him only minutes to mourn, only one chance to hold his newborn daughter before he is taken away in chains.

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AN EMPIRE MOURNS for the loss of Amytis. Her shroud is violet with golden suns and silver stars painted upon the fabric. She will be buried in the ceremonial capital –thousands of miles from Ephesus and the sight of the Aegean Sea. 

Artaxerxes looks down at the orphaned princess. He wishes to raise her in the palace at Persepolis with Damaspia, but Amestris loathes the sight of the child –sees the baby as her daughter's killer, despite witnessing Megabyzus' betrayal. The thought of a raising a princess is bittersweet, though too many have spoken and he cannot take his sister's daughter. "I cannot take her as my own," he admits. 

"You have lost many sons, Hydarnes," the king then states, glancing at the old general. "Take her as your daughter, but keep the truth." The truth is dangerous, and the Order will need her.

The little princess begins to cry. Hydarnes reaches into the cradle, lifts her into his arms. He has forgotten what it feels like to hold something so fragile and innocent. "Of course, Artaxerxes. But what of Amytis' son? Zephyr?"

Zephyr is a boy of five and shows promise in his lessons and training. He is only a pawn, though. The Order has no plans for the young prince. He is not tainted like his young step-sister. "He shall be my ward," Artaxerxes decides. He considers it a last act of kindness on his sister's behalf. "He is young, still malleable." Hydarnes accepts the answer, even if it is not one he supports.

Amytis' cortège leaves Ephesus in two days. Hydarnes watches from the middle of the street as the line of horses and wagons depart to the east. Once the traveling party is out of sight, he looks down at Irene and smiles. So long as the little princess is under his protection, no one -not even the Order- shall ever harm her.

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THE PRINCESS SOON grows into her mother's beauty, but in place of Amytis' amber eyes are the same lapis lazuli of her father -Apollonides. No one knows what happened to the physician, only that Amestris had led him away in chains. Some say the queen mother had him buried alive, others claim she keeps him locked away. Either way, Irene grows up in a cruel world not knowing her mother or father.

Though his experience comes from many sons, Hydarnes believes he is doing a fine job raising Irene. Something about a daughter seems easier. She is sweeter than his boys ever were and promises she will look after him when he is truly old. He is honored to be the first man she loves.

Hydarnes brings her to the roof of his manse. Perched on a hill outside of Ephesus, it offers sweeping views of the city and sea to the west and untamed nature to the east. The sun has set, and a waxing moon is on the rise. Irene situates herself among a pallet of blankets and pillows -knowing a visit to the roof means a story.

He lights several lanterns, pulls an item from an ornate chest and sits next to the princess. "Do you know what this is?" He questions, holding out a broken wooden shaft with a mounted, leaf-shaped blade.

"It's a spear," Irene answers, disappointed it was not something more impressive. Once he had let her hold the tiara from some distant eastern kingdom, but this was only a broken spear -she's seen a dozen of them watching Hydarnes train young soldiers. 

The old general holds his stomach, laughing. "Not just any spear, young one." He places the broken weapon in her small hands, watches closely as she turns it over. "This is the spear of the great Spartan king, Leonidas." Irene has heard many stories of Leonidas and the brave three hundred. Hydarnes can remember the Battle of Thermopylae as if were only yesterday. Though enemies on the battlefield, he respects the warrior nation of Sparta and the kings who fight their own battles.

"Where is the other half?" She asks.

"Lost in battle," he tells her. He and his men had searched for the other half, unbeknownst that a young Theban hoplite had taken it to return to Queen Gorgo and her children, along with the fallen king's shield. "But this-" he takes the spear and taps the flat of the tip against her nose "–this and a king's helm were proof that Leonidas had been slain." Hydarnes had personally delivered both prizes to King Xerxes, a moment marking the apogee of his career. 

Though now, as he looks at Irene, the old general feels as though he truly realizes his purpose. She is a Princess of Persia and greatness has been written in her destiny.

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