Golden Swords

Weapons

The rest of the ceremony passed in a blur of traditions and words, words that tied her up as securely as if she had been wrapped in chains. She made her vows, trying in vain to look at Dastar and not show the fear on her face, settling for staring straight at the phoenix embroidered on his tunic. 

All the while, wondering, how can god bless this loving union when really, it's not that far from the loving union between a master and a slave. Not really a union, more of a domination. 

She seated herself back on the throne for the bride gifts. Her parents brought forth a beautiful bedspread, water-dyed silk embroidered with golden and sapphire peacocks, that made her stomach turn at the thought of what it symbolised. Dastar's parents gave her a stunning headdress strung with jewels and fine spun chains of gold. 

Then came the gifts that she dreaded. The ceremonial weapons. She ran through the words she had to say in her head, trying to drill them into her brain, "This is a gift worthy of a great warrior, but I am afraid I am but a woman, so please let my good lord husband bear them in my stead." She could do this. She could tell these idiots that she was too weak to carry a weapon. She could call her husband lord and let him do everything for her.

The first weapon brought out was a huge whip, snakeskin black, with red-dyed horse hair bound around the handle.

 "This is a gift worthy of a great warrior, but I am afraid I am but a woman, so please let my good lord husband bear it in my stead." 

Inside she was burning with anger and shame, but her voice was steady. She kept the resentment from spilling across her face, pulling it all in until only her dark eyes simmered with it.

The second weapon was also huge, a bow, a weapon she had always coveted but knew that this one was far to large and heavy for her to wield. She could give it away. 

"This is a gift worthy of a great warrior, but I am afraid I am but a woman, so please let my good lord husband bear it in my stead." 

It was just demeaning how they made them say that. Damn the patriarchy to hell. She'd always wanted a bow.

She'd just about kept it together until they uncovered the last weapons. These were smaller and lighter, two stunning curved swords. Her breath caught in her throat. They were steel but the forging process had given them a deep, rich golden colour that matched the gold bands that tipped her dark braids. She wasn't normally such a romantic, but those swords felt like they were made to be hers. Too heavy for most women to wield, but she was stronger than most from a life of secret sword practice. She was sure if she picked them up, she'd feel that the balance would be perfect.

The man holding the swords knelt before her,, the swords held out to her in his proffered hands. She felt Dastar lean forwards in the throne next to hers, just ever so slightly, to get a better glimpse of the swords that would soon be his. No! She almost cried out.  Those swords were hers. They were being offered to her, for god's sake. She could use them. She was not "but a woman". 

So she put on her sweetest smile, and gave the traditional reply for the gifts intended for her. "Thankyou. I shall bear this fine gift with pleasure, and keep it close to my heart as I will keep my good lord husband from this day on."

Every head turned to stare at her. The man's mouth gaped open like a fish, and he looked around him helplessly for someone to help him. Dastar's gaze was shocked, she didn't imagine anyone had ever accepted the ceremonial weapons before. Her parents looked at her, their faces frozen in identical frames of horror. 

The man with the swords was still flopping around on the floor, so she hopped nimbly down from her throne and took the swords from his unresistant fingers. She drew them carefully from the sheaths, and a delighted smile spread across her face. They were perfectly balanced. Then the whispers started.

"The southern princess has taken the swords" "Does she not know?" "She's taken the swords," "She's taken them-" "The southern princess...."

Dastar stood up from his throne. "Mycena," he said in a low, angry undertone, "Do you not know? You are supposed to refuse the swords."

"They were made for me though," she said, feeling her face heat as she realised how ridiculous that sounded, "Can't you see? They are like part of me..." 

Dastar's brow lowered. She gulped slightly, she was his... property now. He could do whatever he liked to her. 

"We will talk about this later. You have embarrassed me in front of my entire court."

He turned, addressing the audience, "The bride has accepted her gifts. Let the wedding go on!"

So she sat there, clutching her beautiful golden swords and feeling a blush slowly stealing across her inky black skin, turning her, she knew from experience, the darkest ruby red. It felt like every angry gaze in the entire kingdom was directed at her, stinging her skin like hailstones. 

*              *              *

"Give them to me!" her father demanded, after he had escorted her to the room that was now hers. Well, half hers. 

"No!" she said, desperate. These swords had cost her so much, she wasn't going to give them up now. 

"Let her keep them. The damage is done. It will do no harm now." 

Her father swung round to see that Dastar had entered the room, slumping onto the bed and seeming to fill the whole room with his brooding handsomeness. Her father tsked under his breath but a glance from Dastar had him leaving the room. She didn't know what to do. She had been expecting him to be more angry, but he just seemed defeated. 

"Why Mycena?" He asked, hurt riding across his voice in a way that made her feel like a spoilt, thoughtless child. "Why did you do it? You don't need swords. I will protect you from everything out there. I will bring you back your kingdom. That is why I am here, that is my role as Your Husband."

She looked at the floor. Maybe she was spoilt. She should have known better than to want things she could never have. Things that all the women who came before her never got, things that really she wasn't sure she deserved. She bit back tears as she placed the swords that already felt like extensions of her body on the windowsill, knowing that if she so much as let them out of her grasp for a second, she might never see them again. She sat softly beside Dastar on the edge of the bed, picking at the golden embroidery. "I'm sorry," she breathed.

He looked at her then, the first hint of a smile curving his chiselled lips. She first clocked, then, just how devastatingly handsome he was. "You're very beautiful, you know," he  said, so softly she almost melted. The first touch of his lips on hers had her reaching desperately out to him, sliding her fingers through the blue-black of his hair. His body was warm, his lips were soft, and all thoughts of her swords slipped swiftly out of her mind.

The next morning, when she awoke closed tight in Dastar's arms, the windowsill was empty.