Golden Swords

Married Life

The next few months blurred past as she learned to fit into Dastar's court. She was happy, she thought. This was what happiness had to be, getting along just fine, with the man that she loved, in a castle with a garden full of roses and stunning waterfalls and fountains. Dastar was a king in all but title, and though she saw less of him during the day than she might have hoped, he always returned to their room at night to hold her in his arms and tell her how much he loved her.

She was lucky, she knew that much. Some women were forced into marriages with men much older than Dastar, the mere 12 years that separated them were nothing, and any woman, young or old, would want him as their husband. Yet, despite the very willing female audience out there, he returned to her every night and never gave any reason for her to believe him unfaithful. So, in short, he was loving, faithful, forgiving, kind and preternaturally handsome. So why was she not happy? There must be something wrong with her. Was she so arrogant and spoilt that she could not be happy in a situation, with a man, that most women would kill to procure? She didn't know what was wrong with her.

She slipped into a routine, getting up, putting on one of the beautiful long dresses that the women of Dastar's court favoured, eating a small breakfast, spending the morning sewing or weaving or covering yet more cushions with embroidery. She would eat lunch with her ladies in waiting and spend the afternoon managing the household or entertaining guests, making mundane small talk about the colours of carpets and what the royal families were doing. 

She did not think of her golden swords, she did not really think of much at all. She was a far cry from the wild warrior princess who had roamed far beneath the night sky, disobeyed every rule her father laid down, and pined for her lost and beautiful country, whose warm lands she had not laid foot on since she was a baby.