Sahara

Flourished Fall: Hrothgar Tradition

I stood by the grand oak table, idly plucking exotic fruits from the array before me, relishing their succulent tastes. The air was thick with anticipation as I awaited the arrival of the servant bearing the finest wine I had commissioned. A knowing smile crept across my lips as the servant approached, carrying the flask filled with the crimson liquid.

With a gracious nod, I allowed him to fill my cup, the rich aroma of the fermented Beni grapes enveloping me like a comforting embrace. "Ah, Psamathe," I murmured, inhaling deeply, "truly the nectar of the gods." Raising the goblet to my lips, I took a sip, savoring the complex flavors dancing upon my tongue before allowing the wine to slide down my throat. The warmth of the drink contrasted beautifully with the cool breeze that wafted through the open dais, casting a spell of tranquility over the room.

As I finished the first cup, I gestured for another, the desire for more of the exquisite vintage undeniable. Lost in the moment, I was startled from my reverie by the approach of Emira. Setting down my goblet, a coy smile playing upon my lips as I pretended not to notice her gathering fruits nearby.

"The Appocrat dance," she began, her voice trailing off as I turned to fully acknowledge her presence. Catching her gaze, I held it, the tension between us palpable. In her hand, she clutched a small, crimson fruit, its juices staining her fingertips. I met her gaze, a silent challenge passing between us as the air crackled with anticipation.

I know I'm such a tease by doing this to her. I took the fruit from her, bit my lip, then I slowly made my way up to her mouth. I fed her the fruit and then purposely brushed my finger on her tongue. I pulled my hand away, then licked it. Emira was so frozen in her place that she didn't even blink. The sound of King Caspian clearing his throat made her jump. Her eyes darted to the owner of the voice, and she went rigid for a bit before looking back at me again. She swallowed hard before curtsying her way out of the embarrassing situation.

"Such a tease, milady," he chuckled.

"King Caspian," I slowly turned to face him, acting like I hadn't noticed him until he cleared his throat to gain our attention. I cocked my head to one side, letting a strand of hair fall.

Caspian reached for it and tucked the strand behind my ear. "Silvery white hair," he grinned, "beautiful."

"Thank you," I said shortly.

"Do Saharans always have silver hair? I mean, I could have sworn it's not—"

"To some, yes. There are tribes around who have such... distinctiveness than the others," I cut him off. "I got it from my mother."

"Sure, you have," he said, cracking his neck. "I wanted to talk to you about something important, milady."

"Anything, Your Grace," I told him.

He cleared his throat again. I wondered what was going through this Guardian's head.

"I would like to ask for your hand in marriage," he said proudly. "Imagine what we could achieve, united. Both of our empires."

My eyebrows raised in surprise. Well, that's something I never thought he would say. Such determination, King Caspian. But how could I turn him down without offending his house? Any woman, highborn or not, would be lucky to have him. If they were into someone with a sadistic nature. He was handsome, given his age. A good set of blond hair, cerulean eyes with thick blond eyebrows. A strong set of jaws covered with a blond well-trimmed beard and a crooked nose. He had a small scar on his nose, probably broken once or twice. Well-built for his age. Lethal on the battlefield. Greedy and vicious. Always wanting more.

"A very tempting proposal, Your Grace," I said. He smiled, looking quite pleased with himself. "But I am a Saharan princess. Do you think your people will accept that?"