Imperial

49. Esfandar

After so long spent governing over hostile territory, the noise of the crowds cheering for Esfandar and his troops sounded foreign to Esfandar's ears.

And yet there they were, the mobs of people who flocked to the streets to shout in joy as Esfandar's army passed through. Some even through flowers, deep red blossoms that seemed to bloom everywhere the farther south they traveled. Esfandar raised a hand and caught one from the air. He opened his palm and looked down upon it. Poppies. He should order his men to begin collecting the flowers as soon as they were settled, to make opium. They had left most of their sick and wounded back in Shiraz, but soon enough there would be need of medicine. Esfandar tossed the flower to the dirt and added the task to his increasingly long list of things to do.

He kicked his horse into a gallop. He and his soldiers rode past the cheering crowds, toward the palace of House Pahlavi.

It had been expected for the people of Shiraz, in the north, to despise and reject him. They were ruled by House Aspabadh, who remained fiercely loyal to Roshani. But here, moving south, House Pahlavi and their people supported Esfandar's claim to the throne. They were, indeed, his strongest allies. The Pahlavis were a strong house with significant wealth and fertile lands aplenty. Here, in their territory, Esfandar would not be bothered by Soraya or Roshani. He and his troops would take on last, well-deserved rest before making their push toward the capital. Toward Roshani and her well defended city.

An entourage of servants awaited him at the gates to the palace. It was a beautifully designed structure with gently sloping rooves and tall columns made of shining alabaster.

Esfandar dismounted from his horse and stared up at the place while a servant led his animal away. A moment later, he heard someone else dismount at his shoulder and knew that Karim was standing beside him.

"Has it changed much?" Karim asked.

"I couldn't say," Esfandar replied. "I only came once, many years ago. I spent most of my time running around and causing trouble, trying to avoid the banquets and parties my parents attended." He let out a huff of laughter at his younger self. Look at him now: here to flatter and impress the very same people his father and mother had feasted with all those years ago.

Karim gave a dramatic sigh. "This time please refrain from causing such trouble, your majesty. I don't think Lord Pahlavi will view your antics with the same lenience now as when you were a child."

Esfandar wanted to chuckle at Karim's attempts at lightheartedness, his honest efforts to cheer him up. But the laugh caught in his throat. The empty space beside them was like an ugly wound, painful and obvious. The space where Gita should have stood, where she would look on with fond exasperation and quiet mirth as they bantered, where her gaze would take in the palace before them with hidden wonder, revealed in nothing but the dazzled light in her dark brown eyes. But she was not here with them. She was captured, without any way of knowing if she was well or being tortured or resenting him for not going after her or­—

"Es," Karim said gently. He could always tell when Esfandar's thoughts were spiraling. "The Pahlavis have arranged a banquet to welcome us. We shouldn't keep them waiting."

Esfandar nodded shortly and they made their way inside the palace.

A grand hall bursting with golden light greeted their eyes. The entire chamber was painted in gold with mirrors strategically placed around the room to maximize the sun's dappled rays. Esfandar could not deny its beauty.

"Your Majesty," Lord Raslan Pahlavi greeted him, bowing deeply as soon as Esfandar entered. "Welcome to my home. You and your troops are welcome to stay in my city for as long as you require. Please look upon me as your humble servant."