Threads of Gold

Three | تین

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As the sky in Qalmazar bled into bruising shades of black and blue, a quiet echo of leather shoes against dark granite floors resounded in the opulent throne room of the mehal.

And there sat a strong silhouette decked in lustrous shades of silver argent and all-encompassing black. Lounging in his seat, he was giving a false illusion of careless ignorance because one's careful observation was most useful when hidden behind the layers of a brute's aggression and laxity. Gleaming rings littered his every finger and a carved shair at the throne's top crowned him, visible just above his own head, affirming him as the supreme ruler of Kalthura.

Reaching the throne and standing before it, Owais had his eyes fixated on the ground and his head bowed, mostly from the fear lining his respect for his master, the king of kings, Sultan of Kalthura; Arzam Hyderi.

"I assume Sherqul is now a part of Kalthura, then?" The sound of the Sultan's voice wasn't one that mimicked booming explosions nor was it something hushed like the chill of an eerie wind. It was a rich and raucous blend of sharp and smooth syllables. The tones and levels in Arzam's speech were constantly changing, re-establishing him as volatile and unpredictable in the eyes of others. People feared what they did not know but he thrived off of the turmoil.

Owais stalled his answer, unnerved and unsure as to how he could begin to explain that he didn't complete his task without losing his head.

Lighting in the Hyderi mehal was a haze of embedded gemstones scaling the walls and lurking shadows trailing their corners. And through the blur, he could feel the weight of the Sultan's gaze and realized that it was no wonder the man had won so many wars, bested his opponents in battles, and quietened roars of complaint with heavy, ferocious eyes like those.

And now they watched the assassin, coaxing an answer from his lips, "Hukum, Sherqul is still their own."

After those words, Owais expected thunderous anger but all he saw was turbulence simmering around his Sultan and under his skin. He meekly continued, "The reason is that the next ruler is not dead, I didn't kill them because it was a... unique situation-"

That was when Arzam's silent seething unleashed itself onto the room and its occupants. He did not become the greatest ruler the continent had seen to be held back by those who couldn't follow orders. The Sultan wouldn't stand for it.

"Do you think you would be alive and under my employment if I cared about unique situations? Why is he not dead?" Owais knew this was the moment to tell his master but the Sultan's ire was escalating and he was making it known.

"I thought using you would be a swift and easy takeover, though I have no problems starting a war." Again, Arzam thought. Hadn't he made it clear to people that he wanted everything, it angered him that they didn't yet grasp just how far his barbaric nature would take him on the road to victory. If he had to cut into the heart of the world to retrieve a prize and make it his, then so be it. He supposed it wasn't a crime that he didn't mind the way red glinted on his talwar after slashing it through another.

With a rueful smile, Arzam asked Owais, "Now, what do I do with you?" It was under taunting pretenses because every worker and guard in the room, even the assassin, knew that someone such as the Sultan never cared enough to ask. If he believed something had to happen, it would.

The nerves were building up in the hardened assassin as Arzam was listing punishments for failing to follow orders, each one more gruesome than the last and so Owais blurted out why he didn't complete his mission and hoped that would save his neck, "A woman!"

Cutting off his Sultan's words was a death sentence on its own. He had made his lifespan increasingly short, but Owais' exclamation was a last resort and his only rescue. It was a reason for his disobedience and would solidify his loyalty to the Kalthuran empire and its Sultan.

"You incompetent fool-"

The assassin's heart was beating fast and the adrenaline got him to shut his eyes as he cringed and interrupted Arzam once more, comprehending that even if it kills him, it was still partly his duty to inform his king of the identity of the one he was plotting against. "A man isn't succeeding Sherqul's throne, it is a woman."

Arzam's face was frozen in anger and his nose flared with hostility because of his assassin's audacity to speak over him, that too more than once.

Kalthura's ruler narrowed his eyes and Owais whispered with an expression that screamed for forgiveness, "Gustakhi maaf, Hukum."

The assassin knew that people could grovel at his feet, sob and plead but none of that would matter to the Sultan. Nothing swayed him, fulfilled his greed for more, and quenched his bloodthirst when he got less.

"Maaf ki." Arzam grumbled then straightened in his seat with the realization of what Owais' words meant for Sherqul, Kalthura, and him.

The motive behind him pardoning Owais' cretinous mistakes wasn't one of courtesy or kindness. Every soul in the room was aware that their Sultan was anything but kind.

Arzam began his interrogation, "Sherqul will now have a Malka instead of a Badshah, is that what you are saying?"

Owais nodded, "Yes, Hukum. She is the Badshah's daughter and sole heir. I think even her own council was shocked when she announced it."

"Interesting." The Sultan's curiosity was immensely heightened, "She announced it herself? A woman claiming her crown without conferring with her elders?"

Upon Owais' wide-eyed confirmation, Arzam said, "Your life is spared because this information is of use to me, however, you and your ineptitude is not. Next time I give you a mark, they need to have breathed their last before you return, or else you will. Understand?"

The assassin squeaked out, "Of course, Hukum," before trying in a lower voice, then dashed out of the throne room as soon as he was dismissed.

Arzam stood and began pacing back and forth, thoughts buzzing with new ways to conquer Sherqul, a neighbouring mulk known for their luxurious textiles and hearty grains. A land that was modest but loved.

It should have been obvious that Arzam wanted it for himself. Now, things might change because for the first time ever the world would witness a woman's reign. And he wanted a front-row seat which was why he called in his messenger and instructed him to arrange a meeting with Sherqul.

Arzam then left the throne room to retire to his personal rooms where he leaned against the frame of a window made from coloured glass and stared at his city that came alive in the nighttime. The pearlescent moon hidden behind cloudy wisps shone on his pale brown skin, delving deep into the madness in the Sultan's eyes of honey and umber.

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How was it? I'd love to hear your thoughts!!

And finally, Arzam is introduced.

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