Ashara, it was known was the land of unsurpassed beauty and grace. Although for the Drustanis general, it held memories that were less than pleasant. Malik Severin had these people to thank for every scar, every lash, and every disfigurement inflicted onto his flesh. It was his blood and the blood of his nation which had been spilt onto their soil, forever sown within the roots of their decadence.
The Land of the Golden Sun had been the last of the three eastern kingdoms to fall. Two years ago, the general had laid siege to the great walls of its capital city. Their homes and farmlands, the Drustanis army had sacked. Their temples and statues of false gods have since been torn down, reduced to remnants of memory.
In the Battle of Asshai, the general had slain their king and presented his head before the feet of emperor of Drustan. One hundred years of war has been brought to an end. One hundred years of death and destruction has finally passed. All three kingdoms have been brought to kneel before the might of the Drustanis Empire.
Now, the flames of war have subsided. Through the ashes, the general rode on his dark steed to the palace with fifty armed soldiers in his company. Overhead, black banners edged with crimson flew in the desert wind, trailing after them. They bore the mark of the serpentine dragon—the emblem of House Kartane.
An ominous silence permeated the air as the Drustanis troops rode through the city streets of Asshai once again. Not one voice was spoken. Mothers ushered their children back into houses. Doors and windows were promptly shut. Civilians diverted their eyes and began walking in the opposite direction. Somber expressions were found on every one of their dark faces—subdued, although not fully broken.
The Asharan people remembered Malik Severin well, and it was he who they detested most of all. It was their brothers and fathers who had been slain by Drustanis blades. It was their sisters and daughters who have been violated by Drustanis soldiers—through no order of his own, but it was his face that they’ve attached to the Emperor’s army. It was the General who bore the blunt of their enmity. The Black Viper of Drustan, they called him, as he was known for his poisoned swords.Throughout the eastern lands, his name was spoken with scorn and hatred.
The memories of war and death were still recent in minds of the Asharan people, a wound still fresh and prone to re-open. Severin cursed under his breath as he noted the fear and contempt which was apparent on each one of their faces. Ramiz should not have sent me here. My presence only rouses their anger further.
As the general rode south to the royal palace, his mood blackened, further inflamed by the desert heat. He commanded the loyalty of thirty thousand men, the finest steel forged underneath his leadership. His skill with a blade was without equal, a legend among warriors. For the Drustanis Empire, Severin had conquered the great city of Asshai. Now, here he was—sent back to its cursed lands to fetch the prince’s bride, like some escort.
Ramiz had insisted that Severin himself went. "There is no one else whom I would entrust with the safety of my betrothed, General," the prince had said with an arrogant smile. "Besides, these are times of peace. Your duties are no longer needed here."
That exchange felt like a slap to his face. No longer needed, am I?
Peace, the word itself sounded foreign to the ear and unfamiliar on the tongue. Since the age of fifteen, he had fought in countless battles and never slept without a blade by his side. Two decades of his life had been spent fighting for the Empire, underneath its black banners edged with crimson; Twenty years spent living in a constant turmoil, not knowing whether each day would be his last. But at last, the century-long war has finally been brought to an end.
No. There will never be peace. Not so as long as the hearts of men are filled with greed. The smell of fresh blood will soon draw out the vultures who will fight over what remains.
As Malik Severin made way his through the winding streets of Asshai, he felt a foreboding sense that he was being watched. Atop the highest tower of the palace, a lone figure was perched on the marble balcony. The mid-day sun, radiant and blinding, casted a shadow over his observer so that only a dark outline was distinguishable.
A woman, tall and slender, stood silently as the desert wind wisped at her hair. Seemingly alive, the dark strands danced about her face in a rhythm that was crazed and disorderly. She was standing in the shadows—too far away for the general to clearly discern—but he knew that she was watching him, as he was watching her.
“General Severin!” a voice called out. A group of Drustanis approached him from the royal palace. A man bowed before the general as he announced himself, “I am Rahj, steward to Lord Asher. His Excellency has instructed me to await for your arrival.”
Severin swiftly dismounted from his horse with ease. “Is His Excellency ready to receive me?” he asked.
“Yes—but first, I will show you to your chambers, if you wish you to change or freshen up,” Rahj answered as he looked over the general, who was covered in sand and grime from long weeks of travel. He smelled of sweat and leather, his hair left in disarray from the desert winds.
“There is no need. I wish to see Lord Asher as soon as possible,” Severin answered in a stern voice, with complete disregard of his rugged appearance.
One of the steward’s brows arched upwards in bewilderment, but his breach of etiquette was quickly masked. “As you wish, General. The servants will see that your men are attended to. Please come with me,” he said as he began to lead the general through the palace.
Severin looked up to the balcony where his observer had stood earlier, but the figure was no longer there—and yet, that uncomfortable feeling of being watched still remained with him.
The last time the General had stepped foot in Asshai, his purpose had been to kill. All he could remember was the bodies of dead soldiers—Asharan and Drustanis alike—which littered the ground, the floor soaked in a crimson hue. He could still hear the sounds of swords clashing and the screams of men which rang through the air. Blood and death, were only memories he held from this city.
Although the much of the land had been ransacked and destroyed by the war, the royal palace remained, for the most part, untouched. The bloodstains have since been washed, and a certain allure which had previously been obscured was now more evident.
Ashara, it was known as the land of unsurpassed beauty and grace, allegedly blessed by ancient gods. Indeed, everything about the royal palace of Asshai was ethereal. There were large marble columns supporting the high ceiling, from which sheer draperies hung. Expensive oriental rugs were laid on every pathway. Golden statues with eyes of gemstones carried lit torches, providing a source of light in darker areas. Everything about Asshai—from its architecture to the décor—spoke of wealth and elegance.
The general walked through the grand halls in a dream-like haze, overwhelmed by its magnificence and splendor, lost in a realm which lies between reality and fantasy. In a place such as this, one might be lulled into a sense forgetfulness, where time seemed to stand still. Problems and worries were no longer of consequence.
Ashara was beautiful, Ashara was divine, and Malik Severin hated every inch of it.
At last, they reached a sitting room located within the inner palace. “Please be seated, General. His Excellency will be with you shortly,” the steward said as he bowed before taking his leave.
Long minutes passed but there was still no sign of the Governor. The general began pacing around impatiently. Had Severin been brought to the throne room, he would not be surprised to find Lord Asher himself seated high upon the golden dais.
He keeps me waiting to remind me whose time is more important, Severin scornfully thought to himself, But were it not for me, Ashara might’ve not have fallen to Drustan, and it wouldn’t be Asher’s pompous ass that sits on the throne of Asshai.
It was some time before Lord Asher had finally made his appearance. Severin bowed before the governor as he entered, “Your Excellency,” he addressed respectfully.
“General Severin,” Asher greeted in an amiable voice. He was a handsome man of middle height, with grey-green eyes that never smiled while his lips did. In the passing years since Severin had last seen him, the Lord Governor has aged considerably. The hair that had once been so black and luxurious was now streaked with silver. Many new lines had formed around the corner of his eyes and mouth. Nevertheless, he still walked with the same posture of grace and arrogance that was all too familiar.
“I was not expecting that you’d arrive so soon… but I suppose that’s what all your enemies have said just as you ambushed them in battle,” Asher chuckled at his own little quip.
The general was not amused, his expression remaining humorless. “Is the Asharan princess ready to depart?” he asked bluntly.
Asher nodded, “All the necessary preparations have been taken care of. You must be absolutely weary, General. Has Rahj not shown you to your chambers? Be seated, and take some time to rest,”
“That will not be necessary. I wish to depart for Drustan with all haste while the day is still young.” Severin replied with icy civility. Despite the luxury and comfort of his surroundings, there was something about Asshai that made him highly uneasy. He did not like this place, and liked Asher even less. And then there was that woman, the apparition who had lingered in the darkness of the balcony, watching him.
“Will you at least stay for lunch?” the Lord Governor asked. “There are many rare delicacies which do not come by so easily in Drustan—just one taste and you may find that you cannot live without them,” he said with a smile.
The general refused to be swayed as he well knew that he was not welcome here. He would not have been surprised to find his food poisoned by the kitchen staff, or to find someone wandering into his bedroom late at night to slit his throat in his sleep. The Asharan people do not forget blood debts. The sooner he left the city, the better.
If the Governor was offended by Severin’s hastiness to leave, his face betrayed nothing. “Very well then,” he answered simply in a pleasant voice, “I see that you are still punctual and stringent as always. Must you deny yourself of life’s simple pleasures?”
Asher turned to the guard standing behind him, and ordered the man to call for the princess. “There is something you should probably know, General,” he began, “Princess Aaliyah is blind.”
“Blind?” Severin repeated the word in a abhorrent tone as a crinkle of distaste formed between his brows.
Even the lowliest of servants within the palace of Drustan were chosen for their physical fitness—from every slave who washes the floors, to every scribe, to every warrior who has fought and died underneath the black banners—all must be perfect in order to serve the imperial family.
Drustan was an empire that prided itself in strength. Weakness of any sort was looked down upon. It was not an uncommon practice for children born with deficiencies to be discarded at birth.
"The prince will not be pleased with a blind wife," Severin spoke without intention of voicing his thoughts aloud.
The Lord Governor chuckled, his voice low and rich, "Oh, I’m sure he will change his mind once he has seen her. No wonder Fariq has guarded his daughter so fiercely." His dark eyes narrowed as a more sinister smile appeared on his face. "Besides, our prince only has to marry her. She would be a pretty thing to look upon, and a body to warm his bed. It does not matter whether she has brains or eyes, so as long as she is able to bear his sons," he said dismissively.
Severin nodded absently in agreement. It was really none of his concern whether or not the prince would be satisfied with his bride. The general’s last duty was to escort the Asharan princess to Drustan, and then he would be permitted to retire to his home.
Home, that was another word which sounded foreign to him. The last twenty years of his life had been spent fighting in wars and battles. No longer. Severin let out a long sigh. Perhaps he was weary and needed a rest, just as the Lord Governor had suggested.
The steward who had greeted the general from earlier entered the room along with four Drustanis guards. “Her Highness, Aaliyah of House Shahrizai,” he announced.
[
The blind princess followed afterwards, holding onto the arm of a slave girl. When she stood before the general, he found that all words had escaped his mind.
He had never seen eyes of such color before—so pale and luminous. To simply say that they were ‘blue’ would being doing them an injustice. Her skin was the color of bronze, kissed by the sunlight yet untouched by time.
Indeed, the Asharan princess was the dream of every artist sculpted into flesh. To describe her fully, as a poet would say, would be to paint a siren’s song—it is a task which could not be done. She was undeniably beautiful, both hard to upon at and even more difficult to look away. Never before had anyone else captured his gaze so fully. It was then that he understood why Icarus had flown too close to the sun and melted his waxen wings.
Without explanation, the general felt the phantom pain of the old scar which ran down the right of his face, a burning sensation which he had not felt for over twenty years. Unconsciously, Severin reached for it, touching his marred skin.
When presented before her, he could not help but to feel acutely aware of his every imperfection. His unkempt appearance, which he had always dismissed so impassively, was now to his chagrin.
Malik Severin stood transfixed as he continued to gaze upon her, unblinking for fear that the vision may vanish before his very eyes. A long silence passed before anyone had moved. The blind princess turned uncertainly to her slave and whispered, “Is the general here yet?”
Lord Asher cleared his throat tactfully.
A hot flush crept up to Severin’s face. Here we stand, the blind and the mute, he cursed himself as he fought to regain his voice. “I am General Malik Severin, here to escort Your Highness to Drustan,” he said as bowed low before her, a civility which was perhaps unnecessary as she could not see him.
He believed that he saw a ghost of a smile appeared on her face, but it quickly vanished. Her expression was set stern and grim as she merely nodded to acknowledge his presence.
Asher sneered inwardly as he watched how Severin reacted to the Asharan princess. The most feared warrior in the eastern kingdoms, struck dumb and speechless before a woman, like some adolescent boy. It was pathetic.
He could not entirely blame the general. Indeed, Aaliyah was beautiful—for that, there was no argument. When Asher had confronted her in the baths earlier, he had nearly forgotten what he had set out to deliver.
The ruby necklace once belonged to his sister, Elia. It had been a gift bestowed by the Emperor of Drustan many years ago, a valued treasure given to the only woman he had ever loved.
However, fate had been unkind. Elia had died not long after childbirth, but her death was no accident. Asher had no proof, but he has always suspected that Lyssa had a hand in it. She was an ambitious noblewoman would do anything to obtain power. Soon after Elia’s death, she had quickly married the Emperor. He neither loved nor wanted her, but he needed the support of her family to win the war in the east.
Now, it was Empress Lyssa who sits on the cold throne of Drustan, seated beside a husband who cared little for her, a husband who has never given her a treasure of equal value as the necklace he once gave to Elia, his beloved first wife.
Elia had always worn it, even upon her death bed. For nearly two decades after her death, Asher had always held on to it as a memento of his sister he lost.
Now at last, Asher had relinquished the ruby necklace, giving it to the Asharan princess. Lyssa would see the her wearing the pendant, and she would understand his message—his taunt, a scathing reminder which cuts to the heart: the Emperor does not love you, and he will never love you.
General Severin stiffly bowed once again, then turned around to lead them out of the palace.
As they walked, Asher glanced sideways at the princess. She had a lovely profile of dignified nobility and a neck that was long and slender, but distinctly absent of a certain ruby necklace. “I see that you are not wearing the gift I’ve given you,” he remarked with disappointment underlying his tone.
The corner of her lips quirked upwards. “I could not bear the weight,” Aaliyah said dryly.
“Soon, you must learn to bear a greater weight,” he replied in a quiet voice, as he pulled her closer to him. “Even when I have become old, and my hair turned grey—when I can remember nothing else, I will still think of that one moment when I saw you earlier today. I will remember your scent, your eyes, your voice, your skin—for what it meant to behold an angel,” he whispered low in her ear.
Someone made a scoffing noise. As Asher turned to the direction of the sound, he realized that it was the same slave who had dared to confront him earlier. Under her breath, she began to mutter something about him. He did not catch the entire gist of it, but the words ‘lecherous’ and ‘old toad’ were heard. The sound of muffled laughter floated to his ears, coming from the back. Some other slave. The Governor turned around and glowered at the group, daring one of them to laugh in front of his face. All held blank expressions, none which returned his gaze.
The audacity! Asher sent the original offender a murderous look. If not for the protection of her mistress, she would not dare to act so boldly to me, he fumed. The Lord Governor curled his fingers into a fist, resisting the itch to throttle her. It would be unseemly of him to break out in a rage in front of everyone.
“Lord Asher, I do not think that my future husband will appreciate your… attentions toward me,” Aaliyah said with a small smile, a warning tone underlying her honeyed voice.
Ah, Prince Ramiz, the vile son of that bitch, Lyssa. It was true that primary reason why Asher had tried to seduce the Asharan princess was to get back at the Empress—a personal mean of vengeance. He wanted her as a lover—not only because she was beautiful—but also because he intended to use her against Lyssa and Ramiz.
However, it was clear now that his advances were going nowhere. Over the past year since Asher has known her, Aaliyah was no warmer to him now than she had been when she was first brought to Asshai. He had attempted to gain her affections with gifts, compliments, and sweet words, but she continually rebuffed him, a refusal which he could not comprehend.
Asher was a man of immense power and wealth who could offer her comfort and protection. Although he was in his autumn years, he was still considered attractive—charismatic and charming when he desired to be so. The Asharan princess was a young girl who helpless and alone, left without friends or family. One would think that it would be easy to manipulate such a person, but that was not so.
As they walked through the royal palace, Asher smiled bitterly at his failure. He glanced sideways at the princess once more, but this time in a different light. He had underestimated her. Underneath the illusion of a frail, blind girl, she possessed a strength of will that was grudgingly admirable.
Something isn’t right about her, Asher decided. Perhaps it was because he felt that she had bewitched him; what he said earlier had not been false flattery. The glimpse of her bathing had been an image forever lingering in the back of his mind ever since, a curling wisp of black smoke which consumed his thoughts with ill deeds and base desires, taunting him. His pulse never failed to beat erratically whenever he thought of her in that moment, his breathing uneven and hoarse.
Calm yourself. You’re almost pathetic as that damn general.
He led the princess over to the large palanquin, which was to be carried by a team of a dozen strong men. Behind them, Drustanis soldiers were mounting their horses as the servants loaded the many carriages with supplies and equipment.
“Well—at last—we must say good-bye, my love. This must be a very difficult time for you. Try not to shed too many tears about having to leave me,” he jested in a good-natured manner.
“I will miss you dearly, Lord Asher,”Aaliyah replied with a sarcastic smile.
“I know,” he said as he held onto her hand and planted a farewell kiss. His lips lingered on for far too long as his fingers lightly brushed the underside of her palm. “You would do me an honor by wearing my necklace at your wedding. That is all I would ask of you,” he whispered.
A brief hint of suspicion flashed on Aaliyah’s face, but she eventually agreed.
Oh, how furious Lyssa would be. Asher smiled triumphantly at the thought. Just the sight of the Empress’s wrath might be worth the trouble of attending the wedding himself. He had to stifle back a laughter as he aided the blind princess into the golden palanquin.
He stood outside and observed Aaliyah through the sheer curtains. She was lying back on the velvet cushions, one arm propped up against her head, the very image of a dainty, eastern princess. But once again, that disconcerting feeling returned to him. Something isn’t right about her, and it wasn’t just how she had entranced him.
The Lord Governor looked over to the caravan group—slaves, chambermaids, cooks, minstrels, and entertainers—an assembly of servants who would accompany Aaliyah to Drustan, along with fifty armed escorts. His attention fell on an unfamiliar girl with braided hair and cowardly face. She will do, he mused.
Asher’s fingers gripped hard around the servant girl’s arms as he dragged her far away from earshot. He tossed her roughly against the wall as he stood towering over her, with both hands placed on beside her head to bar her from escaping. He looked down on the girl as how a wolf might eye its prey.
The servant looked up to the Lord Governor, her eyes wide open in fear. “Y-Your Excellency, have I d-done s-something wrong?” she stuttered. The girl was absolutely terrified of him. Good.
He pressed a coin pouch into her hands, which slightly trembled as she clutched onto it, her breathing withheld as she eyed it warily. When the servant looked inside and found gold, her mouth was agape. It was well greater than what she would earn in a year from working. The girl looked up at him again with the same large eyes filled with bewilderment and fright.
“You will watch the princess closely. Stay by her side day and night. In your letters, you will report to me anything she does that is unusual—take down the names of the people she speak to, and the places where she goes. Do you understand, girl?” his voice was low and menacing.
She nodded quickly enough.
“Will I need to describe what happens should you fail me?” His hand grasped onto her shoulder, digging into her skin to reinforce his threat.
She attempted to stifled back a painful wince but failed. Her voice faltered as she answered, unable to meet his gaze, “N-No, Your Excellency.”
As he released her, Asher presented a smile that was almost affectionate. “Excellent. Now attend to your mistress and get out of my sight,” the Lord Governor said in a voice that was strangely calm, but not absent of malice.
The servant fled as fast as her legs could carry her. The speed at which she ran from him brought a satisfied grin to his face. Ah, and this is how it should be.
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