Anathème la Maîtresse

DEKOK

Byzantine Empire, 548 Anno Domini

Lyre resonates gracefully echoed throughout the empire square, not in the least interfering with his prayer for his wife. Despite politics, Theodora was still his wife. Even though they never fulfilled the husband and wife duties, the woman who had become ashes was still his wife.

Justin never loved her, true, but he respected Theodora. Justin had never invited Theodora into his chambers, true, but that magnificent woman was his ally, his friend, and he regarded her as his sister.

Perhaps that's why Justin, a Byzantine Emperor is still a celibate at the age of 46. Maybe that's why Justin, the leader of the whole country. Almost vibrated on his throne because of the intensity that churned out by every sway of the hips of the funeral rites dancer for his dead wife.

Summer rays cast a searing spectacle on her fair face, royalty's heart-shaped with sword-sharp cheekbones and finely full lips. The most entrancing jewels he has ever seen in his life, each weighed beside her upturned nose-subliminal, and he, as a Roman, valued jewels above diamonds and gold.

He heard that the Hellenes cives, who seemed to be trying hard to impress the Romans, initially had refused to dance for these funeral rites. But now, under the wispy clouds that stretch across the sky and above the ground that has been decorated with the ashes of his dead wife, she appears to be dancing beautifully as if she has nowhere else to be in the world than right here before him.

But he knows, she's not. She dances for herself, she dances as if no one in the audience is mesmerized, she dances whether she's going to be regarded or not. She even wore a simple satin dress compared to the previous dancers who wore whatever, which made them look like clowns.

Justin knows very well that her satin dresses are tailored finer than even his own clothes, an Emperor's clothes. And he realized that the rumor circulating that the dancer in front of him was the daughter of a Greek oligarch, was indeed true.

He didn't know what to do with this fact. If he wants to appear as the Byzantine Emperor, he would order the servus to prepare the most sumptuous chambers on the guest wing for her and her dance troupe, rather than the tents that were scorched by the sun during the day, and stung by the scorching wind at night.

But if he wants to behave like himself, Justin will order the servus to set up the most opulent chamber in his own wing with a view that is no less exquisite than the enchantress in front of him.

He did just that.

The grand hatchway opened on his third knock and he was confronted by his obsession that, mayhap, would become his possession.

She, already on her nightdress which didn't reach her ankles, allowed him to see and hear the rose gold anklet cling-cling-cling- swaying rhythmically as her delicate sole led him to her lair.

"Ago tibi gratias pro tua gloriosa liberalitate, pro tecto quod me meosque choros hac nocte tege, Imperatoria Celsitudo. Hoc est Vinum Sherry chara Hellas, si placet?" She serves him a glass of Greeks infamous Sherry Wines

(I thank you for your glorious generosity, for the roof that could shelter me and my dance troupe tonight, Imperial Highness. This is Hellas' highly prized Sherry Wine, if you please?)

He pulled her hand instead of the glass, needing her close despite doesn't know how to act around beautiful people, and she promptly ended up on his lap, "Nullas ineptias istius Imperialis Celsitudinis, Domina mea Maria filia Theotiti. Justin est finis."

(None of that Imperial Highness nonsense, My Lady Maria, daughter of Theotitus. Justin is fine.)

"Maria praeclara, ergo, mi rex." His lady retorted cheekily with inflamed cheek as she feed him some wine