Being Aquila

PROLOGUE.

PERSIAN EMPIRE

Sniffing the suffocating air surrounding my horrid situation, I gulp down a jug of my saliva. The drum in my chest collides with the already ringing temple bells.

"It is time," the Queen Mother whispers, as she fixes the veil in my finely treated hair. This is the last worn apparel before a coronation.

"I cannot do this," I say.

Today, I sell myself to the kingdom and get nothing in return. I clench my wet fist and shake my head in denial. I am not ready for this, am I?

"You have trained all your life for this. Henceforth, you do well to remember all I have taught." She leans in for a hug; I step back.

"I can't... I... I am..." I stutter.

"You are nervous—it's normal. You are getting married to the King, 'the Gemini.'"

"How do I behave?"

"Behave as though you are in his debt. He is now your lord." She concludes this just before the wide temple doors open.

As I shiver in fright, I kiss the Queen Mother's hands and walk slowly into the temple.

"Enjoy tonight. It is your first and last," she adds before I step into the temple.

Walking past the congregation, I sigh in feigned confidence. How time flies. I fight the tears back into my eyes as I curse my fate. The cold memories of how I got dragged into this mess flash before my eyes.

Everything is as vivid as it was—the war, the death, the torture, and the abduction. Twenty years ago, the Persian army invaded my city, Greece, killing the old and seizing the young. The echoes of the sword slitting my mother's throat are still my everyday nightmare. I was too young to understand the reason behind the Greek-Persian wars, but five years was enough to understand that everything was about to change.

The army had taken us to the fields. We were merely slaves, as young as we were—grazing the land and harvesting the crops. Starving and dying as the days passed by.

The ironical story of this coronation is a seasonal reminder every night of my life. These Persians wouldn't think of believing—the new Aquila, the Queen of Persia, is not of Persian origin, but a Greek slave. This discovery could land my head on a silver platter.

Growing up in the Persian palace, I learned to understand their obsession with titles, battles, death, and power. It is seemingly nothing but justice to burn a man into ash.

The system is no monarchy.

The King, 'the Gemini,' is the only authority in the whole of Persia. He has the power to command a fleet of soldiers to battle—or kill them all without question.

It is the Persian culture. When a Gemini dies, he is to be buried with his Queen, 'the Aquila.' In that same might, twenty-five able men contending for the vacant Gemini position fight for the throne in deadly combat. The only survivor after the bloodbath becomes the new Gemini. And with every new Gemini, comes a new Aquila.

That's where I come in. The Aquila. The Queen of Persia.

The Amazon, working on the instructions of the King, is the title to respect. She is the glory of the city, the warrior, the spy—the one always representing the King on the battlefront. She has no power of her own.

From my perspective, she is the King's slave—but that title is sugar-coated as 'Queen.'

How can a Queen be married to a King but is never called his 'Wife'?

How can the Queen be the stronghold of a mighty King who never fights his battles?

How can a Queen have no affair with any other while he is free to have more than 500 concubines?