Early morning trainings always refreshed Naseer's mind. It increased his appetite and made him feel alive– so hungry and wild, like a black bear of the forests.
Asking the trainees to wait for him, he went to see why Caspar wasn't still ready. Caspar wasn't a man to break rules unless his temper came in.
"That man has a fragile mind."
Naseer didn't remember a brawl from last night. Well, they were drinking then, at least all the melophoroi except Firdaus. He would have to ask the man later if anything ugly had occurred, something that slipped from his memory.
"Wake up brother!" Naseer knocked on Caspar's door several times. No answer came from inside. Having the least of patience, he banged his fist on the door, only to see it open.
"It was unlocked all this while?" Naseer barged in. "Caspar, you son of–"
He is still sleeping?
Caspar had covered himself with a blanket from head to toe. He looked like a cocoon in that form.
"Are you crazy? You will turn your blood to sweat. Wine makes your body go warm."
What is that?
Near his stomach, the blanket was stained. Only now did Naseer sense the acrid smell emanating from it. The spot was huge and dark red in colour.
With a swift move, Naseer threw away the blanket. Beneath it rested the body of Caspar, now cold as ice. A pool of blood had formed. A gaping wound in the stomach was the blow which had the melophoroi killed.
Naseer took his face near Caspar. No, he wasn't breathing. Naseer felt his pulse and heartbeat– there was none. His lips had gone dry and blue, froth forming in the corners.
He was as dead as a man could be.
"Call the hazahrapatish!" he cried "There has been a death!"
And this time, it wasn't the spouse who had died.
This time it was one of the conspirators.
****
Parmenion had instructed the body to be examined by the doctors before burning it. The doctors concluded it was death from a dagger, a sharp object akin to it. It had pierced his veins and vital organs, thus it was long and deep. There was a lot of internal damage done, probably by twisting the dagger and attacking with it several times. Inspection of the room had brought to the front a gag and a set of ropes, hidden in the trunks, which might have been used to stop Caspar from shouting and rendering him helpless.
"But the froth from his mouth, it's from a poison," the doctor said. "It was administered through wine and reacted quite soon. It made the melophoroi weak in mind and stunted his thinking abilities. It also accelerated the clotting of blood in his body. Even if the dagger was not used, he would have died since no antidote was given."
"There was rage in what was carried out," Firdaus commented. "The killer simply didn't want to spare Caspar a peaceful end."
"It is a disrespect done to me!" Shahryar exclaimed. Shahrazad stood beside him, observing the men in silence. Shahryar clenched his fist as he fumed in wrath. "I shall not forgive the culprit. I need the man alive."
"It will be done. Caspar was a resource to me," Parmenion said. "Harm has been done to us. A melophoroi dead means the Shah is in danger too."
Shahrazad heaved a sigh. He was very interested in knowing the person who did this. After all, all these days only the consorts died. Why would someone kill a melophoroi? Was it one of the melophoroi only who did it, in the heat of revenge or some other purpose?
"I shall oversee it, Shah. You may rest. I assure no one will be able to come near you or the Shahamsar-am," Parmenion said.
Shahryar and Shahrazad went back to their room. Shahrazad sat on his bed, looking at the Shah pacing across the room, hands joined at the back and mind delved deep in thoughts.
"Who do you think did this?" Shahrazad asked.
"I am not sure. Maybe someone–"
"It's strange, isn't it? All this while it was the consorts dying. Now someone else."
Shahryar stopped. His body froze, similar to the various statues in his palace. The expression of shock and pure horror was etched on his face.
"Don't tell me you did it."
Shahrazad squinted. He hoisted himself up, brows curved in ire. "How could you blame me of this crime? I had no enmity with the man!"
"I am not blaming you," Shahryar lowered his voice to a whisper. "I believe you would not attack without reason."
"And Caspar had not given me enough reason to kill him. So no, I did not."
Shahryar relaxed, as if new life flowed inside his body. But Shahrazad's nostrils flared. He was not going to be calm.
"Suppose, I do kill. What will you do?" He shot the Shah a menacing glance that could rip apart a beast of the night. Shahryar's eyes glimmered. "I see you have the blood of a warrior. Your father must have been someone very cruel and cold, like the edge of a sword. Like the tip of a needle. Like–"
"–like a butcher who feasted on the happiness of poor women. Thank you very much, but I shall be grateful if you don't mention the word 'father' or anything of that sort." Shahrazad turned away from Shahryar, his body shaking in fury. "My only father is Bagaos. He is my family. My father and mother."
Shahryar put a hand on his shoulder, leaning in to speak to his ears. "You... you know who your real father is?"
Shahrazad flinched. Shahryar gently nudged his consort, holding him by the shoulder and making Shahrazad face him. "You know who he is?"
Shahrazad hung his head like a defeated, ashamed soldier who had run away from the battlefield. "I do."
"May I know who he is?"
"One day, for sure. But I am not ready at present."
"Do I know him?"
Shahrazad looked up at the Shah. His glistening eyes shone like a pair of precious pearls. "I think so. At least by name, even if not by heart."
"I assume he is the subject of scorn and hatred."
"He had abandoned me and my mother. He had caused her great distress. And an unmarried woman cannot bring up a child without being judged by society."
Shahrazad bit his tongue. He had revealed too much. "I am sorry. I hope my secrets are safe with you."
"Perhaps all our secrets are safe with me."
"What?"
"Nevermind. It's nothing. Don't worry, I shall not endanger you."
"I do feel tensed. The walls have ears too."
Shahryar crossed his arms. "Then I shall bring this palace to dust."
Shahrazad smirked. "Not required, Shah. Just... just be as good as you are."
Shahrazad felt the change in the ambience. Earlier it was murky and morose, sadness hanging like cobwebs. There was bitterness, the lingering taste of pungent death, the metallic touch of raw fear. It made him shiver. He had felt the Shah's pain. He had seen it in his dreams all these years, and now when beside him after marriage, he experienced it firsthand.
But now, he felt the Shah was changing. He was warming up to him. The delicate touches, the strong words pointed at the fact. He had not expected it to happen so soon, as if a dream, but when dreams had so much of power in his life it had to manifest.
He had stopped dreaming after this marriage. They never came and plagued his sleep. Instead they came to his life, now a test of his worth and promises.
"It must be very difficult to be a Shah," he remarked.
Shahryar had been looking at him all this while– the beauty of his open curls, the scintillating spark of his divine skin– and he felt blessed to have him as his.
The question pulled him out of his study. "It is."
"You have to lose friends. You put your beloved ones in the risk."
"Before you I didn't have people to call my own. My father is dead, so is my mother. And my brother lives far away, emotionally and in terms of physical distance."
Shahrazad wheezed. He put his palm over his mouth. A blush deepened the colour of his cheeks. Spring filled his chest. "I-I am your own?"
"To be honest, you seemed kind of irritating initially. But I realise that's you being overprotective. You wish my good, but in a very aggresive way. Despite all your weirdness, I think you are becoming a habit. And when people become a habit it's hard to break away."
"I see."
"That's it?"
"It is a bit overwhelming but pleasant."
Shahryar wrapped an arm around him. "I noticed how you spoke with my brother. I understand you are not unaware of our past."
Shahrazad scoffed. "Siblings of purple blood rarely go along well."
"You aren't so foolish to just base on this fact."
"Shah, everyone knows, at least can sniff. He was upset when you were coronated as the monarch and he was given the smaller lands to govern as a subordinate. My father, even though retired, did get news. So I too–"
"You didn't get news about me searching for a particular boy?"
Shahryar traced his lips with his thumb. "Rather a man. He is a grown up now. I wonder how he is like."
"Ah, your friend. The one whom you remember when seeing my eyes."
"Yes. Should I just satiate myself by looking at you or seek him?"
"Seek him, my Shah. It will delight you."
"It will pain you. I shall not regard you as my one and only if he comes back."
"I know how to make my place, Shah. You are already growing on me like a bud on a stem."
Shahryar broke into a merry laughter. Shahrazad joined along. Their voices chimed together, longing gazes resting on each other.
"I have a sea-shell necklace, Shahrazad."
Shahrazad was caught off-guard. He gulped, a pink splash defining his skin. Shahryar pulled him closer. "Do you want to see it?"
"Do I?"
"I think you do."
"Well, then. Yes."
Shahryar went to his drawer. He brought out a little crimson box. With a click he opened it, fetching out a red pouch carefully tied with a golden string. He untied the thing and took out the necklace of sea shells. He wore it around his neck. Shahrazad wished to do it on his behalf, but he waited, watching in adoration.
Shahryar took the necklace in his hand and twirled it. "See, isn't it beautiful?"
"You are."
"I have kept it with care all these years."
"Must be very close to you, Shah."
"I sometimes think if I should have been in the seas," Shahryar mused. "I could have travelled so many countries and had fun. No rules. No restrictions."
"Or maybe a princess. A princess of the sea. Perhaps a mermaid from the tales."
Shahryar raised a brow. "You want me to be princess?"
"Is it possible?"
"Well, if you can convince me I shall dress for you. But at present I am in no mood for it."
Shahryar took him by the hand and made him sit on the bed. "You ease me, Shahrazad. Maybe your ways are always not so appropriate and welcome but they work out in the end. I felt so angry after Caspar's death, but after talking with you I feel better."
"It all started with how my father is the worst."
"And stop at how I may be a princess?"
"We should talk more, my Shah. It shall be very interesting."
"It feels like I have known you for years. I just needed a push to make the proximity possible. This bond feels so old... and intricate."
Shahryar got up and went to a trunk in the farthest corner of his room. From the stack of expensive clothes he brought out a satiny ruby-red dress. He came to Shahrazad. "Can you stand up?"
He did as asked, quite in a daze. Shahryar put the dress over his body and memorised him like poetry. "Matches with your aura. Vibrant, confident and romantic."
"For-for me?"
"Why not? Red looks good on you."
Shahryar caressed his cheeks. Shahrazad swore he was ready to cry. Maybe the Shah had not accepted it directly, but he gave a hint.
"Thank you for everything. I feel loved," Shahrazad bowed.
"Then make me feel loved too."
Shahrazad scratched his chin and closed his eyes.
"Aha!" He clicked his fingers. An idea popped in his head.
"What is it?"
"My Shah, I shall surprise you tomorrow in court."
"Really?"
He flung his arms around Shahryar's neck. "Yes. And you won't be able to take your eyes off me."
****
The dagger glinted in his grip. In the stealthy darkness of the night he strided towards a well in a discarded garden of the palace, now left to overgrowth and negligence. Cutting creepers with that same bloodied dagger, he left marks of death on the children of nature. He was sure no one would come here to inspect.
He looked at the depth of the well. He threw the dagger in it, hearing its distinct fall after a long trail of moments.
Caspar had got to know more than what he deserved and had to pay for it.
"Wine had caused me to spill too much. You couldn't have survived a night longer, Caspar. And with that bad temper of yours and the pea-brain, you had to die."
Adonis wiped his hands in a cloth and left it on the grass.
He was here with a noble purpose. And no one could come in his way.