WE ARRIVED AT THE PALACE AT DAWN.
The King lived in Archaem, of course, the heart and pride of the Persian Empire -- and it was easy to tell why.
Unlike Babylon, the streets of Archaem were perfectly paved, with white stones the size of marbles dotting the soil and buildings built so high they seemed to pierce through the clouds and never end.
The capital of Persia was beautiful, more so than Babylon could ever hope to be.
Even the people, even the slaves, I realized, wore garments I could never be able to afford back home, their bangles jingling in time with their coin bags. If not for the tattled red band around their wrists, the biggest indication of an owned slave, you'd never have guessed that they weren't wealthy or noble themselves.
But as we rode past the market, I could see little children with dirt-smudged, black faces running around, their bodies so thin that when they lifted their arms, I could count out their ribs.
How long did they go hungry for, I wonder, to start to look like that?
As I continued to watch, I saw a little girl with braided hair come up to a merchant, her hands cupped together. "Khanom, could I have a bit of money, please? It's for my mother, she needs medicine."
She must be only six or seven at most. She should be at home right now, in bed, still dreaming about what or who she wants to be when she's older.
But in a situation where my throat tightened, the stall owner - a burly, oddly pale lady with hair that fell all the way down to her waistline - simply glanced once at the child, glared, and leaned down to pick up a broom.
The child screamed, running, and whatever hopeful smile she'd had on disappeared.
A few stalls away, another child, a dark-haired little boy with tears on his cheeks and large, stick-shaped welts on his hand, was running as well, the shopkeeper behind him shouting out curses that would make even Lucifer scowl.
I felt myself wanting to retch. Darij, Ismal and Abdul hadn't given us any food throughout the journey, but I still had the urge to throw up.
So perhaps Archaem was beautiful, more so than Babylon was, but there was a kindness in the people of my city that this place didn't have.
If those children lived in Babylon then, at the very least, they'd be given pity.
"Keep up the pace," Darij's voice called out. His voice had gone gruff now, half lost from all the yelling he'd done throughout the ride, and I was almost pleased. "We're almost there; don't slack off now."
"They're women, Darij," Ismal responded, his lips twisted into a smirk. "Let them sit still and look pretty."
I was quite sure that, at this point in the journey and with sixteen hours of no sleep, I did not look pretty, but some of the girls almost seemed to smile at the comment.
I wondered why they seemed so pleased to be deemed so incapable.
"Fair point," Darij said, his scowl now turned into a smirk, "but that doesn't mean I'm suddenly not hungry anymore; breakfast will come in an hour or two."
"Will we be dining with the princes?" one girl piped up, her eyes eager.
Ismal turned to her, still smiling. "You won't be dining at all if you talk out of turn," he said. "Don't join conversations you're not invited into, or you can go home, unescorted."
The implication was clear, and so the rest of the trip was silent, save for the quiet murmurs between two small, mousy fifteen-year-olds.
"Do you think it's going to be big?" I heard one whisper, a petite girl with a whisper that might as well have been a shriek.
"It's the palace; what do you think?"
"Well I've never seen the palace! You said you've seen paintings of it."
The other girl sighed, tilting her head back. Under the sunlight, her earrings twinkled gold. "Well it's gigantic, but would you really expect anything less from the King? I heard it can fit three of Babylon's markets into its dining room alone."
I furrowed my eyebrows. Somehow, that didn't sound right.
Not even a palace could be that big.
"Oh my," the mousy brunette said, apparently believing every word. "What else? What else do they say?"
"They say it's built with gold," she continued, enjoying the other girl's lavish attentions, "that the walls are laden with bars of gold, and that almost all of the world's treasures were used to build the palace. They also say they have a garden filled with the most exotic flowers and animals you can ever find; there's apparently one with feathers so beautiful, the First Queen ordered a dress made with a pattern specifically from that one animal, and she wore it to her wedding.
"Not only that," her voice was rising now, sparing the other girls who were now also listening in. "Not only that, but they say it's spires are so high, the tip of it reaches Heaven, and it's dungeons are built so deep into the ground, it's right on the gateway to Hell. It's-"
"Look! Is that it? Is that the palace? Look how golden!" someone cried out, pointing ahead.
Oh my.
The first thought I had was that, Allah, it looked like it was made of the sun.
"Ladies, welcome to the Heart of the Persian Empire, home to the Great King Syahir," Abdul said, beaming with pride.
It was no surprise why.
Tall, winding spirals curved around marbled columns, each either shooting up into a spire or curling down into high, golden steps -- steps that I was sure had never been rotted or dirtied, and had to have greeted thousands of guests, at least. There had to be hundreds of those stairs leading up to a pair of massive doors, so big I could barely see the top of them, and the only thing I could really spot was knobs shaped in the head of a gilded horse.
In school, they taught us of an old, Persian myth, of a woman who'd been cursed with eleven eyes. Legend said that she'd angered the Gods so much, they bestowed the curse down to her in a flash of lightning.
I've always felt pity for her, but right now, how I wish I was her.
How I wish I could see everything, knew all the words of the stars to describe everything, but in the daytime the palace was blinding, and it was all I could do not to close my eyes.
Someone had once mentioned that the King's Home was the closest you could get to seeing the Palace of Khuda, and I had a feeling they were not lying.
"Are you done gawking?" Ismal asked, his lips pulled up in arrogance. "If you are, we need to get off the horses and inside to have breakfast, ladies; and I am starving."
I was sure nobody had finished 'gawking', as they put it, because I definitely wasn't, but all the girls in front of me were already riding off (though the one in front of me was still spinning her head round and round like a beheaded little chicken) and I had no choice but to leave the Castle of the Sun till later.
It must be absolutely beautiful at sunset.
"Leave your horses here," Abdul said. "In case it wasn't clear, the animals are only allowed to graze within the courtyard - the Second Queen dislikes seeing them in the hallways."
I frowned, sliding off of my horse. Did they really think we were that uncivilized as to not figure out that horses didn't get to go in the palace?
Babylon was a poor country, but we weren't a country of savages.
But the others got off obediently, ducking their heads down, and I bit back the protests on my mouth.
It would do me no favors to make enemies so early on.
You say that as if you'll last.
"Now, I'm sure you all can tell by now that, Babylon is much, much different than Archaem," Ismal said, briskly walking up the steps, taking two at a time -- as if one itself wasn't three of mine back home. "There are certain manners and etiquettes we expect you to uphold, and certain rules you must abide by."
Ismal picked up the knob and knocked it twice against the door and I watched as, slowly, they began to open up, inwards, as if obeying his every command.
I didn't believe in magic, but how it looked to be so.
Maybe this really is Heaven on Earth.
As Ismal led us into the castle, I snuck a peek behind my shoulders, wondering if, perhaps, there were little men or women pulling the door open-
but then they shut close, and for the life of me, I could see nothing but marbled, white-gold floor and a giant pair of lacquered doors.
"Hurry up now," Darij said, his steps not quite as long as Ismal's, but just as quick. "You don't want to keep the royal family waiting anymore than they already have."
A quiet gasp echoed from the girl beside me. "We're going to meet the royal family now?"
I winced, waiting for the reprimanding, but as Darij turned back, his eyes dark, Abdul set a hand on his shoulder.
"Don't," he said. "The voices echo. The King might not hear you, but Prince Cairo will."
And though it looked like it took everything in Darij to listen, he turned back without protest.
I blinked.
Why would it matter if Prince Cairo did hear? As long as the King doesn't notice, wouldn't his words be empty? After all, he was just a prince in the face of the King. Just of lower standing.
Was he not?
"Now, for the rules," Ismal continued, apparently oblivious. "First; number one, shouting, or talking, or gossiping, or making any sort of loud, disturbing noise in the hallways. Prince Cairo is very sensitive to noise.
"Second, if you are called, then you are called. You may not ask questions or delay the time you have been given, or you will face the consequences. The consequences themselves vary from time to time, according to each prince and their mood, so it is essential that you remain in their good graces.
"Third, you must remember that you are here as a possible concubine. You are a maybe, and not permanent. Any bad move could easily send you home-"
Home? I can just act uneducated and I'll get to go home?
"-or, more likely, killed, in whatever way the Princes choose fit."
Nevermind.
"And fourth, the Palace is open to you at all hours of the day. However, you are barred from going up into the third floor unless personally invited, with a letter and a stamp from Prince Cairo. This is a no-exception rule, and cannot be broken in any way."
Prince Cairo.
My mind flashed back to the two conversing girls in last night's queue, both having been rejected.
"Okay, see those three people sitting there? The one in the red, green, and blue robes? Those are each of the princes' delegates; the red one is for Prince Raza - he's my pick, by the way, so if they pick both of us, you need to choose a different prince - the green robed man works under Prince Finn, and the blue one, Prince Cairo; don't choose him that one, though, he's a concubine's son."
"Oh. So technically, he's not royal?"
They'd mentioned that he was not of proper noble lineage. And yet, not only did all of the palace rules seem to revolve around the princes, and not a single one around the King, two of those seemed to cater specifically to Prince Cairo.
Not only that, but even the mere mention of Prince Cairo's name had shut Darij up; the Darij who'd been yelling and talking and scolding us all throughout the sixteen-hour journey to Archaem.
And yet, according to the women last night, Prince Cairo was not anything special.
But why?
"That is all for the Palace rules. However, considering the fact that you are to gain the Princes' favors, here's some things that may help you do that."
Ismal stopped walking, standing in front of another pair of doors. Around me, I could see girls perk up and lean closer, as if what he was about to say was a secret instead of an announcement to all sixteen of us.
"You are the chosen batch from Babylon; again, Babylon is not like Archaem, and it's most certainly unlike the Palace. The moment you enter this room, or any room with the royal family within, you kneel down, and only rise when they tell you to. Do not look at them in the eyes, unless they tell you to. Do not talk to them, unless they tell you to. Be well-behaved, quiet, understanding; that is the biggest chance you'll have of becoming concubine."
"From what I've seen so far, I don't think they'll make it," Darij scoffed. Beside him, Abdul glared.
Ismal looked over at us, a group of haggling, dark-skinned Babylon women who clearly didn't have his faith, and said, "Is that clear? We will not have you embarrassing us."
"Yes."
"Satisfactory," he mumbled, sighing, before he turned and slowly, ever so slowly, knocked on the door.
"Come in," a deep, loud voice said, and I could just see Abdul clasping his hands behind his back, a bead of sweat rolling down his neck.
"Kneel," he said, bowing down as the doors opened; once again, much in the way that magic did. "Bow down and show your respect towards the Great King Syahir."
When I put my head down, I felt my lips touch the floor and my heart slam so loud against my rib cage, I was half certain Abdul could hear it rattling.
I squeezed my eyes shut.
Please, Khuda, please.
If you're actually there, bless me.
so sorry for the lack of updates in the past two weeks - i had a trip in Australia and only just recently got back. I hope you enjoy the chapter nonetheless!
© KAY, 2019.