"No!"
Moutassim rubbed his nose bridge. Her uncle had said she was sixteen, but this whiny, skinny little brat in front of him seemed much younger. And scarcely worth the old man's tears.
"What did you say?" Moutassim cupped his ear.
"I said no, I'm not going anywhere. I'm not going back to Mathus, to that dusty hell hole," she crossed her arms defiantly. "I love Prince Tarik and he loves me. He gave me this."
She held up her hand. On her wrist was a delicate and expensive gold bracelet with sapphires set along the links. Moutassim sighed. As one of the richest men in the empire, Tarik knew how to get poverty-stricken girls to offer themselves up to him. It was his trademark.
"Don't be a fool. You've known my brother for a few days. I have known him all my life. He loves no one but himself. You, my dear the instant he gets tired of you he'd throw you out into the rain if he had to."
"I don't believe you, " she raised her chin, but he could see the uncertainty and pain in her watery eyes. "He... he said we'd get married."
There was a knock on the antechamber door and Morabi stuck his head.
"Lord Strackon is here, your majesty."
"I'll be right there, Morabi," Moutassim raised his hand, but couldn't help adding. "And please. Don't offer that devil a drop of refreshment. Not even a glass of water."
Morabi smiled sadly and left. Moutassim turned his attention back to the lanky teenager in front of him.
"Tarik's been selling you dreams, girl. According to the Imperial Family Act chapter five, no member of the imperial family in the top five line of succession shall marry without the written consent of the reigning emperor or... the Imperial Council. Made law by my grandfather Abdullah I. Untouched for over seventy years."
The defences came crumbling down, as the girl turned away to hide the tears streaming down her face. Moutassim sighed.
"Look, I'll give you some money for your trouble. And you can keep the bracelet..."
"I don't want your stupid money," she shouted and ran from the room. The door banged shut behind her. Moutassim sighed again. It seemed he was destined to keep cleaning up his little brother's mess.
"Speaking about destiny," he muttered to himself, getting up and fixing his leather belt. Destiny awaited him next door, in the Imperial council room. It promised to be one of the most important meetings he would ever chair.
When Moutassim went out, Lord Strackon was waiting outside the council chamber with Morabi. As he approached, Strackon turned and peered at him with his one good eye. For a Sieberonian, the diplomat was short, bronze skin grizzled with age and sunburn. His long, straggly black hair was pulled back in a ponytail and his face was pockmarked.
He wore an eye patch over his missing left eye, courtesy of one of many assassination attempts on him five years ago. The wily little diplomat was loathed in Kalli, many wanted him dead and he had played an integral part in the secession crisis of 1109 that almost tore apart the Empire. Yet Sieberon continued to send him as their representative to the Imperial capital, first under Emperor Abdullah II and now under Moutassim. If that wasn't provocation, Moutassim didn't know what was.
"Your Majesty," Strackon bowed in his most elaborate parody of a bow.
"There's no need for you to wait out here," Moutassim said coldly. "As much as your company delights me, Morabi is capable enough to help me greet the other councillors as they arrive."
"Always so charming, you are." Strackon turned to Morabi. "I don't know how you put up with him. Remember, there's always a vacancy for you at the Sieberon consulate."
The noble cackled as he went into the council room and slammed the door behind him. Moutassim clenched his fists, relaxing only when Morabi put his hand on his shoulder.
"He's not worth it," Morabi said quietly. "Men like Strackon will always have an axe to grind. Let him grind his axe alone. You don't have to join him."
"You're right," Moutassim said. "Just been stressed out, that's all."
"We should talk..."
"Now's not the time, " Moutassim waved him off. "We'll talk later."
Morabi nodded and the two men settled into a silent vigil. As they waited, Moutassim's mind wandered to the beautiful, elegant, walking stress that had come to his office shortly before his men brought Tarik's concubine to him.
He had been working, when his wife had burst through the door, a look of fury on her face.
"Did you bed her?"
"What?"
"Your new assistant! Did you sleep with her?"
"You're mad! I hired her as my assistant, nothing more."
"You're lying! You want her because I can't... I can't..."
She had stopped herself. She didn't have to say it. They had both known what she was about to say. Moutassim had gotten up and tried to hold her, comfort her.
"There will be time for children my queen! My empress, let's not do this. We have a good thing going..."
She had pulled back then and stared at him.
"It's either you get rid of her or send Sahelia to Bremon as it's military governor."
Moutassim had bristled.
"I will do neither!"
Kelita had smiled.
"Don't test me. My uncle is arriving today. If you don't choose, I'll have my things packed and leave with him when he returns home to Genda."
Moutassim shook his head. Having no desire to put Kelita's threat to the test and expose his family to more drama, he had chosen. It was a choice, however, that he was already regretting.
As if on cue, trumpets sounded outside the palace doors. Within minutes, the doors were thrown open. King Agamon of Genda strode in. Tall and muscular like his son Agdel, only his white dreadlocks tightly coiled in a bun gave away his age. They smiled, as Agamon strode forward and embraced him.
"My nephew, my nephew!" The King drew back and surveyed Moutassim. "Congratulations on your victory. For crushing the Bremon rebels!"
"Thank you uncle," Moutassim grinned. "I couldn't do it without your son. He was like a fearless lion in battle."
Agamon puffed out his chest in pride.
"Where is he?"
"Well earned day off," Moutassim said, throwing his arm around Agamon's shoulder. "And after all, with you here he doesn't have council duties."
Agamon nodded. When Agamon did not travel all the way to Kalli to attend Imperial council meetings, Agdel stood in as Genda's representative on the council. This was the norm rather than the exception.
"My nieces?"
"Sahelia is well. She did exceptionally at the battle, you should have seen her. Took on multiple Bremon soldiers. I imagine she's training with her unit now, that's how she spends her spare time." Moutassim laughed, then paused. "And Kelita, well..."
"I understand." Agamon smiled knowingly. "Try not to take on Kelita too much."
"I try, Agamon, I try. Will you wait with me for Chief Hussein?" Moutassim dropped his voice. "Strackon is in the council room."
Agamon's smile disappeared, replaced with a look as though he'd just bitten into spoiled grapefruit.
"Yes, I'll definitely wait outside with you." Agamon turned to Morabi. "Morabi, old boy. How have you been?"
"Same old, same old. Aches and pains. You know how it goes."
"No I don't." Agamon had a twinkle in his eyes. "You spend too much time in your rooms with your books. Get out and exercise more."
Moutassim and Agamon laughed, while Morabi drew himself up in mock outrage.
"And you spend too little time with your books," Morabi countered.
Far from offended, Agamon joined in the laughter.
"True, my friend, true."
They did not have long to wait before Chief Hussein of Mathus arrived. A short, pinched faced man with a goatee, Hussein was dressed simply enough in a white thobe and turban. But despite Mathus being by far the poorest country in the empire, Morabi's spies had reported that Hussein had a massive personal fortune of his own.
"Emperor." Hussein touched his fist to his chest.
"Chief Hussein." Moutassim was just as formal. He turned to the rest of them. "Let us get to it then."
Moutassim led the way into the council room, a huge, gloomy chamber that contrasted with the bright colours of the rest of the palace. In the centre of the room was a large round oakwood table, with five equally spaced chairs set out. Strackon sat in one, looking bored.
"I thank you all for coming." Moutassim said as he sat down as far away from Strackon as possible."
"We wouldn't miss it for the world, considering your recent military victory," Agamon said, looking around the table. "In fact, I'd propose a toast, if you served any good wine in this infernal place."
Moutassim, Agamon and Morabi chuckled. Hussein stayed quiet. Strackon made a sound of derision.
"Yes, Strackon? You have something to say?" Moutassim asked. Lord Strackon leaned forward deliberately.
"Let the records reflect that the Kingdom of Sieberon strongly condemns the unprovoked attack by Imperial forces on the people of Bremon and the cold-blooded murder of Bremonian King Farouk, at the hands of no less a person than the emperor himself!"
Moutassim's dumbfounded expression matched those of his chief minister and Agamon. Agamon was the first to react.
"What nonsense are you saying Strackon? Farouk raised an army and marched on Adrega..."
"Where did the battle happen?" Strackon demanded. "Wasn't it on Bremonian soil? Then it was an invasion, and an unjustified one at that."
"As a diplomat, you're expected to be a man of peace," Moutassim said coldly. "What I did was a preemptive strike. Do not presume to tell me, the emperor, a man of war, that I should allow an insurrection within my own empire to fester and consume it. That I should allow the enemy to camp on my doorstep without reacting."
"Who said Farouk was the enemy?" Strackon asked. "Was there ever a formal declaration of war? Or did you just presume your way into slaughtering thousands of Bremon soldiers."
"Come on man," Morabi attempted reason, while Agamon pushed his chair away in disgust. "Farouk withdrew his diplomat from Kalli two weeks ago. He raised an army that exceeded the limits on standing armies, imposed by the Imperial Act, section twenty-seven. His hostile intentions were clear."
"Strackon knows all of this," Agamon interjected, glaring at the noble. "His handlers have just decided to make the process more difficult. Moutassim, continue your meeting."
"Yes," Moutassim said. "As we're on the subject of Bremon, reports are coming in that the place is descending into chaos. Mass looting, rape, murder, happening in the streets. My troops stationed there are just that. Troops. The country needs stable leadership at this time. So I propose Princess Sahelia as military governor, until the situation stabilizes."
Even Agamon was surprised.
"This is, uh, highly irregular your highness," Agamon said. "While my niece is brilliant in her own right and one of the most deadly spear dancers to ever come from Genda, commanding multiple army units, exercising military and political control over a whole country, is a far cry from commanding her Sumoso unit. Perhaps my son..."
"I know it may seem irregular, but I have my reasons." Inwardly, Moutassim cringed at the thought of those reasons. "I need your son with the main Mesigan army."
"Quite apart from the blatant nepotism, there's a lot wrong with that statement," Strackon said. "Bremon is a sovereign state, with its own king. King Khalid, son of the man you murdered."
Moutassim clenched his fist.
"You mean a fugitive your Prince Regent shelters at his court right now." Morabi, usually so calm, snapped.
"Who said Khalid is in Sieberon?" Strackon feigned shock, clutching his chest. "Your spies have been feeding you lies, Morabi. You must be behind payments."
"By the ancestors," Agamon groaned, downing his face in the palm of his hand. "Moutassim, if you have your reasons then I will trust your judgement and support it. Sahelia will go to Bremon, with my blessings. Was there anything else you wanted to discuss?"
Moutassim swallowed and looked around the table. At Morabi and Agamon, waiting expectedly. At Hussein, who seemed to have suddenly woken from his reverie. At Strackon, who looked at him with pure dislike etched on his face.
"Actually yes, there is. I have an announcement to make."