Chapter 3: Royal Procession

Arash Al Hamiroon stood beside his father’s throne atop the dais as Princess Tamu Asudai’s procession made its way to the Mountain Throne. The prince found himself wondering what to do with his hands as he anticipated this moment.

“You are nervous, young prince,” the high vizier said with a smile as he looked upon Arash up and down with his eyes. “You should have been at the reception of the Urutai procession. Their pegasi are a majesty to behold.”

“Fairy tales, Uncle.” The prince regarded him with a subtle amount of annoyance, but to save himself of his dignity, said nothing to his uncle who watched him like a hawk. The prince glanced to his father and his mother and the court officers.

He was thankful for the murmur of voices from the courtiers, of which there were scores of them in fine garments and bedecked with jewels—many of them emirs and their viziers. They made up every race under the sun within Ashahnai—a canvas of colors and hues with as many cultural temperaments as to confuse even the most assiduous rulers.

Boring and nauseating.

Then Arash’s eyes were drawn to the gold gilded doors of the throne chamber when they thundered with a crack as the guards pulled them open to admit the coming procession of new arrivals.

The palace escort appeared first, turning into the corridor with a man at their center. He strode forth, wearing a blue tunic hemmed in animal furs and feathers, his hat wide-brimmed and pointed at the top.

Had this been any other group of visitors, Arash might have laughed, for it was far too hot to wear such clothes in this summer heat.

But that the Mountain Throne was open, he was thankful of the cool sea breeze that flowed in from outside—and so too must this poor fool.

“Venerable sultan of Ashahnai—and all those estimable ones of your house,” the Urutai Wind Steppe herald called. His voice was low and scratchy.

Why do they insist on using their own herald to announce them?

The courtiers watched, their heads turning as they whispered among themselves faintly, their voices going up in awe and question as the main procession turned into the corridor and strode into the throne chamber.

There were guards, unarmed, as was the proper custom when greeting the sultan of the great Ashahnai Empire. At their front was a man who strode forth with a shorter woman at his side, and behind them a full court of officers, servants, handmaidens and many friends and courtiers.

Their herald stopped before the steps of the dais and Arash looked down at him as the palace guards turned around and began to stride back out of the palace throne chamber.

Just then, the man and the woman at the head of the Urutai Wind Steppe procession came up behind him and Arash narrowed his eyes as he attempted to get a look at the princess, but for her headdress and veil, he could see very little of her features.

“May I present to you,” said the herald with a smile on his face, and he continued, first introducing the leader of their procession—the man being only a prince of of the khanate come to treat with them, “Prince Dzhambul Asudai, of the Iizuhlian Khanate, and,” he gestured to the woman, “Princess Tamu Asudai, also of the House of Iizuhlia!”

The woman stepped forward, her tunic, also being that of blue and hemmed in fur, though she wore many jewels on her fingers and in the wide cuffs of her robe he saw glinting bracelets as she pulled up her veil to reveal her face.

Arash’s eyes widened as he was instantly captivated by her beauty in that slender face, high cheek bones and narrow eyes. Her skin was a white as ivory and the hue of her cheeks pink and vibrant.

She glanced at the sultan, Arash’s father, and then flicked her eyes to Arash himself, making him swallow once as she addressed the highest officer of the land.

“Commander of the Faithful,” she said, and Arash was surprised she knew the correct way to address the sultan. “I am come to the palace of the Ancient City upon your request so that I may meet with your son, Prince Arash Al Hamiroon.” Her eyes flicked to him again and she smiled so subtly that Arash was unsure she had smiled at all. “That we may come to know one another in each other’s estimable company to see wherewith an alliance of our great houses may be formed by a bond of marriage, and… of love.”

There was a pause within the throne chamber and Arash swallowed, trying to keep any semblance of nervousness out of his demeanor.

Cyrusar Al Hamiroon, the Great Sultan of the Empire of Ashahnai nodded stoically and Arash saw a subtle smile touch his father’s features. He nodded. “I welcome you, Princess—and Prince, of the Khanate Iizuhlia. Whatsoever you wish of me while you are in my palace, you shall have it.”

The high vizier knocked his foot against Arash’s and he glanced sidelong at his annoying uncle, but then Arash realized that he had not yet introduced himself. “Princess!” he said suddenly.

Tamu blinked, looked at him, her eyes held upon Arash for a time and he hesitated. Why was he so nervous? Then her gaze swept past the sultan and that of Arash’s mother, the queen, her regard slow, but her gestures respectful and dignified, much like that of her brother.

“And may I also welcome you,” Arash said, putting a hand to his breast, “to my father’s grand palace within the Ancient City.” He gestured with a sweep of his hand indicating their illustrious surroundings. “It is my sincerest hope that the members of your most estimable company find themselves well.” The words were that of practiced formality.

 “And yourself. I wish you a most pleasant here, and that I may treat with you to your delight and veneration—that our houses may be united in--in love and marriage.”

Tamu smiled.

Does she think me silly? he wondered, or is her smile genuine? In any event, her brother did not smile, which made Arash’s nervousness increase.

Finally Tamu bowed then by lowering herself by the knees, though she did not incline her head as she made a fist with her left hand and grasped it with the other. “Thank you, Prince Arash. I look forward to exploring such a grand palace and to come to better know yourself and that of your mother the queen and your father the great sultan of Ashahnai.”

They excused themselves then, turned and left the throne chamber where they would be escorted to their chambers where they would stay until the banquet later that day. Then in a grand procession, his father and mother made their exit.

Once the throne was cleared the court officer clapped his hands, and the courtiers stepped into the throne chamber and a gaggle ensued.

Arash scowled.

“What is the matter?” asked the high vizier. “Why do you make that face, young prince?”

Sahar Al Hamiroon was Arash’s uncle, a prince of the empire, and yet he had taken the station of high vizier, a duty far below that of his noble upbringing. It was a disgrace, and yet the Great King, his father, had allowed it.

Arash’s uncle was an altogether ancient-looking man with a friendly demeanor, thin of limb but with a large belly. Despite this, he was spry and full of energy.

“Their king did not even come to meet my father,” Arash complained. “The sultan is the greatest ruler in the land, and all they do is send a prince and a princess?”

“Your father and his officers have been in contact with the king of the Urutai Wind Steppe for some years, Prince Arash. Do not be rash in your criticism.”

He whirled on his uncle. “And why shouldn’t I be? The banquet tonight will be grand enough to feed the nobility of ten kingdoms, and yet they do not even come.”

“This is a formality,” said Sahar. “The princess wishes to meet with you. If she chooses you for her husband, you can be assured by all the gods and everyone in this chamber that her father will attend the wedding ceremony. Think if the king of such a great nation had to leave his lands every time a suitor made himself known to one of his eight daughters…”

After becoming distracted, Arash whipped his head toward his uncle. “Eight daughters?”

With a smile, Sahar nodded. “Indeed.”

“I guess I see your point, Uncle.”

“Now, go and do not be seen until the banquet.”

“What?” he asked, annoyed at his uncle the high vizier. Arash had wanted to spend time with his friends. “Why can I not be seen?”

“It is unbecoming a prince of your stature to make light about the palace while his intended bride remains shut up in her quarters waiting for his invitation banquet to begin.”

With a heavy sigh, he nodded, intending not to defer to his uncle’s suggestion. But he had to put on a good act. “Very well.”

“I will come to you in your quarters in an hour or so to discuss with you a matter concerning the princess.”

An hour? he thought, disappointed.

“What matter?”

Sahar raised a finger. “A matter of love, young prince. A matter of love.” And with that, the high vizier made his leave as Arash scowled at the back of his neck.

Prince Arash headed from the throne chamber through a side exit, his servants trailing behind him at a distance. “What do you know of love, old man?” he scoffed under his breath.