Chapter 12
A za wakes to a gentle tap on her shoulder.
“Princess, we are about to approach the castle,” Jahar says softly.
Aza sits up, rubbing sleep from her eyes, “Oh my, when did you get in here? Am I dreaming?”
“No, Princess. We stopped briefly not too long ago. You were very much asleep. I decided to join you for our arrival, in case you needed help to ease any anxiety.”
“Thank you.”
Jahar nods.
Aza fixes her hair and her dress before asking Jahar, “Do I look okay?”
Jahar hesitates for a moment before softly answering, “You continue to look more radiant than the sun.”
Aza’s words catch in her throat as she hears a shout, “We are approaching!”
Aza moves to the window and slides the curtains to look out.
Past the guards’ and horses’ heads, she’s surprised to see a vast stone wall surrounding the outer villages and an enormous castle located in the middle.
The castle spans many levels and showcases rugged architecture.
To Aza, it looks more like a fortress rather than a welcoming castle, though looks can be deceiving.
As Aza’s eyes follow the length of the stone wall, she freezes—then screams. Hanging from the wall by the end of a rope is a man. His head is covered with a burlap bag and is slumped forward. Nothing distinguishes the man, as he is wearing all black.
Jahar reaches over Aza and looks out.
“What is it, Princess?”
“The... the wall. There’s a… a man… hanging.” Aza stutters through shaking breaths as she covers her face with her hands.
“Princess…” Jahar breathes out slowly, “Aza… there’s no one there.”
Aza shakes her head in silent protest, despite knowing deep down that he’s right, and she is just having another one of her visions.
“I’m sorry, Princess, just take some deep breaths with me. It will be okay. Deep breaths. Let’s just meet this king quickly, and we can say that you need to settle in a room after a long trip.”
Aza inhales deeply, “It’s fine, I’m fine,” she takes another deep breath, “I’m ready to meet him.”
Aza was the farthest from being ready to meet this king.
She still had a foul taste in her mouth after the vision.
It didn’t matter how many times it happened; it never got easier, she could never prepare herself for it or bounce back quickly enough.
But she had a duty, a responsibility, and she hated Jahar seeing her like this, even though he was her biggest support.
“Princess,” Jahar starts, but Aza stops him by looking up and gently smiling at him.
“It’s alright. It happens. As you said, it's okay.” Aza places a hand on Jahar’s.
When Aza glances out the window again, they are past the walls, and the carriage is pulling around the circular stone path, setting up Aza’s carriage door to the entrance of the castle.
Standing at the top of a length of thick stone steps is what seems like an endless array of soldiers in heavy armor and black undersuits.
Most of them have chain metal masks on. In the middle stands a tall, muscular man, with short hair the color of dark shadows, an elongated nose, high cheekbones, a square jaw, and a thick beard.
Aza can feel a slight tick in his jaw as she begins to move towards him.
He’s wearing a deep green shirt underneath a golden metal plate and a brown fur mantle held together by gold chains.
His pants are also deep green, tucked into thick black boots.
Aza swallows, gathering her composure as she steps up to the staircase.
His voice carries—deep and commanding. “Welcome, Princess Amiaza, to the Amunis Empire! I am King Abasi Soergelen!”
Aza stands up straighter as she responds, “Thank you, King Abasi, for welcoming me to your home. It is a pleasure to meet you.”
“The pleasure is mine,” he says in a deep tone, his eyes seeming to scan her over before he straightens, “My servants will take your belongings to your rooms. My servicemen will show your guards where they will be staying. And you will be joining me on a brief introduction to my castle as we make our way to your room. There’s much to see and do during your brief visit, and I do not like to waste precious time. ”
His firm, direct nature takes Aza slightly aback, and she can see Jahar begin to step forward to say otherwise, but she answers first with, “Thank you. I am eager to learn more about your empire and yourself, Your Highness.”
King Abasi waves his hands around, signaling his servants and servicemen to carry out their duties, and then he waves for Aza to follow him.
Aza lifts the front of her dress to begin climbing the stairs and is surprised when Jahar extends his hand to support her.
She offers a smile of thanks.
King Abasi has a flicker of something unreadable that crosses his face. She can’t quite place when she reaches the top of the steps with Jahar, and he doesn’t make a move to leave her.
“You are excused.” King Abasi states.
“Your highness, although I do not doubt that your kingdom is well protected, I do not go anywhere without my personal royal guard. This is Sir Jaharis Almasir.”
He pauses, seeming to contemplate for a moment before saying, “Very well. Follow me.”
They enter through a giant stone-brick archway, and thick wooden doors.
“This castle is hundreds of years old, built by my great-great-grandfather. He wanted an indestructible stronghold in which to rule over his subjects and be protected from invaders. To this day, this castle has never been invaded, nor have our forces ever been defeated in battle. We take pride in our strength and fortitude.”
“How does one get chosen to be in your military?”
“Every boy at fifteen is placed into a training camp to test their ability. And those who prove themselves are further trained and can make their way up through the ranks with their ability, experience, and contribution.”
“Fifteen is so young.” Aza says shocked, “What happens to those who don’t prove themselves?” Aza asks, slightly fearful of the answer.
“They go elsewhere. We can’t have weakness in our military.”
“But there are no wars currently.”
“Things can change in an instant. But war and military forces are not something a woman should concern herself with. Let’s continue the tour. Next, I will show you my throne room.”
That answered my next question, no women in their forces.
Although it wasn’t very common in her kingdom, women were allowed to be guards and soldiers. There had been a few times that a female guard was assigned to her for the day. Aza always envied their strength and courage, something she felt she lacked and continued to lose as the years went by.
The King took them through another large archway with wooden doors. Jahar stayed a respectful distance back, but still close enough that Aza knew he could take out any threat with his sword if he wanted or needed to.
As they entered the room, Aza couldn’t believe the height of the ceilings.
She thought the ones in her kingdom’s throne room were tall, but these seemed to never end.
They were filled with large chandeliers lit with dozens of candles.
Aza couldn’t tell if her mind was once again playing games, but she could swear the chandeliers looked like they were made of bone.
Aza shook the thought out of her head and continued examining the room.
She noticed that the room was pretty empty of furniture.
There were no tables and chairs like in hers.
She wondered if they had a separate room for feasts.
At the end of the room was a massive stone throne, but the seat and backrest were golden.
It was a grand throne, but she was surprised that there was only one, dead center.
She wondered where the King’s queen and the queens before her sat.
Every other kingdom, as well as her own, had two thrones.
It seemed that all her questions would be answered for her without even asking, because as she continued into the room, she noticed painted portraits on the pillars.
In the first portrait, a king with long black hair in a green suit, similar to King Abasi’s, sat on the throne.
Next to him was a small woman with blonde hair wearing a white dress; however, she wasn’t standing or sitting in a throne but rather was seated on the floor with her legs lying gently next to her with one hand in her lap and the other hand resting on the armrest of the King’s throne.
Aza stifled a gasp. She saw similar portrait poses on the other pillars. A question was burning in her throat.
Why were the queens seated at the kings’ feet?
Judging by the still singular throne, Aza feared it was. She couldn’t imagine having to sit at the feet of the King, the man she married.
She caught the King watching her examine the portraits, and she catches something possessive in his gaze.
“It’s a long-lasting tradition to have a portrait of the king and queen as such. There is a tale of a great love of the original king and queen that inspired such a portrait.” King Abasi informs.
Aza expects him to tell such a tale, but he does not and instead continues into the room.
“I commissioned the throne to be gold-plated when I became King. My parents died unexpectedly, and I was sworn in. But nonetheless. What would you like to see next, Amiaza? Our grand ballroom? My private dining room?”
“The kitchens?” Aza asked. She was intrigued by what the kitchens of such a large castle and empire looked like. She knew she loved spending time in hers, and she thought Jahar might appreciate it, too.
“The kitchens are no place for a princess—or a potential queen. The servants and chefs run them to great satisfaction. Let’s instead take a detour. I will show you one of my villages.”
They make their way from the throne room and walk down corridors. Aza notices that the castle is filled with guards and men in the same chainmetal uniforms as the ones that first greeted her. They reach a long staircase and begin climbing.