Tug and Ward

CHAPTER 8

Morass

King Emir was maundering within his chamber. As his bed came at sight, he slowly walked towards it and sat down on its edge; sagging the soft mattress temporarily with his weight. His hand began fidgeting while his mouth kept blabbering words - words attacking his own son; words attacking his mistress; words attacking almost everyone he saw during the orare. "Witless, witless subjects!" he hissed.

The door swung open and the king twitched upon hearing the sound of it. His head immediately shifted and saw a man in full golden armor.

Oman set foot inside until he was just arm's length from the king. He bowed before laying his eyes at him. "Aristocrats and courtiers are seeking your audience, Your Majesty."

The king closed his eyes and groaned. He put his left hand on his temples and without looking at his kingsguard, he strongly motioned a dismissive wave of his hand. "Send them away," he ordered with a firm yet slow voice.

"Your Majesty-"

King Emir wagged a finger and his flaring pupils looked directly at Oman's eyes.

Oman noticed the formation of a crease in his forehead and droplets of sweat near his eyebrows and sideburns; his golden eyes were beaming yet the irises surrounding his pupils strike with a darker orange. He knew then. Nothing good will yield if he spoke his mind. Oman broke eye contact and bowed his head down. "I'll let them know, Your Majesty," he responded and left the room.

***

Queen Pasha exited from her chamber and walked on the long corridor. It was lit by fires hiding behind lamps fastened symmetrically throughout the parallel walls.

Following the queen, while maintaining a one-pace distance behind her was a maiden wearing iron corset armor that matched her gauntlet, pauldron, scabbard, and neck armor over a navy-blue tunic dress. The skirt was framed with black swirling elements along the hem, complimenting the center stripe. Her skin was ivory and her blonde hair was pulled away from her face, knotted at the back.

The queen slightly tilted her head to the left lowering her gaze to the maiden's waist. She saw her groping the handle of her sword as they walk. "Shame," she blurted out.

"Your Majesty?"

"Thy sword has never been used, Hulan. Eight seasons by my side yet not once thou had taken that out ought to defend me. Art thou not weary yet?"

"Standing by your side is an honor itself," Hulan responded without batting an eye.

The queen halted and faced her guard. "Thou aren't supposed to retort. More so when thy words are empty. Have thou learned nothing all these seasons?"

Hulan was quick to genuflect. "Forgive me, My Queen."

Queen Pasha lowered her gaze for a moment but turned her back continuing the walk.

The maiden raised her face and watched the queen getting farther. As she stared at her figure covered in velvet emerald green dress, her mind was just blank... as always. She had nothing to worry about. The queen stayed quietly within the palace walls through the years; being involved in almost nothing. Honour? Fie, no! She regretted fighting for the spot years ago. Her predecessors made the responsibility sound remarkable but truth be told, it was nothing but a fancy title.

"Rise, Hulan. Bear with the weariness a little more. Thy sword is ought to be yielded soon enough," Queen Pasha said as the sound of her shoes kept clicking on the polished stone floor.

Hulan's ears rung with what she heard. She felt a glistening mist to her face that seemed to sparkle. She inhaled as if it was the first time she had breathed. Her lips curled into a faint smile but her insides were already craving for the thrill. Hulan stood up and followed her majesty half-running.