The Foreign Empress

Daughter of the Steppes

The fifteen-year-old Princess Cilanru cuts a completely unique figure to the other women of the court I've seen so far. While she possesses the black hair of everyone in this land, her wide, doe-like eyes are bright and playful. Unlike the demure and subdued looks that are commonplace here, Cilanru's eyes are uncontrollable. They are untamed and untamable as the fiercest steeds and wildest winds of the lands from which she hails.

Her dress is as unique as her complexion. Instead of billowy flowing robes, Cilanru wears a tighter form-fitting dress which allows for greater mobility. The crimson dress ends just above her ankles revealing black riding boots rather than silken slippers. A tall headdress decorated with silver and turquoise sits elegantly on her head. Dozens of silver strings hang from the headdress, each threaded through orbs of turquoise and jasper, framing Cilanru's porcelain face with multi-colored drops of rain.

She bows deeply. I'm of higher court rank than her. We make small talk, each asking the other where they're from, avoiding the elephant in the room. Cilanru is a princess of the Xiongnu Confederacy, a tributary state of the Han Empire. The Xiongnu are nomad horsemen, masters at hit-and-fade warfare and horseback archery. A small shiver courses through me when Cilanru tells me of her people. If she's to be believed, the Xiongnu are even better horse-archers than the nigh-untouchable Parthians who shattered my legion against the Tigris.

The Xiongnu raided the northern borders of the Han Empire for centuries, sweeping south to seize livestock, treasure, and women. Bitterness creeps into Cilanru's voice as she explains that the Han used to be the ones to send princesses and tribute to the Xiongnu versus the other way around. It was the Emperor Wudi that turned the scales, decisively defeating the Xiongnu at the Battle of Mobei and forcing the tribes into vassalage.

In many ways, Cilanru and I are the same. Like me, she is a stranger in a foreign land, brought here against her will. Our accents mingle joyfully as we converse over tea and mung bean cakes. Finally, in an uncharacteristically timid voice, Cilanru asks, "I–Is Your Highness's throat alright?" Cilanru goes beet red, eyes carefully averted from my discolored neck. Unconsciously my fingers reach for my neck before quickly recoiling in pain.

"I'm quite alright, many thanks for your concern." Cilanru nods, looking visibly relieved. My turn, "May I ask how you heard of my..." I trail off pointedly.

"Your palace has many loose lips, Your Highness. May I provide a piece of advice, Your Highness?"

"Please."

"There will be many who will seek to use this," Cilanru touches her neck, "against His Highness."

The mention of the Eighth Prince sends hollow pain shooting through my body. That man—that barbaric ghost... It's his fault I'm like this, it's his fault I'm here. He is the collar keeping leashed to this kennel, keeping me from home. "And why should I care about him?" The cold hate imbued in the final word of my question causes Cilanru and everyone without earshot to recoil.

After a few moments of shocked silence, Cilanru quietly responds, "Because, like it or not Your Highness, the both of you are inextricably linked to each other. His Highness's loss will be yours and yours his. This is the truth, as unassailable as the cliffs and constant as the tides."

A/N- And so the court intrigue finally begins!