In the winding streets of the Persian Empire, a poor girl is chosen to become the third prince's concubine.
Aliya Farhad has no interest in the lofty ideas of the palace, the staff, or her lover. Prince Cairo has all the interest in his blue-eyed A...
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PERSIAN EMPIRE, 480.
"Oranges, oranges! Come get your oranges! They're cheap! Cheap, I'm telling you!"
"No, thank you," I mumbled, pulling my shawl tighter across my shoulders, quickening my pace.
Going through the market of Babylon was an honest-to-Khuda journey.
Most days, I wouldn't get any sort of attention here - the market was where a lot of the mamas liked to go to run their errands and gossip. They'd always be nicely dressed, with stacks of jewelry hanging down their arms, and the attention of a hundred hungry sellers on them and the jingle of their siglos bags.
But that was most days, and today was not most days.
The market was empty today. No surprise, of course; most of the city's gossip mongers were probably dressing up their daughters back at home, or rushing to bring them to the city square.
"Oh, you actually came today, Aliya. You're running late," Khale A'isha said, a wide smile forming on her tanned face.
Khale A'isha had recently turned 42, and she was still absolutely beautiful; though perhaps not so much in looks as she was in aura.
"Well of course I'd come. This is the only day where I can come to shop and not have to deal with the judgy mamas, no?"
Khale made a noise of agreement in the back of her mouth, handing over a bag of red apples. "Well, yes -- the apples are fresh, I saved the best ones for you -- but you really are cutting it close today. I just hope you remember what date it is."
"Thank you," I said, ignoring the latter part of her sentence in an effort that perhaps, she would too.
My efforts were wasted, of course, and I didn't know why I even tried. She was still a Persian woman, after all, and all Persian women were, if not dusk skinned and hard-headed, nosy.
"It's the first Monday of the month, Aliya," she said, leaning over her fruit boxes. "You should be in the city square by now."
Her eyes peered over me, blue eyes so vivid, I had to look away.
"Your stare is really too intense, Khale," I murmured jokingly, hoping for a smile, but her mouth stayed a thin line.
Khale was one of few women who hadn't come from Persia, but rather, from the land of sand and trade — Arabia, but for the shade of the sky in her eyes, you'd never have known.
It was both a blessing and a curse; Khale was gorgeous, but the minute people had realized the origin of her bloodline, she'd been outcasted to become a mere merchant, without ever getting the chance of a high marriage or relationship.
She'd gotten nothing. And perhaps that was why she found First Monday to be so important.
"You need to be at the square, Aliya; you know that."
