âââââ
Soft slices of light filtered through the sheer curtains framing every archway lining the hall, displaying the lush courtyard. The warm wind rustled her silk garb, the ends of the sharara sweeping across marble flooring. The minutes before sunset painting Zartasha gold.
Murmurs of the crowd grew to chatter as she turned the corner and found Hashim huddled and absorbed in hushed conversion with a couple of her court's elders. They were surrounded by guards wearing a blend of cream and crimson, Sherquli colours. Members of the royal family and court were to be protected at all times, though she guessed that they weren't aware of the fact that she would be joining them today.
Gulzaan's citizens were gathered on the grounds. Sombre, anxious and interested all at once. Their Badshah's death dulled their moods, concerned as to why the mehal decided to open its gates to address them so soon, and wanting to know how to proceed after such a tragedy. Zartasha was going to provide them with an answer and a proclamation no one was ready for.
Seeing Hashim's conversation trickling to a stop and Noman, one of the elders, step forward towards the audience made her angry. Instead of escalating her ire and storming up to them, she stopped and decided to have her fun. She would wait on the threshold of the courtyard's main entrance and let them think that things would go according to their tastes and that they had everything under control. That they had Zartasha under control. Wrong. And stupid.
She would appear at the most unexpected of times during their false claims of goodness just to inflate their irritation and remind them that she could do whatever she wished, no matter how veiled or conspicuous their opinions may be. She supposed that appearing uninformed to a large assembly of people would be quite vexing for fragile egos.
Zartasha was playing with them and they didn't even know it. Her bow-shaped lips curled up to the right at the thought.
Resting her head on the cool limestone walls, the evening breeze lulled her senses and blew her dupatta off her head, the wind scented with roses and mind littered with thoughts of power. Zartasha leaned back and began observing, waiting for the right moment to strike.
Labib was a blur of motion, hastily moving across the length of the hallway in hopes to catch up to the princess. She didn't think he registered that she had slowed to a stop by the doorway and mused how far his worry would take him till he realized he was not chasing after a mere girl that was in need of guidance. For the world spun on her fingertips, storms took reality in the lightning sharp words that came out of her mouth, oceans drowned and dried under her treacherous gaze. Too many people in her own home underestimated her and she didn't like it one bit.
The advisor would probably miss her shadow in the corner or if he didn't, then he would voice his confusion and give her presence away to the others. To make it easier for both of them, she decided to whisper his name. He startled where he stood and when his aged eyes found her figure, Zartasha simply pressed her forefinger to her lips to quieten any words that were to leave him and dipped her head towards Hashim, and the elders, Furqan and Noman. Being a wise man in her court, Labib got the hint and left her to join the rest in the courtyard.
As the sky began tinting itself shades of periwinkle, buttery yellow, and rouge, Noman began his cacophony of twisty words meant to flourish in people's minds as wholesome. It didn't matter whether he was spewing nonsense or devout utterances because people were accustomed to easily trusting the elderly.
He thought to reprieve the audience of their sorrow after their beloved Badshah passed less than half a week ago through his pacifying statements. Only fools would have believed this assembly was to lighten hearts when it was simply one part in the ploy that was the pursuit of the Sherquli crown.
The kingdom had been in mourning for the past three days. It was a relief for the public to be invited to the mehal and addressed. Zartasha couldn't understand why her father's death was so shocking to everyone. She was certainly ready for it ever since she turned sixteen. Death was a natural welcome.
She couldn't say she was very grieved. There was nothing malicious about the man, he had a simple soul and a compassionate character. Zartasha just couldn't comprehend why he deserved the throne more than her mother did.
Her Ami Jaan, Jahanara, was the true heir to Sherqul but her parents only let her ascend when she took a husband. Even then, her title was nothing more than Begum Jahanara, never Malka. It aggravated Zartasha when she realized that fiery and keen women would never be given the same field to play in as even the most substandard of men.
All this time people had deluded themselves into thinking that in the early years of her father's reign, it was him making the decisions and passing the laws when it was actually her mother's hukmarani and intellect. Badshah Rana Fahim loved his wife and appreciated her too, but Zartasha found failure in the way he would smile at people's praises of him when they should've been commending her mother instead. The world had become too comfortable in stealing from women and for that, Zartasha had no qualms in stealing the world for herself.
Alas, her father was dead and change would come because the saying rang true; like mother like daughter. She would be Malka.
When she looked back towards the front of the courtyard, Furqan had taken Noman's place and was preaching something along the lines of prosperity and moving forward in unity from hardships. She had a strong inkling as to what he was referring to and knew that it would only be a few moments longer till she needed to make her entrance.
Amongst the throng of the golden-skinned Gulzaani people, there was a flash of light brown skin and a shadow of black robes. There was someone other than Zartasha eyeing Furqan in the crowd. For a slightly varying reason, too. He came masked with the purpose of fulfilling his master's wish. Darting through assembled groups of the public and constantly switching his location to get a clearer spot for better aim, the assassin was waiting for the moment the next leader of Sherqul was announced, so he could swiftly end them then and there.
He was Kalthuran and if it was anything the kingdom of Kalthura was good at, it was defeating the competition. However, the mistake on both ends - Sherquli royal court and Kalthura - was the failure to realize that their competition was Zartasha. And she was vicious.
Furqan was coming to what he thought would be the conclusion to the evening, "We ask you all to remember Badshah Rana and all he did for this mulk." Not anything special, Zarasha thought as she almost reached Hashim and Labib. Furqan continued unenlightened, "But also remember that he would want us to strengthen ourselves after him, and continue growing. To do exactly that, I want to make an announcement: Sherqul will soon be led by-"
The assassin in the crowd stretched his arrow tighter, as the time of the hit was closer than ever.
Furqan paused when he felt a pat on his shoulder. It was Zartasha. His eyes widened, and his confusion was apparent, perhaps it was all those long years in council and his compelling wisdom that stopped him from questioning his own shehzadi in front of all of Gulzaan. Noman and Hashim had similar reactions. Labib had a century's load of worry buried in his sigh of apprehension. The heavy surprise in Furqan was the reason behind his compliance because when Zartasha's eyes narrowed and poison lined her saccharine smile, he stepped back and quietened.
Zartasha was a sight, standing in front of her people, claiming her crown, "Me. Zartasha Fahim bint Badshah Rana Fahim will be the successor and sit on the Sherquli throne. InshaAllah." In garments of bleeding crepuscule, adornments and jewellery like the shattered sun, she was weaving a narrative like no other from threads of gold.
Everything after her announcement was faraway noise to the foreigner. He did not expect something such as this. It was unheard of, crowning a woman on her own. The concept was bizarre to him, his practiced hands stopping the arrow he was less than a breath away from loosing at her words. He was unsure and that was a first because, in his line of work, there were no moments that could be spared for doubt. However, he couldn't risk his master's wrath if he went through with what he was instructed to do and if that wasn't what his master saw as best anymore. Zartasha had changed things she wasn't even aware of. And so Owais fled. The Maghrib azan resounded behind him, chasing him all the way to Qalmazar.
âââââ
How was it? What did you like the most?
Thank you for reading, vote and comment <3