I looked out the window of one of the highest rooms in the keep, my room. From here, I had a commanding view of the city beneath. I also had an expansive view of the opening parts of my kingdom. From the other side of my room, I could look out onto the other part of the city and see the harbor.
Soltanis was a desert realm. Some would take that to mean hot, desolate, and barren, but there was nothing more beautiful than our home to a Soltani. Granted, all of the other descriptions still applied. However, the beauty of our land was a hidden beauty.
“Granis, my son,” my father, the Sultan, called in greeting as he entered my chambers, “Why do you look so glum? In three days, it will be your naming day.”
“Father,” I replied in respectful greeting, “Your words are spoken true. May you find shade and health,” I added in the traditional Soltani fashion.
“Son, that is far from an answer. Are you nervous? I was on my naming day. You will have survived eighteen years in one of the harshest environments in the world! Even better, you will have your pick of a wife from a hundred of the most beautiful women Soltanis has to offer,” he cajoled. I sighed in response.
“Yes, father, I shall pick. You shall have the sound of children’s feet pattering the marble floors once more. I will do my duty, and I am sure whoever she is, I will grow to love her,” I said, repeating words that he and everyone else had been spoken at me since birth.
Usually, a Sultan would always have the sound of children running about his halls. Not that all Sultan’s enjoyed that. My father had over a dozen wives, but he had suffered a grievous battle wound early in life. Luckily I had been well inside my mother’s belly before then.
“Of course, you will. You will also love a great many wives, I assume,” he said, laughing.
“I think one will be enough if I love her,” I said with surety.
“True, there have been Sultans in the past with only one wife, but why stop at one?” he asked with no hint of condescension. He truly did not understand.
“If I do fall in love, one shall be enough,” I replied.
“Come, father; it is the tradition we travel to each sector of the city and hear our people’s voices before a name day ceremony,” I said, forcing a change in discussion.
Father rolled his eyes. He was not a terrible or greedy Sultan, nor would he ever be one of the greats. He was just a ruler who enjoyed the pleasures in life. He had, however, stepped up in times of need and defended our country. Although not a brilliant commander, he was wise; he listened to his generals. Now, though, was time to relish the good things in life. Now was times of peace.
The King’s retinue took three hours to assemble. First, there were the guards on foot. Then the mounted guards on the wyrvnic, bipedal reptilian birds with sharp talons and a vicious beak. After them came a plethora of attendants and advisors, followed by the personal guards of the wives of the Sultan. A paddock, carried by four elephants, housed the Sultan and whomever he had chosen to ride with him. Following came the rear guard; there were more attendants and other followers.
I would be up on the paddock as well. Until at least, my father, bored with the trip, shut the golden curtains to his flotilla. Naturally, I would not want to be around when that happened.
Thus I had a stableman escorting Amaterasu, my personal wyrvnic. She was of a royal bloodline, rare, more prominent, and vastly more intelligent than other wyrvnics. Sometimes I felt like Amaterasu was a descendant from the ancient wyrms that used to fly about the lands. Now one could only find them in Dragonkeep, a far-off island where all the dragons lived.
A tumultuous roar of cheering greeted the opening of the gates. A grand parade always brought the locals out onto the streets. Luckily it was still cool this morning. The sun had not risen to the heights yet to sear the earth and chase people indoors. My mother was atop the paddock with us, still a favorite of my father’s, also possibly picked because the parade was in honor of my name day.
Servants brought chilled wines and served cooled fruits. I watched below as people cheered and threw petals in handfuls. Then, every so often, attendants, at a nod from the Sultan, would throw golden pennies out to the crowd. Always the cheers grew louder. The pennies were not whole pieces of gold, but their value was still more than some made in a week.
Clerics from the temple of Rain and Oasis handed out ladle full scoops of blessed water. Chilled, the water had herbs added and tasted of mint and honey. They received as many if not more cheers of gratitude.
The caravan began moving again, and those in front drowned out the cheers behind us. I waved out to my people. Father sat back in his flotilla, already sporting a bored grimace. Then a wild idea came to me.
“Father, enjoy your time up here among the heavens,” I called, “I will walk down among the people.”
“Whatever for my son?” he asked in a befuddled voice.
“Now is the time for me to hear the voices of the people. So please spend time with my mother and enjoy the shade,” I enticed.
“Do you not hear them cheering? That roar from the crowds? That is the voice of your people, son,” he said, spreading arms out to encompass the calls of the people.
“Yes, but I want to hear their concerns and worries,” I replied. To this, I received a hardy chuckle and was waved on.
Climbing down instantly, several guards surrounded me. They blocked my view of the people and shuffled me along. It took three city blocks to work out from the ring that ensconced me. Then, finally, I was out on the edge of the parade.
I greeted my people and waived. I asked about their needs and wants. For the most part, my efforts were in vain; I only received cheers, but a few called out concerns. Some of the calls asked if the port harbor would see new piers built. Another call asked when repairs to the cities’ houses and streets come. I nodded to all the questions, directing an attendant to write each concern down. I smiled and waved and tossed whole gold pieces to a few young peasant kids.
We moved on from one portion of the city to the next. Always the guards kept the people back, but as we moved on, they allowed a more generous distance for me to roam. With the space granted by the guards, more and more people brought their concerns forward. Finally, with little of the city left to travel, two more attendants were brought along to assist with all the requests. The people were now coming in droves to have their needs addressed.
Suddenly, a white-haired crone launched forward and fell before me. Guards yanked me back and yelled at the woman. One guard raised a closed fist to knock her back when she struggled to stand. Others hands on their weapons prepared to attack.
“Hold,” I bellowed and yanked free of the guard holding me! Everyone seemed to freeze in time, stopping to see why I had yelled or what I would command. I stepped forward, offering the older woman my hand.
“Prince, it may not be wise,” a guard started but silenced at the look I gave him.
“I doubt this elderly woman means me harm,” I admonished. Then, I thought how foolish I had been. An assassin dressed as an older woman could easily prick my flesh with a needle dipped in a death scorpion’s venom. She did not, however, attack me. I was thankful not to be proven wrong.
“Prince,” she whispered in a voice only the elderly could have, commanding yet soft and smooth, “You are too kind.”
“Nonsense,” I argued, “One’s station may put them in a position of authority, but we are all still people.”
“Maybe so. Either way, you are too kind and would make me a wonderful husband,” she crooned, “Also quite handsome.”
I was taken back by her boldness and had to swallow back a chuckle. She was amusing, and it was not a laugh of derision but one of fondness you would have for a grandmother. I looked kindly upon her.
“Well, I am sure I would, dear lady. I was hoping to find a wife my own age, though. A wife I could grow to love. One to bear my children,” I said, smiling. Her eyes held incredible wisdom yet had a fiery vigor of youth to them. In her time, she must have been a strikingly beautiful woman.
“Trust me, charming, when it comes time to pick, you will choose me, and you will not regret your choice,” she said assuredly, and with a bow, she made her way back into the crowd.
The rest of the parade was a blur. I continued to think about the woman’s words. She was clearly, losing her mind with age. Yet, I did not see an old forgetful crazy woman in her eyes. On the contrary, there was a distinct beauty and intelligence there. I shook the encounter off as we neared the gates to the palace again.
The next several days were a wash of approving meals and plans. Tailoring and fittings. Greeting of emissaries. Many women came to the palace to be chosen by my father’s wives as acceptable applicants for my choosing.
Despite many attempts and unending questions put to servants, I learned very little. Some of the emissaries had daughters among the applicants. Other women came in off the streets to vie for a spot among the hundred.
I would know or see none of them until the day of choosing. Even then, the applicants were to be adorned in flowing robes of golden silk and facial veils that hide all but her eyes. I did not fear that she would be beautiful; the congregation of wives would not choose a woman who would not be fit for the future Sultan.
During the choosing, I would have a moment with each. I would be able to ask one question of each woman. Then, I would make my choice. We would then be shuffled off to ceremonial baths. Separate in the places of our bathing course.
The next time I saw my bride would be when we spoke our vows. From there, we would have an official escort to the Royal chambers. Once there, I would see the woman I had chosen in whole for the first time.
Before I knew it, the time had flown by. I stood outside the great doors of the main hall. My lungs screamed at me, and I realized I had been holding my breath.
“Be at ease, my son,” the voice of my mother whispered from behind me, “No matter what happens, I know the choice you make will be a perfect choice.”
“How? How do you know?” I asked, turning to my mother.
“Because you are my son. You’re the only son of the Sultan and the best person I have ever met,” she said, smiling with pride. Then, she hugged me with a once-over look and a final nod of approval. I returned the hug.
With a gasp of surprise, she shoved through the partially opened doors of the hall. Deafening applause greeted me. Then the room fell silent as ceremonial horns and pipes struck up a low pulsating tone. I followed years of tutelage and made my way to the center of the room.
Surrounded by applicants who all looked down, I was in place. The wives dressed in shimmering pearl robes marshaled the woman dressed in spun gold into a long spiraling line. I could end everything by choosing the first woman. Sultans had done it before.
I, of course, would not do that. I had already planned on asking the same question to every woman. The applicant who I remembered at the end would be the one. I would know at the end because hers would be the one name I remembered.
The first applicant was escorted to me. Her head lifted, and I was greeted by deep blue eyes filled with desire and cunning. I knew instantly she was not my choice.
“Son, I introduce to you Mercilane,” one of my father’s wives said.
“Why will you be my wife?” I asked softly, so no one else heard.
From beneath her golden veil came a voice like silk. She reminded me of a desert serpent. She was cool, assured of herself, and deadly, “Together, we will make history.”
I nodded, and she was escorted to the area where applicants would wait if they were still a possibility.
Another woman was brought forward, “Son, I introduce to you Seraphine.”
“Why will you be my wife?” I asked, again softly so no one would hear?
“I was raised to serve and please you. I will make all your dreams come true,” the applicant with wide innocent brown eyes answered.
“Son, I introduce to you Kara.”
“Why will you be my wife?”
“I am,” she started and then paused for an extended time, “worthy.”
“Son, I introduce to you Ari.”
“Why will you be my wife?”
“No other will please you as I can. Every desire, I shall fulfill.”
Answer after answer followed name after name. Not a single name stuck in my memory. I had asked my question of fifty-two of the women so far, and there had not been one woman I would choose.
“Son, I introduce to you Ash-Anna.”
“Why will you be my wife?”
“You were told before. You would make a wonderful husband. I will love you and no other,” she answered. Her eyes were vibrant, full of life, laughter, and something alien. I stared into her eyes. I felt lost within her gaze.
A triumphant cheer rose all around me. The horns and pipes played a magnanimous song. I shook my head and realized that I had called her name aloud. I had chosen.
The room cleared. The wives escorted her away. I was escorted to the bathing rooms set aside, especially for me. Washed by attendants in sheer gauzy robes, they rubbed oils into my skin. Finally, I was dressed.
Standing in the great hall, I waited. What seemed like an eternity passed. Then, finally, she, my future wife, was escorted in by my father. The Grand Vizier read from the ancient tablets of the Law Code of Stele.
Throughout the ceremony, my eyes were held captive by hers. I heard little and cared less. I only wanted to move on to the unveiling.
During the unveiling, I would see her for the first time, and she would see me. Next, we were to consummate the marriage. I was not uninterested in that part. Truth be told, I was just as excited about that part as nervous. What I was genuinely anxious for, though, was to get to know her for who she was.
“I do,” she said, and something in her voice struck for me as familiar. Yet I could not place from where I knew her voice.
The Grand Vizier turned to me. I heard nothing, lost once again in her eyes. They held a fire that danced within.
“Prince,” the Grand Vizier said, and I realized he waited for my answer.
“I do,” I said as I had been trained to say. The Grand Vizier finished his piece, and together we were escorted out of the hall. Together, hand in hand, we were brought through the palace in a silent ceremonial walk to my rooms. Neither she nor I looked anywhere but forward.
Finally, we made it to the doors to what would now be our rooms. A wing adjacent to mine had been opened for her use. I did not intend to make her stay in her own rooms, though. The doors were opened. A dozen guards turned and, in unison, thumped the ground with their spears.
The congregation of wives bowed to us; then they were gone. We were almost alone. Together we took three steps into the privacy of the rooms. The doors shut behind us.
“Wife,” I said, excited and almost exhausted. The stress of the day had taken a more brutal toll than I had realized.
“Husband,” she replied with humor. I could see the smile she bore in her eyes.
“Shall I disrobe first? If you are nervous,” I offered.
“No, husband, I shall,” she said and then paused, “I told you on the street several days ago you will be my husband.”
I could not hide my shock. First, I had no doubt disappointment was evident on my face. Then disbelief washed over me.
“Not possible. The wives would not have allowed an old woman to be an applicant. I mean, no offense. You are my wife, and I will honor my vows, but why would you do this?” I asked accusingly but tried to keep my voice kind.
“A thousand years I have waited for someone of worth,” she stated and pulled her veil away. Before me stood the elderly woman from the street. Yet she had a look of strength, not feebleness.
I stared, shocked. There she stood. This woman would not possibly be able to bear my children. I would have to take more wives. I had never wanted to have more than one.
“Did you say a thousand?” I asked quizzically, suddenly remembering her words?
“Yes. In a thousand years, I have been to every walk of the prince the days before his choosing. Only a couple of times did they pass the first test,” she answered, and as she undid her robes, she let them fall to the floor.
Before me stood a woman who had undoubtedly been beautiful in her youth. Now though, she was an aged woman. How had my father’s wives accepted her?
“First test?” I stammered.
“Yes. Very few Princes came down and walked among the people. Not a single one until you passed the next test and showed the restraint you did. None had shown the kindness. You were the first to help me up. When I told you that you would be my husband, you were kind,” she answered.
“But how? How did you become an applicant?” I asked.
“I spoke to your mother. She alone knew the truth. She agreed and chose me,” she answered and smiled. I stood there shocked for a long moment. I was lost in thought, replaying in my mind what she had said.
“She alone knew the truth,” I repeated. Ash-Anna smiled broadly. Then She stepped free of her robes.
“Exactly. Not once in my lifetime has someone won the right to see the dance of fire. I shall now dance with your permission,” she said smiling. Somehow despite her ancient years, there was a beauty there. I stepped back and sat in one of my chairs. Some way, I managed a nod.
Ash-Anna smiled broadly, “Wise choice, my prince,” she said, and with a spin, she began.
At first, she began slowly. She spun and twirled. I wanted to stop her, fearing she would fall and hurt herself, but I couldn’t. I worried even more about embarrassing her or shaming her.
She spun faster and faster. Soon she was a blur. Then wisps of flame sprouted from her spinning form. I almost cried out, if not for the beauty of it. Her arms moved in hypnotic ways, and her body undulated as she spun.
Wisps turned to fully-fledged flames, and I could feel the heat coming off of her. Wild white hair spun about and became flames. Bouts of fire shot in all directions but twirled like ribbons about her.
Then there was an explosion without sound and light so bright I was almost blinded. Radiant light burst from her. I could barely stand to watch, but I could look nowhere else. The Flames grew in grandeur and length. They morphed from yellow to orange. The orange flames became blue. Blue flames turned white.
Then with a final spin, she stopped. The flames extinguished. White spots still danced across my vision. There in front of me stood my wife.
She could not have been a day older than I. I looked upon a body that was supple and firm. Her breasts were perky and perfect. Pale skin untouched by the desert sun shone brightly. Curls of magma-colored hair hung about her shoulders. She was not old. She was young and fit and beyond beautiful.
“You’re a Goddess,” I murmured.
“Not quite, husband. I am a Phoenix,” she answered.
“Phoenix? As in the immortal birds of fire,” I said dumbly, looking at the most breathtaking woman I had ever seen.
“Do I resemble a bird to you? Immortal, yes. However, with my love comes the gift of immortality. That is why I could not choose just anyone,” she confessed.
Her eyes held that same wisdom and yet still a youth and, of course, the alien intelligence, but now they held something else. Desire, I decided. Her eyes held desire.
“No, you are nothing like a bird,” I confessed as I stood. As she had done, I dropped my robes. She stepped closer and laid her hands upon my chest. She felt like fire, yet I was unburnt.
“Years of physical fitness has given you a magnificent body,” she said. Her voice made me think of hot silk. Her fingers trailed slowly down between my legs. I was already fully aroused. I was breathing hard and realized I had never experienced a desire so strongly. My hands, of their own accord, pulled her into me. I embraced her and pressed her naked body against mine. She was fire to behold, yet unburning. On tiptoes, she tilted her head and lifted her lips to mine.
Her kiss was a tornado firestorm. My blood boiled, and all my self-control was lost. I had not realized we had moved until she collapsed onto the bed beneath me. She fell back with ease and opened to me. Continuing to kiss, she guided me inside of her. We made love, and I embraced the heat of our flames. Our lovemaking was ecstasy. I frantically pushed in and out, driving into her. Her moans sparked a raging inferno within me. Her back arched, and my hands went to her breast.
The world spun, and I was on my back. Silk sheets caressed my body. The sheets felt like a hot bedpan had been kept within them for days. Atop me, she rocked back and forth, controlling the build to our moment of culmination. Her pace increased as flames burst from her and encircled us. I gripped her firm body, and with a primal scream, she sunk down onto me. Fully sheathed within her, I felt the volcano of our lust erupt. Her lips found mine as she rocked slower and slower. Her movements drew more and more Lava into her body.
We lay among the burnt sheets resting. Her head rested upon my chest. Delicately her fingers trailed my body. Somewhere lost in time, we both slept. I awoke to her sleeping form, still upon my chest. I stroked her red hair gently. When she woke, I would be ready for another round with the phoenix, with my love.
