A/N: I'm terribly sorry for my long absence. University barely gives me any free time and writing is becoming more and more difficult. This chapter has been written a few months ago, but I never had enough time to translate it. I worked hard and quickly, therefore there might be some mistakes. Please tell me if something doesn't feel right, both about the plot or the grammar.
Chapter 7: Moonlight
In the small underground room echoed insults and curses of all kinds. The guard watching the door didn't move but he seriously feared that if they carried on like that someone would find them.
Gathered around the small rocky altar the men expressed all their anger shaking their fists and stomping their feet. Cyrus was trying uselessly to keep order. He had thought that informing his men about King Arslan's initiative would have been a good idea, but seeing their reactions was making him doubt it.
«Setting a limit means prevent us from implementing our plan! We can't let this happen!», one of them shouted, and immediately all the others cried their disapproval.
«With this damn limit we will never be able to take what's rightfully ours! », someone else exclaimed.
«And how can we fix this? Surely we can't expose ourselves!», a man at Cyrus' right shouted. The parsian nobleman raised his hand and in a few seconds the voices that agitated the room calmed. The man cleared his voice.
«Undoubtedly, this is a problem», he said. «There's something interesting, however. When the noble counselors learnt about the young lusitanian woman's interference, they weren't enthusiastic about the purpose».
«Perfect!», exclaimed the man at his left. «Let's take advantage of it. Once we inform the whole Court… the discontent will spread and…»
«…the king will have no choice but back down!», a short man concluded from the bottom of the room.
Cyrus smiled meanly.
«What a wonderful idea», the nobleman agreed calling the guard standing next to the door with a gesture of his hand. He nodded and opened the lock. Five men, whose look was dark and mysterious, entered the small round room. They arranged around the stone altar and waited silently for Cyrus to introduce them to the other members of the group.
«These men are our friends», the counselor began. «They're allies we can trust. They'll help us to reach our goals. Infiltrating in every corner of the Court they will inform as many people as possible of the purposes of our young and easily influenced sovereign. Am I Right?»
The five men nodded and on their faces painted a disturbing smile.
«Long live Lord Cyrus!», one of them shouted, raising his fist in mid-air. The others imitated him, and a yell echoed in the Palace's basement.
It didn't take long for the lies circulated by Cyrus to infect the Court. From the gardens to the corridors, from the kitchens to the stables, the voices about the king's questionable behavior were on everyone's lips, thanks to the skillful scheming of Cyrus' underlings. During the few hours enough for all the Palace's functionaries to be, without them knowing, involved in the conspiracy, the first version of the events, created by Cyrus himself, had been naturally enriched with details suggested by the creativity of who thought it was right to give their own contribution to the situation.
First of all the plan was actualized in the kitchens: one of the five men hired by Cyrus managed to skillfully infiltrate in the rooms intended to serve the meals and, identified his first victim with a young servant, he told her how he learnt of the ambiguous behavior of their sovereign. The naïve girl believed every single word and she convinced herself that King Arslan was an easily influenced man.
Another one of Cyrus' subordinated took care to specify that the sovereign played favorites with Commander Étoile and her men. This news upset more than a little the grooms who were told.
Also, someone thought of worsening the situation speculating that the king wanted to defend the foreigners' interests, who constituted the lower class of Ecbatana's society. But what really fractured the faith in the young sovereign was the conclusion some functionaries in charge of the royal gardens came to. King Arslan had let himself be persuaded by Commander Étoile to help the foreigners living in the Capital, many of which were lusitanians, forgetting his duties to his own subjects.
Not even Cyrus had foreseen such turn of events and he had to admit he had underestimated the power rumors and false accusation can assume in specific circumstances. Pleased to know he was the creator of such emotional disarray, the noble counselor wandered along the Palace and watched the young servants confiding each other the last new about the young king.
Arslan sat on his throne rocking the wine goblet he was holding in his hand. The room was crowded. Someone chatted in small groups waiting for the servants to serve them something to drink, others, sitting or laying on precious, embroidered cushions, savored the delicacies the Court cook had prepared for the occasion.
The Pantheon Celebration always started on a full-moon night; that's why the first ceremony was called "Moonlight Festival". The celebration opened with a procession to the most important temple of the city and then continued with a sumptuous banquet at the Royal Palace.
Being invited was a sign of prestige and power, so all the participants took care of underline their value showing off with ease their wealth. Men wore their best garments, tied by golden belts and pins decorated with precious stones. Women were covered in sparkling jewelry, their hair gracefully tied up and their bodies wrapped with fine fabric.
Young women entered the room from time to time carrying trails full of exotic food and jugs filled with wine. The silver dishes shone illuminated by the light that hundreds of candles spread in the big hall. In the corner a group of five musicians cheered the dining companions with traditional parsian melodies.
The king kept staring absorbed at his wine goblet, indifferent to the splendor that surrounded him. Elam observed him silently from behind a thick red tent. Even the young boy had noticed that the sovereign was worried, but unlike Daryun, he believed he knew the reason. Once they had returned to the Palace after the hunting trip, the king's whole attention had been dedicated to Étoile. Elam knew something had happened while the two were separated from the rest of the group and he was sure it had something to do with the king's mood. The young counselor left his place in half light and reached the throne.
«Sure there is a lot of people! It seems everyone accepted the invitation». The king started. He turned and saw Elam's smiling face. Arslan nodded.
«Actually…», the green-eyed boy resumed, «not really everyone's here, am I right?»
Arslan stared at him surprised and a bit alarmed. Was his discomfort that obvious? From the look painted on his friend's face he understood that maybe he would have been able to fool the others, but not him. Arslan smiled.
«Seems so…», he commented simply, staring back at the room full of people. Elam got closer.
«I saw her at the stabled earlier…», he whispered making sure no one else heard him. Arslan stared at him again. «The Moon Celebration will start in about two hours…. Maybe you should go and get some air, Majesty…», the boy concluded casting a knowing look at the sovereign. The king smiled shaking his head. Not only Elam had understood everything, he knew his mood had to do with Étoile, but also he offered him the chance to reach her.
«Thank you, Elam», Arslan exclaimed getting up and handing him the goblet full of wine. The young counselor smiled. The king rested a hand on his shoulder, then he left the room unseen.
The full moon shone majestically in the sky. Everywhere they rested, her rays drew silver stripes illuminating the Palace's porches and squares. The echo of the party barely reached the stables, interrupted from time to time by the horse's neighs. An oil lamp hanging from one of the wooden beams that supported the roof spread s faint orange light in the large section reserved to the lusitanian guests' mounts.
Étoile immersed the brush in the water bucket at her feet. She moved behind her ear a hair lock that had slid over her eyes, dried the sweat that beaded her forehead with the shirt's sleeve and started to brush vigorously her horse's mane.
Arslan had invited her and her men to take part in the Pantheon Celebrations, even as spectators, but the Lusitanians had declined: in their eyes it still was a heathen feast. Malakai, Yanis, Thibaut and Kostàs retired exhausted in their rooms, the commander instead preferred to take care of her horse after the effort she had imposed on him that very morning at the hunting trip.
In truth, the lusitanian girl felt the need to be alone and order her feelings. The intense look Arslan had gave her impressed her so much that during the entire day she believed she could see his blue eyes in every single thing surrounding her. No one had had such an effect on her till then.
Suddenly the horse shook his head tickling Étoile with his long mane.
«What's wrong with you?», the girl exclaimed laughing. Just after, the stable's door opened creaking and the young woman blocked. She turned around and to her surprise she saw Arslan showing at the door. It took her a few seconds to make sure he really was in front of her and he wasn't just another hallucination.
The king, barely illuminated by the lantern's light, stayed motionless staring at her for a few seconds. Neither of them said a word so tension began to rise. Arslan understood that of no one spoke the situation would be more and more embarrassing, so he breathed in and found a way to start the conversation.
«Étoile, what are you doing?», he said eventually, regretting instantly having asked such a stupid question. Étoile, in fact, raised an eyebrow, perplexed.
«I'm currying my horse», she answered pointing at the brush she was holding in her hand.
«Yes! Of course!», Arslan stuttered chuckling embarrassed. «I mean, shouldn't you be resting?»
The young woman threw the brush in the bucket at her feet as she slightly bit her lip.
«Seems I can't relax…», she answered shrugging.
«I see…», the king commented lowering his eyes.
«Shouldn't you… be at the feast?», Étoile asked to break the silence that had fallen again upon the stable.
«Yes», the sovereign admitted smiling. «I just wanted to get some fresh air», he justified himself. Étoile nodded with little conviction. They stood motionless for a few seconds. Tension between them was palpable.
The situation unblocked when the king moved some steps towards the bar that held tidily the horses' saddles and bridles. He grabbed two of them and gave one to Étoile. The girl cast him a questioning look.
«I want to show you something», Arslan explained hastily while he saddled a white horse tied not far away.
«Now?», the young lusitanian asked surprised. «What about the Moonlight Festival?»
«We have time!», the king reassured her. Étoile seemed to settle for it and didn't ask anything else.
They rode through the city's roads, accompanied by the music that echoed at every crossing and by the fragrance of the sweets just taken out of the ovens for the Celebrations. The squares were filled with dancing people and more than once they had to slow down, impeded by the euphoric crowd. No one recognized the king who was wearing a white cloak to go unnoticed. In a short time they managed to reach an area of the capital that seemed excluded from the feast atmosphere. The streets were quiet and illuminated only by the cold moonlight. The pawing of the hoofs on the alleys' stabs of stone echoed among the short houses of bricks. Étoile followed Arslan silently, keeping from asking him where they were headed.
Arslan stopped at a crossroads and dismounted.
«Here we are», he said. He tied his horse to a pole on the side of the street, inviting Étoile to do the same. Around them erected two or tree-story buildings, a lot of which seemed abandoned. The girl looked at some of them from the foundations to the roofs: the windows had been barred with wooden planks, and the doors had been replaced with colorful drapes that fluttered slightly moved by the soft evening's breeze. The young woman turned around to look at the king, who had reached the threshold of one of the houses.
«Follow me», the boy said gently, moving the cloth that closed the door. Étoile nodded and reached him.
Crossed the doorstep, they found themselves in a big room with a rectangular wooden table in the middle. A drape, whose worn-out borders touched the packed dirt-floor, covered half of it. A short wooden piece of furniture laid against the right wall, while on the bottom one was a small window poorly closed by a couple of boards. Air was full of dust and the walls showed long blackish striped from top to bottom.
«This way», Arslan said, heading towards a flight of stairs. Étoile raised an eyebrow, more and more confused, but she followed him without saying anything. At the end of the flight of steps, the two found themselves on a landing that gave access to two rooms. Arslan entered the left one, followed by the young lusitanian.
Beyond the doorstep was a simple room. On the left side was a large bed, on which had been thrown an old dusty blanket. On the other side was a small piece of furniture visibly worm-eaten and next to it, in the middle of the wall, a wide window closed with two wooden planks. Arslan got closer, grabbed the two tight boards and tugged forcefully at them until he managed to tear them away from the wall. Beyond the now free window, extended the city. The buildings, that the moon colored of a cold blue, set one on the other, gathering around the Palace, brightly lit by the torches. It shone like a gem.
Étoile got closer to the king.
«The view is spectacular…», the girl commented.
«Yeah…», the sovereign said smiling. Étoile stared at him for a few seconds, then she frowned annoyed.
«Alright, cut it out», she reprimanded him. Arslan turned towards her and looked at her surprised. «You're acting more oddly than usual… and mysteriously. That's not like you. What's wrong?», she asked him frankly. The sovereign chuckled.
«You're right. The truth is I really wanted to bring you here», he explained.
«Why? What's special in here?», the young lusitanian asked looking around. Arslan smiled sadly. He sighed and looked into her eyes.
«This is my home».
Étoile stared at him, confused.
«Your home? But…», she objected looking out of the window, searching for the sparkling palace with her eyes. Arslan realized he had to give her some explanations.
«Well, now my home is in that palace, but it wasn't always like this», he said. Étoile stared at him again and from her gaze the king understood he had completely drawn her attention. He smiled: it was exactly what he wanted.
Étoile knew nothing of the court trick that had allowed Arslan to become Prince of Pars. The truth had troubled the boy for years and only with the help of his friends he had managed to overcome the ordeal of discovering that the ones he had believed to be his parents were essentially two strangers.
Arslan had decided to be sincere with himself and his people, so that his origins weren't a secret. However, not everyone knew the actual version of the events, and Étoile was among these people.
That morning, after the hunting trip, the young king felt the need to tell her everything, to let her know even that part less noble, but equally important of his life. So he caught his breath and started to speak.
He told her that Andragoras III, not having sired a male heir, obtained the son of a member of the aristocracy, a man who was never heard from again, that the baby was brought up by a nursemaid and her husband, in that very house, and only after their unexpected death he moved to the palace.
Étoile was staring at him, shocked. The more Arslan proceeded in his tale, the more Étoile admired him. He was the most unique and fascinating person she had ever met and knowing his story was this complicated did nothing but increase those feelings.
Arslan stopped talking and looked at her. The girl was looking back at him, her mouth slightly open and her breath calm and regular.
«Well», Arslan resumed after a few seconds. «I guess all of this seems weird to you…»
«No…», the young woman answered instead. «The truth is, you never cease to surprise me», Étoile admitted sincerely. Arslan chuckled.
«It's the same effect you have on me…»
«There's nothing surprising about me!», the girl exclaimed laughing.
«You're wrong», Arslan retorted serious. Étoile stopped laughing and looks into his eyes. «You changed a lot in these years…», the king resumed.
«Yes», the commander admitted. «I learnt a lot. Now I can accept myself for who I am».
«But you still want to be called "Étoile"», the sovereign stated after a few moments of silence.
«I guess it's a question of habit», the young lusitanian exclaimed. «It's not a way to leave the past behind me anymore. My real name now reminds me of my family, it's a way to feel their bond», she concluded smiling, turning her gaze over Ecbatana. Arslan was looking at her enchanted. He sighed and naturally he took the hand the girl was resting on the windowsill. Étoile started in surprise but she didn't pull back. She set her eyes on Arslan's face and realized he was looking at her as intensely as he did that morning on the small lake's shore.
«Probably you won't believe me, but I really missed you in these years», the young king admitted getting closer to the girl. Étoile swallowed while a fair blushing colored her cheeks. Arslan slowly raised his hand and brought it on the girl's face moving gently a lock of her blonde hair behind her ear.
Étoile could feel Arslan's warm breath on her skin. Her heart was beating madly. She felt unable to speak or even move a single muscle of her body. The sovereign's blue eyes, illuminated by the moonlight, had hypnotized her.
And she couldn't move even when the young king slowly bent over her kissing her gently.
The contact lasted just a few seconds, but it was enough to make everything surrounding them disappear. Arslan moved aside just a bit: he wanted to look into her eyes, understand if she was feeling the same intense emotion that was driving him insane. Étoile was keeping her gaze down, still unable to even think. So Arslan lifted gently her chin and immediately their eyes met. The redness on the girl's cheeks betrayed her embarrassment, but the light that illuminated her gaze made clear to Arslan not only that she wasn't bothered, but also that in her chest was burning the same flame that set on fire his.
Unable to resist, Arslan kissed her again on her lips. He moved his arms around the girl's waist and held her close to him. Étoile felt the warmth of his chest ignite her already burning heart. This time she didn't stay motionless. She moved her hands on Arslan's face, she felt his soft skin, then her fingers intertwined with the king's silver air. The young sovereign kept holding her sliding his arms over her back, her arms, her face.
Étoile was feeling completely lost in Arslan's embrace. She had never experienced such good, intense, almost violent, emotions.
More and more absorbed in each other, in the heat of the moment, the rear layer of the short tunic that the young woman was wearing lifted up and the young king's hand touched the soft and warm skin of the girl's back.
It was an unexpected and innocent gesture, but for Étoile it was like a jet of clod water. In a mere moment she realized what was happening. The man who was holding her like that, that was touching and kissing her with such passion, was Arslan, king of Pars. And she was Étoile, knight and commander of the lusitanian army, defender of the Faith of Yaldabaoth. And Arslan was a heathen.
Immediately, she wiggled out of the embrace, fighting more against herself than against Arslan.
The king didn't resist and let her move back of some steps, even if with extreme displeasure. The girl was looking straight into his eyes, still panting, and in her gaze Arslan read remorse and guilt.
«Étoile…», the young king said getting closer, trying to calm her down. But the girl moved backwards.
«No!», she said. «No. I don't…», she stuttered heading towards the door.
«Étoile, wait!», Arslan shouted rushing to the girl.
«No!», Étoile repeated using her arm as a shield. They looked at each other for some, endless seconds. «No Arslan… This, this is wrong!», the young lusitanian exclaimed. She exited the room and rushed down the stairs. Arslan followed her calling her name, but the commander was too quick and mounted her horse she threw herself in the tangle of streets.
Arslan could only watch while Étoile disappeared in the night.
A/N: I really hope you enjoyed this chapter! I will make an effort and try to update as regularly as possible!
- Kiara-g
