Chapter Eight | The Wedding
"Dastan, please stop your pacing," pleaded Tus, "It isn't doing anyone any good asides from giving me a headache,"
"Really brother, that is what you say at a time like this," accused Dastan.
"Stop it you two," cut in Garsiv. "Tensions are high enough as it is with an assassination attempt on a bride-of-Persia and having two of the princes arguing is not going to resolve anything."
The brothers were deep in conversation until the physician finally stepped out of the room. Old and graying, Basir served the palace since the day the king's first son had been born. The man might gotten slower and frailer with the passing years but his mind was as sharp as ever. Thin, pale fingers grasped Dastan's forearms as he gestured for the Prince to follow him.
Inside the room, Azrael lay languidly on the bed wrapped warmly in a thick covering. She has lost almost all coloring in her once rosy cheeks. Paleness and a sheen of clammy sweat covered her face. Hesitantly, Dastan gently took hold of her hand, trying to offer some comfort to his fiancé. The fever she was fighting was a side effect of the poisoning, explained Basir. It was Nightshade poising, he had deduced. A dangerous poison extracted from it's flowering plant.
"She's lucky they used the plant instead of it's berries to keep the toxin clear and undetectable in the water," said Basir. "If it had been the berries I don't think there is anything I could have done to save her."
"But she will live," Dastan asked eagerly.
Troubled by the prince's distraught, the only reassurance he could offer was, "She's strong and has a good chance of winning this fight."
Guards were posted at Azrael's doors, not that it mattered. Dastan refused to leave her side. Throughout the night he placed a cool cloth over her forehead, trying to bring down her fever and keep Azrael comfortable. His brothers came in to try to persuade him into going to his own chambers to rest but they failed. Dastan would not relent.
The morning light began to shine through as the sun rose above the Persian empire. Weak and disoriented, Azrael woke to an unfamiliar weight grasping her hand. She forced her eyes open, little by little. Overcome with surprise, she stared down at the Persian prince sleeping uncomfortably in the stiff chair beside her bed. In a voice raspy and faint, she called out, "Dastan."
"You're awake," Dastan smiled, awaken by her voice.
"What happened to me," she asked, disoriented about the events of the past hours.
"Nightshade," Dastan offered as an explanation. "Someone laced the water in your chambers wth the poison and you drank it."
Azrael attempted to sit up but was deterred by Dastan's panicked tone, "Not so fast, you're still very ill."
Wanting to reassure the prince, Azrael smiled and said, "I'm fine, Dastan. I'm feeling much better."
"Yes, of course you would. It's not as if you were unconscious and fighting a fever up until dawn," Dastan snapped. She would never realize how unbearable the last day had been for him.
Trying to calm to his anger Azrael took hold of Dastan's hand and apologized. "I did not realize I worried you so much," she muttered more to herself than aloud.
"You did," was all Dastan added before standing up.
Simin, the princesses lady-in-waiting was called allowing Dastan to return to his own chambers to rest for a bit. The young maid had traveled to Persia with Simin and had served the princess for years. There was little chance of her being involved in the attempt at Azrael's life. He also made a quick detour to his father, informing him the recent ongoing of the palace. Tus and Garsiv assured their brother a full investigation would be carried out in order to discover who was behind the poison. It was also agreed that that wedding preparations would continue on as planned. The king wanted them married before anything else went wrong.
In the course of the next few days, while she was recovering, Azrael was bombarded with servants coming in and out of her rooms. They came bringing lists of questions and samples of decorations, clothing and every other wedding detail imaginable. With every meal delivered, the cook would seek out her opinion if she enjoyed his food. A seamstress was summoned to take her measurements for the ceremony gown. It was slightly overwhelming for the Syrian princess. She voiced her concerns to Dastan during their evening meal that night. Her betroth had taken to eating all of his evening meals with her since she regained consciousness. She assured him a simple ceremony instead of the extravagance his father was visioning. The problem was, it was just unheard of for a Prince of Persia to not have a lavash ceremony. Dastan did give her his word he would speak to his father about her preferences for their impending vows.
"I believe the princess has made a full recovery," the palace physician reported to the king. It had been several days since the assassination attempt during which Azrael had regained her strength and health.
"Does that mean I can resume my training," she asked excitedly?
"Yeah," laughed the physician, "I believe that would be fine."
As the king, physical and rest of the occupants made their leave, Dastan pulled Azrael back. "I hope you're just as excited for our wedding, princess," he whispered, barreling his face her dark, fragrant hair.
A bright, cherry blush spread across her cheeks in response to the prince's question. Dastan unsuccessfully held back the laughter threatening to escape his lips. At her fiancé's request Azrael joined Dastan to practice their swordsmanship. They exchange blows with their blades. The sun blazed down on them as they moved throughout the courtyard. A nerves lump formed in her throat as Azrael watched the prince strip off his tunic, using the fabric to wipe away the beads of sweat around his neck and chest. Distracted, Azrael was too slow to counter as Dastan tossed aside the cloth and lunged, disarming his opponent. The princess lunged for her strewed sword but Dastan, anticipating her plan, grabbed her. She was pinned down by her betrothed before she realized it. He was going to kiss her, she was sure of it. That is how the two other princes of Persia found them a moment later when they excitedly burst through the iron doors. Embarrassment overwhelmed the princesses and, after making her excuses, rushed out of the room.
"Not that i am not pleased to see you brothers," bowed Dastan, "but I cannot say I am a fan of your timing."
"Yes, I am sure you were all to pleased too have us interrupt your 'training' with the princess," laughed Tus.
"Yes," Garsiv cleared his throat with a cough, "were not you two supposed to be practicing your swords?"
"We were," stressed Dastan, "we just got a little…distracted."
His brothers laughed, shaking their heads at their youngest brothers antics. They informed him of a message their father wanted relayed. The wedding preparations were shifting being completed and the first ceremony would be tonight, followed by the wedding in the morning and a feast that night.
Dressed in a deep, emerald green traditional dress with sparkling diamond gems covering the entire surface, princess Azrael felt the eyes of the kingdom all on her. The king had brought her presents before the festivities began; jewels belonging to the late queen. In the boxed, lined with bright red velvet cloth, were large emerald tear-drop earrings and a gorgeous choker necklace. A present for his new daughter, he had told her, from him and from Persia. As she sat on the cushioned seat, with all the ladies of the court surrounding her, a servant hired to apply the henna on her hands and feet was at work. People danced, ate and drank as the night went on. Finally, as she was called over to where Dastan stood, guests gathered around them to watch the exchange of rings. While she was not comfortable with being the center of attention to so many people, Azrael could not help but smile when dastan kissed her wrist after slipping the diamond ring on her finger. As the party drew towards an end the king called everyone to raise their glasses in a toast to the new couple and the happiness of the youngest son of Persia.
That evening, as Azrael lay in bed after all the guests had left and the festivities were over, she played with the new ring on her finger and the unfamiliar weight. This would be the last night she slept alone, the last night she would have a bed to herself. Dastan would be next her, for all her continuing days and nights. A cool breeze blew through he windows as the evening chill began to set.
She was just about fall asleep when the rough sound of a man grunting in exertion pulled her back. The slight of a pair of hands gasping on the ledge of her window had Azrael sitting up in panic. The man, dressed completely in black, pulled himself up and into the room. Azrael just barely bit back her scream when she realized it was her betroth slinking into her bed chambers.
Staring dumbfounded at her soon-to-be husband, Azrael asked in a harsh whisper, "What are you doing?"
"Well, isn't it obvious," Dastan chuckled, giving her a mischievous smile, "I wanted to see my wife."
Shaking her head, she tried to push back out the way he came, "You be here. Someone will see you."
"Oh come now, do not be so cold," said Dastan. "After all, I did just scale the palace walls to see you."
"Yes, you did," Azrael agreed. "Why did you do that?"
Thick, muscled arms wrapped around her as Dastan pulled her right up against his wide chest. Tucking her head under his chin, he whispered in her ear, "For the simple reason that I missed you delbar-am, so much."
"You just left a few hours ago," she whispered. "And we'll be married soon tomorrow."
"Not tomorrow princess…today," smiled Dastan. "Look outside. It's our wedding day and no one will see my bride before me today."
Azrael turned her attention outside and saw the rising sun coming up the desert plains of Persia. The people were already awake; servants running through the courtyard and preparing for the ceremony. As she stared out the kingdom that would soon be hers and her apart of it, Dastan wrapped his arms around her. "The extra guards you insisted I keep are just outside the door," she whispered. After a few minutes of insisting, Azrael convened Dastan to slip back out the window before the maids came to prepare her for the ceremony.
Bathed and then dressed in a deep maroon-red gown, Azrael was led by her ladies to the alter when Dastan and all of their guests waited. An elderly priest with hair white as snow and wrinkles lining his face stood at the center of the event. Diligently and with deep, clear voice he spoke the prayer before turning to Dastan. The prince, not giving any signs of nervousness, said his vows and then Azrael gave him hers. Everyone looks their turns congratulating the couple, commenting on how beautiful they looked together and how lovely the ceremony was. Many were dignitaries and royally from Persia's neighboring allies but some were family and close friends who Dastan introduced his new wife to. She met everyone from kings to cousins and aunts with a warm smile. The evening ended with an extravagant fireworks display set up above the palace. The night sky was lit with brilliance as each explosion of color was set off. The old kinds looked joyous; thrilled to see their children and their families bonded together.