AN: Okay in the first chapter I realized after I posted it that I had spelled Hassansins, Hassassins. So when I get a chance I am going to go back and fix that mistake, just know that it is fixed in this chapter. Sorry about that. And here is the chapter for real this time :)
It was like a lifetime of standing outside his room as he tried to find to courage to enter. She was in there waiting for him. He wasn't exactly sure what he expected to find. He imagined that she would wait for him shyly as if she did not know what to expect, but he didn't know her and he didn't see her as that sort of woman. She had a fire behind her lime green eyes that just said fierce. So waiting shyly was not something that he really thought she would do. He wasn't sure what he would find, but he would never know standing outside of his room staring at the open door.
He swallowed hard as he found the needed courage to go and face her. He walked in with his head held high. He wished that she had just been a demure woman because he had not been expecting a sword slashing near his face as soon as he entered. He spun out of the way quickly, ripping his mind away from his disturbed thoughts. On instinct he sought out his best blade on the nearest wall and grabbed it in a firm hand.
He wasn't sure what had happened at first, he expected the worse, an assassin. But when he turned and found his wife, sword in hand, taking a battle stance, he was sure he had gone insane. Not only did she look deadly calm, she seemed like she was experienced with the sword in her hand. She did not hold it like someone who did not know how to use it.
He again spun out of the way just in time for the blade that she stabbed at him. He wasn't sure what was going on, but he was sure that he was going to see this fight to the end. He parried her blade as it came towards him at a speed of a skilled swordsman. She fell open as she tried to gain her footing because he was taller than her, so he took his chance and tried to jabbed his sword towards her middle.
She feinted to her right though avoiding his blade and gaining on his blind spot. It was as if she had planned him to open up like he did. She was better than good. He had trained many men and it always took them weeks to find his blind spot. This woman, his wife found it in less than a minute. He gave credit when it was due, and she was worthy to receive such credit. She nicked his clothing with her sword before he twirled like a deadly dancer to turn aside her blade with his. She had just missed nicking his skin. He was thankful that he too was a skilled swordsman so he had the speed and agility to stand up to someone as agile as her.
For a few minutes their swords clashed together in loud musical symphony. Sparks flew off their blades as they evaded each other with their swords. He noted her spectacular foot work which was better than his. The only problem she had against him was that he was stronger than her as well as taller. They came to a moment of stillness with their blades as they stared hard at each other, their blades resting hard against each other. Since he was stronger he was able to make her buckle beneath him. She yelped as she let go of her sword and his sword slashed the back of her hand. It was the same hand that was already cut on the palm from the priest earlier that day.
It was a clean cut and started to bleed immediately. At first he thought that the battle was over because he had drew first blood, yet it wasn't. It had only begun he realized grimly as she turned away from him. She grabbed his second favorite blade that he had one in a match from his own father. It was a good blade, but he kept it for remembrance. It was not a battle tool for his wife to use against him. She turned to face him, ready to keep fighting, blood running down her arm, and dripping on to her pretty white dress.
He lowered his blade a fraction as he stared at the sword in her hand. He didn't want to give up in this fight, but he didn't want her using that sword. She followed his gaze to the sword and raised an eyebrow in question. As a good person she put back that blade and grabbed a different one next to it. He was thankful beyond words that she had understood his silent look.
Then immediately they were back to this fight. He still didn't understand why they were fighting. He figured that she was testing his worth as a man to take care of her. When he put it in terms like this he swelled with pride. He would win this fight, for he could not be beaten by his wife of all people, and he needed to exert his force over her. She needed to learn her place.
He came at her first with his mind filled with thoughts of winning. He didn't even falter when he noticed how much blood she was losing from that clean cut. It was clean, but it was deep. He swooped his sword into an arc towards her. She dove to miss the blade, which he expected her to do. He spun just in time to stop her blade that came towards him. She looked confused for a moment, and he let the joy of her being at his mercy for a moment wash over him.
It was something to watch her fight in her wedding dress. It just occurred to him suddenly that she was wearing her wedding dress still. And it was now covered down the front with her blood. Her complexion looked paler from loss of blood but she was still determined to fight. She whirled her sword towards his middle almost catching him. He hopped back so to avoid the tip of her sword by a mere inch.
He knew she was bleeding too much to continue though, so as much as he did not want to, he threw down his sword. She paused and her brows drew together in question. It was like she did not understand why he would want to stop all of a sudden. He gestured to her hand with his chin and she looked down at herself.
She had not even noticed until then how bad her hand really was. It might have been a clean cut but minutes after the skin had pulled more apart allowing more blood flow, it actually allowed a better chance of infection. Which all meant that her husband had marked her now twice for life on one hand. She dropped the sword and let it clank heavily on the ground.
"I will call for a physician." he stated as he turned suddenly away from her. It was the first time he had spoken to her. He would never have dreamed those would be the first words he would say to her. He stopped when he heard the sounds of ripping. When he turned around to glance back at her, she was already wrapping the wound with some of her wedding dress, trying to stifle the bleeding. She obviously was not materialistic because she did not seem to care in the least that her dress was blood soaked and now missing a piece of the cloth.
He turned again and walked out into the hall and ordered a servant to fetch him the physician. He saw the look of question in the servants face, but he was a prince and he did not have to explain. He hurried back into his quarters and found her sitting at his desk applying pressure to her hand by holding it up on her chest and pressing down with the other hand.
"What are you?" he asked as he drew as close as he dared to his wife for the moment.
"A woman." she said as if he were dumb for even asking. She looked up into his intense brown eyes. Her statement only fueled his anger. He took a few steps towards her in anger and it didn't even faze her.
"You know what I mean!" he shouted at her. He never envisioned fighting with his wife on his wedding night either. As he waited for her to answer him like an obedient wife it occurred to him that he didn't even know her name. Terror struck him like a bolt. He married a woman that he knew absolutely nothing about. He tried to remember if anyone had said her name to him but not one person had.
"I am your wife." she said, drawing him out of his thoughts. After it happened upon him that he didn't know her name all else didn't matter. She obviously had been trained to fight, but he could tell she was royalty. She sat in his chair with all the regality of a princess. She crossed one leg over the other and watched him carefully. Analyzing him with her fierce green eyes.
"I don't know your name." he whispered in shame. She sighed at him and turned away. He would never know that it only upset her that he did not know the name of the woman he had conceded to in a fight. "I am Shraga of Persia." she spat heatedly.
Before they could converse more the physician entered the room quickly.
"What happened my princess?" asked the physician.
Garsiv was sure she would tell the elderly man what really happened but she didn't. "I tripped over one of my husband's many rugs and cut my hand on one of his many swords." she said. The physician nodded as he unwrapped her hand and saw that it was a deep cut.
"I will need to sew the skin together on the palm because it has split open as well as sew the skin on the outer portion of your hand my dear. This is going to hurt I assure you." said the physician.
"I doubt it hurts worse than being held down at twelve years old so they could sew up my eye." she said, pointing to that thin scar.
"I see your point." replied the physician with a warm smile.
"My prince, I must ask you comfort your wife while I start, just in case she may need it."
Garsiv nodded and came to stand behind her and put his hands on her shoulders. It may have seemed that she has trying to help steady her, but she didn't need to be steadied.
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He had only felt her tense one time the entire time the physician had worked on her hand. He waited until the elderly man left before he let his hands slide from his wife's slender shoulders. He tried not to think about how she was warm, or when his thumb had brushed against the skin on her neck it was softer than he would have imagined.
He set aside those thoughts and started to pick up the swords that they had been fighting with. He turned his mind back to their fight.
"You are very skilled with a blade. Who taught you?" asked Garsiv as he put away the swords in their respective places.
"My father." she said, her voice sounding distant, as if she was trying to cover up her emotions. He knew she must be a long way from home, so she must have missed her family greatly. But her voice sounded too distant to seem like she could be upset that she wouldn't see her family for a while.
"Why did you attack me?" he asked as he shrugged out his outer robe, revealing his dark green tunic and black trous. She was quiet for a long while before she answered. They just stared at each other, her green eyes boring into his.
"I wanted to know if you could use these swords that clutter your room." she stated with a smile.
He was not sure why it warmed his heart, but it did. This woman valued a warrior, and he was a warrior. "Well did I meet your expectations?" he asked as he scratched the side of his face. His fingers worked through his beard that he had just decided a week before the wedding that he was going to grow.
"You get too confident and leave yourself open." she said as she stood up.
He looked so perplexed, and he would have argued the point, but he looked at her wedding dress instead. The blood was drying, and he knew that must have been uncomfortable for her.
"I will walk you to your room so you can bathe and change." he said as he motioned for her to go to the door to leave.
"There is no need, I can bathe here, and you have clothes that I can borrow for the night." she said as she walked to where he keeps his clothes. He never once questioned why she already knew where his clothes where. He was too busy watching her, making sure that she was not going to try to strike again. She pulled out a long black robe that was worn after baths. She then walked to the bathroom, starting to strip off her dress as she went. He wanted to watch her, but he averted his gaze to the ground, feeling ashamed if he tried to sneak a peek.
She left the door open and he could hear the dress finally fall from her body, but he did not dare look. She may be his wife, but it just felt wrong. It was almost like she was testing him again. He wasn't sure if this was a test, what sort of test it would be. Was this what married life was going to be? He was sure if this was a test, in some way he would be failing.
He lost track of time for the next time he chanced looking up, she was standing in front of him wearing his robes and her hair was damp. She looked so calm. It was obvious what was supposed to happen now, and she didn't even look afraid. It didn't matter that she did not look afraid though, she didn't look willing. He wanted to, that was for sure. How could he not want to consummate his marriage to her? She was beautiful, but he valued himself as a man of substance. So he could not sleep with her without knowing more about her. He didn't even know her name until an hour ago.
He was not going to consummate his marriage to someone who was not willing. "Well… goodnight Shraga…" he said as he turned and started to walk to his bed. He hoped she would just leave without another word.
He stopped when he heard her following. He sighed loudly, not even trying to make himself quiet about it. "What are you doing?" he asked when he turned and looked at her. His hands were on his hips as he stared down his nose at her.
"I am going to bed with my husband." she stated as if he were growing dumber by the minute. He shook his head in thought. How was he going to explain that he wanted her to go to her own quarters? "You have your own quarters." he told to her feeling that being blunt she would appreciate more.
She frowned at him and crossed her arms over her chest. She knew this would happen, him pushing her out of his bed, she just did not see it happening on their wedding night. "Do you not feel comfortable sharing your bed with your wife?" she asked, never taking her eyes off of him.
There were many things he was not comfortable with, and this would be one of them. Garsiv was a warrior and he knew he would run headlong into battle with a dull blade without worrying if he would live to see another day. However he could not bring himself to just allow himself to sleep alongside her. He was not fearful that he would not be able to control himself in her presence, he was a warrior, he had plenty of control. He just didn't want to give up what he was familiar with. He was used to sleeping alone. He was not ready to accept her into his life, or his bed.
His eyes silently pleaded with her to turn away so he could go back to what he was familiar with. He knew that she knew what he wanted; she was just unwilling to comply with his wishes. Her eyes flashed with anger, and he knew he was in for it. "Let me explain something to you Garsiv, my husband: I did not marry you because it was my choice. Do you think I want to be here? Do you think that I wanted your father to come and tell me what I needed to do? Do you think that I wanted my father to sell me into this marriage? No, I had no choice in any of this. So do you think I really care that you don't want me here? No I don't. I am here, and you are going to have to learn to live with me."
As she spoke, the color red rose from her chest up her neck to her face. It was almost disturbing that she turned as red as her hair when she was angry. Her words rang true though. None of this had been her choice. She had been ripped away from her everyday life to marry him. This was just as much against her choice as it was his. Arranged marriages hurt both parties involved.
Then when she finished speaking she slapped him hard with her good hand. He had never been hit by any other woman than his late mother. It angered him but he could not bring himself to retaliate because he understood her anger. He almost expected her to break down and start crying like a normal person, but all she did was sigh loudly. It was almost as if she had gotten much needed stress off of her chest. She watched as his cheek turned pink, but seeing it did not make her feel an ounce better, nor had her outburst a few minutes before.
"Goodnight Garsiv." she said as she turned away from him and left the room. Once she left he actually rubbed the side of his face. She hit hard for a woman it reminded him of his mother for a moment. He felt good that she left, even if it was because she was angered at him.
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"Please calm down princess." pleaded one of the servants. Hassansin's had the patience of the most skilled hunter waiting for the kill, but she was young. She had a lot of things she was taught, but she still had not fully matured yet. Hot tears ran down her face. She had too many conflicting emotions. From this day forward she was no longer one of her beloved Hassansins. She was a princess of Persia. She had to devote her life to that man who did not even want her.
She thought that this was going to be easier. She had kept her composure until now. It was not as easy as she thought it would be. Her aunt had told her she would feel this way, unwanted. She hadn't believed her though. She should have run away the night she camped in the desert on the way here. She had made it a mile away from the camp before she had told herself that she had to do this for her family. She wondered if they understood the magnitude of what she had been sold into.
She hated that she allowed herself to hurt this much. It was okay that she feared for the future that would be absent of the people she had grown to love in her sixteen years of life. She knew that would hurt her, but she did not think that it would hurt her more that her husband did not want her. It did though and it made her sick to her stomach.
Shraga knew it was because she wanted to just feel welcomed. It meant nothing that Tus and Dastan welcomed her, she was not married to them. She picked up a vase and threw it at the wall as hard as she could. It shattered into a thousand little pieces. The servant coward in fear, unsure what she was going to do for her mistress. Shraga sighed knowing she was making an ass of herself.
She bent down and started to sweep the shards into a pile so she could clean them. "Princess allow me." said the servant as she too bent beside Shraga. Shraga shook her head no. "You did not make this mess, I did." stated Shraga as she continued to clean her mess. The servant decided then that she liked her mistress very much. She was much better than some of the King's wives who could not even feed themselves.
"What is your name?" asked Shraga, of the woman who was helping her clean her mess.
"I am Parisa." said the servant. She had never been asked her name except by Prince Dastan.
"Thank you for helping me." said Shraga as they finished cleaning side by side.
"Parisa, please keep this night to yourself." said Shraga as they both rose to look at each other.
"Of course princess." replied Parisa as she bowed her head. Shraga smiled and then sighed. "Are you okay princess?" asked Parisa as she sat the shards she had cleaned up onto a tray so she could take them away when she retired.
"I am fine." lied Shraga as she looked towards her bed. It occurred to her that she really did not want to be alone. She had been alone ever since she had gotten here, and truth she would be alone here the rest of her life. The king had told her she could never tell Garsiv what she was. So a part of her would always be beside herself. She looked to Parisa.
Shraga couldn't help but want a friend. She was upset even worse as she knew she could not even befriend the servant. "I thank you for your help Parisa, I am retiring now, you can go." said Shraga with a small smile. Parisa bowed her head respectively and backed out of the room. As the heavy wooden door shut to her room she felt something brush against her bare feet. She did not look down, not even when it started to slither up her ankle.
The viper slithered up the length of her body, beneath Garsiv's robes. It searched for comfort and warmth. It peeked its deadly head out of her top and then slivered around her shoulders so she could wear him like a boa. She smoothed a finger over his head and whispered to him in her native Hassansin tongue. The viper flickered out as his tongue at her in response.
She turned back to her bed and folded down the coverlet and found two more of her vipers coiled there. She reached her hands out to both of them and the flicked their tongues against her fingertips. She then lay down and allowed the snakes to coil around her. In moments she was asleep and welcoming of the nostalgia that the vipers offered her. So much for her wedding night was her last thought.