Sikander, Don't Die

chapter nine: smoulder 🌶️

Everyone, unimportant and eminent, were invited to the feast to commemorate the gala new beginning of the Shah's life. Servants ran back and forth to fill chalices of wine and serve richly spiced meat.

One by one, each person came up and gave their gifts to the royal couple. Roshanak was dressed in sober pink. A little crown, the one devoted to every Shahamsaram of Persia, adorned her head. Sikander matched it with his favourite purple and a dash of golden. His headdress was crimson and elaborate, heavy like his own impact on history. They took each present with a smile and accepted every blessing, meagre or generous, with open arms.

As the men came and greeted the couple, Sikander introduced each one to her. At one point three generals came up together, and Roshanak recognised them as the three men from before.

The one with a receding hairline bowed and kissed the hand of Sikander as per Persian customs. He was an old man, experience glimmering in his distant gaze and wrinkles boasting of age-old wisdom. Despite the progress of time, he had a stature equivalent to a hulking bear that could crush a man with just a squeeze.

"Craterus, thank you," Sikander said. "You have been a grace from the heavens above, a man who has served my family for years."

"I still smile at the thought of your infant days, frolicking around with a stick in your hand, claiming to be the Shah of the world."

"Oh! Don't tell the stories in front of Roshanak. It embarrasses me!" Sikander laughed.

Craterus' look stoned Roshanak. Their eyes matched for a fleeting moment, but it was enough to make Roshanak shrivel up. Craterus left, and then came a middle-aged man, a little rounder and more bulky than the former. He introduced himself as Ptolemy, and was polite enough to spare a smile to the queen.

Next, a young man around the age of Sikander came with his arms wide open. Sikander stood up and engulfed him in an embrace. Roshanak realised this was another close confidant.

"Perdiccas, you need to marry next. Our old friend Ptolemy has no chance at wooing a lady, but maybe you will."

"Perhaps one from the land of the queen only," Perdiccas said, glancing at Roshanak. "Does the queen have someone in mind for me?"

Roshanak was put in an awkward position. However, assessing the bond that he seemed to share with her husband, she treated the words lightly. "I have no sister, but there are many skilled women in my land."

"Well, I will trust the Shah. Please find me a woman soon. I am dying from loneliness."

"I thought you were having colourful days with the, uh, servants," Ptolemy remarked from the side, arms crossed in indignation.

"Someone got riled up by our jokes. Brother Ptolemy, don't worry, I will make my wife's mother marry you!" Perdiccas roared.

"I thought you all were well-taught the etiquettes of the Persian court. This isn't the way one converses with the Shah in front of his wife."

The protest was made by the hazarahpatish. Dressed in scarlet with a pretty blush on his cheeks and fiery opals dangling from his ears, he sauntered towards the throne. Seeing the hazarahpatish arrive, the three men bowed. "Perdiccas can get way too high sometimes, even without alcohol," Hridayank said.

Perdiccas pursed his lips as his friend ruffled his hair and gave him a stern look. "Sorry, Hri–" He paused. "I mean, hazarahpatish. Well, what gift do you have for our lovely couple?"

Hridayank carried a little wooden box. It was probably prized even less than the dust of his feet. Ptolemy and Craterus mockingly chuckled at his choice of present. "The hazarahpatish doesn't have anything nice to give," Ptolemy poked.