King Sahir's Arc

Chapter 4 of 17

The next morning Sahir dressed in plain clothes and pulled the hood over their braid. They walked toward the castle gate, already tasting the tea, already seeing Kūrush's easy smile. Then they stopped. Vizier Sadiq stood beneath the arch. The old advisor leaned on a golden staff, purple robes bright against the sandy stone. Two guards waited behind them. Sadiq was not passing through. They were watching. "Majesty." Sadiq dipped their head. Their eyes moved over the hood, the dull clothes, the bare arms. "You rise early these days. And you dress strangely for a king." Sahir's hand tightened on the hood. "I wanted air." "The garden has air." Sadiq did not move. "I have counted your mornings, Majesty. Fourteen of them, gone past the gate. A king does not wander among commoners. It shames the crown. The prophets chose you to sit the throne, not to drift through the bazaar." They tapped the staff once on the stone. "I will watch this gate myself. For your protection." Sahir looked past the arch to the city beyond. The road ran down toward the market, toward the red tapestry, toward the one person who did not know their name. For a moment they thought of pushing past. But the guards stood ready. A king who shoved through his own gate would be remembered. Word would spread. Someone would follow. And then Kūrush would learn exactly who had been drinking his tea. Sahir let go of the hood. "You are right, Vizier. Thank you for your care." The words came out smooth and royal, the voice they used for the throne room. Sadiq bowed, satisfied, and Sahir turned back inside. They walked to the garden instead. Fountains ran down the terraces. Flowers crowded the stone beds. It was beautiful, and it was a cage. Sahir sat on the edge of a basin and watched the water fall. There would be no tea. No stall. Not today, not tomorrow. Sadiq would keep the gate for weeks if they chose. And Kūrush would wait at his loom for a stranger who never came back, and decide the stranger had changed their mind. That evening Sahir sat alone in their room. A servant had lit three cream candles on the table, staggered high and low, the flames steady. Sahir pulled off the copper crown and set it beside them. They stared at the smallest flame until their eyes stung. For one week they had been only a person at a stall. Now the gate was closed, and the only name waiting for them was King. Kūrush would forget the teal-eyed stranger. The crown would stay. The loneliness would stay. Sahir pressed their fingers against their tired eyes and did not cry. They simply sat, and let the candles burn down, and understood that nothing would change.