Hassan woke up greeted by the golden rays of the sun and the breeze of the women fanning him. They were two women of his age, but their skin was far darker than his. As far as skin tones went in Ydaz, his was of the fairest. And their clothing was far skimmer than his, even if he was in very loose night clothes. Yet he couldn’t think of their attires as anything sexual.
I guess that’s what having your mother and sisters walk mostly naked all the time does to a man. Hassan sighed internally, but he showed no weakness to the women.
As he stood up from his comfortable feather bed, the silk mantles flowing down and revealing his toned body, the assistants didn’t take a single breath before letting the fans on the side and began to undress him.
The palace of Sadina was specifically constructed to lower the temperatures, so Hassan found himself preferring light clothing and very little of it. I’m slowly becoming my mother. That was not an insult to the Sultanah of Ydaz, but the prospect scared him. He valued his objective way of thinking, and Aaliyah-al-Ydaz was a very biased and volatile person.
Silks and trinkets accumulated around his body as the woman dressed him. Their cold and soft hands were pleasurable, but Hassan couldn’t enjoy them.
Once they were done, the assistants took a step back and allowed him to walk forward.
After living for five years in the palace, he had assimilated a routine, and so did his servants. Hassan directed himself to the dining hall and the lightly-clothed women followed him silently.
Those steps weren’t out of some subterfuge training, to his knowledge, they were just common noble women. No, that silence was out of respect. A tradition he didn’t fully understand but it was true that the loudest person in the room should be the most important.
Either way, the first time surprised him, so he investigated just in case they were assassins. Considering that the previous Emir of Sadina had been killed by them, maybe they left some dormant operatives inside.
That proved to be paranoia talking. Assassins were stealthy, but not patient.
Silence was not something Hassan had had in his mother’s palace. The servants and guards were far louder than him, a sultanzade, an imperial prince. And that was not a show of disrespect, because the Sultanah was even louder than them. Overwhelmingly so. Even when Aaliyah-al-Ydaz stood still, simply watching down on her subjects as usual, her raw aura deafened anyone else.
It took Hassan a lot of time to acclimate to the fact that he was now the most important person in the room.
Or the city.
The dining hall was glorious, decorated with marble, golden highlights, and plentiful silk curtains, massive colorful pillows, and endless carpets. The main palette of the room was gold, white, and red. Those were the colors of the flag of Ydaz after all, and by default, also the Imperial Crest and the region of Sadina.
The gold represented the sun, moon, and sands. All golden and bright.
The white was the purity, whether of the scorching light or their rulers.
And the red was simply blood.
Ydaz was a nation built in blood, in more than one sense at that, so it made sense it was represented. Not only they had a history of warfare, but also all of the farmlands were sustained by the one and only Sultanah’s blood.
That didn’t mean those weren’t the only colors present in the room. Greens and purples were also very sought and used colors.
Not only green was an incredible contrast to red, but it was also the color commonly associated with vitality, where nobility's power came from. And unlike other countries where greenery was common, yet here in Ydaz it was considered a luxury.
As for purple... it was just the prestige. Purple dye was outrageously expensive, so using a single piece of it showed your financial welfare. Aaliyah-al-Ydaz loved wearing such color, even if she abhorred clothing. It also matched perfectly with her violet eyes.
Hassan was grateful when the copious plates of food arrived, served in trays of silver. Even here I cannot get her out of my mind. Aaliyah-al-Ydaz had a raw charisma but also a wicked way to instill herself in the mind of others, especially her children.
The trays were loaded with more food than he could be able to eat in a single day, let alone breakfast, but it was true that cultivators ate more than normal people.
The cooks and maids had meticulously set the meals in such a way that Hassan could pick them up without straining a muscle and elaborately so no cutlery was needed. Never a picky or heavy eater, the Emir finished his breakfast in a few minutes and readied himself for work.
The passageways of the palace of Sadina were colossal and well-ventilated, with arched open windows in every step. Once it had been considered a glaring defense breach, but with the bountiful guards and his trained power, the only ones who could suppose a danger to him would be able to kill him even if he was encased in a meter-thick cube of lead.
Stolen novel; please report.
Sadina’s audience hall didn’t possess such portentous doors as the one in Asina. It made sense, no one was like Aaliyah-al-Ydaz, able to slide tons of stone with a flicker of their fingers.
Hassan sat on a pillowed throne. Considering the time he would be spending here every morning, he had removed the golden throne of the previous Emir and sent it to have it cast. His commodity and well-being were far more valuable than needless opulence.
Everyone already knew who the Emir was.
Him.
People quickly flocked to the room once he sat down. Many were servants and guards, both of the redundant. But it was all appearances, as always. He remembered most of their names after half a decade of working with them, but he couldn’t act like it.
Ugh... He grunted inwardly. I am but a massive sycophant.
An escort of five scribes approached him, not close enough to disrespect him, but not far enough so he couldn’t hear them. All of them were women.
Most members in high rankings were women after all. Even if Ydaz weren’t a matriarchy, for the last two centuries only women rested on the throne. And Aaliyah-al-Ydaz made it clear that she didn’t have much affection for men.
The five women weren’t even near Hassan’s future harem in his plans. They were far too capable to have them waste their time like that, but it wasn’t like they were unique or irreplaceable. If you had a tool, you wanted to use it, not have it lying around. But at the end of the day, it still was a tool.
The scribes came from diverse backgrounds, only one of them was a cultivator. The others were a scholar from the university, a former merchant, a commoner, and a random noble lady.
Not all nobles were cultivators, but all cultivators were nobles.
The last one he had been gifted, her father hoping she would make it to Hassan’s harem. Unfortunately for the power-seeking noble, her daughter was too competent at her job.
“Debrief, now,” Hassan ordered.
There was a reason to have scribes from different backgrounds, they were tasked with different fields. Efficiency through plurality.
“The University of Sadina is asking once again for a stimulus, my Emir.” Nuha, the scholar, presented with a bow.
“Have they made any progress or new discoveries deserving such income?” Hassan laid his head on his palm with boredom. The scholars of the university always wanted more money for their investigations, but never actually found anything new.
“No, my Emir,” Nuha responded as expected.
“Denied, then. Next!”
“There have been refugees flocking from Loyata, there seems to have been a dispute between local warlords. A bloody one.” Tamara, the merchant, explained.
“Sadina is far away from the frontier, there can’t be many refugees, can it?”
“No, my Emir.”
“Let them enter if they have money,” Hassan said after giving it a vague thought.
“Of course, my Emir.” Tamara bowed and stepped back.
“My Emir?” Asked the noblewoman.
“Yes, Dana?” He was allowed to recall the names of his personal scribes, especially if they were nobles.
“Regarding the refugees, there have been whispers of a plague as of late.” Dana said as she highlighted her bosoms by putting an arm underneath them. Clearly a petition from her father.
“Is that true?” Hassan looked back at Tamara, ignoring the wooing of the noblewoman.
“If I could be apologized by you, my Emir, the indices of the plague have come from Ydaz, not Loyata. That’s why I deemed it worth not to mention it.”
“I see.” The emir scratched his hairless chin. “If a single refugee is detected with this plague, cast them out. Without anything on their person.” Hassan added with a vitality-bolstered voice, making the scribes tremble.
“But of course, my Emir,” Tamara affirmed, her legs shaking underneath her open yellow dress.
“As for you, Dana. Keep me informed of the plague situation.” The noble lady only bowed in submission at his statement. “Next!”
“The fields seem to have been recovering, my Emir.” Shahrazad, the only common woman besides Tamara, explained. “After the gift of the magnificent Sultanah, the yields of the fields have almost doubled as the crops have been healthier.”
“I see.” Hassan didn’t express much interest, even if in reality that was the subject that interested him the most.
Shahrazad was the oldest of all the scribes, but also the one with the least power and influence. The only reason she could match the rest was because she was competent and had served for decades the previous Emir.
“Is any help needed, or are you just informing me of the progress?”
“Just a report, my Emir.” Shahrazad bowed down. She was also the shortest scribe, and as she did so, Hassan had difficulties almost detecting her with her diminutive presence.
“Next, then.” He added with an iota of boredom.
“My Emir,” The last woman took a step forward. She didn’t bow down like the others, just a hint of respect in her person. That was Rani, the cultivator, and also his brethren. “Assassin activity around Sadina has become erratic.”
“How so, my dear sister?” Rani hated him, he did not doubt it.
Much like their mother, Rani didn’t have a high opinion of men, but Rani’s was in more than one sense. And of course, it didn’t help that the Emir of Sadina was her brother instead of her. But she couldn’t do much about it. It was the decree of the Sultanah that put Hassan in charge, and she couldn’t deny that Hassan was a better cultivator than her.
“Their supply of drugs has diminished,” Rani explained, and she could see a hint of hate on the bronze face of her sister as she lightly bit her lips. Not much, and it was very subtle. Only his trained and superior eyes were able to perceive it.
“I am aware of that,” Hassan replied as a matter of fact. That was what his summon had been all about. “Have you thought of a solution?”
“No, my Emir.” She looked at him directly in the eyes, enraged but controlled.
With his last question, Hassan had partially deviated the blame to Rani. He was the Emir and the one who should resolve such affairs, of course. But by entailing that Rani could have done something beforehand with her position as a scribe and didn’t do so, that marked her as incompetent.
In truth, it didn’t matter. These were just petty nobility tricks Hassan had learned on the Sultanah’s court, so they were obviously not useful in his court.
As stated, Hassan was just being petty.
“I see.” That was actually a problem because he neither had a solution. Hassan didn’t just intend to enervate her sister with that question. “Shahrazad has stated that the fields have been yielding sufficient crops. Rani, could a small plot be separated to grow some plants of their liking? As a gift, of course.”
“That arrangement could be done, in theory, yes.” The cultivator turned scribe admitted. Truth was, she was the next Emir in line if the assassins killed him.
“Do so, then.” Hassan clapped his hands. “Let the rest enter.”
This had only been the debrief of his scribes, now the real audience with the people of Sadina would begin.
The job of an Emir wasn’t as glamorous as Hassan once thought.