What was this. This didn't make any sense at all. Arsaces fondled the jewel encrusted cup in his hands, looking down on the chilled wine in it. He wondered what face he was making right now. Was it one of a haunted victim of possession, or that of a gallows victim. It didn't matter. They were practically the same. He didn't even know what his bride looked like. All that praising was just posturing and the quips of an overtly enthusiastic young prince, who wanted to charm a foreign princess and gain some favour. The only thing he had gotten was a future wife whose face he didn't even know. He looked up from his wine cup and stared out over the dinner hall.

With Xu Yinghou arriving soon, Khosrow had been preparing a feast of large proportions. This had been carried out for the past week since that damned eagle had arrived, and Arsaces had been extremely busy With his father, the Shahzade Darius rallying the army for a war game exercise, Arsaces had taken the role that his absent father or ailing grandfather would normally have taken, the managing of the arrangements, meals, and invitations. They knew that people management was something Arsaces was weak at, and the old Emperor had taken special interest in pushing these responsibilities to him to prepare him for kingship. Despite knowing everything, Arsaces still couldn't feel anything but bitterness. He hadn't progressed a word in his thesis since, and even now he desired rest. Maybe Ahriman would take him away from this mortal plane, where his soul could rest under the rock for eternity and more. He sighed.

The young prince had taken special care to organize this as well as possible, and had stayed up many nights to ensure that the most minute details were well taken care of. Dishes, entertainment, and sitting plans had to be organized properly, with the closest to the Shahanshah sat closest to him and so on and on. Arsaces himself would take the right wing of the dinner table at the second throne as his father was off busy conducting military excercises, and so he would have to put up his disgusting façade as the royal prince. Many of the nobles invited wore expensive silks and cloths, their perfumed beards and make-up caked faces made them look like one another, but even then, Arsaces recognized a select few. The Andhvarids had ruled over large tracts of land in the past, but 40 years ago, they had been pushed out of their old capital and into their eastern hinterlands, where the Shahanshah Khosrow VI ruled now from Livi-Uaktria. He presided over a multicultural empire, and Arsaces had been forced to learn the important social divisions and ruling classes of the empire.

The Asronan, priests, dressed in their plain white uniforms which were decorated with lockets, amulets, and other such jewelries, the numerous Spahbeds and Artestarans, professional soldiers and officers, mostly drawn from the nobility, of which numbered the Shahrdoran, Wurzwugan, the Azadan, the Dehqans. Vassal kings, the powerful grandees, dukes, marquises, counts, viscounts, and the gentry. The divisions of the Khosroshar were numerous and exhaustive, and Arsaces could not personally bear to remember everyone's titles and names. He had to though, for it was expected of a prince who was to become king. Didn't mean he liked it though.

Arsaces noted that in the far off end of the room, a large throne made of rare metals stood tall and full of arrogant opulence. With numerous cushions, there were also dozens of ambers, emeralds, diamonds, and various other such jewels encrusted onto it. A large red crown, the symbol of power, standing at 2 feet and a heavy 10 kilograms, was hung from the roof with a sturdy rope. Its seat was empty though, and its wearer, the frail and old Khosrow VI, was at the moment chatting away happily with his old friend, the guest, Xu Yinghou, who was chewing away happily at a roasted pheasant, coated in honey and berry sauce. Fortunately, the eccentric guest had wiped away his horrendous makeup, and was looking much more human now. Arsaces turned back towards his cup, taking a sip of the sweet wine, hoping that the night would pass by quickly.

He despised these ceremonies. They were too opulent for his tastes, even if they were essential to maintaining the image as the Shahanshah, the King of Kings. On the bright side, it seemed as if the coming of a close friend had made grandfather much happier. His face was more full now, and he even seemed to have recovered his posture, walking about with a contradictory confidence in his limping, as he engaged in a deep conversation about something with his close friend. The two had a close history which Arsaces obviously did not know of. He knew the two kings had worked together extensively years ago, and their personal relationship had greatly benefitted both empires. Arsaces pondered on about the two men and smiled slight. If the opulence did have one good thing about it, it would be that it kept his grandfather happy, and that was good enough.

On the right hand side of the old man, there sat the young foreign princess, his bride-to-be. The word bride scared him. Even now her face was concealed with a heavy veil. He could only see her lower mouth, which was at the moment barely moving as she ate her meal. She seemed extremely graceful, her every move calculated and every action pre-meditated. It was a stark contrast to the young princeling, who even now tended to play with his food. He was prone to using his sleeves to wipe his mouth of stains as well, and had to remind himself not to do such things. It was exhausting, and Arsaces wondered how she could handle it.

"Your excellency." Came a young and loud voice from next to him. Arsaces turned around, recognizing a schoolmate of his, a young man named Cyrus Buyid. Cyrus was the child of the king, or Khan, of the Buyids, a nomadic Dahae horse steppe tribe that swore fealty to Khosrow VI. His family had been subdued by Khosrow when the young king had been made Shahrdaran of Uaktria and Dahae, almost half a century back, and they had remained loyal. Cyrus was short and pudgy, but nonetheless, he was curiously handsome despite it all. Only 19, he spotted a large and bushy beard, opposed to his twin brother, Darius Buyid, who in turn spotted none. The two young men were always together, but recently, Darius had fallen ill. "Why do you look so depressed. You should be happy! You are getting a wife!"

"How did you... nevermind." The young prince cried out, before stopping himself. Rumours in the royal palace ran like wildfire. No one could stop it, not even his holy divinity, Urava himself. He took a look over the table, his eyes resting on his bride. Could she hear him?

"A wife... whose face I don't even know." Arsaces covered his eyes with his fingers, pressing against his temples as he continued ranting. "Urava save me. What did I do to deserve this."

"Well, for one, you were born a Wishpuran. You have only yourself to blame." Cyrus joked, but Arsaces wasn't in the mood, and gave him a stern stare, but relented. "I never did choose to be a prince, you know. I want to be a hero, to save a princess and take her as my bride when she falls in love with me, her saviour. Not some foreigner... Gosh. I don't even know why we're marrying! No ones explaining anything to me."

"Hey, calm down, your excellency. You said you never saw her face, yes?" Cyrus smiled genially. "Well, imagine this. The Tianxia Emperors tend to take the most beautiful of all women as their concubines, yes? So, imagine how beautiful this woman must be then."

What kind of warped logic was that? Arsace squinted and looked at Cyrus, and he softened his tone into a harsh whisper. "Are you blind? What if she looks like our esteemed guest over there?" He pointed his thumb over towards the Taishang Huang, who was consumed in his dish, his lips comically coated with berry sauce.

"I don’t know. Cut back 60 years and make him a girl and I think he'll be pretty cute as a girl. Come on, you know what they say. The Jinguoren may be devilish and amoral, but their women are the prettiest around. Have some faith, your excellency. Plus, look at her lips. Deep red, luscious, fat. Just the way you like them, don’t you, like two slices of salmon."

The young prince continued staring at his schoolmate, then after a minute of unblinking judgement, he turned towards Jiangshi, who was looking in his direction. Her lips really were fat. "I hate you Cyrus."

The young noble begun snickering, closing his eyes and wheezing slightly. "You're welcome, your excellency."

Arsaces stood up, piling onto his plate a large portion of cold cut pork meat and taking a large goblet of wine for himself. "I'm going to catch some fresh air. The atmosphere here is disturbing. If anyone asks you where I am, tell them I'm on a mission from his majesty, and that if they disturb me, I'll personally flog them."

The steppe prince gave a mock salute, smirking as he did. "Yes, your excellency. You're turning into a prim and proper Khosro prince now aren't you."

"Shut up." Arsaces half-jokingly responded as he took a dish of cold meat and a cup of Basarangian wine, leaving his noble friend to himself. The young princeling guided himself through the human maze of scented perfumes and strong fruit-like smells, he found himself at a large door. With some expert dexterity, honed from years of extensive physical training, he unlocked the door with his elbow, and then closed it behind him, and found the effect to be immediate. The chatterings of venal gentry, eunuchs, bureaucrats and ministers had softened down, and Arsaces found himself able to collect his thoughts. He took a deep breath in, and then another out. He had never been in his element around so many people. Sure, he loved talking, but feasts and such gatherings were a different problem. It felt so unnerving and uncomfortable simply being among the crowd, gossiping and plotting. He wasn't sure why, but that was what it was. Maybe it was the stale smell of plots and intrigue in the air? That was always a possibility. It would be best if he could just silence them all, to retract all their titles and destroy their ambitions. Then he could finally be at peace, and maybe he would be able to write his thesis.

Arsaces climbed down the grim stone stairs infront of him, the dark stairway lighted only by dim candles. The stone walls occasionally gave way to open windows, where the cold night breeze showered his body with chilly vibes. It was a beautiful night, one that was perfect for writing. Arsaces wondered if he would be able to make it back to his quarters without anyone noticing. No. That would be impossible. Grandfather would definitely notice if he was missing, and then, he would be in deep trouble. Turning a right, Arsaces fumbled his pockets for the key, and opened the wooden door to the outside. The creaking old door gave way, and Arsaces found himself as the base of the castle, a secret entrance into the courtyard. It was a clear sky tonight, and the moon was high up in the sky, its crescent running ever so slowly through the darkness, awaiting the four suns to push it away. Khosro tradition has it that the moon came up every night to find her lost lover, and would run away when her husband, the four coloured sun, came up in the early dawn. Who or what her lover was, no one knew. They only knew that she had a lover. This entrance was used for any emergency messengers, if they had such important notifications that they had to tell the king in a hurry. He followed the route for a minute, turning a left, and taking a door through towards the private stables, where he found his mount, a young, unfriendly griffon named Shahrbaraz.

The griffon had been with Arsaces for a long time, maybe since birth. He didn't know. The beast had been around since he was a little boy. It was tall and slender, standing up to a height of a metre and a half on all four legs, and maybe two and a half on its hind legs, its wing span was large, almost 5 metres, by his estimates. It had a beautiful white coat of feathers at the front, which was tipped with a blood red that made it seem all the more cunning and dangerous. Down towards the rear, the feathers dissipated to a luscious white skin, which was accentuated with red dots. A beautiful mount, all in all. He was maybe Arsaces one true companion. It didn't pretend to be someone else around him, not like his schoolmates, his tutors, or any of those vain nobles. All of them reeked of schemes, plots and masks. Masks over masks over masks. Liars, all of them. Sinners... Unrepentant

This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

"Hey Shahrbaraz. I brought you some cold cut pork meat. From the leg. Best part." He placed the plate down infront of the great beast, smiling as he did. Arsaces moved to pat the animal, but as quick as he was, he could not match the reflexes of the king of all beasts, who growled without even looking at the young prince. "A smart fucker aren't you, eh Shahrbaraz?"

The steed purred, or well, as much as a griffon could physically purr, and started picking away at the food. Arsaces, exhausted, sat down and reclined back onto the beast's furry stomach, closing his eyes. He didn't realize just how tired he had been recently. Wondering if it showed on his face, he wiped at his brow, coating his finger with a soft mixture of white powder and sweat. Makeup. He hated how uncomfortable it felt, and wondered to himself how anyone could even enjoy such things. Maybe it was peer pressure? Or maybe he was just different. The second option made more sense, atleast to him. He had always had different ideas from the people around him. Better ideas, sometimes, especially around people who were unqualified for their positions of power, who squandered it and showed off like signet rings or trophy concubines.

The griffon gave a low, approving growl, and Arsaces smiled. While griffons couldn't read minds, Arsaces was convinced that his steed and him were closely connected enough that the beast could read his thoughts, simply from his movements alone. "Yeah, yeah, I know Shahrbaraz. You don't like those posturers either..."

"Is that his name?" Arsaces heard a soft, feminine, heavily accentuated voice behind him. Mindlessly, Arsaces responded, his eyes still closed. "Yeah. It means Boar of the Realm..."

As he did so, he realized. Had someone followed him? He stretched himself back and propelled himself to his feet through propulsion, finding himself face to face with a shocked, veiled young lady, with big red lips. Jiangshi. His bride.

Taking a stern tone, Arsaces questioned her. "What are you doing here? You should be with your grandfather." Women were not supposed to go around alone without a man. No culture in the world, barring maybe some of the more exotic tribes east of the Nikelo Empire, allowed that.

"Well, the situation there was getting rowdier. Many of the men had begun to drank too much, and I too may have had too much drink. I saw you escape through the backdoor, and I decided to follow you. Anywhere was better than there." She said, softly. Her voice had an air of regality and arrogance in it, yet at the same time, there was a certain cunning in it, a thieves cunning, like she was hiding something from him. Was she an assassin? No. That wouldn't make any sense. He sighed.

"Well, if you want to join me, feel free to sit here. If you want some food, you can share it with Shahrbaraz and me. If you want drink, I'll be glad to share, though I wouldn't recommend it, if what you say is true."

"Thank you." Jiangshi muttered out respectfully, bowing as she did. There was something weird about her, the manufactured replies and such. He should despise her, yet there seemed to be a kernel of honesty and truth within her that made him separate her from the others. Was it because he knew they were to be married, and was mentally preparing himself to make exceptions? No, no. That didn't seem likely. As human as he was, this wasn't one of his flaws.

As the foreign princess looked about, she watched as Arsaces sat down on the straw bed, next to Shahrbaraz, resting his back on the griffon. "Is it really okay to sit on the ground?"

The prince stared at her, pondering her question for a moment. "I mean. It doesn't kill you?" He said out loud, before realizing what she had meant by the question. He begun laughing, and then begun to strip his lion-skin coat. Of course she couldn't sit on the straw. She was a proper lady and all that. Guess some things were the same no matter where you were.

Folding his coat into a suitably thick layer, he placed it on the straw bed, and patted it there. "There. It should be good for you now."

"Ah..." Jiangshi seemed like she wanted to disagree, but sighed. Pulling her skirt up slightly, she pulled it forward and placed herself on the straw bed of the griffon. Arsaces smiled at her, and she smiled back as well. From this close, Arsaces could smell her scent. It was soft and subtle, perfectly suited for someone who seemed as small and dimunitive as her. She was tiny, by Arsaces standards, maybe 1.65 metres. Through her beautiful dress, Arsaces spotted her contours and beautiful body. While it wasn't busty or exorbitant, it was athletic, lean, and curiously modest, possibly the result of a controlled and constant exercise. She had big hips, small shoulders, and long legs that seemed to attract all the attention. Even though she was dressed in a long cheongsam that concealed her entire body, Arsaces still found it weirdly attractive. As Arsaces begun to observe her, he noticed that one of her hands had only 3 fingers. He blinked, counting it again. Yes. 3. He wasn't blind. The last 2 fingers of her right hand were missing. He pondered whether to ask her about it, but as she withdrew it, he relented.

Looking at her, she seemed slightly reluctant, and had shifted her hand behind her back. "Ah. Sorry." He said.

"No, no. Its okay. It was from an accident, a long time ago." She replied curtly. No. It definitely was not afraid. Arsaces was bad with people, but even he knew he had grasped a touchy subject for her. He reminded himself to pretend it wasn't there. Thinking up a way to make things up, he offered her his drink. "Here. Its Parsian. I drew it out of the cellars for this occasion. My grandfather, his majesty, is a great collector of drink, and it is a pretty much a custom in the family to drink often, and heavily. Every one of us are heavy drinkers. This one is about a century old, bottled in the time of Peroz I. Drink up."

He passed the cup over to Jiangshi's hands, and she looked down at the drink, her hands on it. After a moment, she gave it back, shaking her head. "Sorry. I can't share."

"Saliva conscious? You should really get over that." Arsaces asked, his usual obtuseness returning.

"No, no. Customs." She replied slowly. As Shahrbaraz purred, Jiangshi leapt up a little, maybe having forgotten that she had been sitting next to a living animal. Arsaces wondered how much she left the palace. Her skin seemed extremely pale, almost snow white, or atleast, whatever the young prince could see through the multi-coloured robes that shielded her skin from the elements, yet showed off her body. "How old is it?" Jiangshi asked, looking at the beast with some amazement.

"He's 18. Same age as me. He's been with me for as long as I've been around." Arsaces stood up, using the fleshy body of his steed to support himself up, incurring a mean stare from him. "Do you want to pat him? He won't mind." Of course that was a lie. Shahrbaraz was as tempermental as they came. He wouldn't harm her though, maybe scare her slightly. Shake her off her royal butt for once.

Jiangshi turned around, eyeing the steed. It looked at her lazily, then his eyes trailed towards her hand, as if daring her to pat him. Arsaces suppressed a smirk. As Jiangshi reached out, she started rubbing his head softly, and... he didn't move. Infact, it felt like he was enjoying it. Jiangshi begun to scratch under his jaw, and he gave out a pleasured purr. Arsaces only stared in disbelief, still suppressing his mouth, unaware that his eyes had betrayed all emotion.

The princess noticed this, turning towards him. "Hmm? Why are you looking at me like that? Did I do something wrong?"

Arsaces shook his face, slapping himself with his hand, leaving a bright red mark on the side of his face. "No, no. Its nothing." He sat back down, closer to his betrothed now. "Hes never allowed me to pat him like that before. Everytime I do, he tries to bite my hand off like a feral dog."

Jiangshi only giggled, smiling. "Maybe I'm better with animals than you are, Arsaces."

"Then I guess you'll make a good rider when we marry then." Arsaces quipped nonchalantly.

"Rider? I've never ridden before..." Jiangshi replied. Arsaces turned towards her with some shock. "Never ridden? Ehh. Well, that makes sense I suppose. You Jinguoren aren't riders. Everyone here knows how to ride. My sister and mother both, grandmother too. It’s a tradition I guess."

"You Khosro are riders, yes?"

"Hmm? Oh, no no. That’s a mistake that sometimes we even tend to make. The Khosro people are divided into numerous divisions. Those in the royal lands are mostly the agricultural Uravans, while those in the north are the pastoral Dahae. The Andhvarids are traditionally Dahae, our first king having been had a Dahae chief as his father. It’s abit complicated, but that’s the jist of it. There are also the Zeuskoi, Jahlavians, Dairoknans, and some sparse Yoghurk tribes as well, though that’s exploded in number since the Olmezids took Pars. Ah. Eh. This probably doesn't make much sense to you, does it?"

"No, no. Its okay. I get the overall picture now." Jiangshi replied. "So... everyone in your family rides?"

"Yep. Griffons, more specifically, though some in the past have eschewed these animals for others, like elephants or warlions. These animals are bonded to you since birth, and when they mark you, you're marked for life. They only allow people who they know well onto them."

"Oh. Then I wouldn't be able to ride your steed here... uh..."

"Shahrbaraz. That’s his name."

"Shahrbaraz. Right." Jiangshi turned towards Arsaces. "What convinced you to come up with the name?"

The young princeling grinned. "It seemed cool at the time."

"Cool?" Jiangshi questioned. "What do you mean?"

"Well, I had named him this back when I was 4, and now he sticks by it. Sometimes I wonder if he hates me for it. Griffons are intelligent animals, and they damn well know how to hate." At that, the young prince gave an exaggerated growl at the Griffon, who replied lazily with a growl of his own. Jiangshi giggled slightly, releasing her hands from rubbing the king of beasts, who had gotten used to her. Shahrbaraz whined, but quickly recovered, turning back to resting on his straw bed.

As the young prince opened his mouth to begin a different topic, he heard a distant bell, and immediately stopped. One. Two. Three. Four.... six. Six volleys. Arsaces' eyes sharpened. Six.

"Shit. I need to go. His Majesty needs me." Arsaces shouted out, passing his goblet roughly into the hands of his betrothed.

"Whats going on?" Jiangshi asked, shocked, trailing behind the prince as he rushed up to the door. "The Shahanshah, his majesty, is close to death. I need to be there." As he did so, Arsaces noted that the entire palace had broken out in activity, as lights and lamps begun to turn open. It was an emergency and crisis

Arsaces rushed up the stairs, leaving the young foreigner behind, and he leapt into a fury of action as he stepped into the dinner hall. A large number of nobles had gathered at the doorways, and Arsaces grunted harshly in disapproval. "By the order of Arsaces Andhvarid, his excellency, the grandson of your Shahanshah, get the hell out of my way. Disobey me and die."

This was enough to shock the petty and vain nobles into action, and they quickly made way for him. Arsaces sprinted up the stairs, threatening anyone who was in his way with death and flogging if they did not get aside. The last moments of a Shahanshah's life could be fraught with disaster, especially if he had not set his items in order. Luckily Khosrow had been diligent in that aspect, but nonetheless, Arsaces wanted to ensure that no one came anywhere near the dying emperor. Eunuchs, bureaucrats, former 'allies', even family. At the end of one's life, they would want to cut up and divide the spoils of this death. Whatever the Shahanshah said needed to be written down, typified, verified by loyal onlookers, and sealed. Any manipulations of the script were tantamount to treason and were punishable by death in the most painful ways ever conceived. As Darius was absent from the royal city, Arsaces, the closest relative to the emperor, had to be there to keep his last moments free of any disasters. As the young prince rushed into a grandiose hall and took a sharp left to the cramped and book-filled room that the king of kings had taken as his own. Outside the room, there stood still the two slave palace guards, their throats slit to prevent any word being spoken out. A small flock of servants had gathered outside the room, and upon sighting the prince, immediately made way for him, bowing as they did, not daring to meet his eyes. Ignoring them, Arsaces rushed into the room

The dark, barely lit room smelt heavily of incense. Not a good sign. Walking past the large painting of Urava and through the bead curtains, the young prince found himself alone with the two old friends, his grandfather on the bed, eyes closed with the court physician, a Nikelo by the name of Oribasius, treating him, and the old foreign king, Xu Yinghou, by his bedside, reading out loud a book. On the sight of the young prince, Yinghou stopped. "Your majesty, may you be immortal." Arsaces dropped to his knees, his entire body prostate on the floor.

"Arsaces?" Khosrow opened his eyes, turning towards his grandson. "Ah. Right. Arsaces. Get up. I've been waiting for you. Took you long enough."

"I apologize, your majesty, but I was busy conversing with Jiangshi, my bride." The young prince replied plainly and honestly.

"Ah. As honest as ever. Your biggest strength and flaw..." Khosrow turned back towards the ceiling, a beautiful mosaic of the celestial bull having been imprinted to it. Arsaces swore that he heard Khosrow swear something under his breath. "I've settled the order and have finally thought up a will. Can you get me a cup of water?" The old man asked, and Arsaced obliged. Rising to his feet, he made the quickest haste towards the nearby cups and jugs, filling one up for his king and grandfather. The old king pushed himself up, refusing Arsaces help, and took the cup by it's sides, his hands shaking ever so slightly.

"Yinghou, Oribasius. May I ask of the two of you to be my witnesses? Arsaces, please prepare a pen and paper. I wish you to write. Try your best to fix your handwriting, boy. If this is illegible, I'll come back from the grave to haunt you." Khosrow begun to laugh, but then, broke out into a fit of violent coughs, dropping the cup of water down to his crotch and legs as he moved to cover his mouth. There was blood on it. Consumption. The synptoms had only gotten worse in the past few weeks, and even the brief respite of Yinghou's presence had done nothing to delay it. It seemed that he would die tonight, maybe tommorow, if he was lucky. The young princeling felt something pull at his heart, and his eyes begun to well up. No. He wouldn't cry. He turned and ran to grab a writing set, one of many that the old scholar had, and wrapped out a clear piece of parchment. It was an honour to serve as the king's final scribe, and Arsaces intended to do it well.

The doctor had moved to grab a dry towel to clean up the mess, and Yinghou had moved to comfort his friend with some medicine. As the hunchback recovered, he found strength within him to continue on talking. "As Khosrow VI Andhvarid, King of Kings... ah. You know the drill, Arsaces. Just write the whole spiel down. I need some water. Oribasius? Please."

-=0=-