Dull gold and silver streamers made from the finest tissue fabric were tied from the humongous trees, lowered over the towering walls and tied to the trims of the windows. Crows and doves alike sat on the tight strings their beaks opened as they sang songs of praise. Melodies of all sorts filled the atmosphere, the air whistling through between the tree branches and leaves brushed through grazing the cheeks of the women and men. Bricked stairs opened into the central ground, surrounded by lush green thicket of trees. A multitude of men thronged the grounds setting large tables of goods they traded in.

From lace to chiffon. Jewels and beads were plenty. Baked clay cups filled to the brim with tea steeped beverages. Cardamom diffused from the tea stations and tickled all senses. The bright summery colors of pinks and oranges, yellows, green unfurled over the tables and well dressed men in their maroon waistcoats with embroidery and silken hats waved thin peacock feathers to move the still air. Wiping their foreheads with linen cloths. They sipped teas and munched on the pistachios served to them on silver platters, their well oiled mustaches curved towards the sky and they spoke to each other in soft, rhyming sentences.

A large raised floor had been set up with wooden lounging chairs. They were covered on three sides with engraved wooden fences, one side left open for easy access. A thick feather filled mattress was placed on the large bench with thin floor cushions. The maroon covers contrasted with the dark wood. Women lounged on the chaises, servants of all kinds thronged behind them with serving trays while slaves fanned the royal families. Trays of grapes and sliced watermelon were presented to Princess Alishba, who sat amongst the royal family. She grinned at the family, their traditions were so different from what she was used to.

With ginger fingers she held the ripened apple. The bright red color of the honey crisp apple turned the shades of May Sun and her fingers warmed holding it's skin. She bit into it softly, the juice dripped down her crescent shaped lips. She wiped away with the back of her hand instantly. The bright magenta hexagon neckline floor length dress hid the ends of her feet. The dress was simple as compared to the extravagant ones the King's daughter's wore, but it was still as expensive. Her hands twirled the opulent crystal glasses that served the pale yellow kehva.

"Princess Alishba do you want to go have a closer look at those stalls?" Princess Saleeha spoke.

Saleeha was the twin sister of princess Safa and the two were the carbon copy of each other. With long, waist length inky hair that spiraled at the end. Their eyes were oval and huge on their naturally contoured faces. The cheekbones prominent with the apples of their cheeks sunken in. The two were twenty one years of age and dressed in a light gold lehnga with a small gold blouse that barely kept their breasts in place. Thin veils tucked into their waistbands and crossed over the opposite shoulder.

"I'd love to see everything," she replied.

Saleeha and Safa stepped off of the bench, taking the velvet pouches in hand that were filled to the brim with minted coins, given to them by their father to spend on themselves and the chief guest. Alishba trained behind them, straightening the ends of her loose dress. The purple embroidered shoes crushed the dewy grass under their weight. Her guards rushed up behind her with fans in hand, fanning her as she strolled through the crowds.

The gates had been opened for the nobility of the kingdom. Women from some of the most affluent houses had been invited for the event, a show of the King's might. He wanted to convince the Persians of his influence — to give physical proof of what he had. His subjects lived a cushioned life owning some of the most expensive fabrics and jewels. The physical show of wealth and strength impressed Alishba as she conversed with the women who fingered the garments. Her eyes blurred with the glitters that gleamed under the bright sunlight. Alishba hummed in reply, nodding her head occasionally as her attention remained fixated on the well built guards standing behind the gates.

"Have a look at this Princess Alishba, do you have this back in Persia?" Safa questioned.

The satin fabric with gold embossing, in the form of mandalas and flowers. Vines that ran through, thick and thin. Alishba looked at it with great curiosity her thick fingers dug into the delicate thread of the dress. The shopkeeper took his liberty to lay it on her shoulder, tying a string of praises of her beauty. She grinned at his actions motioning towards one of her maids to pay the man his price, not caring that he was ripping her off.

"We don't have this, no. I'd love to buy more of such clothes," she informed.

⚜️⚜️⚜️

With great vigor Samra ran through the palace. Her feet smacked the ground hard and the fuchsia pink skirt flew behind her. A wide smile put her pearly white teeth on display, the stomach chain on her soft curvy waist emphasized the movement of her waist. The dull gold sat against her dark skin and shone as bright as ever. Her hands fixed the pleats of her drape, with nimble fingers she pushed her hair behind her ear. The small earrings — part of her mother's handful of good's she brought from Egypt, sparkled under the sunlight. Her eyes searched for her father, he had left at the crack of dawn and forgotten to leave behind the tiny satchel for her and her mother to use.

She crossed from her quarters and into the main part of the fort. Her eyebrows were furrowed in deep contemplation, taking in the tiniest of details. Seldom was she allowed to cross into this part of the estate, and she was a hundred percent sure she had slipped past the guards only because they were too focused on flirting with the fair skinned Persians. Samra marveled at the sight infront of her. The pink opals were fixed into the wall in a way that as sunlight fell on them, it dispersed into the colors of the rainbow that then reflected off of the mirrored ceilings. It was a marvelous display of wealth and power, just the tiniest of the King's might. Her own best dress feeling shabby.

She fisted the loose chiffon material in a deathly grip. Upset at the tan shoes that peaked from beneath the worn out skirt. It's frayed edges and snapping strings looked disgusting. Wincing she rubbed the shoes against the floor — hard, in hopes to rid them of some of the dirt and mud, smudging away the signs of overuse. Taking the steps in a slow rhythmic manner Samra felt the divide between herself and her cousins grow by the second. In the large looking glass that formed major part of the mosaic she could see her forlorn figure. The loose shirt sat a few inches above her belly button and anyone could tell it did not belong to her — despite the many alterations.

Unlike her cousin sister's who had elegant satin fabrics to wear and pearls to decorate their hair with on their birthday, Samra only had a broken comb. The porcelain white was odd with the pink of her dress, they clashed absolutely horrendously. Leaving her with zero idea of what she should do. Still though, she willed her heart and mind to be firm in their path. Reminding herself that her father was a treasured man — at which she knew her mother would scoff — Samra pulled her chin higher into the air. Just because a swan was thrown out of it's flock did not mean it was no longer a swan.

As she neared the guest room chambers Samra heard her father's loud voice. She could hear his thick laughter and a smile made it's way onto her face. Anytime he was ripe with joy, Samra felt her own-self fill up with pride. He was her everything. Grinning like a fool, she inched towards the thin walls. Cool air flew in from the large windows and the guards faced the other side in respect, from the behavior and attire she knew they were not from her uncle's army. Staring at the green fields that surrounded the palace and the wide fast flowing river of Irawati. Too focused in her own thoughts and the sight infront of her, she failed to notice her father and General Fadahunsi turn the corner that joint the King's court and guest chambers.

She moved with steady feet, crashing right into a thick chest. Groaning, Samra stumbled on her feet. Bracing herself for the impact of her head against the brick floors she sighed in relief when sturdy arms pulled her up. She groaned, rubbing her nose mumbling incoherent curses underneath her breath. Akbar grinned at her, surprised to see her present in the main part of the palace. Whilst Fadahunsi leaned against the wall and tried to keep his chuckles to himself. The frown and pouted lips were more cute than intimidating as she glared at him. Her slender fingers pointed towards him and she began a long list of slander, that his brain muted out. He focused on her body and the soft soprano voice that toyed with his senses. The smell of lemon that wafted from her body coupled with the hints of jasmine stirred in him feelings that had last raised their head when he was a naive teenager.

"Aap ki yeh naiza jaisi nazar kia thori si kharab hai?" Samra scolded.

[Is this razor sharp gaze of yours slightly out of order?]

Fadahunsi chuckled, shaking his head. His sight was more than perfect, after all if that was not the case how could he have changed his pathway just in time for the soft figure to crash into him. He had on one glance, recognized her as the woman he encountered last night. The one that was playing with his mind and the one that was the reason behind him breaking his morning routine for the first time in years.

"Aisi koi baat nahi hai mohtarma, meri nazar bilkul theek hai. Dekha tou aap nai bhi nahi," he smirked.

[There is nothing like that miss, my gaze is absolutely okay. And you didn't see me either.]

"Astaghfirullah! Abu dekhiye tou sahi kaisay mujh sai qalam kar rahay hain!" She turned to Akbar.

[God forbid! Look father the way he is talking to me!]

"Woh bhi sahi keh rahay hain, maafi mang lein aur yeh batayie aap idhr kyun aai?" He patted her head.

[He is saying correct too, apologize to him and explain why are you here?]

Samra nodded. Admitting mentally that her father was right. Turning towards the well built man she sheepishly apologized, after which her attention was focused solely on her father. She explained to him the reason she had to take such a long detour. Akbar frowned a little and then passed forth the thin satchel, she kissed his cheek in thanks and ran off. Leaving her father to face Fadahunsi.

He had noticed the worn out purse and the thinness of it. For a man who was the advisor of such an important man, he had assumed he would live a better life. Perhaps that is what people meant when they said 'there is more than meets the eye'. His sharp gaze had caught the signs of overuse on the strained clothing and repaired shoes that peaked from underneath. The woman had impressed him with her firm mind but even greater so by the ability of admitting when she is wrong. He knew the estranged princess deserved better. To be dressed in finery and to live in opulence. The cold heart under his warm chest was beating for the first time in years and Fadahunsi was not one to let what he loved go.

• Translations •
Kehva — a drink that is light yellow in color

•••

FADAHUNSI IN LOVEEEEE