City of Tarhuntassa, Summer. Reign of Muwatallis, Year 12

Urhi-Teshub pushed away his morning meal, his appetite gone. "I will not do it," he said, folding his arms over his chest. "I cannot. Even the thought of it makes me sick. I am nineteen, Istara is eleven, a child in mind and body and like a sister to me."

His father motioned for the steward to bring more mead. He waited until the cups had been filled and the steward had withdrawn before responding. "Perhaps now you understand what I suffered being forced to marry my own stepmother." He toyed with the stem of his wine cup, his lips turned downward. "It is no lie I cannot stand the sight of Tanu-Hepa. But for you it is not the same."

"You are right. It is not the same," Urhi-Teshub answered, tight. "Tanu-Hepa was eighteen, of equal age to you when grandfather married her to provide Hatti with a high priestess, her only purpose. He did not even allow her to live in the queen's palace."

"Yet, he knew her," his father replied, cold, "knowing he would force his son to marry her. He knew her, and they had a child."

"The child died," Urhi-Teshub muttered, exasperated by his father's determination to make everything about himself, "and all know he never touched her again."

Over his raised cup, his father glared at him. "Why do you defend her? She is not your mother. Asuru is your mother."

"Tanu-Hepa is the only mother I have ever known," Urhi-Teshub said, feeling his temper beginning to rise, "and despite all she has suffered for Hatti, she has remained a kind and good woman. Even after you banished Lubarna to Hakpis, she loves you still."

His father eyed him, indifferent. "Just one time I had her," he muttered as he finished his meal. "I don't even remember it. Now I am burdened with her brat, but with Lubarna under your uncle's influence, the loyalists have been silenced and-don't look at me like that, you ingrate-I did it for you, to protect your inheritance to the throne. Enough of this. I expected you to be pleased with my decision for you to marry Istara, since it is no secret how fond you are of her."

"As a sis--"

"Enough." His father tossed his napkin onto the table and rose to his feet. "It is my command. Kadesh is too valuable to give to anyone else. I swore to Asuru I would make it right, and this is how it shall be done."

"By forcing your son to marry his near-sister?" Urhi-Teshub snapped, bitter.

"Before you return north," his father continued as he dipped his hands in a bowl of warmed water, ignoring Urhi-Teshub's question, "you will mix your blood before the altar of Arinna and seal your bond before the gods. None shall be able to break it."

"And I have no choice but to obey," Urhi-Teshub scoffed, eyeing his father, filled with hate. He leaned forward, his body vibrating with suppressed rage. "But in one matter you will have no power over me. I refuse to complete the bond with her until she is a woman, and even then, it will sicken me to take her to my bed. In this union, there can be no joy for me."

"You may thank me yet," his father said, waving away Urhi-Teshub's words as he took up a linen towel and dried his hands. "In a few years, when Istara has matured I suspect you will be more than willing to take her to your bed. Her mother, as I recall, was astonishing."

Urhi-Teshub stared at his father, incredulous. "Do you not hear me? I will never thank you for this. Never. It is sick. No matter how much she matures, I will only ever see in Istara the broken-hearted, weeping child I carried away from Kadesh's square, the one who wet her blanket the first three nights of our march home." He leaned forward, angry, his words accusing. "The one I washed clean in the river in the dead of the night, since there was no one else I could trust to do it."

"Go," his father shouted, pointing at the door. "Spend your time fighting for Nerik. When you return a woman will be standing in the child's place. Tell me then you do not thank me. I can wait for your apology." He tossed the towel at a servant and stalked out, leaving Urhi-Teshub sitting alone at the table, furious and humiliated.

Urhi-Teshub slammed his fist against the table, bellowing the foulest curse he knew. He shoved his chair away from the table. Unseeing, he strode through his father's apartments, blinded by his anger and powerlessness. He plunged out the main doors into the crowded corridors of the palace, sending courtiers and servants scuttling to make space for him.

Istara was a sister to him, a child. An image, unwelcome and unbidden, flashed across his mind, of him taking her, the child, to his bed. Bile, bitter and burning hot rose up in his throat. He pushed his way into a garden, vomiting his morning meal onto a rose bush, uncaring of who saw.

Rubbing the back of his hand across his mouth, he watched the rose petals shrivel, blackened by the acid of his stomach. He recalled Istara's favorite flowers were roses. He turned. It was the only rose bush in the garden. Of all the places he could have been sick, it had to be here. A bad omen.

Gardeners came running, their heads bowed, and hurried to clean the mess before the king passed by. He left them to their work and headed for the training grounds. He longed for the familiar feel of his sword in his hands, and the deep ache in his muscles after a lengthy afternoon of sparring. His father might be able to force him to bind with Istara, but this much he could control--he would never touch her. Ever.