Chapter 1: A King's Lie & The Price of Clemency

In the heart of the desert, deep across the torrid sands of The Sunken Kiln, you'll find the Zaramuun Palace Oasis. The Zaramuun Royal Palace came to life at night, permitting a different type of beauty that daylight could not match. The open-air structure was primarily built of stone and decorated with intricate clay and glass mosaics that glistened in the moon’s glow. Its design was meant to invite and merge with the warm, dry air of its Zaramuunian homeland. But tonight, as events that changed the course of history unfolded, the palace seemed to take on a more ominous facade.

The sharp percussive slaps of bare feet echoed through the empty royal courtyard. Rushed huffed breaths lost on the gentle night breeze that flowed lightly through the air, catching the hems of flowing silk curtains that adorned every passed archway.

“Amara, don’t!” A voice shouted from a distance, not close enough to stop the actions already on course.

Amara Seti, princess and known as the Heart of Zaramuun, pushed open the heavy wooden doors of the royal chamber of Rafiq Seti, the reigning King of Zaramuun, and found herself frozen in place. Paralyzed in fear at the deathly sharp scimitar pointed directly at her, mere inches from her throat. Before Amara could even meet the king’s fierce eyes, she felt herself being pulled backward, tackled to the warm tile floor.

She looked down to find her twin brother Ammar’s arms wrapped tightly around her, trembling slightly. Still in a fear-stricken daze, Amara looked up to see her father staring down at them. She couldn’t believe this was the man she once knew to be her fierce father. His once beautiful, long mane of dark hair, streaked heavily with gray and white, now sat disheveled and matted atop his head, like it hadn’t been brushed for weeks. Those once intense amber eyes, now bloodshot and clouded with paranoia and weariness. The fine silk of his expensive robes hung loosely about his noticeably frail frame.

“You dare attack the king?” Rafiq said in a low, almost inaudible tone.

Amara opened her mouth to speak, only to be instantly silenced by Ammar’s large hand falling over the lower half of her face. They sat in silence as King Rafiq stared through the siblings. There was no love or hate in his gaze, only the failing instinct for survival of a maddening king.

“....they are here. I know it,” Rafiq mumbled, dropping his wielded arm to his side and continuing to pace the room, filling it with the incessant ramblings of a mad king.

“He does not see us, Amara. His rants are those of a threat he perceives in his mind’s eye,” Ammar whispered to his sister. The plea not to interact with their father was evident in his voice.

Amara refused to listen to Ammar; everything in her world was about to change in an instant, and if she did nothing, it'd be like conceding to death itself regardless. Amara forced herself away from her brother’s grip, shoving him with all her strength. He watched helplessly as she crawled towards their ranting father, like some beggar.

“Father, it is I, Amara,” She said with a loud and clear voice. As soon as she held his attention, she bowed deeply on all fours. Her forehead touched the warm tile lining the ground.

“Are you but foolish children who run carelessly through the halls while this kingdom crumbles?!” Amara flinched as Rafiq’s voice boomed throughout the chamber.

“Please forgive me, Father. But I do not wish to be sent to the Solandria Empire,” Amara said, trembling, her eyes clenched shut.

“Who are you to wish?” Rafiq asked, his pacing footsteps beginning again. Amara instinctively reached out to grab Rafiq’s flowing robes.

“Please, Father, you can’t do this!” She cried out, clinging to him as if her life depended on it.

“A king does as he pleases,” Rafiq spat, immediately grabbing back at his robes and wounding Amara with a solid kick to her stomach. She fell away from him, crumbling to the ground, in tears. Rafiq brought his sword in the air once again. Ammar quickly lunged between the two, breathing raggedly, determined to shield his sister from danger. There he sat on his knees, his hands positioned in front of him defensively.

“Greetings Father, I’ve come with news concerning the fate of our great kingdom," Ammar started. Briefly meeting his mother’s gaze, Samira, Queen of Zaramuun. She sat in the corner of the room, veiled up to her, also weary, amber eyes. She clutched her own robes so tightly her fingers were discolored. Her knowing gaze remained fixed on him, the unease causing him to turn his attention back to his father.

“Speak boy,” Rafiq urged, his interest piqued in a rare moment of sanity.

“With the arrival of the Solandrian Envoy today, we were informed that Emperor Lucius Junia-Corvis and his convoy should reach the palace tomorrow morning to finalize the treaty and vassalage agreements,” Ammar started.

“Good, good! Let them come!” Rafiq said, letting out a boisterous laugh, his scimitar swinging wildly in the air.

“Father, you’ve promised to give the Empire exclusive military and trade access to the Zaramuun Mountain Pass, but control of the Pass is a right enforced not by the King's army, but regional Zaramuun nobility and their independent military power. As we’ve lost support and allegiance of the noble houses, it is not within our ability to grant access–,” Ammar explained, his mind racing for how to get Amara to safety if the conversation with his father started to go awry.

“This just shows your ignorance, boy,” Rafiq boomed, his voice dripping with condescending superiority.

“The King of Zaramuun grants what he pleases. Those nobles shall pay for their insolence,” Rafiq continued as he lowered his sword again.

“But Father–,” Ammar started, before Rafiq waved him off, dismissing him to silence.

“Enough, remove them,” Rafiq called, as 4 palace guards suddenly swarmed in and surrounded Ammar and his weeping sister.

Ammar sighed and stood up, sending a glare towards his mother, who made no attempt to avert her eyes from his gaze. Frustrated and defeated, he leaned down and picked up Amara, before exiting the king’s chambers, her silent sobs filling the empty courtyard.

Back in the safety of Amara’s bedroom, Ammar had his fiance, Zahiya, tend to the wounds on her ribs. Luckily, there was only light bruising. Ammar stood by the open window, looking out into the palace courtyard, a glistening stream in the center flowing out of the palace into a larger river that ran through the desert and right through the highly sought-after Mountain Pass. He clenched his fists tightly.

This central, life-giving river confirmed the palace's identity as a beautiful, necessary desert oasis—and the key to the empire's wealth and survival. This was not something Rafiq could give up, like trash in the street. Ammar would see that everything was set right, no matter what. He looked back at the still lying Amara, floating in and out of consciousness.

“Don’t worry, our clouds will soon clear and the sun will grace this land once again,” Ammar said, following Zahiya out the door, letting it close lightly behind them.

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The next morning, there seemed to be a deathly calm that thickly hovered over the palace like a dark fog. Not even the birds had made themselves known. Amara waited in agony, confined to her room. Ammar had instructed her to stay put until he returned, but she simply couldn’t shake the lingering fear that he would not come for her. She paced and paced the warm tile floor with her bare feet, biting at her nails with every passing minute of no word.

The Royal Throne Room

Emperor Lucius Junia-Corvus sat comfortably, legs crossed, exuding the cold, pragmatic air of authority of a war-hardened leader, a simple golden laurel wreath atop his head. The world was simply his property to be acquired, Zaramuun being the next stop on the map.

He possessed a lean and powerful build that was clearly maintained and kept in peak physical condition. His capable, muscular arms were exposed in the practical, sleeveless tunic he wore, paired with a sturdy leather belt cinched at his waist, embossed with the imperial symbols, providing a foundation for his sheathed sword that dangled at his side. It dawned the deep blue and white colors of the Solandrian military, which sharply contrasted the warm Zaramuunian palette.

To say he and his convoy stood out like a sore thumb would indeed be an understatement, but in the scorching heat of The Sunken Kiln, they needed to be dressed for both comfort and functionality. Unfortunately, their specific attire was still not appropriate enough for the Zaramuunian climate. Lucius felt a bead of sweat trickle down the side of his face and sighed. He could feel himself growing moist under his layered clothing.

“They’re ready, Your Majesty,” a voice said.

Lucius’s grey eyes looked over to Attica Lerian, his faithful advisor. He had dark, carefully styled hair with a close-trimmed beard. He was a sharp and intelligent man with dull features that were further softened by thin spectacles hanging off the end of his nose. His light brown eyes always seemed to be scanning the room over those damned spectacles. Lucius sighed and stood up as they were ushered inside the throne room.

“Welcome, my friends! I do hope the heat of The Sunken Kiln hasn’t made the journey too insufferable," An old man said, with a booming laugh from the throne. It was obviously King Rafiq.

“I hadn’t noticed,” Lucius replied flatly, propping his hand on his sword.

“What a great match you and my beloved daughter will make!” He said, clapping his hands and nodding to the woman beside him, who could be none other than Queen Samira. She was completely veiled from head to toe, for some reason that made Lucius uncomfortable. It was as if she had something to hide.

“Indeed,” She replied simply.

Lucius had a thick head of brown and blonde waves that rested lightly upon his shoulders, framing a strong, angular jaw. His eyes, a piercing icy grey, were the eyes of a calculating strategist. They assessed value, identified weakness, and registered betrayal with chilling contempt, and Lucius had not particularly liked what he had seen so far. 

“Let’s get started, shall we?” Attica said, clearing his throat before presenting his prepared documents.

Lucius sat back down in a provided chair and couldn’t stop his mind from wondering, as Attica presented the terms of the agreement. While Lucius found the heat of The Sunken Kiln bothersome, he was a war-hardened man and much accustomed to viewing undesirable climates simply as tactical variables, not necessarily personal discomforts. He was much accustomed to the hardships of war, this was nothing. In fact, he even considered building a home for his wife here. Seraphina, his first wife, had not been pleased to find that he would be bringing an Imperial Consort back to the palace.

On second thought, with Seraphina’s personality, it might be best to keep Zaramuun off her radar for the indefinite future. The Zaramunnian culture greatly differed from that of Solandria’s, and while he didn’t find it worth mentioning, Seraphina would certainly find fault with Zaramuun’s open-air designs and soft aesthetic enclosures.

Lucius was pulled from his thoughts at the ridiculously loud laugh that erupted from Rafiq’s throat. He eyed the old man, noticing he was prone to rambling and seemed to mutter to himself quite a bit. Although that was irrelevant to Lucius, he harbored no personal sentiment toward the man’s eccentric behavior, as his purpose for being there was altogether different.

King Rafiq was simply a pawn to push Lucius’s goal. After this, he would have exclusive military and trade access through the Zaramuun Mountain Pass, as well as an Imperial Consort. The king’s daughter was something of interest to Lucius, she would act as a binding agent for the treaties and would be the mother of his spare heir. Lucius would have been lying if he said that he didn’t find the portrait sent to him tantalizing, so much so, he’d been eager to see the woman in person. While he found her foreign beauty attractive, his main objective was to confirm the ‘spoils of war’. 

“Your Majesty,” Attica said, handing Lucius a pen.

Lucius accepted the pen, then leaned forward to study the finalized documents. When he was satisfied, he signed his name next to Rafiq’s at the bottom of the page. Tossing the pen aside, he studied the document one last time before letting a small smirk grace his lips. With this, he had completed almost everything he had set out to do.

“Excellent!” Rafiq cheered. Slapping his hands together with a loud clap.

“Will you be returning right away or enjoying your stay for a while?” Rafiq asked with a toothy grin.

“We will inspect the Mountain Pass,” Lucius said, his eyes narrowing slightly.

“And there is also the matter of Princess Amara, following the inspection, of course,” Attica added.

“Yes, yes! You! Guide the Emperor to the Mountain Pass at once,” Rafiq called out as 3 armed guards gestured to Lucius to follow with a polite bow.

Lucius hesitated and glanced back at Rafiq one last time, something felt off, but the old man would be a fool to try to pull something now. The documents had been signed, Solandria had secured the crucial Mountain Pass, along with the beloved Heart of Zaramuun, Princess Amara. If he was going to betray him, it would’ve been smarter to do it before the transaction had taken place. Lucius brushed off the thought and followed the Zaramuunian palace guards out of the throne room and into the courtyard.

Before he knew it, he was mounting his horse outside of the Oasis Palace and beginning the short journey to the Mountain Pass, with the full intent to seize control of the vital route as soon as possible. As the entrance to the Pass grew nearer, Lucius noticed a few of his men riding towards the convoy. He slowed his steed to a stop, holding his hand up to halt the forward progression of the 10,000-man escort in tow.

“What news?” Lucius called as the men came within speaking distance.

“A hostile force of Zaramuunian troops waited just past the entrance to the Mountain Pass, Your Majesty,” The Solandrian scout reported. Lucius’s eyes narrowed as he tightened his grip on the reins before him.

“How many?” Lucius asked, through gritted teeth.

“At least 40,000 strong, Your Majesty,” He replied.

A growing rage burned in Lucius’s eyes as he drew his sword from its sheath with a swish. How dare that fool of an old man try to trick him? Lucius turned his horse around and swung his sword at the closest Zaramuunian citizen to him, cutting off her head in one swift movement. His troops stood at attention, waiting for their next command as the spatter of blood stained their horses.