Episode 23: Excessive Consideration (8)
Iskandel put on the expression and tone he used when he wanted to get under the skin of the crown prince and the Empress, and spoke toward where the voice had come from.
“I would appreciate it if you refrained from forcing things like this in the future.
If you truly cherish your precious creation, that is.”
“Oh?
So now you’re trying to give me those pathetic little pieces of advice, too.”
“Not at all.
A wastrel like me only feels inclined to offer advice when I’ve decided someone is a very important ally.”
“So you’re saying I’m not your ally, and therefore you have no reason to advise me?”
“It’s difficult to consider someone an ally when they’ve branded you a spy and threatened to torture you from the start.”
A loud snort of laughter boomed from above, reverberating through Hashana’s spacious room.
Pretending not to notice the goosebumps prickling his arms at the menacing vibration in the air, he continued in a calm tone.
“Just as the famous courtesans of the Capital each have their specialties, I am merely informing you of a very important fact: my partners enjoy themselves most when I am the one controlling the flow.”
“…So if I want Hashana properly trained, I should let you do what you’re good at?”
“Was that not the sole reason you brought me into Durgtah and laid me on the altar? Therefore, I am simply asking that you create an environment where the sacrifice can perform his duties to the best of his ability.”
Rsanda let out a short exclamation, tinged with genuine admiration.
“Convincing.
Karasvati did say she needed to watch your tongue more than your face.
She was right.”
“I have made many a goddess very happy with this mouth.
Though I suspect the tongue-work she was referring to was of a different sort.”
Rsanda paused for a beat, then burst into laughter so loud it made the room ring.
She laughed and laughed until Hashana’s hair stirred in the wind of it, then finally revealed her full form at the trailing edge of that gale of mirth.
“What a shame.
You’re far too good to send back to Karasvati, so I’ll just have to kill you.”
“Oh dear.
They do say beauties die young.”
Rsanda smacked his forehead with a sharp slap, as if to punish his lack of fear, then plopped down on the edge of the bed.
“The advice you gave Hashana was correct.
I, too, only realized today that there is no one in Durgtah who can say such things to this child.”
“I suspected as much.”
“How arrogant.”
Rsanda snorted and bent over them.
Her eyes, filled with a flame whose color could not be named, fixed on him as she delivered a warning that carried a weight unlike anything she had said before.
“Your wretched little life will continue only as long as Hashana believes in you, and I respect her faith.
There is exactly one reason I respect the words of my creation: war is an act with many variables.”
“I see.”
“If Hashana ever starts to suspect you are a spy, I will hack your limbs to pieces and toss them into Karasvati’s stables.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.”
He answered with infuriating politeness, then rolled his eyes toward Hashana.
“Would you mind removing the saintess now?
She is far too precious to be used as a blanket by the likes of me.
More importantly…”
“More importantly?”
“At this rate, I’m afraid I’ll end up breaking a taboo.”
Rsanda blinked down at the man who was so slick he might as well have oiled his tongue.
“What are you talking about?”
“The taboo before the night of the ceremony. Lady Hashana said that in Durgtah, penetration is absolutely forbidden before the coming-of-age ceremony.”
Rsanda’s mouth slowly fell open.
“Don’t tell me… you two didn’t?”
“…Pardon?”
“Then what was that flash over the whole city just now? There’s no way a single kiss could have felt that good. Did you really make Hashana that happy with just your fingers or your tongue?”
This time, it was Iskandel who blinked.
He had no memory of anything after Hashana devoured his lips, so he could neither flatly deny it nor lie without first asking her what had happened.
Rsanda frowned, staring at Iskandel’s unreadable expression.
Then, she carefully lifted the hem of the blissfully sleeping Hashana’s clothes.
Tilting her head to peer underneath, she found the skin exactly as it had always been: untouched and perfectly clear. This story is hosted at g.com.
“Unless I tied your hands and let Hashana ride you into the ground all by herself… absolutely nothing happened, did it? Unbelievable, our innocent little Hashana. Who even follows rules like that these days?”
The tension drained from Rsanda’s eyes and her shoulders sagged, but she immediately scrunched her brow again in displeasure and raised an index finger.
“I’ll give you one point.
Even when this kid was being so foolish, you didn’t force yourself on her.
I like that very much.”
“…I am relieved to hear that it pleases you.
Now, if you would either move the saintess, or move me…”
“If you get separated from Hashana right now, you’ll die.”
“Die…?”
“Yes.
You bled so much filthy blood while your body was being purified that we might as well replace the entire bed, not just the sheets.
You claimed you lived a reckless life, but it turns out you were basically breathing herbal smoke instead of air.”
“Ah… No wonder my head feels so clear.”
“Be grateful you’re still alive and talking back to me after losing that much blood.
It’s only because you’re pressed up against Hashana like this.”
Iskandel’s face twisted in genuine trouble.
Rsanda narrowed her eyes at him, clearly dissatisfied that he didn’t look the least bit happy about his purification, and demanded his gratitude.
“Because you’re pressed up against her like this, Hashana is stabilizing my divine power inside you.
That’s the only reason you can even respond right now.
Do you understand?
Why so quiet all of a sudden?”
“I was so overwhelmed with gratitude that I was at a loss for words.
My goodness.
I have so very much to be thankful for.”
“You insolent brat.
Go to sleep.”
Infuriated by his utterly ungrateful tone, Rsanda snapped her fingers.
Iskandel clicked his tongue, caught helplessly in the clutches of a nightmare wearing a goddess’s face.
‘People who can appear whenever they please, put someone to sleep on a whim, and hold my life in their hands—why are they so wary of something as petty as a spy?’
‘The saintess… did she wake up first?’
Iskandel opened his eyes, alone in the wide bed.
He felt a clarity of body and mind so profound it was unsettling, and he slowly pushed himself upright with renewed irritation.
Golden sunlight filtered through a single layer of curtains, wrapping gently around his skin and telling him it was very early morning.
‘Waking up this early, feeling this refreshed… how long has it been?’
He raked a hand carelessly through his sleep-tousled hair, deeply displeased with himself for finding this lucidity so intolerably uncomfortable.
‘Did someone wash me while I was asleep?
I smell… good.’
He clearly remembered the sticky sensation of sweat—or something—between their skins as he had fallen asleep with Hashana sprawled across his stomach.
Yet now, his entire body was dry and soft to the touch, and a fresh, subtle fragrance clung to him.
That, too, bothered him.
Frowning faintly, he examined his own body as he shuffled off the bed.
Something pale on a small table caught his eye.
He planted a hand on his hip, sauntered over, and stood there at a slant, looking down to find a neatly folded piece of fabric and a small note beside it.
‘Durgtah’s heat is no joke.’
And the note appeared to have been left by Hashana.
He lifted the heavy cup of enimu juice that had been used as a paperweight, brought it to his lips, and pinched the fabric between his thumb and forefinger.
“Are you awake, Your Highness? I am coming in.”
His bodyguard, who had been waiting outside, cleared his throat and announced himself.
“Stop asking pointless questions and get in here. Help me get dressed.”
Iskandel called his guard in with a listless reply.
The man entered the dim room carrying a large tray piled high with food.
“Kamran, look at this. Have you ever seen fabric this thin in the Capital… Oh, you’re already wearing it.”
The man called Kamran lifted the tray and turned in a graceful circle.
The long white cloth clinging to his tightly muscled body flared with the movement before drifting back down in soft waves.
“Does it not suit me?
It is proof that while Your Highness was enjoying yourself, our delegation was diligently working on cultural exchange.”
“I sincerely hope your cultural exchange wasn’t the kind I’m imagining.”
Iskandel mussed his already messy hair and handed the cloth from the table to Kamran.
In no particular hurry, Kamran set the tray down on an empty table before taking the fabric.
As he smoothed the paper-thin cloth, Kamran’s eyes roamed thoroughly over his master’s body, clad in nothing but sunlight.
Iskandel plucked a small, carved vegetable from the tray and chewed it slowly.
He spread his arms and stood still, prompting Kamran to knit his brows and scold him.
“What on earth did you do yesterday? There isn’t a single scratch on you. Not a bite mark, not even the trace of a fingernail.”
Iskandel remained silent.
“Don’t tell me you’re still a virgin today?” Kamran continued, “Yesterday, the people of Durgtah were in a festive mood, saying the saintess had finally awakened to the pleasures of the flesh. Did she awaken to them all by herself?”
Iskandel kept his mouth shut.
“Well, I suppose maintaining your chastity so stubbornly while still managing to give women such a good time is one of your more astonishing talents, Your Highness.”
He offered no retort.
Kamran realized a moment too late why Iskandel was so stubbornly silent and let out a loud snort.
“You needn’t worry about anyone listening in.
The goddess and Lady Hashana are busy with the tournament for the coming-of-age ceremony.
I just saw them myself.
You can stop worrying and say what’s on your mind.”
“Keep your voice down.
These people are nothing like the goddess and saintess we knew in the Capital.
We can’t let our guard down.”
“Oh.
So something did happen yesterday?
What was it?
Judging by how intact your body is, it doesn’t seem like you were tortured.
Or were you?
Some kind of mental torture, perhaps?”
Kamran’s right eyebrow climbed high.
Iskandel, once again unsettled by the unfamiliar sensation of his own body, furrowed his brow and pointed toward a more accurate answer than any words could provide.