"I never thought I will be able to meet you again, my Shah."

The words were hollow to Shahryar's ears. By now, he knew that having a heart costed a million lives, and the sooner he learnt to give up on the bloody scarlet beauty he would rise as the supreme.

He didn't reply to the man, but his hazahrapatish, Parmenion did. "Why did you request an audience at this untimely hour?"

The skies had just ceased to shriek at the cliff of dawn. It was still draped in the curtain of night, sewn by beady stars peeking after the departure of clouds. Even though sleep had been reluctant to ease Shahryar ever since the death of his first wife, he didn't wish to be pushed out of his bed when it was still dark.

But he was the Shah– the hundredth Shah of Persia and thus carried a burden of expectations. And the man in front of him was none other than his late father's favourite and confidante– Damun's cupbearer.

"I have found a spouse for you, Shah."

Parmenion's eyes widened. He looked askance at Bagaos. "With due respect, Bagaos, are you aware of the fact that noble families have refused to make an union with the royal bloodline? At such a time of chaos you bring to us the news of light. Are you sure it's true?"

"It's as true as my loyalty to Persia's throne. I am speaking the truth."

"Do you understand that if this is a joke, or if somehow the party later disagrees to this match, you will be in serious trouble?"

"I am aware of it all, Parmenion. I tell everything consciously."

Shahryar reclined in his throne, his deep set eyes lost in a myriad of emotions. Unblinking, he stared at Bagaos, who struggled to handle its intensity. "Who is the maiden, Bagaos?"

And finally Shahryar's voice silenced every other hiss and swish of the wind, suppressing even the alarmed beating of hearts. Bagaos gasped upon hearing him– the tuneful voice of childhood had grown deeper and heavier.

Parmenion glared at Bagaos. A blizzard icy froze the still strong veins of his body. He had heard that Bagaos had a niece. The blood pumping in his heart coagulated.

Bagaos loosened his collar, sweating profusely. "It is not a maiden, Shah. It is a man who has expressed his desire to marry you."

Shahryar's eyebrows shot up, so did Parmenion's, who considered the words for a moment with lips parted in amusement. Shahryar's fingers glided across the gilded sides of the throne, head cocked to the side.

Parmenion squinted at Bagaos. "Is he of noble descent?"

"He is. He is the son of someone who was very close to the great Shah Damun."

Shahryar rose from his seat. Heavy steps clomped down the stairs. Ripples of wave traveled through his huge midnight-blue cloak that casted a black shadow behind the Shah, which followed him like a stubborn mistress. 

The kneeling Bagaos stood up as the Shah gestured him to. Shahryar studied him for a brief moment– the handsome features hiding behind the wrinkles and the respect gathered over the years.

"It is strange that a man, knowing everything that might happen to him after the marriage, still extends his hand to me," Shahryar said. "It is indeed foolish, but I shall think of the gains and meet this prospective match."

Bagaos kept mum, his eyes fixated at the Shah's feet.

"Who is this man?" Shahryar asked.

"My son– Shahrazad."

****

The garden always looked a shade brighter after the rains. The colours of the flowers were accentuated, the soil's thirst quenched, the grass washed in molten magic. The gods bared all their beauty and showered it through the patter of rain.

The little red dwarf crawled from the horizon to the sky, spreading its red-stained golden hues in the cool, aloof attire of the night, completely obliterating the latter.

Shahryar clapped his hands, sending the guards away with one movement of his gaze. His eyes darted around the garden like an impatient squirrel, searching for the man who so foolishly, so stupidly wanted to marry him.

He felt nothing but pity, and a slight amusement. It wasn't even known that Bagaos had a child. Probably fostered, but he did. Why had he not allowed for his child to be seen by the world? Why was he kept behind the bars of home?

Probably to prepare for death. Which reckless heart walks up to me so fearlessly?

The song of birds refreshed his mind. So many women, like exotic birds, were caught by his ministers and bound to him in the bondage of marriage. And their stay in this golden cage of a palace wasn't long– each extinguished the lamp of life as soon as Mah dipped in the sea and Khorshed was born.

He admired the wilted flowers before stomping on them, not ever sparing a glance at the lines of red roses waiting to be appreciated. They reminded him of things unpleasant and ugly, so he decided to walk away. But, at a crucial moment, a scene passed the corner of his vision. He stopped, turning to the side, and found a man standing near the rose bushes with his back at him.

And so he had to look at those bloody, nasty roses again.

"Are you the dim-witted son of Bagaos who seeks me?" Shahryar hurled at the man. He walked up a little closer to him, glaring at the roses. "Though I shall welcome you all fools with open arms, for you all sustain me."

"The sun needs no one to sustain him, Shah. It is the moon who needs his light."

Shahrazad turned around, and Shahryar got to see him for the first time. The son of Bagaos had kept his hair open like the river Nile flowing generously and his tanned skin basked in the rays of Khorshed. He wore a gallant smile on his lips and a little stubble on his chin.

Shahryar was equally intimidated and mesmerised by his eyes– they appeared so fluid and watery like a pale emerald sea. Shahryar wondered if the man held magic in those pupils, capable of manipulation of beings of weak resolve.

"Your name is Shahrazad," he stated instead of asking. It was an old habit of him to give names to people and call them as he wished to. Some habits never died.

The son of Bagaos twirled a lock of hair. "Yes."

"Do you love your father or not, Shahrazad?"

A quizzical stance was etched on Shahrazad's face, who remained slack-jawed and speechless for a moment . "I love him more than I love myself, Shah," he said with utmost sincerity.

"Then why do you walk in the den of death? Don't you think your father will cripple to lose you in old age?" Shahryar shouted. "Are you out of your wits?" He stepped closer to his probable soon-to-be spouse. "Or do you have an ulterior motive?"

Shahryar pulled him by his collar, baring his teeth at him. Shahrazad didn't let his tranquility falter. "I have promised to never leave him, Shah. My soul shall always be close to him."

Shahryar scoffed. "A man's death is inevitable when he is in my vicinity."

Shahryar's gaze sailed below to Shahrazad's chest. A part of it was kept barren, left to be cherished by the eyes. "Indeed, you are made well."

"I am glad that the Shah finds me pleasant," Shahrazad replied with a bow. A warm blush tinted his cheek. "The Shah is equally charming. I shall capture a part of him, like snatching away from a drifting cloud of autumn, and protect him with all my strength," he said, feigning to pull the threads that embroidered the fluffy clouds.

"You are too poetic for my taste."

A flicker of pain floated in Shahrazad's eyes. The dreams had made him remember everything crystal clear. "I shall try to make you adapt to me, Shah."

"If you live more than a night."

The edge of the Shah's cloak dashed at
Shahrazad and he took a staggering step back. The former circled around him like a master inspecting his prize. He touched the amulet Shahrazad wore on his left forearm, sniffed his hair oozing of jasmine, and did everything to know a little more about this surprise. Shahrazad stood still like an obedient servant, allowing the Shah to explore.

Finally after a good circle Shahryar faced the son of Bagaos, tracing the latter's jawline. "Are you ready?"

Shahrazad could feel the wine in his breath. It threatened to dilute his wisdom and mock his controlled power over passion.

"Are you ready?" Shahryar repeated.

His thumb brushed Shahrazad's lips, whose eyes enlarged at the touch. It didn't last long; Shahryar swiftly joined his hands at the back. Shahrazad heaved a wistful sigh, half-closing his eyes as if intoxicated by the contact.

"I am ready."

"You have no regrets?"

"I have none, Shah."

"Then let this day pass. Tomorrow night, we will be unified."

Shahryar didn't wait to hear the thanks being muttered by Shahrazad. He knew this would not last too, not even a bit longer than all of the previous ones combined.

But Shahrazad proudly smiled at the morning sky and thanked Mitra.

Because he knew whatever was going on, that, would not last long.