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Chapter Text

The life and luxuries of the nobilities were vastly overrated. 

Weaving through the darkness and low-lit streets, a man snapped his head behind and then to his sides. Yowling cats and drunk men arguing with one another lined the vacant alleys. A sigh of relief interrupted by the crunching paper clenched into his hand, its weight far greater than all the gold in the kingdom. Celebration had to wait — not until he fulfilled the request.

The journey would have been easier had it been during the day, but he knew better than to expect simplicity. Ah, but how insufferable to wade through the slums after many years of abandoning the capital! That man knew this would be complicated for him. If that heedless buffoon dared show him any amusement, he’d wipe that smile with his fist. 

But he dared not. Calling attention to a noble in the slums would be a graver mistake than to endure rat-infested streets and losing oneself in back alleys. He lifted his face veil and patted the holster beside his hip; his knife sufficed for those unsavory encounters. 

Several twists and turns, and one dead end later, he found the seedy hookah bar from his invitation. In an earlier life, the bar would have been a humble yet grand place for the poor to come in and congregate from their daily woes. Long gone were those days. Grime caked from decades of dirt and excrement peeled the paint and penetrated into the stone, becoming a natural fixture of the building. A broken sign hung over the doorframe, its faded letters nearly illegible even in the sunlight. Smoke wafted through the tattered curtained windows, tobacco with hints of spice and warm sweetness. The scent alone spoke of hidden decadences and riches waiting for those brave enough to enter. 

The man touched his nose, ensuring his veil remained secure, and entered the establishment. Shadows bounced along the candles strewn across the long bar. Empty chairs and broken tables littered the filthy floor. Broken bottles and rancid liquid, yet the smoke remained strong. A disheveled old man greeted him from a broken table. 

“We’ve no drink for you to have, good sir.”

“A pity,” the veiled man answered. “Such a fine place you have too.”

“The finest in all the kingdom.”

“No doubt.” He swayed to turn then paused. “I was hoping you had lion’s blood, but I suppose I’m in the wrong place.”

The old man grinned, teeth pristine and intact. “Perhaps we do have a bottle in the back. I’m a bit weak in the knees. Come help an old man.”

Following the elder to the backroom, the smell grew stronger and stronger. Thick smoke billowed through curtains and from beneath a large door with iron bolts. Its perfume and ash burned through the man’s eyes. Wiping the sting and tears, cleared his throat and swallowed. His resolve never wavered.

Light music escaped through the bulky doors, splendid and calming. Lush carpets with intricate patterns lined the floors while tapestries of the finest silks and tales adorned the walls. Various tables with alcoholic drinks and hookah stood around the room with people congregating with one another. A masked attendant guided him to a chair, removed his shoes, washed and dried his feet before returning the shoes back. He thanked the attendant and wandered along the large room full of masked and veiled people dressed in plain clothes and simple hair styles, hats, or scarves to hide any unique features. They all knew their identities yet the unspoken rule was to ignore and forget the familiar faces and bask in the bliss of pure privacy. Any utterance outside the walls was a declaration of war among the old noble families. One word and entire lineages were rendered into ash and blood, no mercy to the innocent family members of the guilty. A single nit could become an infestation of resentment and conquest. 

Established centuries before the current Sultan’s dynasty, only the oldest of families knew about this secret avenue — the man included. The new nobility scoffed at the thought of ever stepping into the slums, for why would they? The House of Delights promised only the most loyal of prostitutes to listen to the woes of men as long as the payment continued. Old nobility partook in the brothel, yes, however they knew better than to trust the words of paid entertainment. The sway of the coin loosened tongues and persuaded the most loyal into becoming pathetic dogs. They created a guild of their own and ran the rooms themselves, every family putting a stake in its maintenance. This particular place lied in the slimiest of the slums, a perfect area no one would suspect. 

Whispers of its existence floated through the streets, bathhouses, bars, and courts, but weren’t such stories of secret societies abundant in every kingdom? 

The hidden nobility laughed, drank, smoked, and spoke of intimate details. Some talked about their disdain for the sultan and his cursed lineage, others talked about family matters requiring wisdom from others. Many flirted, kissed, and performed carnal acts with one another, though the more discreet went into small alcoves with dense curtains for privacy. 

“Do you think Parviz’s boy will survive the Sultan’s game?”

“No telling. But, you know, I’ve heard a lot of strange things about that family. My cousin used to be neighbors with them. And if the stories are true, then I think Arzu might be crazy enough to accomplish it.”

“Crazy? You believe he’s mad?”

“Not mad, just… strange. There’s something wrong with the boy.”

“He seems normal to me.”

“Bah, it’s just a woman’s gossip. Pay it no mind.”

The veiled man averted his eyes, adjusting his mask. Yes, pay it no mind. The Sultan held a precarious sword over everyone’s heads, poor or rich. Should the wind blow too cold or should his food lack a single speck of salt, his grasp on the sword could slip and fall on whatever victim he felt like terrorizing. Worry if your necks would be spared from the executioner’s wrath rather than silly rumors about an old noble family. The less people thought or talked about Lord Parviz’s family, the better.

He opened his invitation, crumpled it into his hand, and approached a masked attendant. “Where are the red curtains?”

The attendant nodded. “Right this way, sir.”

A secret door behind the tapestry of the north star. He followed the man into another room full of powerful incense and silver and blue tapestries of celestial bodies. They entered the door behind the full moon into another similar room, and finally through a red and gold room of the sun and planets. The attendant pointed to the solar eclipse and returned to the previous room.

With a sigh, the man parted the solar eclipse and opened the door. Fragrant smoke greeted him, glazing the room in a powdered mist. He coughed, wafting through the thick air with his hands, gaining purchase for his surroundings and sanity. Soft clinks and embers glowed to a side. Inhaled breaths and the puff of smoke. A silhouette of another man behind the haze.

“You made it,” the silhouette said, placing the mouthpiece beside the hookah. “Took you long enough.”

“I got a bit lost.”

“You? Lost?” He laughed. “I thought you used to know the slums well.”

“That was over a decade ago.” The veiled man huffed, crossing his arms. “I knew you wouldn’t make this easy.”

“Don’t be so sour!” He patted a large floor pillow beside him. “Sit. We have much to talk about.”

Rolling his eyes, the veiled man placed his shoes next to the door, sat beside the other, and took the mouthpiece. “Smoking in a low-ventilated place is rather stupid, even for you. Are you trying to kill yourself?”

“Perhaps I am…”

The mouthpiece fell from his hand. “What did you say?”

The silhouetted man flicked a switch. Jolts of aether buzzed. A low hum rumbled from the walls, ropes and metal squeaked, a loud thump. Above their heads, a mechanism whirled and sucked in the stagnant air into the ceiling. Light, fresh air filled the room at an instant — breath and shoulders eased, hidden secrets exposed. 

“It’s a fleeting feeling.” The man removed his turban and mask, revealing a handsome man with feathered black bangs and tired dark eyes worn out and red, drowned in sorrow and despair. What was once a confident, brilliant man capable of hosting the finest parties and charming the nobility, now returned to his former self, a solemn figure wrought with pain and misery. He closed his eyes for a few seconds, tears welling over the sagging eyes. Insomnia and worry, his only companions. “Brother, I have suffered a great misfortune.”

“What happened to you, Arzu?” 

Arzu lifted his hand to the veiled man’s face, fingers caressing the fabric loop around the ear. “Let me see a comforting face.”

The man said nothing, allowing Arzu to pull the ear loop and peel the veil from his face. A mirror stared back — longer hair, parched lips, and rugged face, a mirror nonetheless. Arzu’s cool hands cupped his face, thumbs smoothing the rough stubble. The man smiled at his brother, placing a warm hand over his. The burden of misfortune melted, a beautiful smile graced his brother’s somber face. From the womb to their years of isolation, the sons of Lord Parviz never strayed far from their hearts. 

“What ails you, Brother?”

Arzu’s lips quivered. Unshed tears rolled down his hollow cheeks as he threw his arms around his brother and sobbed against his chest. “The Sultan has given me the most inhumane of punishments! Because of my stupidity, I spoke out against the game he played, and now he’s making me play it! But, Brother, believe me when I say it’s been causing so much unnecessary hardship to everyone in the kingdom. Every day a person was needlessly raped or murdered at the whims of that man. Our armies are mutilated and demoralized, and our reserves have dwindled to the point of bankruptcy. I know I shouldn’t have said anything, but, I… I… I am a fool.”

He wrapped his arms around his trembling twin, combing his fingers through his hair. Memories of their childhood ran through his mind. He shook the unpleasant memories away and focused on his older brother’s needs. “You are not stupid nor a fool, Arzu.” 

“If I had remained silent, Maggie and I would be living in peace. Troubled, yes, but still at peace! Hardly anyone congregates with us, fearing they will become victims of the Sultan’s Game. The nobles have turned their backs on me! I used to live comfortably, but now I need money. More money. If I lack gold, I won’t be able to survive if I pull an extravagance card.”

“Pull a card? What in the world is this game about?”

Calming himself, Arzu explained how their Sultan had been visited by a magician one day. She presented him a golden box with twenty-eight cards of four different actions with four tiers, seven of each action. The Sultan, bored of everything and intrigued by the rules, played the game and became delighted from the sadistic joy it brought. Through carnality, he raped people of various social classes with objects, animals, and his own body. Always tortured, injured, or dead from his indulgence. With extravagance, he ran the bank dry with elaborate and expensive building projects throughout the capital. Many poor people were used to play jesters and were killed by circumstance once they obtained the money the Sultan threw at them. To regain resources and new peoples to abuse, he used conquest to raid and burn through the land and sequester new territories. And finally bloodshed. Not much had to be said about that card only that rivers ran red whenever the Sultan felt like bathing in his violent decadence.

When Arzu attempted to persuade the Sultan to cease his abominable game, the Sultan leaned over his throne, hand resting on his chin, and flashed a cruel grin. “You’re right: it is unbecoming of a ruler. That is why you shall play the game for me, Minister Arzu.”

Unlike the Sultan, the most powerful person in the kingdom, Arzu was a simple political servant, favored by the court, though not exempt from the Sultan’s cruelty or society’s expectations. The cards only saved him from legal repercussions, however, the court of public opinion determined his reputation and power. Arzu held no such luxury. Every decision, every card he chose to fold had its consequences, good or bad. In order to make it through the game alive, he had to make decisions that would hurt others or himself. 

“I never wanted to kill a person… I am worse than a man placed on the executioner’s stand!”

The twin swallowed, massaging the back of Arzu’s neck. “Have you killed anyone yet?”

“No. It’s my first week. The Sultan gives me seven days with each card I draw to break it.” He laughed bitterly. “Funny how that brat didn’t have a time limit. Dirty bastard.”

“What card did you draw?”

Arzu slipped away from his brother’s comforting embrace and pulled out a metallic green card with two humans holding each other with a shared heart in between their chests. “A bronze carnality. I plan to use this on Maggie.”

“How many days do you have left?”

“Two days.”

“Two days!?” Strong hands squeezed his twin’s shoulders, shaking him in disbelief. “Arzu, what are you waiting for!? You’re going to die if you don’t break this card!”

Arzu patted his twin’s hand with a gentle smile. “I was waiting for you.”

The twin’s heart sank. Again, he thought. Not again. 

“The moment the Sultan declared me as his jester, I knew I had to beckon for you. Little brother, please, I need your help. There is much that requires for me to be in two places at the same time. In the few days of this game, scrounging up money and allies, I learned that time is the most precious thing we have. Time is what I need and yet I cannot do this by myself.”

“So this is what the invitation was for?” His hands twisted the invitation, wearing the crumpled paper thinner and thinner with each turn. “And why did you need me to bring it back?”

Arzu took the paper between his fingers and placed it over the hot coals. Flames erupted, shriveling the note into cinders. “No one can know of us.”

Of me. The twin bit his tongue. “I see. So you need me to be you again.”

“I know this is a lot to ask of you.” Eyes cast down, Arzu tightened his lips and punched the rug. “There are so many risks involved in becoming my ally — either of us could die at any moment. I… I would understand if you decide not to help me. But…” He looked up at his brother, eyes warm and tearful, hope hanging on a thread. “I really need you.”

“Arzu.” The twin paused, arranging his thoughts. Anxiety launched stones into his stomach. His breath quickened to match his heart’s panic. A rescuer had to forgo any cowardice and protect those from pain, no matter the cost. The weak had to be upheld and cherished as no other would ever come to their aid. Arzu was the wish, the desire for life, survival, and prosperity. He was the amulet to make the wish come true. “But you hold more education, more sophistication than I do. Do you think I could fool others into believing I am you? We’re no longer children.”

“You’re the best actor I’ve ever met.” Kneeling in front of his twin, Arzu grabbed his brother’s hands and placed them over his heart. “If you were able to trick Maggie all those years ago, I think you’ll be able to do the same to the court.”

“But I’ve lost a lot of that touch. Spending all those years away from home, getting into endless brawls and being amongst the low has changed me for the worst.”

Eyes widening, Arzu’s grip faltered for a moment before pressing tighter. “Have you ever killed a man before?”

“A few times,” he said, blandly. “Some of them deserved it.”

“Then you can help me break a bloodshed—”

“I didn't agree to any of that.” Perhaps he should not have revealed that information to his brother. His fights were from his own faults or the incitement of others. Not once had he been paid to assassinate; all the ones offered were immediately refused. Bloodshed in the name of a mad sultan— Brother could not possibly expect him to do this.

“You are right.” He turned his head away, thumbs digging into his brother’s hands. “I don’t want to hurt anyone. Your life is your life and this one is mine. This predicament was all due to my own words and actions. We may be identical twins, but we are not the same person.”

“Arzu—”

Arzu frowned. “I’m afraid of drawing a bad card. I’m afraid of losing people I care for because of my bravado. That is why I waited for this long to break that card. After I break this card with Maggie, I will surely get one against my favor. Seven days will pass, and I will die. Brother, all I ask is for you to please help my wife when she is widowed.”

With what face could he show to his parents once Arzu died? Tears of anguish and rage would drown their home. Their beloved son, their humble wish and prize, gone from the world thanks to the caprice of their ruler. No, not the Sultan, they would say, eyes full of malice and sharp fingers pointing, cutting, stabbing into his flesh. Because he did not fulfill his role, because he did not become Arzu as he had been commanded to, because the strong one refused to help the weak and helpless brother their Arzu was dead. 

His heart shattered at the thought of his twin no longer in his life. While they were separated thanks to life’s circumstances and his own decision to leave the shadows and bask in the sun, the exchange of letters never ceased. Arzu wrote comedies and diaries to entertain him, while he wrote poetry and tales of the people he saw, albeit not as eloquently or as neat as Arzu had. But Arzu never complained and asked him to send more. Together in the womb, connected by an invisible cord, intangible and indestructible, forever until the day they inspired their last breath. 

Arzu straightened his posture, hands firm and eyes flooded with tears. His body stood before the light, his shadow loomed over his twin. An eternal eclipse prophesied in their infancy. The shadow became the twin’s natural habitat, observing Arzu and people from afar yet remained close. Out of sight and yet always around. Ignored, cast aside unless he blended in using his brother’s name. Arzu was the only child therefore he was Arzu. Whispers of doubt called out to him, beckoning him to escape the shadowed chains his parents and society shackled him to. One day he simply left the shadow and searched for his own light. Chains rattled at every corner. Shadows lingered. They stretched into the horizons, to the sky, the moon, sun, and the stars. Nary a place in the entire world the shadows’ outreach could not touch. In the end, he never escaped the shadow.

Pulling his twin brother’s hands further, Arzu nuzzled them against his cheek. Opening the arms, he crawled between the twin’s legs and straddled his hips, wrapping his arms around his neck. Forehead pressed against forehead, his tears fell onto his twin’s face. Despite his despondence, his eyes glowed with fondness and happiness. The smile lacked morose or bitterness. It spoke of secrets, family, and intimacy, an emotion and bond one could never escape. The moment they were conceived, they were gifted a bond of fate. Arzu relished every second away from the Sultan’s sword. 

“No matter what happens, I don’t regret calling you.” Clothes slipped from Arzu’s shoulder, revealing his naked torso. Lips kissed each closed eye, nose, and finally a pair of lips. “I’m happy to spend this time together.”

Peace washed through the twin’s mind, deepening the kiss and resting his hands on Arzu’s hips. Temporary, but he needed the respite even if it lasted for one night. Anything to bring back a sense of tranquility and belonging. 

Arzu ground his hips into his brother, body heating and begging to be loved and devoured. He peeled off his twin’s robe and sucked on his neck, tongue lapping on taut muscles and savoring the familiar taste. He missed those hard nipples he liked to bite and tease with his mouth, rolling the hard nub between his fingers and making his brother cum without touching his genitals. 

The twin hissed at his pulled nipples, teeth grazing and latching on before a hot tongue licked and lips smacked around the areola. 

In their loneliness and secrecy, the twins sought comfort in each other’s arms. Kissed whispers beneath the covers. Nubile bodies exploring and curious, captivated by the sensations produced. A secret within a secret. A brief taste of light inside the depths of darkness. 

Among the nobility, rumors and gossip were the lifeblood of their power and social circle. Those with minimal scandal evaded great loss but not the ire or suspicion of others. Who could possibly have a perfect life with money and influence? Skeletons buried deep inside homes were carefully dug out, little by little, word by word, a party, a festival, a sip of liquor. Tongues loosened, trust gained, secrets revealed, a fingertip, then a hand, arm, torso, head, a mass grave — entire legacies shackled to a sinister master. To be a noble was to play the most dangerous game. Little scandal and one’s entire life was prodded until the house collapsed. Too much and the journey to redemption became a hell far worse than a sewer rat. Lord Parviz knew the game well and played his cards with great precision… to the utter dismay of the ones he sought to protect.

Arzu pulled away from the chest with a pop. “Did you know that our Sultan has succulent nipples?”

“How would you even know that?” laughed the twin. 

“He displays them like a practiced whore. They’re even pierced and attached to a chain.”

“What an odd man.”

“He’s sick in the head.” Arzu tugged at his trousers and kicked them off. A loud smack echoed through the tapestry. Warmth spread across his buttock. “Hey, don’t spank me.”

The twin struck his brother’s cheek again. “I do what I please. If you didn’t want to get spanked, you wouldn’t have bared your ass so eagerly. I saw how your dick bounced so happily and wet.” He spanked his brother a few more times, eliciting moans. Fingers inched into the cleft and massaged at the clenched hole. “Who’s the practiced whore now? You want to get fucked by your little brother?”

Arzu shivered, pressing his hips down on his brother’s fingers. “You’re so crude.”

“You love it.” Pressing his thumb into the perineum, he looked around the floor then to Arzu. “Did you bring anything to loosen you up?”

“Ah!” Arzu rubbed his cock into his twin’s abdomen, an animal in heat. “Yes. I came prepared. Look in my rucksack.”

One hand jerked his brother off, enjoying the filthy moans and wanton kisses, while the other dragged the nearby bag and hunted for the lubricant. A small jar was pulled and opened, slathering a copious amount on his hand. 

Years of experience on those cold nights and hot days flooded his mind. Every sensitive spot plucked precise and calculated, a brilliant setar, thighs trembling and buckling. Loosening up the eager insides, hitting the rubbery lump inside that sent his brother thrashing and fucking his fingers for more purchase. Wanted, loved, needed — how his heart craved to consume it and never let it go. Fingers withdrawn, he positioned Arzu over his member and impaled him in one thrust. 

Arzu arched his back with a cry, nails biting into his twin’s shoulder. “Oh god!”

“Are you okay?” The twin stilled, massaging Arzu’s back with gentle circles. “I’m sorry, I got too excited.”

“I’m fine.” Lips kissed, tongues tasted and coaxed. He smacked his brother upside the head. “Don’t do that again.”

The twin thrust his hips into Arzu. “You’re the one who opened his legs and begged for it.”

“Mmm, but I’m still your brother. You should treat me better than the scoundrels you beat up.”

He chuckled. “I’ve become a wild man in the past years. Show me how I’m supposed to do it.”

Roaming hands played with the hair on the twin’s chest, sliding down to a thick trail below the navel. Arzu rose and buckled his hips, riding up and down his brother’s cock. “You look like a beast. Let me introduce you to some civility.”

Obscene sounds filled the room, moans, screams, whispered words that would make the most daring of prostitutes blush and shy away. Wet skin slapped, hands grasping, fondling, caressing. Ecstasy reached again and again; no breaks to the weary bodies. Semen and sweat mixed with the incense. Passion and lust inebriated their minds to continue until their backs broke with exhaustion. 

Arzu’s hole leaked with his brother’s seed, riding harder for his next orgasm. His body sucked his brother in further, reaching into the place that brought stars in his eyes. His cock leaked more fluid, twitching and aching for another release. 

Their bodies tensed, mouths swallowing their pleasure and drank it. Gasping for air, the twins laid beside each other in an embrace. A tired hand landed on Arzu’s head, scratching the scalp through the damp hair. Arzu cuddled into his younger brother and kissed his chin.

“You make me feel so good. Always, always,” he crooned. “You have always been my protector and savior.” More kisses and bites peppered around his twin’s rugged face. He panted through his kiss, never getting enough of his brother’s assurance. Another, another, another. Hold the moment before the execution. Please give him another chance to win this cruel Sultan’s game. “Please, I need you, Ramin… ”

“Arzu,” the twin scolded with a kiss. His nethers stirred at the shameless utterance of his name. “United in mind and soul, bound in life and fate, I’m Arzu, always and forever.”

Arzu grinned, leaning against his brother’s head, grazing his teeth around the ear. “Just for tonight, you are Ramin.”

Chapter Text

Upon Sultan Arsak’s assassination, the kingdom fell into blood and war. Resources were depleted and squandered by the war-hungry prince, eliminating every opposition that stood in his way. Any nobility found to have rebelled against him were sentenced to death, and those that supported the new sultan received benefits amidst the turmoil.

Though not enough to stave off starvation. 

To compensate for the lack of funding, the new Sultan — grandfather of Sultan Damara — enacted several decrees to mitigate the hunger and diminishing granaries. Namely, population control. Food lasted longer with less mouths to feed, therefore to ensure the survival of the capital, less children were needed. After the law passed, any family with more than one child had their food severely rationed, while those with one child received more grain. Pregnant women with preexisting children were forced to take abortifacients or give their children to the sultanate for slaughter. Anyone who resisted were killed, condemning their families to death in the process. The new Sultan hated resistance and grew fearful, thus anyone adjacent to the rebellious mothers were starved. First-time pregnant women were safe from scrutiny, gaining an extra ration to ensure the survival of their only child.

Even the Sultan knew not all children were to be culled for his kingdom to survive. 

Lord Parviz played his cards right during the first sultan upheaval, giving aid to the prince and sponsoring a small army against Arsak. For his contributions, the new Sultan considered him when handing rations, congratulating him through a letter for his wife’s first pregnancy. Other nobles pried into the private lives of their peers, searching for any clues or gossip to topple their rivals in order to garner more favors and rations from the government. Lord Parviz and Lady Soraya did the same, using all they could to ensure their place among the nobility. Hunger awaited everyone. 

As fate would have it, their cunning and blessings were stained with not one, but two infant boys. Lord Parviz paid the midwife five pieces of gold and silk for her silence, and hid his sons away for ten days. Per tradition, a child was not to be shown to the public or named until after the first ten days as infants often died before the tenth.

The eldest baby fell ill and had been separated from his healthy brother on the seventh day, coughed all day and night on the eighth, refused to eat on the ninth, and turned blue on the tenth. Knowing their son’s end neared, they allowed the younger twin to be beside him and waited for his final breath. The younger twin wailed in sorrow, leg kicking his older brother. A weak shrill wheezed, inhaled, and bellowed out a scream. Flesh pinked, mouth suckling and latching onto his brother’s hand for sustenance. 

On the eleventh day his parents named him Arzu, their wish and desire to have their precious son live and achieve great things. To serve as a protective amulet and guardian, the youngest was named Ramin, a powerful name to protect the weak and serve with no question. 

Arzu closed the door to his secret cellar, locking it from inside. “Unfortunately, now that we used that secret society place, we can never return. I fear the walls have eyes.”

Ramin shook his head. “You’re an idiot to think otherwise.”

Shrugging, he gathered blankets and placed them over a chaise lounge, fluffing up the pillows to entice Ramin to rest. “I wasn’t sure if Maggie would fetch the servants to come looking for me if we met elsewhere. We can’t risk anyone knowing about us.”

“I know,” he said, sitting on the chaise. “So what’s the plan?”

“Sleep, then I’ll take you to another place to stay. I have to deal with the estate and some affairs tomorrow in the morning, so sleep in as late as you like. I have water, food, and wine here if you need it.”

“Do I need to piss in a jar?”

“Stop acting like you were raised on a farm.” Arzu hit Ramin with a pillow. “We had chamber pots growing up.”

Ramin grabbed onto Arzu’s waist and brought him into the chaise with him. “What else after that?”

Lips pecked Ramin’s cheek then kissed his forehead. “Just rest. I don’t want you worrying. Not yet at least.”

“Yet, he says.” Ramin sighed, letting go of Arzu and removed his robe and tunic. The sooner he slept the easier it would be for him to deal with his brother’s wild ideas. “Oh, what of your card?”

“Tomorrow is the last day. Maggie and I will break it, so don’t worry about me.”

“I see…” He squeezed his brother’s hand. “Very well. I’ll see you in the morning.”

Bidding their goodnights, Arzu pulled out his keys at the door. Ramin’s head sprung up from the chaise, cold sweat rolling down his sideburns. He reached out to Arzu, tongue dry and booming heart blocking his voice. No. He couldn’t do it. No. He wouldn’t do that to him. The world became smaller and spun wild. Dizziness and nausea. Unbearable. No. Stop.

Losing his balance, Ramin fell to the floor with a loud thump.

Arzu arched an eyebrow. 

“My legs got stuck with the blanket,” said Ramin, breath shaking. “Uh, Arzu, when you leave, don’t lock the door behind you.”

“Is everything alright?”

Ramin brushed the back of his head and sat back on the chaise. “Yeah, I just prefer unlocked doors.”

Arzu laughed. “You live too boldly, Brother. I can’t imagine being that trusting.”

“Locked doors mean you have something to hide. It only entices the curious and wicked to break in and see your secrets.”

“Living as a vagrant has warped your mind.” Arzu rattled the keys, grinning. “It’s time you lived like a noble.”

Ramin glared at his brother’s disregard. Stop asking questions and do as he said!

“But very well, I won’t lock the door if it makes you feel at ease.”

Metal stayed still after the door closed. Footsteps echoed into the distance. Counting — one, two, sixteen, eighty, two hundred-seventy three. Watching, waiting, heart hammering on his chest for the impending calamity. Three hundred forty-eight. Ramin stood up, paused, then grabbed onto the door handle. A soft click and the creaking of the tired hinges calmed his soul. The door opened with no resistance. 

Ramin fell fast asleep and dreamed of turquoise and gold. He ate bread and cheese in the morning, and snuck out of the cellar with Arzu afterward. 

“Where are we going?” he asked, putting on a veil and entering the carriage. 

“We need to fix your appearance.” Hands slithered beneath the veil and pinched the rugged cheeks. “Today you bathe and shave that unsightly forest you call hair from your body. Then we’ll go to the tailor shop.”

“I’m not that hairy.”

Arzu pushed Ramin’s head away. “Hairier than me, you dog. I can’t believe you let yourself get like this.”

When he fled from home, removing his distinguished looks had been Ramin’s first priority. Exploring the slums in his youth taught him the best way to not end up mugged or killed in a gutter was to blend in with the crowds, though it didn’t guarantee safety. Hair or not, with his refined features and handsome face, the people bothered Ramin anyway. Combat and verbal lashings had to be honed in order to survive their lustful hunger. 

“None of the men I fucked cared.”

Turning away, Arzu leaned onto the carriage’s window, eyes darkened and mouth tightened. “You need to quit seducing strange men.”

Sacrificing pleasure became second nature to Ramin. If Arzu necessitated it, then it was simply done. Refraining from sleeping with handsome men posed no challenge to him. Ramin patted his brother’s shoulder with a guilty sigh. “Listen, that’s all in the past. When I agreed to help you, it also meant giving up my indulgences.”

“I guess.” He refused to look back.

“Brother, I would never do anything to jeopardize your life. When have I ever given reason to doubt me or my word?”

“...When you left.”

I hardly think that’s fair — he wanted to say. The words formed a ball in his throat, choking the courage and permitted only lies to be told. Speaking out of order would only upset Arzu further, not that there would be any deadly consequences for him, but the thought of forever losing Arzu, especially to cruel circumstances, broke him. He abandoned his parents; he was not about to do the same to Arzu. 

“Believe me when I say that decision wasn’t easy to make. And I thought you wouldn’t need me anymore now that you were married to Maggie. I thought: why would Arzu want me around after this? I’m not supposed to exist anyway. Father and Mother had no qualms letting me go either.”

“Well, I did.” 

“I’m sorry, Arzu.” He reached out and laid his hand over his brother’s. “But I’m here, that’s all that matters now.”

Arzu turned his head with a fond smile. “You’re right. So, what should I call you in public? I don’t want anyone saying your real name except for me.”

“When I left, I called myself Eskandar.”

“Look who thinks he’s the great conqueror!”

“It was either that or Dariush.”

“All because you have Mom's eyes! That name’s even worse!” Laughing, he patted his brother’s shoulder. “Let’s get you cleaned up, Eskandar.”

The bathhouse had been surprisingly quiet that morning. The usual attendants greeted the men, offering them various services during their stay. Arzu declined and paid the fee. Luxurious oils and petals perfumed the water, roses and lavender were today’s scents. Warm mist, thick as fog, surrounded the baths, a perfect environment for secret rendezvous or lust-filled bathing. Arzu led Ramin to a far corner and bathed with him, offering him soap, argan oil, and a shaving blade for his transformation. With no mirrors present, using the natural light diminished by the steam, Arzu shaved his brother’s face with great precision, admiring how he did not nick or tear into his brother’s handsome face. 

“You look beautiful,” said Arzu, kissing his cheek. Smooth and immaculate. 

“So do you.” Ramin winked. “It’s almost like looking into a mirror.”

They laughed and finished their bathing. Spirits high, will invigorated, heart strong and ready to take on the challenges of the Sultan’s Game. Together they could take on the entire world and emerge victorious.

“Where are we going next?” asked Ramin, adjusting his veil inside the carriage. “Do you have enough time to break that card?”

Arzu waved his hand without a care. “Plenty. The sun’s still out and we need to do one more thing before we get down to business. Remember the tailor shop?”

Ramin nodded. 

“Your hair is too long and I don’t trust myself to do a good job. We have to do anything we can to make everyone believe you and I are the same person. And since our family has partial ownership, I thought it would be a good place for you to stay.”

“Makes sense.” He combed his hair with his fingers. “When will I be going to the Lapis Lazuli Palace?”

Arzu had said he needed another “him” to handle affairs, and that would include the palace life. Ramin had no experience with high society or politics, often being locked away in a room or in the cellar when his parents took Arzu to fancy events, but the idea intrigued him. How did they convene? Was there a dresscode? Was he expected to bring gifts to the Sultan every time he visited? What sort of topics did they talk about besides stately affairs and books? Perhaps it would be wise to invest in reading books at night to prepare. His education and penmanship were rudimentary at best, but at least he was literate and liked to write. 

Folding his arms, head tilting back, Arzu frowned at the carriage roof. “Since I’ll be breaking a card tonight, tomorrow the Sultan will be expecting a story of how I pleasured my wife. I can take care of that — plus Nawfal will probably be there to bitch and moan about me and everything I did or failed to do. Ugh, what a prick. I’m not letting that pathetic rat pester you without some preparation and knowledge.”

“Who’s Nawfal? He sounds important.”

“He thinks he’s important.” Arzu leaned toward Ramin. “No one likes him, not even the Sultan. The Sultan just likes to have him around to watch me fight him in court. He’s self-righteous and hates me for some reason. As if I did something wrong!”

“Well, did you?” Hatred always had a reason. 

“I swear to you, Brother, I have done nothing to earn his jealousy and ire! One day we met and he was talking all sorts of weird nonsense, and the next time he cursed my name, my family, and my cat too.”

“He cursed Lady Becky? What kind of person curses an innocent cat?”

“It was Sir Charlemagne he cursed. Lady Becky wasn’t born yet. His father, Lady Becky VI, took a liking to Sir Charlemagne and had a litter of Lady Beckys with her.”

“I almost forgot how strange the sultanate was with the noble cat story.” Ramin shook his head. He hoped Sultan Damara did not carry the same superstitions as his father had. Grandfather was a fool, the father was a depraved zealot, and the son? Compared to the father, by Arzu’s words Damara seemed downright reasonable, the same evil one read in fairytales. At least the Sultan refrained from dining in the flesh and blood of a twin. 

“Either way, this Nawfal guy seems unreasonable. Do you really think I would be able to handle him? If he’s a noble, I’m not sure I can lecture him if he’s the well-read bookish sort.”

“If you spar with drunks and criminals, I think you can handle this guy.”

“Arzu, I’m supposed to win arguments, not kill him.”

“I wish you would,” he muttered under his breath. “I’m going to coach you on all the nobles and who to watch out for and what to do should you encounter them. Honestly, it’s not that difficult since most of what we talk about is banal tripe about nobility and money, rarely anything about books or philosophy. Those topics are for salons among trusted peers. Outside of that, it’s inflated flattery to our dear Sultan, which you would be doing a majority of the time anyway. Being a minister is not as complicated as others would want you to think.”

The carriage stopped in front of a shop close to Arzu’s home. The two exited and walked in. 

Jingling bells struck the swinging door. Frankincense welcomed the twins into the tailor shop, etching its fragrance into the displayed fabrics and threads — a signature of the family business. Customers flaunted their perfumed clothing, knowing the guaranteed finery and quality could only come from this fashion house. Rivals tried to imitate the embroidery and skill, often buying their popular clothes in secret to steal the ideas and stitching, but all failed. The golden hands of the seamstresses and the keen eye of Arzu’s family could never be replicated. 

The twins wandered along the shop, touching the various fabrics to test the softness and durability. A wave of nostalgia hit them the deeper they explored. Many things changed and many remained the same. The same counter with the same organized chaos strewn across its long table with different clothes and tools. Even the same worn out rug from their childhood stood in front of the counter. Dusted, brushed, washed; after all the years of use its bright colors and patterns endured. At the far left side near the counter a brown stain marred its beauty. Putrid in its appearance, fibers worn and plucked from the constant attempts at cleaning, all the detergent and scrubbing in the world did nothing to erase the stain. 

Ramin’s breath hitched. Red arose from the damaged fibers, slowly replacing the brown. Blood pooled at the countertop, cascading into the floor and splashing on all the fabrics and clothes. Rust and searing meat. Unpleasantries and screams rang louder and louder. He closed his eyes to shut the noise away.

I’ll take care of you.
It’ll be alright. 

Arzu tapped his foot on the stain. “I was told a cultist came in and slit a sheep’s throat. Dad was furious but lacked the funds to replace it. Maybe after all this is over, I can get rid of it.”

“People are crazy,” said Ramin, opening his eyes. He rubbed his eyes with the veil and removed it. 

“Who’s there?” called out a woman.

“It’s me, Arzu.”

“Arzu?” A lovely woman dressed in fashionable attire poked her head from between two hanging pieces of fabric. She beamed at her landlord, eyes shifting to the man behind him. “Is that—”

“Well, I suppose it’s a good time to finally introduce—”

“Ramin!” A poof of mint-green rushed from the fabrics and into the twin’s arms. 

“Malkina!” Ramin hugged the seamstress, picking her from the floor and placing her down. He kissed both her cheeks and received kisses in return. 

Arzu’s face fell. “Huh?”  

“I can’t believe you’re here!” Malkina wiped the tears from her eyes. “It’s been so long… Why did you leave us?”

“I had my reasons.” Ramin squeezed her hands. At last, a friendly face. “Is Miss Noor here?”

She shook her head. “Unfortunately not. Mama’s hands have been giving her a hard time, so she’s resting at home.”

“Please give her my warmest regards.” 

“She’ll be delighted to hear from you. We missed you so much.”

“And I as well.” 

“The same goes for me, if not more.” Arzu’s surly face hadn’t been missed. 

Ramin let go of her hands and scratched his head with a short bow to his brother. “Sorry Arzu. I didn’t mean to ignore you like that.”

Eyes leered, then smiled. “It’s nice to see you so happy, Brother.”

What was wrong with happiness without him? Ramin didn’t smile back. In the previous village he stayed at, those smiles meant ill intent or becoming a thief’s target. But this was his twin brother Arzu — he needed him. Perhaps it had been the time spent away from one another that put his instincts on edge. They corresponded, yes, though it lacked the depth of in-person conversation and dwelling. Too much time, too much unsaid. His instincts blared and he quieted them down with a deep breath.

“I got bored as a kid,” said Ramin, shrugging. “You can’t expect me to stay cooped in at home while you had all the fun.”

Malkina shifted her stance, cracking a knuckle and swallowing, eyes staring away from the twins. “Do you care for some wine?”

“Wine would be wonderful,” said Arzu. “I have a lot to explain.”

They entered the shop’s private quarters and sat down for wine. Awkward tension loosened with drink, easing the mind and rekindling fond memories. Arzu explained his plan and how Ramin intended to assist him by acting as his body double, making decisions on his behalf when other important matters occupied his time. Since no one else except Malkina and her mother knew of Ramin’s existence, she was sworn into silence unless directed.

“Malkina, from now on you will call him Arzu. Given the challenges this game has brought, I needed Arzu to help me act on my behalf. For all intents and purposes, we are the same person and you will address us as such. There is no other brother, just me.”

“I… understand.” Worried eyes darted to Ramin then immediately to Arzu. Her nervous smile faded into her professional saleswoman grin. “How can I be of service to you, Arzu?”

“I need you to dress my brother just like me. I took him to the bathhouse to shave, but I am uncertain how to go about with his hair. If I attempt it, I’ll likely ruin it and then I’ll have to cut it the same way.”

“Hmm, that wouldn’t be difficult at all. Hair is something I can do. I can doll him up just like you, but…”

“But?”

“If your bodies differ too much, ah, well, let me see what I’m working with first.” Malkina stood up and snapped her fingers at Ramin. “Take off that hideous tunic! You look grody and tasteless. A man as young as you should be dressed with elaborate patterns and bold colors, not a potato sack with sleeves. Look at Arzu: fashionable, smells clean, trendy haircut, and he accessorizes. He may not be elegant but he compensates with his body and confidence. But you… Ramin, Ramin…” 

Ramin sniffed his armpit. “Y-yes?”

“Off with your clothes!” Loud claps and angry snapping fingers lashed out. “I can’t make miracles happen if you insult my eyes with those ‘clothes.’”

“It’s not like I’m wearing them because I like them!” Ramin groaned, pulling the long tunic over his head and pushing his pants down. “There! Happy?”

Pupils widened, hand stroking chin, bending up and down, taking every detail in front of her. Her breath quickened, nose flaring, excitement written all over her face. 

“I’m sorry Arzu but I will not allow you to ruin Ra— his body. Look at these muscles.” She pinched Ramin’s arm, admiring the curves and strength of his bicep. Such power, such a marvel! He could lift ten of her without breaking a sweat! Her hands rubbed his abdomen, fingers dipping into the deep, defined lines. The man had the body of a god! “Making him fat like you is a sin.”

“Fat!?” Jaw dropping, Arzu pinched his stomach and pulled at his skin. “I’m not fat!”

“With all due respect, compared to Ramin” — she slapped Ramin’s chest then slapped it again to see the bulky muscle jiggle once more — “you are fat. If you make him overeat, I will stitch your asshole shut! And Ramin, if you do what he says, I’ll do the same, except to your mouth so you don’t get fat!”

“Well what do you want me to do? I can’t suddenly show up to the palace with a body greater than the Sultan’s!”

“My body is better than the Sultan’s?” 

“Yes, but, no, but— ah, perhaps? I don’t know!”

“Well shit, maybe I should overeat.”

Malkina stomped her foot. “You are not overeating. I forbid it!”

“I’m not dying because some naked brat showing off his fat milking tits wants to be the fairest in all the land, Malkina.”

Arzu spat out his drink, laughing. “We really need to work on your language.”

“Maybe if I make your outfit slightly different it can be done. Accessories can busy-up your look which helps draw away attention from your body. Armlets and some shiny metals, ooh strategic scarf placement works too!” Stars sparkled in the seamstress’ eyes, endless possibilities of beauty and stealth spinning in her gifted mind. 

To placate Malkina, Arzu agreed to do more exercise to improve his physique. However, Ramin had to stop getting into bar fights in order for him to catch up to his body. Not that Ramin should continue to do that. Becoming Arzu meant he had to behave like a noble. Notoriety followed but not without the Sultan noticing. If the favored minister suddenly spent most of his days lounging in a tavern, picking fights with lowborns and drunkards, the Sultan could become suspicious or be swayed by the slanders of others. Maggie wouldn’t like it either.

With her magical hands, she cut Ramin’s long hair and styled it exactly as Arzu’s. Nimble fingers sewed, scut, dabbed makeup, and added accessories for the two brothers, spending hours to get the look just right. Identical at a glance, a trained eye noted the subtle features. An illusion? A change in lighting? Hair parted differently? Malkina’s job demanded tricking those skilled observers. Blend kohl, add blush and ochre. Only she could see beyond the makeup, clothing, and acting. 

Threading Ramin’s eyebrows, their eyes met for a second. Shivers ran down her spine. Those eyes were too distinct. No one must know.

Sun setting, the session took longer than expected. Arzu escorted Ramin back into the carriage and went into a small abandoned home. Humble and simple, the home had the daily necessities: a bath, outhouse with irrigation plumbing, well, kitchen, two small rooms with beds, and another with empty bookshelves and a desk. Weeds overtook the neglected garden near the outhouse, thorny and relentless. An unfruiting peach tree braved through the vines, weathering the worst heats and droughts the kingdom faced. 

“What is this place?” 

“Dad’s safehouse when the previous Sultan started to… you know.”

Disguised as a bronze commoner’s home, Lord Parviz and his wife used this abode to discuss escape among trusted individuals. Should rumors of the twins' existence surface, they had a place to hide them filled with assets, equipment, and various maps and written instructions to escape to Egypt or Greece. However, the former Sultan conquered both nations, ruining their plans. Fate or the gods smiled upon their family as Damara raised arms years after and assassinated his father. 

Ramin saw no kindness or grace. The smile mocked him as his family continued to keep him shadowed to all. Mother claimed she feared Damara would be the same as his father, yet the brutal decrees never came. Perhaps Father should have let the former Sultan rape and eat him as a child and be done with him forever.

His head turned away from Arzu. “...Is Father well?”

“Aching bones, but still moving. Mom berates him when he tries to get on his horse. He gave me this property as a wedding gift.”

“It’s nice. Sparse, but it has potential.” Running his fingers against the wall, white dust coated the tips. “So I’m not staying in the tailor shop?”

“This place is better. I don’t want Malkina saying something that'll end up jeopardizing your life. We can discuss everything about what we did and the best way to break these cards. You’d be surprised how much thought goes into all this. Starting tomorrow, I will draw a card, but I want you to break it and draw the next one. And…” Arzu wrapped his arms around Ramin’s neck. “We can indulge all we want here, be as loud as we want too. Think of this as our safehouse. Just you and I against the Sultan’s Game.”

They kissed and parted. 

“You have a card to break before dawn, Brother.”

“Yes.” Arzu smiled, ruffling Ramin’s hair. “We’ll talk about what you need to know and how to manage the cards, estate, and the Grand Game tomorrow after speaking to the Sultan. Ugh.”

“What is it?”

“I can already see Nawfal getting mad at me for sleeping with my wife. I’m not looking forward to tomorrow. I hope he has explosive diarrhea and can’t make it.”

Ramin laughed. “I’ll pray extra hard for it to happen.”

“Please do.” Arzu handed Ramin the keys to the small estate. “I’ll fetch you tomorrow. I’ll have this place cleaned up too.”

Sitting on the bed, Ramin sat on the bed and placed the oil lamp Arzu left behind on the nightstand. Could he really do this? Too many years had passed— how could he ever hope to sound and act like Arzu? 

“Arzu. My name is Arzu.”

Removing his shoes, he stretched his toes and put his legs on the bed. Not as comfortable as he hoped, but he had spare gold to invest in a better bed. Arzu may like the hard ground, but Ramin refused to sleep on anything without cushion. A plush rug would be acceptable depending on the circumstance. Maybe grass if soft enough. If anything, sex during his vagabond days taught him the importance of protecting one’s back and knees. Never again will he fuck someone on a hard, dirty tavern floor.

“To be very fair to myself, I was drugged and so was he.”

After several rounds on the floor, they had sex in a stable while still riding the waves of their mushroom-induced delusion. What a sexy man. Too bad Ramin didn’t have the sense to steal his sword. It looked valuable and powerful, far more intimidating than his ancestral blade. 

Removing his clothes, he slipped into the unfashionable brown tunic Malkina hated and tucked himself into bed, licking his fingers and putting out the oil lamp’s flame with them. 

“Nawfal…”

Arzu never hated anyone before, or rather expressed great vexation towards. For the years he lived with his brother, Arzu seemed to get along with most children, talking about each kid in detail and what he liked about them. Once in a while he’d tell Ramin about a bully or someone being rude, yet he managed to gain their respect and admiration later. Ramin of all people knew all this to be true as he had met them various times before when pretending to be his brother.

Charisma oozed from every pore in his body. Everyone loved Arzu. Peculiar how this Nawfal character resisted his irresistible charm! Unheard of!

But.

Curiosity seeped into his weary mind, shattering all traces of sleep. 

What was he like? What did Nawfal enjoy? What did he hate? What sort of person angered his brother? Was he old? Young? Was he born with a silver spoon or did his family buy their nobility through mercantilism or marriage? Beautiful? Hideous? Average? Married? Widowed? Single? 

His heart soared. A challenge of all challenges. During the courtship and engagement, he met Maggie several times, each encounter tricking her into thinking he was Arzu. Dignified, respectable, astute, a learned woman would never agree to marry Arzu if she suspected fraud. And after many years a new challenger came forth.

His acting skills had staled, yes, but it made the game all the better. Arzu told him he was the greatest actor, and he would be that man if it helped him live another day. 

“Is Nawfal going to tell me off? Is the Sultan going to watch?” His hand reached beneath the blanket, palming his growing erection. “Yeah, he’s going to watch that skinny man tell me I’m the lowest. A total scoundrel.” 

Underweight seemed like the right size to imagine. If Nawfal was everything Arzu wasn’t, then Ramin imagined a thin man with neatly combed hair, wearing elegant robes that hid his entire body. Stern, no nonsense, morally righteous. The sort who used big words to make his opponents feel lesser and stupid. 

Freeing his cock from his undergarments, Ramin stroked himself to fullness, leaking with arousal. 

“That’s right, I’m just a thug, a simpleton, a whore who finds pleasure more important than, uh—” What did courtiers even do? “Whatever. I bet he’s celibate or just religious. No, he should be happily married. Insanely in love and ridiculously dedicated. I want to make him cry when he cheats on his wife with me.”

Arzu told him to not sleep with strange men, but Nawfal was not a strange man. The court knew him and his brother did too, and soon he would become acquainted with the Sultan’s most unpopular courtier. Perhaps rivals who engaged in debauchery. Yes, that would be good. Arzu could worry about breaking the other cards, while he spent his days getting reprimanded by an uptight scold and corrupting him in front of everyone in court.

“I hope he has adult sons so I can corrupt them too.” Father dearest becoming a slave to his cock and having his sons join the harem, all serving Ramin and fighting for his attention. He’d be the kindest owner by rewarding them with exotic sweets and fancy clothes, and of course by filling their quivering holes with plenty of his seed every night. The Sultan would be delighted to see a noble family fall into the depths of depravity. Arzu too.

Various scenarios played in his head, each more perverted than the last, none quite able to take him over the edge he sought. Frustrated, he turned to his side and squeezed his legs, hand rubbing faster and faster. Repeated failure and aching balls soon followed. It would help if he had the faintest clue how Nawfal looked like! For all he knew, Nawfal was a bald, toothless old coot full of gout and varicose veins with a tiny penis hidden among the tremendous layers of lard! Why rage over such a repulsive man? 

“I expected better from you, Arzu!”

Wrong. All wrong! Laying on his back, Ramin pulled off the blanket, cool air breathing a sigh to his inflamed body. Sleep would be the better, smarter option, however if he could only relax his sex-addled mind from the concept of Nawfal then he’d have fallen asleep a long time ago! His cock stood upright, veins bulging and glans shining with precum, mocking his dilemma and demanding to be pleased. 

Exhaling hard through his nose, Ramin lowered his hand and tried one last time. 

No rape, blood, teeth, torture, enslavement. 

Soft. Gentle. Tender. 

Delicate kisses. Hesitant licks. Whispered promises ghosting over reddened ears, hot breath strengthening the words and increasing the desire. Nawfal would wrap his legs around Ramin’s hips, pushing the cock further in. Cries of ecstasy, every kiss and sweetness savored. And though his fantasy Nawfal lacked a face, he imagined him to have the most affectionate, most beautiful eyes. A warmth only meant for him and only him. 

Breathless and spent, fantasy Nawfal would reach for Ramin’s face, thumbs caressing the lips and cheeks, and kiss him. “Ramin.”

“Fuck!” Ramin arched his back, cumming into his hand. He panted and slept for a few minutes before waking up to clean his mess. After washing his hands near the well, he returned to bed, exhaustion finally taking its toll and dulled his mind. 

“Don’t show up tomorrow, Nawfal. Save that acid for me, not Arzu. I won’t let you win.”

Two days later at the Lapis Lazuli Palace, turquoise and gold sat on Ramin.

Chapter Text

In order to obtain the maximum amount of relief, Lord Parviz and Lady Soraya declared their sickly son, Arzu, to be their only child, leaving Ramin hidden. With the extra resources allotted due to their son’s delicate constitution, the family was able to create more provisions and give enough to both sons.

For the days the illness had overwhelmed the baby, Ramin was chosen to be taken in public. However, if the child’s condition became too grave, the lady and lord declared it to all and quarantined their son with Ramin. Arzu always improved when his younger brother stayed close, and thus the superstition of the amulet name followed. 

If the amulet had been called Arzu, then hope, wish, and desire would amplify and save Arzu from his afflictions. And thus Ramin acquired his second name.

The wet nurse never uttered a word when presented with Arzu back-to-back in a feeding, lips sealed and head low. “He’s such a hungry child,” she would claim. 

Grandfather Sultan’s ruling had been short-lived, lasting until the twins were four years of age. After numerous campaigns to quell the farmer and peasant revolts, the nobility slithered into arms of the Sultan’s adult son and funded his rebellion. Lord Parviz stood quiet in his support, claiming his son’s chronic illness caused him great financial distress and could not give gold to the rebellious prince. To alleviate suspicion, Lord Parviz stole an ancestral treasure from his wife and presented it to Damara’s father.

Satisfied with the gift, the prince’s wrath evaded the family and stabbed it into his Sultan father’s heart, declaring himself as the rightful ruler of the empire. However, despite saving his family, the act of stealing a sacred treasure incurred a wrath far greater than anything a monarch could ever wield.

Lady Soraya leered at her husband, eyes cold, hardened, cunning. The Dariush eyes. Blood of a great king flowed through her veins, and she would not be disrespected. She took Ramin in her arms, the only son with the eyes of the king, and presented a knife to her husband.

“I do not need you. Never have and never will. You married me for my title and great lineage, an ancestry not even the Highland Dynasty of Hukakassus could ever boast. Gold blood? I spit at them. I was raised with diamonds and bleed ruby, you are a merchant. Never forget your place.”

Kowtowing, Parviz begged for his wife’s forgiveness.

“Apologize to Arzu. You stole his inheritance.”

“Arzu, my joy and wish, I have hurt you so much.”

But he was Ramin…

Ramin slept through the cockerel's crows and awoke mid-morning from Arzu’s loud knocking. For breakfast, the brothers ate hardboiled eggs, figs, and bread and talked about the plan for the day. 

“I’ll be presenting my tale to the Sultan at the palace. The magician will want me to draw another card after the Sultan approves. I need you to try and break it, or at least do your best to.”

“Got it.”

“Oh, and I think you should see the magician for yourself. I can’t always be there to get another card, so you’ll have to do it eventually. Just talk to her. Act like you know what you’re doing.”

“Is this magician… human?”

“I’m not sure.”

“What in hell did this country get itself into?” Ramin sighed, pouring himself another cup of coffee. “So, what do you need me to do today?”

“I have servants coming in to do a thorough cleaning and adding some necessities today, so I need you out until the evening. Go get to know the streets again. Familiarize yourself with some faces and learn your way back here. If you have gold, maybe buy some things for yourself, but remember about extravagance cards needing money.”

“Is it safe for me to go to your house?”

“If you want.” Arzu shrugged. “Maggie is home. Do you remember Faraj?”

“Yeah.”

“He’s doing errands for me, so you might cross paths.”

Of all the friends Arzu had growing up, Faraj had been the most memorable. Son of a prominent lord, Faraj clung to Arzu like glue and drank every word his brother said. His gospel, his truth. What Arzu willed, Faraj complied. At first Ramin had not minded the younger boy following him around wherever he went, but after a while the twin grew wary and annoyed by Faraj’s worship. He never struck the boy or said rude words to him, only patted his head and expressed his gratitude. The clinginess increased, suffocating Ramin further. Puppy eyes and eager to please the older boy, guilt overtook Ramin and humored Faraj further. Patience: a virtue or a vice? Ramin would argue both. Smiling, he pulled his head from the water and treaded on with a star-struck Faraj attached to his hip. 

That cuteness should be a crime.

“A follower then?” Not surprised in the least. “Is he still cute?”

Arzu frowned. “Don’t go getting ideas. Faraj is not that way and I do not want you ruining my friendship just because you couldn’t control your insufferable lust. If you need to have sex, just come to me.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa.” Ramin held up his hands. “I’m not going to do anything that’ll jeopardize your fellowships. I know you think of me as some sort of incubus, but I know how to restrain myself. And if you say Faraj is off limits, then Faraj is off limits. Besides, it’s been years since I last saw him. He might not be my type.”

Bringing the cup to his mouth, Arzu muttered, “I'd be surprised if he isn’t.”

“What was that?” He heard it just fine.

“Nothing, nothing.” Arzu shook his head. “Eat up. I’ll drop you off in the market place and come fetch you after court is over. We’ll debrief and tomorrow you’ll go to the palace.”

Finishing their meal, the brothers entered the carriage and stopped in a busy street. Ramin tightened his coin purse before stepping out and bidding farewell to his brother. Strong hands squeezed one another’s arms in solidarity, the best wishes sent without words. Another day in this Sultan’s Game.

Ramin walked along the markets, admiring the wares and foods sold. Fresh fish from the Euphrates, toasted almonds sugared into perfection, bronze pots and knives shimmering in the sunlight. People laughed and argued, haggled and swindled, while children of all classes ran in between stalls chasing one another and avoiding the fierce reprimands from the owners. Rich hands stroked fine silk, showing off their wealth by the weight and wondrous gems in their hands. One wave, the item was bought or rejected. Starving eyes shook with their hunger pangs - would today be the day they gathered the courage to steal the fragrant bread and escape with their life? 

Thieves, peasants, prostitutes, beggars mingled with the workers and nobility, each person making their way along the treacherous journey that was life under the Sultan’s rule. Blood stained the nation down to the roots of society. Fear clung into their breath and sweat, any false moves and their lives forfeited by the strict laws or fancies of the Sultan. The capital hadn’t changed much since his departure over a decade ago. 

Today was a practice in acting and becoming Arzu. No longer wearing his mask, he relinquished Eskandar and tucked it in a safe place in the recesses of his mind. Ramin had long been cast aside and locked in a forgotten chest buried in darkness. It’s where the cursed name deserved to belong. 

Intel in familiar places would bring back his Arzu mask. Reservation and observation had been his biggest skill growing up, and served him well in his vagrancy. Walk like Arzu, talk like Arzu, but most importantly, listen to how others perceived Arzu. Deception only worked if he danced to the rhythm of people’s expectations. Loosening his posture, though ever vigilant of the interest of thieves, Ramin entered a spice shop. Recognizing the familiar face, the owner greeted him as Lord Arzu and showed him the usual stock Arzu liked. 

If it were himself, he’d choose the dried shallots over the yellow onion and cardamom over black pepper, however, he was Arzu. The spice shop gave him more insight into his brother's likes and dislikes, gaining a better sense of the intricacies he had long forgotten about his sibling. If he were Arzu, what would be the one thing he wanted the most? With a smile, Ramin asked to see the dried flowers and floral waters. 

“Pleasing the lady of the house?” the owner said with a knowing grin.

“Happy wife, happy life.”

The owner laughed. “If only making the wife happy weren’t such a challenge!”

“Ain’t that the truth! After all this mess the Sultan placed me in, I have to do whatever I can to make my Maggie smile.” 

“You’re a fortunate one. Lady Maggie is a one-of-a-kind woman. My wife would’ve left me if I had to deal with what you’re doing.”

“And why not shy away from me? Are you not afraid I’ll show up with a bloodshed card?”

“Lord Arzu, as long as you don’t come in to ruin my business and family, and regale me with gold, I’ll give whatever you need. You come from merchants on your father’s side, no? You would know politics has everything to do with making our ends meet. We are the ultimate snakes in the game of thrones, aren’t we?”

“You say snake, I say survivors.”

“That we are, good sir.”

Ramin purchased dried jasmines and sage for Maggie. “Do you know of any perfumeries nearby?”

“There’s a new one beside Lady Jenna’s store.” He escorted Ramin to the front door. “By the way, come back in a month. My son is in Egypt and will bring me the ultimate treasure. I’ll be sure to reserve some for you. It won’t be cheap, but for you? I’ll give you a special discount.”

Ultimate treasure? Sounded like great potential. Egypt was a land full of mystery and incredible history. Many of the cultists and religious orders travelled to that nation to learn of their gods and ceremonies. What would a simple spice shop gain? He hoped for a fruitful endeavor. 

Not a bad run. Simple even. Ramin had no way with sociability, but Arzu certainly did. Not to say he couldn’t form a coherent sentence or read a room, yet not as refined as his brother. No matter. Not like he needed a high amount of it to perform in court — the Sultan himself sounded like a buffoon! If that Nawfal character tried to slander him, well, simply put, he sentenced himself to a long courtship with Ramin’s fist. A fat, ugly noble with a pig physique stood no chance in a real fight. 

Ah, no. He told Arzu he would not engage in physical fights with Nawfal. That fighting spirit of his would be the end of him! Imagine the look on Arzu’s face if his political rival were punched by his twin. Surely he’d laugh though horror would immediately set in, dread in his eyes as the consequences rolled in. Arzu had been known for his physical achievements though not without warrant. Ramin beat up whoever annoyed him and kicked the other who rebuked him for his violence. No more of that! He was Arzu. Arzu never hurt people without actual provocation. 

Sighing, he continued down the market and saw a flash of turquoise and gold. He turned and found nothing. Dreams were dreams. Perhaps he should seek out a mattress while he explored. No need to sacrifice his comfort over a card game.

For lunch, he ate falafel wraps and wine, watching the people go about their day. It would be nice to be able to do this with his brother one day. A pity the Sultan punished Arzu with a cruel game. 

A handsome young man tapped on his shoulder, face bright and brimming with excitement. “Sir! Fancy to see you here!”

Sunny, eager, a haircut similar to Arzu, and cute? “Faraj?”

Faraj laughed, sitting across from Ramin at the cafe table. “I finished the errands you asked me to do. How’d it go in court?”

Ramin sighed. “Well… he accepted the story. I’m not looking forward to the next challenge, but it’s better than bloodshed.”

“Don’t worry, I know you’ll break the card in no time. You’ve always been resourceful and brave. Even if the card was bloodshed, I know you’d do it without hurting innocent people.”

A puppy through and through! Arzu — the jerk, how could he forbid him from lusting on such a delectable man? The navel piercing alone signaled an invitation to spread his legs open and take what one wanted. 

If I had a carnality card, I would eat you up right here in front of everyone. Ramin stared at his food and pushed the plate to Faraj. Better to break bread than break fellowship over coercion. 

“I’m full. Would you like the rest?”

Shock filled Faraj’s face. “Are you well?”

“I ate three wraps, a small bowl of hummus, a bowl of roasted eggplant and gourd, and wine.” He poured more wine into his cup and offered it to Faraj. “Never been better.”

“Arzu, s-sir!” Scandal and more scandal! Arzu had indeed been sick! Stress-eating and offering food? That he ate? That his mouth touched? Teeth marks were all over the wrap, it would be far too intimate to accept the meal. “I’m full actually!”

“Really? Suit yourself.” Ramin downed the rest of the wine and wrapped the food in his kerchief. “You were always like that when we were kids.”

“Not all the time…” he said, embarrassed. 

“It’s fine.” Standing, he signaled Faraj to follow him. Stopping near an alleyway, Ramin placed his kerchief beside a homeless youth and left. “What’s with the face, Faraj?”

“Nothing.” Faraj’s fond smile widened. “Ready to go home?”

“I have some other business to attend to. I’ll talk to you about court tonight.”

After a lengthy farewell from Faraj — the clinginess never stopped with age it seemed — Ramin wandered and rested until his brother’s carriage stopped in front of him.

“What did you buy?” asked Arzu.

“Here.” He handed the jasmine and sage to his brother. “For Maggie.”

“Oh?” Arzu sniffed the contents and sighed. Winking, he said, “Are you trying to steal my wife?”

Ramin grinned. “Just trying to make her not ask too many questions.”

“Smart guy.”

They entered the hideout, home dusted, cleaned, freshened, and liveable. Small furniture and laundered sheets, clothes, and blankets were placed in the trunks. Kitchen was supplied with simple foods, wine, firewood, cooking oils, and equipment. Soap, shaving supplies, and fragrant oils lined up and ready for use. The garden had been mowed, weeded, and watered, revealing a stone bench that had been overtaken by the vines and tall grass. Once an escape house now an idyllic home.

Sitting at the garden bench, Arzu and Ramin drank tea and talked about his day in court, the ins and outs, as well as the various governmental discussions had. He didn’t go into extreme detail about how he broke his carnality card, but Ramin understood not to pry further. 

“Nawfal didn’t appear, by the way.”

“Seriously?”

“Yes. Whatever god is out there definitely listened to my prayers. I’m so glad I didn’t get scolded by that pasty rat. He probably would be infuriated hearing how I had sex with my wife.”

“To be frank, Brother, I don’t want to hear how you two fucked.”

“Argh, there’s the swearing again! Ramin, you need to fix your language!”

Ramin flinched. Father’s voice came out from Arzu.

“Sorry.” Arzu rubbed his hair, eyes shifting from his younger twin. “I am just worried that your crudeness will expose us.”

“It’s… fine, Arzu.” Do not call him Ramin like that ever again. “I’ll do my best to control how I speak. Though… I’m not as good at using big words as you.”

Arzu sat beside his brother, hooking an arm over his shoulder. “Hey, don’t say that. You like poetry, don’t you? You send me that stuff all the time.”

“Yes? But I don’t see how—”

“Your handwriting is terrible, but, honestly, the content is great. You may not read a lot of books, but you put a lot of thought into it. And you grew up with Mom’s rich vocabulary, so I know you know some big words. Maybe not enough to beat Nawfal, but who cares what he thinks? No one honestly does.”

“Thank you, Arzu.” Ramin smiled. Mother had indeed done her best to surround him with beautiful words he liked to recall and write into his poems. The good should always obscure the bad memories. “Do you think Nawfal will appear tomorrow?”

“It is… very likely. If he doesn’t appear in court one day, he definitely will the next. Unless you wished for super diarrhea, I think he’s attending court for sure.”

“Sounds miserable… What does he look like?”

“Colorless, starving, and sniveling. You’ll know him when you see him.”

The Lapis Lazuli Palace was a palace beyond the imaginations of even the most skilled storytellers. Lavish, grand, a wonder of the world. Blue brick lined with gold mortar colored and outlined the exterior of the palace, tiles of intricate patterns gleaming in the sunlight, a beacon of luxury and power. Citizens, rich and poor, admired the palace from afar and told tales of its secrets and grandeur. One day they would step into its hallowed halls and witness the Sultan’s majesty! The courtiers, however, approached it with apprehension, each visit a potential to be their last. 

Ramin had never stepped into the palace before, yet the steps were familiar to him. Arzu made a crude layout of the palace the night before, drilling him every nook and cranny of the building, where and where not he could go. He studied it carefully, listening to his brother’s every word like his life depended on it. His brother risked death by placing him soon into the game, however, if not now, when? The best way to learn was to jump into the rapid current and swim. Ramin refused to sink.

The court’s chatter rang pleasant. It reminded Ramin of the villages during festivals when the worries of the people disappeared for one day and celebrated to their hearts’ content. On the dais sat a large golden throne with a garnet-colored velvet cushion on the seat waiting for its sultan to perch himself onto. At any moment the trumpets would blare announcing the Sultan’s entry.

Searching around the room, a sea of blurred faces drowning in gold and perfume flowed. In the vast swarm of grey and nothingness, the shadows darkened into a vortex of black and incense. It beckoned him to come closer and explore the void within. The chatter muffled then silence with each step he took near the abyss. Harsh whispers called out, echoes slithering into his ear, devils tempting and warning.

Coldness enveloped his body, pulling him further into the darkened shadow. Sweet incense burned into his lungs, a heavy force shoving him to his knees. A beautiful woman giggled and stroked her hand against cards.

“Magician,” said Ramin, shivering. “I’ve come to exchange my stone extravagance for another.”

Loud sniffs inhaled. Malice glowed through the thick smoke. The smile twitched, dissatisfied and struggling to maintain the coy expression. 

“It’s you. Welcome back.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“You cannot draw another card for the next five days. You remember that, don’t you?”

“Can you blame a man once favored by the court, now turned jester to have their sanity fully intact? It has only been a week of a sword hanging over my head and I managed to survive it by chance and my darling wife. So forgive me for forgetting after a single day, the stress has melted the last bit of rationality I possess.”

“Five more days to exchange,” she said, curtly. “Best return to the court, Lord Arzu. The Sultan will soon make his way.”

Dull trumpets clamored behind. Ramin nodded wordlessly and returned back to the sea of unfamiliar faces. The shadow lingered, but he shrugged it off, not caring in the least. Shadows had always been a part of his life since birth. What difference would black magic do this time? 

The noise and music returned to its normal volume. A proud and golden man swaggered into the courtroom, drinking from his bejeweled chalice and threw it before one of the slaves, who scammered to retrieve it. Tall, chiseled, and strikingly handsome, the Sultan sat on his throne with his legs wide open, revealing his toned and meaty thighs.

Damn, he’s hot. Ramin adjusted his robe to cover his pants in case his body decided to betray him. Insane or not, the Sultan was one of the most stunning people he had ever seen. With that great strength, power, and dashing looks, it had been no wonder how he managed to control the nation as he sought fit. 

Could he use a carnality card on the Sultan?

The Sultan’s chamberlain announced the minutes from the previous session and the current agenda. Minister Arzu had presented how he and his wife had engaged in a night of frenzied lovemaking, going into every detail from the sweat, biting, positions, orifices, and ecstasies. The Sultan accepted the story and allowed Arzu to break the bronze carnality. Reports of other issues were stated, then finally made a final announcement stating the Sultan’s preference for Zazie.

What an arbitrary man! Only his penchant for blood and chaos made anyone take his frivolity seriously. Ramin wished he could roll his eyes though knowing his luck, the Sultan would notice and hang him with his own intestines.

Step, tap. Step, tap. Step, tap.

The Sultan’s posture perked. “So good to see you today, Minister Nawfal! Pray tell of any reason you were not able to attend court yesterday?”

“Your Majesty, I was taking advantage of a deal in the marketplace with a rice seller from the far east.” A man wearing a black robe embroidered with intricate silver and gold patterns came before the steps leading to the throne and kneeled, placing a cane beside him. “I intend to use the grain to feed the refugees seeking assistance after the devastating floods, and in your name, of course, Your Majesty. I would not be able to accomplish this immense feat of generosity without your grace.”

The nobles surrounding Ramin drifted away, whispering and glancing. Ramin turned his head several times. Why did everyone make space?

“I see,” replied the Sultan, kicking his foot, excited. A hint of ruby and gold flickered beneath the thick fringe, sadistic delight boring itself into the unfortunate minister. 

Ramin swallowed, holding still to hide the shiver. The man was no different than a tiger — a rare, exotic beauty only safe at a distance. Any trust placed was a gamble. Will it purr or pounce? Or perhaps purr as it devours your body and revels in the blood it shed. 

“Since Nawfal was absent, why don’t you repeat to the court how you broke the bronze carnality card?”

“First, I—”

“That will not be necessary, Your Majesty,” said the man, rising from his genuflection and turning to glare at Ramin. “I have already heard how Arzu regaled this sacred court with his filth, degrading his marriage and wife as if her dignity held no value. We do not need to have it repeated for my sake. The court deserves better.”

Arzu had warned him about his political rival. An arrogant man who walked around as if the world owed him money yet he could barely scrounge him a single coin for his own estate. Self-righteous. Bitter. Holier-than-thou. A miserable ghoul who sucked the life out of everyone and had an obsession with draining Arzu’s blood with his words and belligerence. 

Dark eyes full of resolution and decorum. Sternness in his straight posture, far more regal than the messy, beastly man on the throne. Clothed in simple colors, yet the design and fabrics were tailored in good taste. Pure elegance. And in the minuscule asymmetry of his face, every dip and curve, sharp cheeks and aloof lips, charm and perfection. 

Pale, svelte, assertive.

Nawfal was a diamond pretending to be in the rough, and Ramin kept the secret to himself. 

Alas, he could not stay quiet as he had to respond like Arzu. Had it been him, he’d have taken Nawfal by the hand and invited him to coffee. Deepest apologies to the stalwart beauty, but family came first!

He walked up to Nawfal, sizing him from head to toe, whistling. The startle from Nawfal encouraged him more. “Ah, but Our Majesty insists—”

Turquoise and gold fluttered over his face and landed on his head.

Gasps spread among the court. Nawfal’s eyes filled with dread. A roaring laugh followed, drowning out the courtier’s surprise.

“Look at the top of his head!” Damara pointed at Ramin and laughed harder. “Arzu! Arzu! You look so stupid right now!”

Confused, Ramin lifted his hand and carefully patted his head. Soft down brushed through his fingers, a little squawk warned him to be gentle. A bird?

If the Sultan laughed, the court was expected to laugh too, funny or not. Nobles joined in the Sultan’s merriment, gossip flowing wild and free. 

“Is it a bird?” Ramin blinked, unsure if he should feel offended or flattered at the Sultan’s mockery. “Is it yours, Nawfal?”

Nawfal gritted his teeth. “Yes, a parrot and yes she’s mine.”

The parrot plucked strands of Ramin’s hair and weaved it to create a makeshift nest. She roosted, imitating the whistle Ramin had done earlier. 

“No, stop! I’m dying!” The Sultan clutched his sides, kicking his legs harder. “It’s on his head!”

Red-faced and nervous at his parrot’s antics, Nawfal approached Ramin, holding his hands to fetch his bird. Mumbling, he uttered, “Lory, please come down.”

Snerk. Ramin sucked in his lips to hide the rising smile, mouth twisting and churning until he could no longer hold it in. “Hahaha! You named your parrot Lory!?”

He named his bird after another bird? How cute! Arzu had no idea what sort of man his rival truly was!

“That’s not even a lory! Why did you name your parrot Lory?” Ramin covered his laughter with his hand and pointed at Nawfal. The bright fluster on such a pallid, taciturn man really suited him! “That’s silly even for you!”

Shaking, Nawfal reached for his pet and received a denial from his political rival by moving out from Nawfal’s grasp. Walk, step away. Walk, step away. Walk, step away. Walk, twirl around and bow.

The court’s laughter grew louder. A golden slipper fell from the Sultan and landed between the two men. The parrot mimicked a pleasant laugh as she flapped her wings on Ramin’s head. The Sultan’s other slipper flew by and hit Ramin’s butt. Amusement transformed into painful cackling. Too much! This had been too much for their stomachs to bear!

“Her name is Rokh. Now give her back.”

Ramin howled. “After the legendary bird? Ooh, so scary! Is the rokh going to take me away and eat me?” Sinking to his knees, he grasped the hem of Nawfal’s robe. “Save me, Nawfal! Save me!”

THONK!

The Sultan had fallen from his seat, beating the floor with his fist. Sound trapped behind his throat. Air choked and exhaled in between the peals of laughter. His poundings cracked the delicate tiles. No more! 

“Enough!” the Sultan gasped, clutching his stomach. “Minister Arzu, give Nawfal back his” — he snorted — “Rokh.”

“Thank you for ending this sordid display, Your Majesty,” said Nawfal, unamused. 

Rising, Ramin chuckled at Nawfal’s dour expression and wiped his smile with his hand. The man needed more joy in his life. Granted, the laughter was at his expense, but something told him Nawfal had been used to gaining the upper hand in court most times. While Arzu did have more education than himself, it did not necessarily mean he scored high marks with the tutors. By fooling around, his brother gained a good sense of wit and timing. Ah, therein lied the answer to why an unpopular minister remained in the court! The pleasure-seeking Sultan loved a good show, and what better entertainment to have than a beloved philanderer paired with the pious jackass?

“Go ahead,” said Ramin, lowering his head to Nawfal. “I’ve never handled birds, so I don't want to accidentally hurt your friend.”

Nawfal’s eyes softened. A hovering hand hesitated. Trembling. Uncertain. He darted his eyes from Ramin and focused on his parrot. Little whispers cooed, voice pitching higher to soothe the animal. With delicate fingers, Nawfal untangled the hair from Lory’s claws and guided her to his hand, coaxing her with sweet words and scratches on her head.

He turned his back to his rival, disappearing into the crowd of nobles, and wagging his finger at his bird. “You’ve been bad today, madam.”

Ramin straightened up, fixing the nest on his head. Goosebumps lingered from where Nawfal touched. Cool and tender with an air of confidence, almost intimate had it not been for the parrot. He wondered if Nawfal ever touched a man like that before.

With the court adjourned, Ramin sighed in relief. A few nobles approached him, shaking his hand or giving him nods of approval. Nawfal had often closed arguments by creating all sorts of stories about Arzu, using large words and uptight morality to drive the point further. Though Arzu skirted around the accusations and used his wit to gain a few laughs, it had been the first time Nawfal suffered an undisputed and humiliating defeat in court. 

Perhaps he should have taken the abuse? Ramin shook his head, thinking about his brother and his life decisions. Why put up with Nawfal’s antics and let him win? And even if not a victory for Nawfal, why not do something to embarrass the man? Once? As attractive as Nawfal was, Ramin hated to see pompous beautiful people behave reprehensibly. Did the Sultan love the cat and mouse game that much? His brother was too patient and kind. No wonder everyone at court loved him. He’d love a fun man with humility too!

A firm hand squeezed his shoulder. Light flashed and obliterated the shadow swallowing Ramin. Dimming, he found Nawfal’s glare pierced right into his soul.

“You think that off-color stunt you just pulled means anything? You are a lout, a spoiled miscreant raised with a golden spoon and know nothing of pain and suffering. This game will only make your odiousness more open to the world.”

Shrugging Nawfal’s hand from his shoulder, Ramin rolled his eyes. “Oh, how restrained we’re being today. Tell me what you really think.”

“Don’t think this is the end of the matter.”

Before Ramin could retort, a squawk interrupted his thought. Lory flew above and landed on her owner’s shoulder, cuddling against his cheek. Turquoise and gold. 

Ice plunged into his veins, turning his blood into crystal and vision into swirls of darkness and invisible spirals. His throat clenched, words clumped and formed into a spiked nodule. Tongue drying in a desert. Heart racing. Run away, run away!

Nawfal sneered and walked away from his rival. Hardly worth a single glance or an ounce of pity. Lory screeched, startling him. He turned his head to see Ramin’s rapid breathing. No. He didn’t deserve clemency. Not after making him the laughingstock of the court. Looking back once more, the man disappeared. 

In the carriage, Ramin dug his nails into his head. Shadows dragged him back to his place of familiarity. His mind sought for answers, exploring every corridor inside his mind. Searching, searching. Fruitless. Lost. Despair. Darkness caressed his limbs and murmured desolation into his heart. Plunged in the vast sea of nothing, a glimmer of light peered through.

He swam toward the faint glow and found a locked chest. Dim light spilled through the tiny crack between the chest’s lid and base. From the light, a small reed poked out. He pulled it, revealing a large turquoise-gold feather.

Opening his eyes, the sunlight eased his panic. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out the Sultan card Arzu picked the previous day, held it from the top, and attempted to rip it. Intact and unblemished, he bent it over his knee. The card refused to break. Outside the window, halos of stone, bronze, and silver surrounded the people and objects. Staring at his hands, a silver aura formed and covered his entire body, disappearing after blinking several times. 

The parrot feather laid on his lap. Grabbing it, he stared at the generous, nameless man painted in the stone extravagance card. No. There had been no feather at all. 

But how could he have forgotten such a monumental detail? It was the very reason that led to enact his first slaughter. 

“I remember that bird.”