Chapter 20: Seventeen | سترہ

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As his feet took him further away from the granite chamber that enclosed his bride's jilted form, there began a quiet shaking in his limbs. In his heart. The coils of his bulging muscles started constricting the flow of blood in his veins. It was the haal of a man obsessed. He had a taste of what was previously unknown, and like any sinner; he now wanted more. When his jaunting tread came to an end underneath the stone steps of the spiralling staircase, the Sultan realized he was already physically struggling to stay where he was; away from her.

However, it was a necessary hindrance in his path to the Sherquli shehzadi. He had placed it there himself when his mind was not consumed by a chant so insistent; an echo of her name.

Arzam had absolute control over the land and people he encompassed. Never versa for the sheer influence of the Sultan was all consuming, the Kalthuran army a force greater than the masses. And because a tyrant was vigilant before he was cruel, there he was standing before his finest general for a briefing of the past seven days.

Any matters that caught the attention of locals was placed before the domineering ruler in private by his men before he decided if it was worth bringing the whisperings to life and making his people witness to when he bled dry. Now, Fateh's frigid reports were blurring into nothingness. Arzam could only hear the loud drumming of his heart in his ears, the rush of Zartasha's phantom voice overtaking his mind. The Sultan's thinning patience was about to dissipate when the thought of his bride reminded him why he cared enough to grace the imperturbable warrior in front of him with his presence. Fateh was a cold man who was as vicious on the battlefield as his glacial eyes suggested.

Noting the Sultan's flaring nostrils and subtly twitching eyes, Fateh stopped his monotone words and waited for his king's next instructions. After running a large hand over his dark beard, he bowed his cropped head. A few years with the volatile beast of a man Kalthurans called their Sultan would give any perceptible eye enough hint to be quiet and await his move when they saw the signs of a raising storm under his skin. For prey only becomes prey when it failed to fall silent, true skill was sensing a predator before it arrived. And all men were predators of one kind or another; their master the worst of all.

Fateh was the moody, quiet kind and his current state was the final affirmation Arzam needed to put forth his order. There was an ulterior motive to him coming to hear Fateh out. After all, the Sultan was a newlywed tonight. Only a fool would leave a Malka's presence for trivial matters of bloodshed, and he was no fool. He was, however, a Sultan committed to his bride's safety, and he had an inkling that Fateh's lack of audible noises were going to work out in his favour. That and another secret Fateh had to tether himself to the concept of loyalty, but Arzam knew that now was not the time to divulge more than what they thought he knew. And so, he asked his head general what his jigar was still not set on; to guard Zartasha while she caused whatever uproars she needed to under the domed ceilings of the Hyderi mehal.

Fateh's hardened yet lithe build covered by the thick cotton blends of his inky kameez and iron armour welded with Kalthura's shair immediately straightened when he saw his master's jaw tightening.

And soon after Arzam rolled his broad shoulders back and gritted out, "You are to be tasked with protecting your Malka with your life, manzoor hai?"

The last pair of words that permeated the air with the Sultan's turbulence were not meant to be misconstrued as a request. It was a command through and through, but Fateh knew to still take it as a sign of respect because their ruler would not have bothered blanketing his authority in front of others.

A sharp nod came from the general.

"What you will is our will, Hukum."

Arzam knew he liked his quiet yet highly effective comrade for a reason. In an effort to leash the territorial monster clawing at his spleen, he said, "That is when I am not around, and you are to keep three talwars worth of a distance from her at all costs."

Fateh's light skin glinted under the moon shining through the arched gap in between the barren stone walls they were standing within when Arzam saw him put a hand to his heart and agree.

Temporarily satisfied, he was about to pull back and follow the reverberating beats of his heart that were calling out for his bride's deedar when a deep voice broke the silence between the general and Sultan.

"Hukum!"

A mountain of a man came alive under the pearlescent moonlight as he came closer to the Sultan with a cheery smile on his tanned skin.

His bulging muscles were on display as he spread his arms out for the Sultan but when he spotted Arzam's face, the lone dimple that popped on his smooth cheek disappeared. The metal vest he was wearing came without sleeves and the Sultan would have mirthfully chuckled at the sight of him on a different day but now his patience was running out.

When a disappointed sigh came from Fateh ahead of him, Rizwan realized he had made a mistake in coming to greet the Sultan. He dropped his arms when Arzam turned around to properly look at him. It was not a routinely thing for a warrior of his size to be intimidated by another, but his master was a picture of terror under the silver glow of the celestial body that rested high in the sky; dark hair falling across his face, rising chest, but worst of all was the deranged look in his cinnamon eyes that made Rizwan retreat and walk towards Fateh instead.

The charming man knew when to pick his battles, that is what made him the best negotiator in their mulk but Arzam was a man who matched him in body mass and most certainly surpassed him in bloodthirst. Rizwan's body was very precious to him.

While side-eyeing the supreme ruler of Kalthura, Rizwan asked Fateh in a voice that was meant to be a whisper but there was no doubt in Arzam's mind that he wanted him to listen in, "What were you two gossiping about without me?"

A quick elbow jabbed into his side and Rizwan barked out a curse at Fateh to which the latter dryly responded, "A briefing. It's a nationwide briefing, Rizwan."

He huffed as he made his argument, "About people who live in this nation. That's gossip."

Rolling his eyes after stepping away from the other man with swinging limbs that could cause him harm, the merry warrior turned to watch the Sultan striding away in all his glory.

Shouting out a loud, "Shaadi Mubarak, Hukum!" Rizwan looked back at Fateh only to see him moving away too. That was when he began whining about them already having an antisocial soldier in their exclusive ranks and that they didn't need another one.

He was referring to the man that schemed from the shadows and planned wars for Arzam in the dark.

Shaking his head at the thought of the four fort-like men he trusted more than others, the Sultan finally headed where his Malka was. Oh, the thought of his Zar made him preen, the beast in him roaring to life after being denied of her. There was something in him rattling the cages of his skin to come out and go to her.

And so go to her, he did.

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Tucking an embellished metal tray that supported a cup fashioned from silver between her elbow and wrist, Kanwal was slapping her other palm against the chamber's doorway that stood proudly in front of her.

She had been outside the queen's gates, calling out for the Malka ever since Amna bibi had sent her to deliver a serving of milk to the newlywed bride.

Kanwal's mouth twisted in a frown when she heard no sounds from the other side of the heavy entrance, and she was about to return to the elderly woman to inform her about the lack of a response she received when the bubbly maid's mouth dropped open upon spotting the Sultan looming behind her.

Her breath hitched in her throat, and she cast her eyes downward.

A squeak followed when she quickly glanced back up at her master's hard face before she averted her gaze, "Salam, Sultan."

Arzam knew the young maid enough to not unleash his anger upon her, it took effort and straining his neck to quietly grit out his words, "Who left the Malka alone in there?"

Kanwal felt a thunderclap resonate in the air around them nonetheless at his baritone voice.

She quickly responded and put the blame on his aunt, then dashed from the resplendent hall before he could properly dismiss her.

Cringing and retracing her steps with her eyes closed she greeted him to cover for the cup of milk she was shoving in his large hands before fleeing from his rapidly rising temper's vicinity once again.

The Sultan let her misgivings go in his worry for Zartasha. He knew she would be enduring nothing less than sheer torture now that she was confined within the prison of her own mind. There was a reason in their lands, their people had exuberant little traditions; sometimes so interesting that it would seem odd without the echoing laughter of the partakers and the mosaic of colours that surrounded their wedding rasms.

It was a way to take the loneliness and daunting expectations of uprooting one's life away from the bride and gifting her gleeful memories with her current and future family instead.

Zartasha did not have that.

Arzam was a man of no regrets and had never been concerned with anyone else's wellbeing but something in him clawed at his heart at the thought of his Malka going through such a confounding time in her life alone.

So what if she was a shahi woman that appeared too stubborn for her own good? She was still a woman. And their sadness was often bone deep, wounds never on the surface for the dunya to see for the world was often the reason behind their pain. Sultan Arzam Hyderi did not wish that for his Zar.

He was suddenly angry at her isolation, and he intended on spending the night that loomed ahead of her showing the Sherquli shehzadi how unaware she truly was about her coming days. The rest of her livelihood; for it would be spent under his watchful eye, under the weight of his presence, and under him. He would consume her space, if he could not consume her thoughts. He'd confiscate the security of the walls she hid herself behind and replace it with Kalthura, if he could not seize the corners of her mind.

Bracing himself, he cracked his strong neck and felt the tendons under the skin of his throat tighten while he angled his face to the right in order to favour his left ear. When his keen hearing told him what he was concerned with, the Sultan looked at the gates once more before a burly leg clothed under pristine blanching fabric kicked at the centre of the barrier between his bride and himself.

The latch on the other side of the doorway gave way for no obstacle had stood in the wehshi ruler's path; whether that was one of conquer or destruction there was no telling. And it seemed the newly proclaimed Malka could not bear to find out what he wished tonight.

Said lithe body surrounded by a mass of crimson silk flinched at the resounding crash that echoed in the gemstone walls of her chamber. Zartasha sat quietly in defiance of the sudden disturbance that made her forget her current state. She slowly twisted to look behind her and her breathing quickened when she was faced with the brute she had made a husband out of.

A heaving silhouette of raw depravity sheathed under the glamour of power stalked towards her with berating steps. She knew she was standing against a predator on the hunt in her weakest moments. Gathering her wits along with the pooling garb brushing against her ankles, Zartasha stood from her place on the bed. She blinked harshly so the remnants of her tears could fall hard and fast, so her vision would sharpen but before her mehendi-adorned hands could brush them away, she felt rough finger pads trace the outline of her eyes.

Startled at the Sultan's sudden proximity and still under the hold of her sadness, she gasped and found herself seated back onto luxurious velvet covers with the step she took to get away from the man looming over her.

Arzam was astounded at the masterpiece that was his bride. Staring up at him with rivulets of charcoal trailing down her cheeks, head veiled by a lengthy cut of beaded silk, she was a mosaic of blooming organza roses encapsulated by golden zardozi wherever one would look upon her.

Rubbing at the skin framing her withering stare, Arzam gathered siyah smudges on one hand and assessed the black abyss that was now home to his madness. The Sultan saw her clouded thoughts in the way her expression turned yet she remained still, gazing upon him. So, he took a chance on the absurdity of the moment and pressed his thumb behind her right ear.

Cautiously peeking at him with her lashes flitting unwittingly, Zartasha was in a vulnerable place - with the control she had over her feelings fraying. Her eyes brightened when she realized what the brute in front of her had tried to do. Ward off evil that intended to prey upon her. It was a practice their elderly had seemed to pass down to their descendants; rooted in what their own predecessors had done. The Malka had always assumed that was perhaps how culture was made.

Sensing the shift in the air, the tyrant snaked his large hand away from the placement against her ear and fisted it against the roots of her hair instead.

The strangest feeling overtook her, chills danced down her spine and her stomach dipped. She didn't want to speak until he did something to set her off, which would presumably follow shortly. She waited to see what the desperate Sultan was going to do. It was the most sensible thing for her to do; wait the tide out since she did not want to bother looking at him now, let alone exchange words.

When Arzam brought his other hand forward, she spotted the glinting of chandi against his lips. The Malka huffed in agitation when he sipped what looked like milk from the cup while holding her hair. He was an oddity, albeit terrifying, the supreme ruler of Kalthura was unpredictable in every sense of the word.

The rumours were proven to be true to the new bride when he pulled on her scalp, firmly enough to tilt her head back and bare her neck to him and softly enough for there to be no stinging left in his fist's wake.

With the ornate dupatta cascading down the length of her dark locks and the gleam of the jewellery that adorned her flashing brighter, the indomitable man's mouth turned dry. He couldn't get enough of tracing his dulhan's features but was broken away from the lure of her husn when she hissed.

"What in God's name are you doing?"

She tried shaking her head away, but it was in vain. Noting that she was going nowhere, the Malka was reduced to voicing her anger.

Sultan Hyderi was then reminded to inhale and exhale as an act of composure before he grinned with a wide berth of his sinful mouth at her.

"Drink."

She eyed the cup that was now hovering above her lips, he was holding it at an angle that was dangerous. Raising her brows in a haughty manner, the woman in surkh kept quiet in defiance.

Zartasha smiled with satisfaction when she saw him taking the silver vessel away, but her gaze widened in mortification when she realized he simply turned the glass so the side he drank from would be the surface her mouth would kiss too.

Uncaring of the peril her current position put her in, the Malka opened her mouth to yell at Arzam but he took it as an opportunity to tip the cup and pour milk down her throat.

Her seething gaze remained on his and it seemed the whistling breeze came to a halt and the candour of the Hyderi mehal was lost when the two looked at one another.

There was only Zartasha, the Malka of his heart. And there was only Arzam, the tormentor of her days.

Individually, each counterpart of the shahi pair drowned out the best of opulence but together, they seemed to be the focus of illusory tales - unreal.

The hand holding her hair trailed back to the curve of her jaw and the Sultan made sure to bring her face forward this time, closer to his so she would not choke on the liquid and swallow it down. If his keen observance and obsessive eyes that watched over her were anything to go by then it seemed his bride had not eaten all day and he would not stand for that.

Nothing would harm his Zar, not even her own decisions.

Feeling blistering heat on his cheek as he wiped the droplets of milk that slipped from the corner of her lips and down the hollow of her throat, he looked up and sent a quick smirk at Zartasha who was looking at him blankly, then his parched eyes turned back to the milk on her bronzed skin.

Unable to help himself, Sultan Arzam Hyderi went down on his knees to sit in front of the Malka. He leaned in and Zartasha jolted when she felt the scrape of his beard against her neck. Realizing the path his tongue was mapping would soon lead to her own mouth, she grabbed him.

With nimble fingers dipped in the scarlet stain of mehendi and flashing with ornamental jewellery, she dug her hand into his hair.

Belatedly, the Sherquli shehzadi realized he preened at the attention she gave him and what she had learned about affection was that it could only be countered by anger.

During the slow blinks and rolling of his neck, she realized the supreme ruler of Kalthura was about to rise and make his advances, so she pushed him.

Arzam landed upon granite flooring, his back bracing his fall from grace but he was a man with intolerance in his bloodstream and his wife's face in front of his eyes, so he made sure she landed atop him.

The Malka was sharp-minded enough to sense the volatile energy brimming inside of him, so she asked in a deceiving whisper at his ear, "What are you going to do to me right now? Jaan logay?"

Finding the strands once again, Arzam pulled at the ends of her inky waves to turn her face towards him before he spoke the words into her mouth, "Pyaar se."

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