The birds reminded Roshanak of freedom. Them flapping their wings and aiming for the sun, unafraid of getting their feathers burnt. Living in the sky for days, journeying from one end of the world to another. Singing in the dead of the night.

A flock of pigeons came to her balcony every morning and afternoon. Roshanak would watch them tilt their head and scrutinise her, the new queen. Before her, this room was vacant, at least for a considerable time. Maybe the pigeons had found solace in the silence of these four walls. They were dwellers of a free life, unrestrained and wild, so the golden cage could have intrigued them. Seeing that they weren't frightened of her, Roshanak spread her arms and approached them. She was gentle, allowing the birds to roam around her and pull at her dress. Soon, a bond was made.

After having her breakfast, Roshanak sat in the balcony and fed them grains. The pigeons sat on her lap as she caressed their white plumage. They would puff up their bodies in joy.

"You crave affection. All of us do."

Roshanak didn't understand the language of the birds, but she felt their peace. They were safe in her presence. They could forget being hunted by hawks and just rest in cosiness.

"May I?"

Roshanak was taken aback by the voice. When did Sikander come? The man's steps were as quiet as death, never warning anyone of arrival. She was instantly reminded of how she slept through a whole attack back in her maiden home.

She smiled, but she didn't know if it was more out of sadness or bliss.

Roshanak cradled a pigeon in her arms. "Touch it, but be soft."

Sikander knelt beside her and rubbed the head of the bird. Initially, his fingers quivered, probably out of fear. "I think the pigeon likes it," he said. "I am not used to petting them. They don't come to my room."

"Maybe they love this room more. I think they used to come here even before my arrival."

"Perhaps. No one in the recent years lived here prior to you." He brushed back a lock of hair behind Roshanak's ear. "They must be bewitched by this new visitor."

Roshanak brought the pigeon close to her chest, hugging it like her hopes. Not once since their first meeting had the Shah treated her like a slave. He was trying to make her comfortable. From what she realised, neither of them chose this life willingly, but were forced to.

"Now they also like you," she said. "See, one apparently wants to peck at your belt."

Sikander took the mischievous one in his hands and placed a sweet peck on it. "You are brave, aren't you?" He let it fly away. "Beautiful creatures."

His eyes appeared to be full of honey when he stared up at the sky, and his golden hair looked like the mane of a lion. The rays of the sun traced the scar on his chest. Roshanak's fingers found their way to them, fearfully feeling the edge of the wound. Sikander's eyes widened. Roshanak retracted her hand as if she had accidentally touched hot coal. "I am sorry. I was just curious–"

"This is a warrior's pride." He beamed. "It never healed, but I am happy to carry this. Some wounds never completely heal, they remain as scars. You remember them everyday."

"Like you recall how you got this every time you stand in front of a mirror?"

"Yes. A barbarian inflicted this wound upon me when I was fighting and got far away from my mates. I was injured gravely, and even though we won, people were worried that I would not live to see the dawn."

Maybe, if she had heard this on the day when her father was defeated by this man, she would have wished for his death. Now, she was thankful that he survived. He was her husband. Not only that, he also was a good man. Roshanak was becoming sure of it.

"I was down with fever and couldn't eat well for days. But then one day, I miraculously found back strength. The people cried in happiness, trumpeting around that the Shah was saved by Amun."

"Amun is the god of Kemet, isn't it?"

"Yes. The people I speak of believe in him."

"Whom do you believe in?"

Sikander lolled back his head and closed his eyes. "I don't know, Roshanak." He heaved a sigh, and then looked at the fluffy clouds. "Everybody believes in a different god. In Macedonia, they respect Zeus. In Kemet, they adore Amun. In Persia, they know Ahura Mazda. And if I had gone further inside your kingdom and into the heart of Indica, I would have met Kalika. So many deities to choose from. Sometimes I wonder if there's one god or multiple, but then I understand that each see god in their own way. Some find solace in a ram-headed god. Some bow to an invisible power, devoid of shape. If you ask me, I am yet to find my god. Maybe I am hard to impress, or maybe no god chose to guard me."

"Poignant."

"Why?"

"You are in search of something."

Sikander smiled. "There's tranquility in this journey. I do get frustrated at times, but I will definitely find my divine patron one day. Whom do you believe in, Roshanak?"

"I believe God is a woman."

Sikander raised a brow. "Like Kalika. How do you visualise God?"

"She is nature. She is in the breeze, in the grass and the rivers. Through loving the birds and animals, she is pleased. The sky is her home, but she often comes here to visit us. I don't think she would be easy to recognise– maybe she will come as an old beggar, or maybe a little purring cat. What we must remember is she can be anywhere now, watching us all the time. She knows what we think and feel, and even though words is not her language, she speaks through the signs of the universe."

"Like she gave a sign to my mother before I was born."

"Tell me."

"She had seen a thunderous lightning bolt hit her womb, and from within her sprouted a tree, its roots deep inside her. The tree expanded all over earth, before decomposing."

Roshanak's eyes twinkled. Life was so fascinating.

"Would you like to see the gardens? I know you love them."

"Yes, gladly."

As they walked towards the garden, Sikander told her about the various gods he had seen in his small life. Roshanak saw his gaze glimmer akin to a child who had just discovered a colourful pebble in the sands. He was struck by the vastness of the cosmos, as well as humbled by it. Finally, they reached the garden.

"This is the Chahar Bagh– the Four Gardens."

Roshanak couldn't see the four sections of the garden, for they were so vast. She knew each represented an element– Fire, Water, Air and Earth– and she was standing, from what it seemed, in the section of Water. Manmade streams trickled down the path carved out on the rocks, singing a tinkling melody. There were little ponds where swum swans. Roshanak had only heard of this bird but never seen one. How did the Shah even get them?

"They are loyal creatures," he said, pointing to the swans. "I admire this quality a lot."

There was a tinge of guilt in his voice that didn't go unnoticed by Roshanak. "I see so many flowers here." She changed the topic as she was not willing to drag it towards gloom. "That is gulnar, isn't it?"

"Yes. Bright red flowers. My men extract perfume from this."

"Do we have scarlet poppy?"

Sikander held her hand and led her towards the Earth section. Here, Roshanak saw many colourful rocks and plenty of long grass. Tiny frogs croaked behind the bushes. In one part of this garden were the poppy flowers. "Here, Roshanak."

She ran her hands over the soft petals. This flower was a symbol of love after death, and was used to pay homage to loved ones who died. Roshanak wiped a tear, recalling Kazu. He loved these flowers, and Roshanak would always be upset. Why would he choose something so sad? He would say that grief was a part of a warrior's life, and it would only be good if he accepted it.

When Roshanak's heart had embraced Kazu, she inadvertently welcomed the same misery.

"I also have saffron here, though it doesn't bloom during this time of the year. When it grows, I dye my hair with it. One day I will show you how handsome I look after that!"

Roshanak chuckled. "I am looking forward to that day."

"What are your favourite flowers?"

"I love gol-e-sorkh."

"Ah, so rosa. Fits with your charm."

"You praise me too much."

"The rosa flower can send anyone into a trance. Just like you."

"And what are your favourite flowers?"

"The lotus, Roshanak. I love them."

And so, they talked about flowers and beauty, the rain that fed the soil and the sunshine that made the garden glow. When the Shah remembered he had duties other than strolling, he pursed his lips. "Excuse me, I must leave. I forgot I have things to attend to."

"I am there to help, if you require. Also, I had a talk with the men of the army."

"You did?"

"Yes. I went there with the Kandake."

He looked surprised. "It's great that you go along well with her. My mother, as you might already know, is hard to tolerate. But she is my mother and I can't change her."

Roshanak thought it wise to slip past commenting. "The men of the army said they would be grateful if we build a school for the boys to learn literature. Can we do that?"

"Of course. I will allot a sum from the treasury for this matter."

"Thank you."

"We will meet again. I take my leave."

Roshanak decided to explore the gardens on her own. They were intricate and a splendour of architecture. She sniffed the flowers and dipped her feet in the cool waters of pond. Busy daydreaming, she lost track of how time passed. There was no one to give her company except the swans. Suddenly, she was shocked when a hand tapped her shoulder.

She immediately stood up and took a step back. It was Perdiccas.

"What is the Shahamsaram doing all alone?"

Roshanak didn't mind it when the man had joked with her last time. She had thought he was trying to break the ice. But touching the Shahamsaram so casually was distasteful. Back in her kingdom, no man of her father's army dared to let their gaze linger on even her shadow. Now that she was a queen, and that too not just any but of Persia, didn't she command more respect?

This man didn't know manners at all. He was a fool.

She clenched her fist. "I was ruminating."

"About what?"

"I don't think I need to share."

"Oh my! Look, someone is irked." He grasped her palm and shook it. Roshanak frantically looked around to see if anyone was there, but she was left alone. When her eyes landed next on Perdiccas, a sly smile played on his face. "Finding someone? Maybe Sikander?"

She yanked away her hand. "I would be more comfortable keeping some distance."

"You can call me just Perdiccas." He smirked. "Roshanak."

She gasped. "You called me by name?"

"Indeed. It's too lovely to not spell. Can we be friends?"

She started walking away. "I am afraid not."

He hurried after her. When she didn't stop, he caught her hand and pulled her. He freed her only when she paused. "You act like you never interacted with men."

"Behave yourself." She warned. "I am the Queen of Persia. This is not how–"

"Kazu, wasn't he?"

A chill ran down her spine.

"It isn't a secret to me. Sikander doesn't know, and he would not appreciate if he gets to know that you had a lover. Who knows, maybe you are impure?"

"Don't cross your limit, Perdiccas." Her eyes were red with rage. "You will be in trouble if I tell the Shah."

"And I will tell him about Kazu, and how you slept with him."

"I never did! You cannot malign me."

"You think he will trust you? Sikander has known me since childhood, and don't forget that sons resemble their father. Sikander will put me before you, a woman he harvested out of nothingness. You are helpless without his protection."

"You are disrespecting the Shah." She trembled, beads of perspiration gliding down her forehead.

"The Shah was brought up by the men of his father, men like me. He will not hesitate to marry a second time, nor will he show you mercy if he gets to know you had a relationship before marriage. So better be careful, my queen." He scoffed. "I know how you whores seduce men. Or why else would someone like Sikander marry a woman who wasn't Macedonian or Greek?"

Before Roshanak could raise her voice, which she found herself too choked to do, Perdiccas had left humming a song to himself. From an abode of new beginnings and a growing friendship with Sikander, Roshanak drowned in devastation.

Fears engulfed her. She couldn't expect the Shah to be so good as to forgive her for loving a man before him. And she didn't even have any proof to show that she was a virgin before marriage.

What if somehow people got to know that she hadn't really bled on her wedding night? The Kandake would not say, but Roshanak was inclined towards the worst possibility turning true.

Overwhelmed with fear, she ran till she didn't reach her room. She closed the door and slid down the wall. The pigeons were still there, eating the few grains that lay scattered on the balcony.

"I-I wish I could just escape."

But I can't.

She would have to live here. Forever. Till death.

This was her paradise. This was her doom.

"I can't be blinded by the kindness he shows me. The Shah might not be all roses."

And roses have thorns.

word count: 2385 words

SURPRISE! I found some time to write and penned(but hey it's a keyboard–) down this chapter this evening.

So now you realise whom Odile and Phila were talking about in the last chapter. It was Perdiccas. He is the villain in this story.